The Moment Before

Chapter Twenty

TWENTY

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Somehow I make it through the school day without running into Martha. A small miracle. Mrs. McConnell is particularly animated in Classics. We’re done with As I Lay Dying, and this month, we’re delving into Flannery O’Connor. Cathi Serge’s hand gets a terrific workout. She doesn’t get the symbolism in Revelation. She wonders why there’s so much violence in A Good Man is Hard to Find. But Beverly, Mom’s apparent BFF, is undaunted. She offers quick answers to Cathi’s questions, the type of answers that invite a student to read other great works for a deeper understanding. Plus, I am not kept after class; in fact Mrs. McConnell does not acknowledge me in any way.

            Then, as soon as the dismissal bell rings and I head out the main door for my after-school therapy session, out of nowhere, there’s Nick in my face. “We need to have a chat,” he says, gesturing to my sister’s car, which sparkles in the afternoon sunlight in its space in the student lot.

            “I have somewhere I need to be,” I tell him.

            “Won’t take long, Brady.”

            With a weird flip-flop in my belly, I follow Nick down the short, grassy slope to the car. He’s got his lacrosse uniform on, so I know he has somewhere else to be, too. I cringe as I squeak open the heavy Volvo passenger door. This car, as far as I’m concerned, will always be Sabine’s. 

            “Just what’s your fucking beef with me?” Nick says the second we’re both inside.

            He’s tall, but skinny. So skinny. Ichabod Crane skinny. I see his Adam’s apple going up and down like a tumor in his throat. His ever-present sunglasses are plastered over his eyes, but I can still make out a twitch.

            I say, “I know more than you think I do.”

            “About?”

            It occurs to me, sitting in a car that my parents gave to him, that I have a little leverage. “Don’t even go there, Nick. Just, it might be a good idea for you to watch your step around Martha. And, me, by the way. You want me to keep quiet about stuff, you’d better toe the line.”

            “What stuff, exactly? Who’s been feeding you garbage about me?”

            I pull out the phone I think is Sabine’s, but it’s not. It’s mine, and, unfortunately, its screen is speckled with new texts from Connor.

            “Connor Christopher? That fuckwad?”

            “Nope. Not him. It’s you, you dumb ass. Your voice on my sister’s phone. Do you have any idea what my father would do to you if he heard the names you called her?”

            Nick’s a clenched mess right now. He’s almost smoldering.

            “My sister’s death is partly on your hands, asshole. And if I could find a way to let the truth of that out without dishonoring her memory, I would.”

            Nick grabs the phone from my hand, his lightning fast lacrosse reflexes working overtime. He points to the black screen. “So, you know she was knocked up. Fine. But what you don’t know, apparently, is that this worthless piece of shit was the one who got her that way.”