XI

My sleep last night, albeit not easy to achieve, was much more restful than most of my others nights as of late. I only remember waking up once just after midnight and once again just before dawn.

I can with good faith say my ease is the result of a peaceful evening after I returned the dress to Mom’s arms, and then didn’t hear from anyone before I fell asleep at eleven.

I bussed to school again today, and since I still haven’t heard from nor back from Amelia, I imagine it will be the case for a while. When I got to school, my suspicion had been right because Amelia was nowhere to be seen before class started and she didn’t show up to calculus, the second period class I sit in now.

Peering over to her empty desk, I know people are watching. My eyes wander around a few people’s faces before snapping back to my open notebook in front of me. I’ve fallen behind the notes being written on the board so when the teacher pauses to pick up the beige wall phone, I scramble to put as much down as I can, knowing I can’t afford to not do well on the upcoming test.

“Charlotte, you’re wanted in the office.”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.

“All right,” I mumble as I stand up from my desk. The quiet chatter of a teacher being on the phone has stopped and most of the bored students have their attention on me.

“Bring your stuff.”

That just makes things so much worse. God, what did I do? I mean, there was last night and the night with Ethan on Rutherford property but⸺but what? What do I know about how arrests work? I’ve never actually seen one take place.

I count forty-four seconds before I’m out of the classroom, down a flight of stairs and into the office. It’s another three seconds until someone notices my entrance.

Although I’ve never been fond of the poor secretaries the school has desired to hire, I can see why someone might appreciate them: they’re civil and even nice with other adults, and they do their work. It’s just the way student life deteriorates with their presence in the office.

For a moment, I’m back in ninth grade when I had pneumonia and Ava was in twelfth. I was in the office with the very same group of staff as I am now when Ava argued with them while I sat behind her, coughing with my two cracked ribs.

I didn’t want to skip and go home. I wanted Mom to sign me out.

“Miss Waters, there’s nothing I can do. You’re not her guardian nor are you eighteen,” the balding man with bulging yellow eel eyes tells Ava with only a fraction of the remorse I thought we deserved.

Ava leans across the counter, and despite her voice being low, I hear every word. “Her fever is one-hundred-and-three, she needs to be at home, if not the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. Your mother has said she won’t sign your sister out, and we can’t get ahold of your father.”

Ava slams her hands on the counter. “I hope you appreciate the call my Mom will make when she finds out Charlotte and I left, then.”

Ava pivots away from the counter and hauls me off the black upholstered plastic chair and out of the office, away from the school, and back to our house.

“Miss Waters?” someone calls for me in the present, and I almost mistake their words for me as being for Ava. I’m the only ‘Miss Waters’ now. “Please head to your Vice Principal's office.”

I don’t even know who my VP is, I’ve never had to know. Oh my God, I think I’m going to collapse. What did I do? What didn’t I do?

Shit.

“Okay,” I say and I’m certain there’s an expression on my face a kin to crazed. “Yeah, okay.” My smile is so forced I must look like I’m barring my teeth.

I hike my backpack further up my shoulder and turn towards to adjacent hallway in the office that leads towards the vice prinicapal’s offices. I read each name plaque on the doors and try to remember who has the last section of the alphabet. Wouldn’t it make sense for it to be the last door?

“Charlotte,” a voice calls and I halt because I don’t recognize the voice. “In here.”

I turn slowly on my heels, my shoulder unnaturally raised to the point where I can hear the rustle of my shirt as I adjust my bag. Inside the office I just passed, is none other than Sheriff Piper Stock. Not only one of the most formidable women in town, but also Ethan’s mother.

Shit.

I nod my head and walk towards the office she stay semi-hidden in. Her hand rests on the door and I look for a wedding band⸺Amelia would seem to think that after Ethan’s father died, the Sheriff moved on right away, eventually landing on her mother⸺and I find her left ring finger empty. Good to keep in mind.

“You can guess why you’re here, right?” she asks as she sits in the VP’s desk chair. I, however, hover close to the door for a moment until I decide it’s safe and I close the door behind me and sit down in the chair across the desk.

“I have no clue,” I say because honestly if I was in trouble why would they sit me down in the school for a conversation with the head of law in the town?

Sheriff Stock makes an attempt to cover the fact that she’s lowering the rolling office chair until she’s at the same height that I am but I catch her. She knows it too.

Despite her attempt to make our time together seem like an equal conversation, I know better. She holds all the cards, she knows why I’m here. I need to get up to speed before I fall too far behind in this.

“How long has Ava been missing?”

Ah, so this is what this is. I look across the dark wooden desk and find what I knew I would. I voice recorder sits on top of a pile of papers. The small light flickers red.

“Why am I being questioned?” I ask.

“Because I need your help to do my job and bring your sister home.”

Her words are eerily similar to what I said to Ethan last week when I cornered him in the library and requested his help. I need your help. I wonder if she knows about my arrangement with Ethan, or the lie that I told my mom. Somehow, I think that if she did this would be a very different conversation.

Goosebumps rise on my arm, and for a brief moment I wonder if she hasn’t noticed them, but she has. I catch her looking at the hair that stands on end on my arm. I take my arms off the table and put them on my lap.

I grind my teeth. “She left on March thirtieth so twenty days now.” For a moment, I wonder why she might ask me that question, and then I remember the nature on which Mom reported Ava as missing. It had been a week or so later. “My mom thought it’d be best to report it on the eighth in case she was planning on coming back.”

“What was she like in the days and weeks leading up to her disappearance?”

My eyes start to burn and I realize I haven’t blinked in a while. “Ava’s personalities didn’t have any discernible patterns.”

I should have known the next type of question that was going to come out of the Sheriff’s mouth would be not the kind I want to answer based on her body language alone. Her eyes move over my shoulder, her head slinks on her neck, and her mouth is slack. She, the mother of my⸺just Ethan⸺ asks me, “Do you have issues at home?”

“Did you choose to come personally? Is there not someone else who could be doing this?” Maybe someone I can look in the eyes and not see the black-haired boy I’d much prefer the company of right now.

“Answer the question,” she says firmly and I don’t have a strong enough will to lie anymore.

“Of course there are issues at home⸺you know my Mom much more personally than I imagine you’d like⸺but nothing that you’re insinuating about, Sheriff.”

This will be a topic for later conversation, I’m at least certain of that.

“Right. What’s your relationship with Noah and Blake Weber like?”

“Ava and Noah dated on and off for years, but I haven’t seen him since the beginning of grade ten.”

Sheriff Stock leans back in the chair. Of course she knew the latter part of my explanation, everyone did. “And Blake?”

Lies. Lie. Just lie, it’s easiest that way.

“I see him nearly every day in the halls. Haven’t spoken to him since about the same time as his brother.” I’m beyond crazy. I just need to tell the truth but I can’t, not now, not when I’m in so deep. “I don’t have any classes with him and none of my friends do either. Why?”

She smiles reassuringly at my response, and if she doesn’t believe me, she does a good job of concealing it from me. Quietly and calmly, she says, “They seemed to be a major part of Ava’s life.”

“They were,” I say, “but not for me.”

She nods in understanding and I wonder if we’re done now, if I haven’t triggered any alarm bells in her head that would require further questions at the police station. Oh God, Mom would riot if she knew what was happening.

“What was their relationship like?”

I hesitate before answering, knowing that what I say might be the difference between Noah out of custody and in custody. I don’t like to respect him but I respect his position as a free man right now. “Not good,” I admit, though it doesn’t really feel like a secret. “Unstable and rocky at best but not what I think you want to hear.”

I wouldn’t use the word satisfied to explain her expression, more like accepting that’s the best she’s going to get. Sheriff Stock sits up straighter and says, “You mention your mother a lot, what about your dad?”

“You’ve met her,” I remind the woman, “she doesn’t need a partner.”

“Do you think that’s why Ava’s relationship was the way it was?”

I shrug, have not really considered it before right now. “Maybe, I don’t know but I think this is the best possible outcome.”

“What outcome is this?” For once, there’s genuine care and concern in her eyes and it reminds me too much of how Ethan’s looked at me as of late. I don’t like it.

“They’re not dead.”

Mom must not have heard of my encounter today because I hear nothing of it when I get home, or during dinner, or as I’m getting ready for bed, or when she wanders about in the hallway after eleven o’clock when I should certainly be asleep but can’t even close my eyes.

My eyes follow my ceiling fan as it spins so quickly the blades nearly blur into one long mahogany board, and as much as I wish I could go to bed, I can’t. Ugh. My mind doesn’t quiet no matter how much I try to make it. I’ve counted down from ten, then fifty, and then one-hundred and I still can’t find any peace.

When I was younger and still went to Sunday School, this would be the part of the night when I prayed to God or whoever would listen. Carmen would tell me Allah would listen to me even if I was Catholic. I would not only pray to them, but also pray they were hearing my pleas.

Please let Mom stop yelling at me.

Please let Mom stop cursing at me.

Please let Ava stop yelling at Mom for yelling at me.

Please let Ava stop cursing your name because she’s mad Mom won’t let us have dinner.

Please let me have dinner.

Nothing ever changed, and no matter how many night hours I spent up trying to understand how Dad can do this and not go crazy when nothing happens.

If someone had answered my prayers I wouldn’t be where I am now, I know that for certain.

I’d be cared for by Mom.

Ava would still be here.

I wouldn’t be hungry.

So I’ve come to a conclusion: if there’s a God above, like my dad claims, he is not on my side.

Under my door I can see the hall light switch off as Mom retires to bed. Sitting up, I rub my face roughly and smack my forehead with the base of my hand.

Goddamn it. I really wish I was asleep.

My eyes flick over to my phone where it charges on my nightstand.

Just put on some music, Charlotte, and go to sleep.

I reach out for my phone and unplug it.

You’ll regret this in the morning.

I unlock my phone and open my messages.

Go to sleep!

I message Ethan. Hey, I send.

Locking it again, I toss it on the bed and squint at it, mad that I send the message, and more upset that I don’t already have a response⸺it’s unreasonable, I know, but I want to talk to him before I convince myself to sleep again.

My screen lights up and I scramble for my phone.

What’s wrong? He responds.

I heave a dry laugh. Just wanted to see how Amelia is doing, I respond, and you.

She’s eating again. Good news, such good news. I’m okay. Why?

Slightly offended I respond, Am I not allowed to worry about you? Amelia can put a lot of stress on people when she’s having a good day.

Oh.

Are you going to the gala? I ask.

I think my mom will make me, he says. And I remember: today with Ethan’s mom.

Is that why I’m messaging him? No, I don’t think so. I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with his mom.

My mom bought me a dress, I send.

Really? Does that mean you’re going? He asks.

She did but she returned it. I guess she didn’t like it anymore.

Too bad, he says, I would have spent the night with you. I prefer your company to theirs.

I must not have thought this through, because why otherwise would I have the bravery to talk to Ethan Stock when I knew he’d say something that would tip me over the edge and make me ball up in my bed and feel feelings I don’t want. Certainly not from him if Mom had anything to say about it.

There’s always something with Ethan that makes me regret my words, my actions, or my facial expressions, and it’s usually with the same compassion and kindness that he responds that immediately turns me away.

Or pulls me forwards.

I’m so stupid.

Maybe I should have agreed to wear that dress, I confess, then you’d not be alone. You’ve been alone for so long, I want to say but I leave that out of my texts.

There’s always more beneficial ways we could spend that night.

I know what he means: looking for Ava, but despite that I still blush like I’m thirteen again.

Right, I say.

Let me know if you’re going, he says, I’ll find a suit to wear if you are.

It isn’t a date but I smile like it is anyways.