Hayley got up, and Hedda, astonishingly spry for seventeen, jumped to the floor. “I doubt she would have killed herself over that. College is years away. Anything could happen between now and then. She could get a scholarship or win the Lotto. She could even get a student loan.”
Kevin nodded in agreement. Hayley was right. “That’s what Chief Garnett told me. Nothing further is going to be done with the case. They’re closing it as an accident, a freak one at that. Better than having Sandra and Harper live out the rest of their lives thinking that they could have done something to save their daughter.”
There was no arguing that one. Instead, the twins took in each word with the respect and solemnity that they knew their dad, a kind of purveyor in tragedy, would expect of them. There could be little doubt that Chief Garnett and their father believed that digging around Katelyn’s tragedy would only yield hurtful results.
It wasn’t the twins’ fault that they were driven to do so.
Others could never see what they saw or felt.
Others simply didn’t get the messages that they did. In a very real way, others were actually kind of lucky.
OUTSIDE, BARELY OUT OF THE CUTTING CHILL of the weather, Moira Windsor stood under the green water towers at the entrance of the main business district of historic Port Gamble. She’d taken up smoking to be more reporter-like, and she was actually enjoying the buzz of the nicotine. It calmed her. It soothed her at a time when she really needed it. She’d accosted Sandra Berkley earlier in the day as she left the Timberline restaurant. Sandra barely said a word to Moira, but what she said left no doubt about her feelings about an interview.
“You bloodsucking bitch, leave my baby alone!”
“That was harsh! I’m sorry about your daughter, but I’m on a deadline!”
Sandra could have killed the reporter right then, but she didn’t.
There’d been enough death in Port Gamble.
For a second, Moira felt a little embarrassed, but on further reflection she dismissed it when she realized that no one else had seen the encounter.
She’d left more messages for the Ryans, but there were no return calls.
What do I have to do to get somebody’s attention? she asked herself as she snuffed out her cigarette, ignoring the sign to dispose of trash in the proper receptacles.
The more people pushed her away, the harder she’d push back.
She heard a dog yelp somewhere in the distance, and she smiled.
chapter 20
UNLIKE ESKIMOS WHO PURPORTEDLY HAVE an unbelievable number of words to describe snow, teenagers in Port Gamble have only four to describe rain: almost all the time.
Those who don’t live there could never comprehend the incessant downpours that come in fits and starts all year long. Spring. Winter. Whatever. Rain falls like a curtain over the town. On those rainy days, anyone looking from the General Store to Buena Vista Cemetery could see nothing but a white wall before them. Not even a tree is visible. And forget the scenic view. During the heaviest downpours, the bay and the canal blend into one large, seamless cloud. Oddly, only the most overt nerd townie or tourists carry umbrellas. No one loves the rain in Port Gamble, but residents live there in spite of it. They refuse to let it stop them from doing what they need to do.
There were never any rain delays for school sports events. Never did a June bride plan a wedding on the bluff overlooking the sound without the benefit of tents. No camping trips to the Olympic Mountains were canceled over inclement weather. No picnics were moved inside.
As Kevin Ryan told his girls over and over, “You’re not the Wicked Witch of the West. You won’t melt if you get wet. Trust me.”
It was raining, of course, when Taylor and Hayley stood out in front of their house waiting for the school bus. In a few months they’d be sixteen, and if there was any justice in the world, their father would help them buy a car.
Girls like Starla Larsen with older boyfriends managed to halt the cycle of abuse that was the bus ride to Kingston High School. The driver, Ms. Hatcher, liked to keep perfect order on “her” bus. She didn’t want to be made the constant hugger—and especially not the kid with Asperger’s. She made him sit behind her on the window seat in her blind spot so she never had to engage with him or the boy from house number 27, who wore a raccoon tail on a back beltloop as a fashion statement.
Other kids sat in the usual order. In the front were the geeks, the crybabies, and the kids who just wanted to get off the bus as soon as the doors swung open. The couples and the druggies sat in the back. The middle section held everyone else.
Beth Lee was seated in the middle—one of the few kids to actually migrate toward the center of the bus since leaving elementary school. Beth had so many incarnations that she easily could have found a spot anywhere. Hayley and Taylor scooted into the seats next to Beth.
As the bus pulled away, the girls rolled their eyes at Segway Guy, the man who lived in house number 91 along the water and who for some strange reason chose the most embarrassing mode of transportation known to man as his preference to get from point A to B.
“Freak,” Beth commented. “Even the rain doesn’t stop him.”
“The rain stops no one,” Hayley said, deadpan. “Not even Segway Guy.”
“Where’s Colton?” Beth asked. “Home exhausted?”
“From what?”
“From doing it with you.” Beth spoke loudly, not so much to overcome the noise of the idling bus and Ms. Hatcher’s tendency to overpress the accelerator pedal as she waited for her turn to merge onto the highway, but to increase the opportunity for someone to overhear. Anyone who saw her could figure that. That day Beth Lee’s impossibly black hair was spiked with so much Elmer’s Glue that someone could hang a coat on it. No doubt once they got to school, someone probably would try.
Hayley motioned for Beth to lower her voice. “For your information, he was out of town all winter break. And in case you were wondering, you’re gross.”
Beth smirked a little and touched the tips of her hair. She made a pained expression that was either meant to signify her sharp hair spires or that she’d been quietly told off by one of the girls whose names she used interchangeably. “Just asking. I figured that you did it by now. Probably told your sister, but not me. People leave me out of everything.”
Taylor spoke up. “She hasn’t told me anything.” She looked at her twin. “You didn’t, did you? I mean, I would have known if you had.”
Hayley scowled a little. “That’s none of your business, but no, I didn’t, and no, I won’t tell you when we do.”
Beth glossed her lips with some overly fragrant strawberry lip balm. “So you’re going to?”
Hayley shook her head, her face now a little more pink than she could ascribe to the cold weather. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, if we do. Unlike some girls around here, I’m actually in no big rush.”
Beth deflected the remark by changing the subject. Beth was like that. Taylor once wondered if Beth’s ancestors invented fireworks because she seemed to totally get off on lighting fuses and standing back to watch the fun.
“I heard some news,” Beth said as the bus lurched down the highway toward Kingston.
“Do we have to pull it out of you?” Taylor asked.
“Right, we know you’re so discreet,” Hayley chimed in, unsuccessfully trying for a little payback.
Beth put her lip balm in her purse and scrolled through her text messages.
“My mom told me that her friend Lu at the Timberline said that Katelyn got into big trouble last fall. Something that made her mom and dad furious. I couldn’t hear it all.”