Ben looked around, then back at Katie.
“Don't tell anyone, okay?”
She smiled. “Have I ever?”
Ben couldn't help smiling back. Katie was smart, maybe as smart as Alex. The thing was, somehow she never hurt anyone with it, never made anyone feel inferior or condescended to or anything. Whatever Katie had, you always felt she would use it to help you, that she was always on your side.
“So, uh, you think you can get a lift with Wally?”
“Sure.”
“Cool.”
He turned to go, then looked back.
“Hey, he hasn't been drinking, right?”
“No, he's cool.”
For one second, Ben thought maybe he should just close the loop, check with Wally directly. Wally wasn't a bad guy, but he liked to party hard.
Then he thought of Larissa. Well, Katie said Wally was cool. She would know.
“Okay, then. Later.”
He headed back to Larissa, Katie still smiling at him knowingly, indulgently, with all the warmth and goodwill that had always seemed to define her.
Okay, then. Later.
The strange thing was, if the accident hadn't happened, he probably wouldn't even remember that hurried conversation, or the way Katie's smile had lingered in his mind as he left. It wouldn't have meant anything. No one would have questioned his decision to let Wally drive Katie home. Why would they? He wouldn't have done anything wrong. Or even if he had, it would have been a misdemeanor at most. A tiny oversight. An obvious case of no harm, no foul.
But it had happened. The conversation turned out to be their last. And lasts, he had learned, were in retrospect always imbued with a significance they had utterly lacked at the time. Probably, he had come to think, everything was like that. Everything was significant, just camouflaged with banality until some terrible thing stripped the banality away, like skin torn off to expose raw, screaming nerve endings you hadn't even known were there.
He'd driven Larissa home. They had talked on the way but he couldn't remember about what. What he remembered was how smooth her skin was, the maddening shape of her breasts beneath her light sweater, the slight smell of her perfume in the car's interior. Most of all, he remembered the way she had been looking at him whenever he glanced over, a look that told him he could have whatever he wanted and she wanted it just as much.
“My parents should be asleep,” she said. “But if you're really quiet, you could come in. They'll hear the door and think it's just me. They won't get up.”
“I can be quiet,” Ben said.
And he had been, much quieter than Larissa, in fact, whose mouth he'd had to cover not once, but twice while he whispered shhhh, shhhh as they were doing it right on her bedroom floor. It was a turn-on, exciting her so much she could forget herself that way, so much she would cry out not twenty feet from where her parents were sleeping, oblivious to it all.
Afterward, driving home, he couldn't stop smiling. She'd been good, she ‘d been so into it. It was like Bean hadn't been satisfying her or something. He half wondered whether she had cried out because she wanted him to cover her mouth, because she liked it, and even though he'd already come twice the thought gave him a hard-on. Man, there couldn't have been a more perfect end to a more perfect day.
When he pulled into the driveway, the first thing he noticed was that a lot of lights were on in the house. He glanced at the car's digital clock. It was nearly two in the morning. It didn't make sense.
Then he noticed his dad's car was gone. Uh-oh. Had Katie not made it home okay? Did his dad have to go get her? If so, Ben was probably going to be in deep shit.
He went inside and walked quietly up the stairs. The bedroom doors were all open. The lights were on in Alex's and his parents’ bedrooms.
“Hey, what's everyone doing up?” he called out.
There was no answer. He poked his head in Alex's room. No one was there. The bedcovers were kicked off, though. Alex was always anal about making his bed just right, so he must have been sleeping in it tonight until…
“Is anyone here?” Ben called out again, now walking over to his parents’ bedroom. It was in the same condition as Alex's, the lights on, the covers off.
“What the hell?” he said aloud, nervous now and telling himself there was no reason to be.
He walked down the hall to Katie's bedroom and flipped on the light. The bed was made.
Shit, Katie had never made it home.
No, he didn't know that, not for sure. All he knew for sure was that she hadn't gotten in her bed before…
Before what? Before they all piled into his dad's car and hauled ass out of there in the middle of the night?
But if Katie had called for a lift, why would they all have gone?
Suddenly he felt sure something was seriously wrong.
He walked down to the kitchen. No note, no nothing. Everything neat, the dishes all put away. Somehow the neatness, the order, was unnerving. It sharpened the incongruity of everyone's absence.
“Fuck,” he said aloud. He had no idea what to do.
The phone rang. He spun and stared at it for a moment. He realized he was afraid to answer.
It rang again.
He hesitated, sensing he was trapped in some precarious in-between place, his life and its safe assumptions on one side, the end of it all on the other. On the other side of that phone.
It rang a third time.
Come on, just pick up the goddamned phone.
But he didn't.
It rang again.
He thought, What if they hang up?
His paralysis broke. He strode over and snatched up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, his mouth dry.
“Ben.” It was his dad. “Thank God. You need to come to Stanford hospital emergency room right away. Katie was in an accident.”
A chill rushed through him. He tried to swallow but couldn't. “What? What happened?”
“Just come right away. Understand?”
“Okay. I'll leave right now.”
“Drive carefully,” his father said, and somehow, behind the two simple words, Ben sensed a bitter rebuke.
The rest of the night was a blur; the days after, a nightmare. His parents outright blamed him. Alex's silent, accusatory stare was worse.
Worst of all was the morning of the funeral. He was already crushed with grief and guilt and remorse. He was sitting at the desk in his room, staring at the wall, replaying the evening over and over again, imagining the thousand different things that could have happened, the thousand different things he could have, should have done.
There was a knock on his door. “Yeah,” he called out listlessly.
It was his parents. It had been, what, forty-eight hours since Katie had died? They looked like they hadn't slept a minute since. Like something inside them had… broken.
They sat on the edge of the bed across from him. “Ben,” his dad said. “What we said the other night… it wasn't right. It wasn't… correct.”
Ben shook his head, afraid to speak.
“We're… devastated, honey, you know that,” his mom said. She started to cry but managed to keep going. “When something like this happens, people sometimes blame others, even the people closest to them. Because if you blame someone, it's easier to believe someone had some control over what happened, that it could have been prevented.” A quaver had entered her voice and she stopped, took a deep breath.
“But that's not right,” she went on, her voice getting higher now. “Not everything can be controlled. Accidents… sometimes they just happen, baby, and it's not your fault.”
She was crying harder now, her eyes pleading with him through her tears.
“If it was anyone's fault, it was mine,” his dad said. “I wasn't clear when I told you about coming home. You didn't do anything wrong, Ben, and we were wrong to suggest that you did.”
Ben looked at them. He understood what they were doing. He could even imagine the conversation that had led to it: We have to protect him from the guilt. We can't saddle him with this, no matter how true it is. He's too young.