I close my eyes. A picture comes to my mind of Jeremy about eight months ago, standing on top of a hill, ready to ride his sled. He’s the perfect image of innocence. It’s nighttime, and the stars are out in full force. I remember thinking that he looked close enough to heaven to touch it. And I thought about the song I’d heard in the car that day, a decade ago, the God song Jeremy “copied.” I’d give almost anything to hear that song now.
“Jeremy couldn’t have done it,” I say quietly. I feel grief, a deep sorrow at having even for a minute believed that my brother could have committed murder. “I was ready to quit on him,” I admit, too ashamed to look at Chase.
He wipes away whatever is on my cheek-blood, tears. “I doubt it.”
I frown up at him.
He shakes his head. “Not a chance. The Hope I know would never quit on Jeremy. I’ve seen the way you love your brother.”
“But-”
He puts his finger to my lips to stop words from coming out. Then he draws his fingertip across my bottom lip.
I still feel his touch on my mouth, even after his finger is gone. Slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, moving softly across the spot where his finger was. The heaviness in my body lifts until I feel like I’m floating. Around us, army uniforms, guns, and helmets watch as decades melt into each other, bringing us into the timeless group of lovers.
“You up there! What’s going on?” Mrs. Gance, the owner, shouts, and stomps one foot, like we’re mice to be scared back into the walls.
Chase and I break apart. He walks to the railing and calls down, “Sorry, ma’am! We were kissing.”
“Chase!” I whisper, but it makes me grin.
“In my store?” Mrs. Gance sounds horrified. “Well, you two can just skedaddle, you hear me? No kissing in my store!”
“Sorry,” Chase says, running back to me and grabbing my hand to pull me up. “We must have missed that sign on the way in.”
We thunder down the stairs and out the door. The sun is setting, and a flock of geese aim for it, honking. We stand on the sidewalk, facing each other. I’m pretty sure Chase is about to kiss me again. And if he doesn’t make the move, I will. We kiss again. I’ve closed my eyes without thinking about it, and I don’t want them closed, so I open them.
T.J. is standing there. “What is this, some kind of joke?”
I shove Chase away, so hard he nearly bumps into T.J. “T.J.? Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Rita called me. She said you were going to do something crazy.” He glares at Chase, his brown eyes tiny dots filled with hate. “I guess she was right.” He turns his hate on me. “I just don’t understand why she had to bother me with it.”
“Let’s go sit somewhere and talk, okay? I was upset… about the case, and Jeremy, and something Rita said that-”
“I don’t care.” T.J. shakes his head.
“Come on, T.J.,” Chase says, his voice calm. “We need to talk about this.”
“Talk? I’m the one who made you help out Hope in the first place. You didn’t even want to.” He stabs the air at both of us. “I sure didn’t mean this! But I should have known. You are such a phony! You’re no better than all the rest of them. Your dad. Coach. Coach’s wife. And now Hope? Everybody treats you-and guys like you-like you’re kings. So what am I? Some cockroach? Just because I don’t have your money? Because I’m not cool?”
“T.J., what do you-?” Chase tries.
“I’ll bet you and Coach got a lot of laughs out of me and my family, didn’t you?”
“If this is about the cookies,” Chase begins, “I said I was sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. And as for Hope and me, I’m sorry you-”
“Right!” T.J. is screaming now. Two boys on bikes cross to the other side of the street, staring at us. “You’re sorry. So that fixes everything, then, doesn’t it? Do whatever you want, then say you’re sorry? Well, it doesn’t work that way! Some things you can’t take back! They’re done. Over. But they’re not, not really. And you can’t take them back!”
I glance at Chase, who looks stunned to silence.
“T.J., calm down,” I plead. “I’m sorry you’re hurt, but you’re scaring me. Can’t we talk?” I move toward him, but he steps backward.
“No! We can’t talk. Don’t expect me to do handstands for you anymore either. I’m done! I’m done with the whole trial. And I hope your brother-!” He stops, choking on his own words. Then he turns and runs away, dashing into the street without looking.
“T.J.!” I scream.
A car slams its brakes and swerves to miss him. T.J. barely glances at it. The driver honks his horn, then takes off, tires squealing.
I watch my friend disappear behind a row of houses.
27
I keep staring long after T.J.’s out of sight. “Chase, we have to go after him.”
“That’s not a good idea, Hope.” He takes my hand. “Not now anyway. Give him time.” He starts walking toward my street, and I let myself be drawn along with him.
“Why did he act like that?” I’ve never seen T.J. so upset, even when guys at school teased him or messed up his locker.
“I told you he didn’t think of you as just a friend,” Chase says softly.
“But it’s more than that. Do you think he’s really finished helping Jeremy?” I glance up at Chase, and he shrugs. “What did he mean about not being able to take things back?”
Chase doesn’t answer for a minute. Then, without looking at me, without slowing down, he asks, “Hope, how well do you know T.J.?”
“How well do I know him?” The question takes me by surprise. “T.J. was my first friend when we moved here. After the popular kids realized I wasn’t one of them, I didn’t have anybody at school. I don’t think I’d even noticed T.J.-and we had three classes together-until he brought in sea glass for a science project. I love sea glass. I used to make necklaces and earrings out of it. He walked me home that day, to see the glass I’d brought with me from Chicago. After that, he’d bring me a few pieces, and we’d hang out together. We went on walks, or we went cricking-you know, trolling creeks for fossils or cool rocks. It was nice to have somebody to talk to at school. I’ve eaten every lunch in the cafeteria with T.J. for the last three years.”
“But how well do you really know him, Hope? And think about it before you answer.”
“Why are you asking me this?” My stomach is twisting. I don’t want to answer Chase’s question. How well do I know T.J.? We don’t talk the way Chase and I do. After three years, I still don’t know how he really feels about being labeled one of the weird kids at school. He never tells me anything personal-like about the team making fun of his mom, about Coach joining in. He never said a word about going to the barn, not even when he knew I was trying to get a timeline fix on how Coach spent mornings at the stable.
On the other hand, how open have I been with T.J.? I never talk to him about Jeremy or Rita or what it’s like for me not having a dad, moving all the time. “What are you getting at, Chase?”
“I’m not getting at anything. It’s just… Well, if you need another suspect for reasonable doubt, I nominate that guy.”
“You can’t be serious!”
Chase’s phone rings, cutting me off. He checks the number, then swears under his breath. “I have to answer this.” He turns away slightly, and into the phone says, “Hey, Dad.” He glances over at me. “Yes, she is.” He holds the phone away from his ear while his dad screams at him. When the yelling lets up, Chase puts the phone to his ear and says, “Okay. I’ll be right home.”
He hangs up and stares into space a second, and then smiles over at me, like he’s apologizing. “Sorry I have to go like this, Hope. My dad is on the edge. I don’t want to push him over.”
He takes the time to walk me home first. When we’re a block away, he asks, “You okay?”
“I’m pretty confused… but I’m not going to do anything stupid, if that’s what you mean.” I squeeze his hand, loving the feel of his fingers wrapped around my palm. “Thanks for finding me, Chase.”