After Obsession Part 25

None of your d.a.m.n business. I want to say it. I open my mouth to say it, but I can feel Mom thinking I better not say it. "Meditating," I say.

"What's that? Like praying?"

"Yeah. Like praying."

"Do you use drugs for that? LSD? Pot?"

Oh. My. G.o.d.

I shake my head. "No."

"Aimee found Noah in the river, looking for Chris," the cop says. "Then she found where Chris's body was trapped underwater."

"Oh no. Is she okay?" Now it's my turn to stare him down, to demand answers. "Is Aimee all right?"

"She's fine."

"I have to call her. She's supposed to come over tonight. She wants to meet my mom." I look from the deputy to Mom, then back. "She's okay? You saw her?"

"I saw her. She's fine." He hesitates, then asks, "Alan, I'll ask you one more time. Be honest with me. Did you see those three boys again after school?"

"No. Was Aimee- Wait. Three? You only mentioned the two at the river."

"We can't find Blake Stanley." His voice is dead and flat, not quite accusing, but not not accusing, either.

"You don't really think I did something to them, do you?" I can't believe it.

He shrugs and his face softens a little. "Not really," he admits. "Even before this." He waves at the receipts, making the folded bits of paper flutter. "But, considering the circ.u.mstances, I had to ask."

"Thank G.o.d," Mom says. Her shoulders sink inward as the tension falls off her. Did she really think I'd done something like that? Why? How could she even think it?

"I should go and leave you folks to your dinner plans," McKinney says. He fishes in an unb.u.t.toned shirt pocket and pulls out a crisp white business card that he lays on the table by the receipts. "If you think of anything that might help, please call me. Chris's mom ... she's not taking this well."

"No," Mom says. "What mother would? I'm so sorry for her."

I nod. I'm sorry, too. Another river death. Another newspaper story for the school librarian's collection. If we fail, me and Aimee, how many more will there be?

"A lot of people die in that river," I say. I say it more to myself, but the cop and Mom both stare at me.

"What did you say, son?" McKinney asks. I hate it when men who are not my father call me "son."

"The river. A lot of people have died in it. The librarian at school has a folder full of old newspaper clippings about it."

McKinney nods real slow, like I've revealed I know some deep, dark secret about his little town. Maybe I have. This is Maine. Maybe the whole d.a.m.n state is like some creepy old Stephen King story. "I guess so," he says. "Well, I should go. We're still looking for Blake. Please call if you think of anything. I can show myself out."

He leaves us and I sit still, waiting for Mom to start griping about the suspension, about me not coming home after school. She doesn't, though.

"Did we bring all this bad luck with us from Oklahoma?" she asks.

"It was already here, Mom. I think it's been here for a long time."

She doesn't respond. She looks so sad. I reach across the table and take her hand.

"I'm sorry, Mom. About the fighting, and not coming home like you told me to."

She only nods.

"You talked to Aunt Lisa? Courtney is better?"

"Yes. Even her face has cleared up. All the tests are negative. They're going to send her home tomorrow, but she needs to stay home the rest of the week. Someone's supposed to stay and keep watch over her. Lisa was going to."

"I can do it," I say. "I mean, I'm going to be home, anyway."

"That might work. Are you hungry? Your friend is coming over?"

"I already ate." I don't like lying to Mom, but she frowns on the idea of fasting. "Aimee wanted to come over. I don't know now. She's been calling and texting, but I didn't know it."

"You had that chanting stuff up too loud."

"I guess. Can I go call her and see if she's okay and coming over?"

Mom nods, so I race back up the stairs.

Aimee answers on the second ring. "Alan! Where were you? Are you okay? Oh G.o.d, I was so worried. Chris Paquette-he's dead. I found him. I found him in the river."

"I know, Aim. I know. Are you okay?"

"You know?"

"A cop was just here. He thought I might have done it."

"Are you serious?" She sounds as shocked as I was.

"Yeah, but it's okay now. I think. He left. He said he was convinced I didn't do it, but ... whatever. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. Just freaked. I want to come over."

"I'll come get you."

"Okay. Umm. I'm not sure Dad will let me go. But can you come anyway?"

"Yeah. I'll be there in a few minutes. Mom doesn't seem as mad as I thought she'd be. And she wants to meet you. Ten minutes?"

"Okay."

"Aimee ..."

"Yeah?"

"The cop who came to my house? He said Blake is missing."

I don't really ask Mom's permission. I just announce that I'm going to pick up Aimee as I head for the door. She doesn't protest-at least that I can hear before the door closes behind me. I make it to Aimee's house in seven minutes and am getting out of my truck in her driveway when a white van with a satellite dish on top of it slams to a stop in front of the house. A woman with a microphone and a man with a video camera spill out the sliding side door and rush at me like rabid linebackers.

"Are you here to see Aimee Avery?" the woman screams at me as she crosses the lawn in ridiculous high heels and a beige skirt that's too tight to allow her to run as fast as she wants to. "Do you know about the boy pulled out of the river?"

I turn away from them and catch a glimpse of Benji looking through the curtain in the front window. Big man hands pull him back and the curtain falls into place.

The newswoman is beside me now, shoving the microphone under my nose like it's an ice-cream cone. Her cameraman stands behind her, pointing his lens at me. This is what I wanted a week ago. I wanted to be the football star, with the media surrounding me. Now I just want to swat the microphone away and break the camera.

"Were you a friend of Chris Paquette?" the woman asks, her voice shrill.

"Leave me alone," I say. "Leave Aimee alone. Go chase an ambulance." I turn around and make for the porch, but she follows.

"What can you tell me about Chris?"

The front door of the house opens a crack and Aimee's hand motions me forward. I sprint up the three stairs. The door opens and I slip inside. Aimee slams it behind me and throws herself against me, talking into my chest.

"Those people won't go away," she says. "They've been parked up the street, just waiting for something to happen. I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

"It's okay," I tell her.

"He sure does have some long hair," Benji says.

"Benj," his dad says, but he's grinning. So am I.

"Can you come over?" I ask Aimee, then I look at her dad. "Is it okay if she comes to my house? My mom's there and wants to meet her."

"I don't know," he says. "Aimee's been through a lot today. I think some rest-"

"Dad? Please?" She lifts her head from my chest and looks at her father. "I'll be okay. I won't be gone long, and Alan will bring me home. Won't you?"

"Of course. Yeah."

"What about our paparazzi out there?" Gramps asks.

"Here." I press my keys into Aimee's hands. "You just go straight to the truck and get in and lock your door. I'll block them while you run."

"Alan," her dad warns, "don't do anything stupid. Don't break any cameras or push them down or anything."

"I won't." I peek out a corner of the window. The reporter and her lackey have retreated to the van. They're sitting in the front, talking. He's not holding his camera. "Okay," I tell Aimee. "We'll have a few seconds to get to the truck before they can get out of the van. You ready?"

She nods. "Bye, Daddy."

"Alan, be careful with her," he says, his voice almost a plea, like he's lost her.

"I'll guard her with my life, Mr. Avery. I swear it."

"Whoa. That's deep," Benji says.

"Let's go." I open the door and guide Aimee in front of me like she's a blocking tackle not moving fast enough to get out of my way. I maneuver her through the door with my hand, my eyes on the defenders scrambling to get out of the van with their equipment. "Come on, Aim, we gotta move."

Aimee jumps off the porch, sags for a moment as her bruised leg threatens to give, and then she's up and loping for the truck. I charge straight at the cameraman, wearing my game face. He stops and looks around his camera like what he was seeing in his viewfinder couldn't possibly be right. He starts backing away, almost tripping over his own feet. The newswoman drops her microphone to her hip and moves to the side.

Aimee makes it into the truck, so I break away from the newspeople and jump into the driver's seat. Aimee has the key in the ignition. I fire up the Ford and drop it into reverse before the news team can recover. As we roar out of the driveway, I see Benji jumping into the air, throwing up a victory fist, while Gramps holds the curtain open and laughs.

* 21 *

AIMEE.

We don't say much on the way over other than how relieved we are that the news van isn't following us. That's not normal for us. There's this big ball of dread inside me, filling up the pit of my stomach, tugging at me every time I breathe. Chris is dead.

"I've been doing ridiculous things lately," I say as Alan turns onto the bridge. He doesn't say anything, so I go on. "I mean, going alone to the hospital didn't seem ridiculous at the time, but it was, I guess. You go through your life figuring there's certain things you can do that are safe. You can take a walk. You can kayak. You can just be by yourself in your house, but that's not the way it is. If I were watching my life as a movie, I'd be all, 'Dork! Do not kayak alone! Do not go into the woods alone!' " I pause. "I don't want to be the damsel in distress."

"You aren't." He seems so confident.

I rest my fist on his thigh. "I'm not?"

"No, you aren't. Technically, I guess Courtney is."

"And you're the knight errant who's going to save her."

"No," he says. "We are the knight errant who's going to save her."

"Maybe ..."

"No 'maybe' about it. Instead of thinking of it as putting yourself in harm's way by going to the hospital and going kayaking, maybe you should think of those acts as tests of courage. That's what you'd think if it was me doing it. You'd think I was brave. You wouldn't think, 'Oh, Alan is being a damsel.' "

"Sure I would," I tease. I know, though, that he's right. Why is it when women do something brave, we think it's something dangerous? And when a guy does something dangerous, we think it's brave?

I'm about to ask Alan this when he goes, "You saved one of those guys, Aimee. Yeah, he sucks. But you saved him. You know it."

"Chris died."

"You couldn't have stopped that."

"How do you know?"

"I know." He says it as if it's absolute knowledge.

"I wish I did. I wish I knew." I swallow hard. "I know you hate him, but I'm worried about Blake."

"I know." He pulls the truck onto their road. It b.u.mps along. I close my eyes.

Alan's voice steadies me. "It must have been h.e.l.l out there, huh?"

I open my eyes and stare up at Court's familiar, cozy house. "It was."

Alan switches off the car and turns to face me. He kisses my forehead soft and sweet, which is not what you expect from such a big guy, such a football-player kind of guy, and I can't help it. I tilt my head up. He doesn't pull his lips away from my skin; instead he trails them softly down my nose. It's a light grazing touch. My skin feels like it swells to meet his lips, wishing he would press against me. He kisses the tip of my nose the way a brother would. I do not want him to be my brother.