We Were Never Here, page 15
Now my cheeks flushed as I scanned his shocked, confused replies. I’d felt so confident sending that, using Kristen’s suggested language almost verbatim. In hindsight, I’d sounded like…well, I hated the sexist term, but I’d sounded like a crazy bitch.
Abruptly, the rolling fields yielded to dense woods, so we were tunneling through the trees. I looked at Kristen and took a deep breath. Relax, Emily. Maybe I was still remembering wrong. Maybe there was more context, more telltale signs of possessiveness than the text transcript showed—it’d been five years, after all.
And hey, this was exactly what I’d wanted: uninterrupted time with Kristen, the chance to reconnect, to discuss all the things we’d shoved under the rug from Chile and Cambodia. Plotting a treasure hunt, involving my friends, planning a weekend away—it was all so kind, so selfless, so Kristen. So why did I feel so uncomfortable? The satellite radio cut out, dropping the pop song Kristen was singing along to. She lifted her phone from the console.
“Here—cell service is gonna go in and out, too, but I have a ton of music downloaded.” She held it out. “DJ’s choice.”
I was perusing artists when a text came through, a flash of green and jolt of vibration, so that I couldn’t help but read it. I stared at it in confusion and felt my pulse ticking in my hands and ribs. It was from someone Kristen had put in her phone as Cindy Broker:
Kristen: Congratulations, Grand Management Services has approved your application for 450 Parkland Lane #2. When would you like to come into the office to sign the lease?
450 Parkland Lane. I knew exactly where that was.
I passed the For Rent sign every day.
It was a block and a half from my apartment.
CHAPTER 20
“You just got a text,” I said. “From your…broker?”
“Oh my God, what’d she say?”
I read it aloud, then looked over. Kristen was beaming as we whipped around a curve.
“I didn’t want to tell you until it was final,” she said, “but I’m officially moving back!”
“Whoa!” I stared out the windshield. On the side of the road, a cloud of flies furred a flattened raccoon. Eventually I shook my head. “So your old boss wasn’t able to get you into another department?”
“Y’know, I realized I’m done with Sydney.”
“Wow.” I snatched my water bottle from a cup holder. “What are you gonna do for work?”
“Well, now she’s trying to figure out a way to bring me back into the Milwaukee office!” Kristen flashed an openmouthed smile my way, like this was amazing!
“Wow,” I said again. Sudden sunlight tore into the windows; the trees here were snapped in half, all jutting out the same way. They looked like broken bones.
“Tornado,” Kristen said, following my gaze. “Last summer. Hundred-mile-an-hour winds.”
“Jeez.” I looked at her. I was happy, truly, but not in the uncomplicated way she was. I so desperately wanted to match her excitement level. I wanted to sit my emotions down and bully them into compliance. “I can’t believe you’re moving back!”
“I’m ready for a change. I did almost two years in Australia. People don’t understand how far it is from everything. Even Asia is, like, fifteen hours away.”
“Damn.” I nodded. “Well, that’s great, then!”
“And wait till you see this place I found—it’s so cute and so close to you!”
“Awesome!” Why were things so weird between us right now? What I wouldn’t give to regain the feeling of closeness we’d had in Chile, pre-Paolo, the two of us together in a safe, warm womb. I wanted it the way I’d wanted to fall back in love with Ben all those years ago, before he hit me—when the biggest problem was that I felt nothing. Now, all I felt was a heavy, hovering anxiety.
Relax, Emily. With a little patience, we’d get through this rough patch and go back to being Kremily. She and Aaron would grow close, too, and my Milwaukee life would feel complete.
And this weekend in the woods? It would be good for us, a perfect place to start.
Kristen cleared her throat. “Hey, you ever gonna turn on some tunes?”
“Right, sorry.” I chose an album, something appropriately upbeat and celebratory, and we wound through the forest without passing another soul. Maybe we really were the only people alive.
* * *
—
We parked on the broad, flat pad near the street, then clambered down a path carved between tall trees—fat firs and slim birches and ragged-barked popples. Pine needles crunched under our feet as we approached the front door. Behind us, the lake was magnificent: rippling and alive, reflecting the bloat of moss-green foliage directly across from us.
Kristen fumbled with the lock and then heaved open the front door. The smell hit me like an old song: pleasantly musty, sweet pine and funk. She began opening blinds, and as sunshine soaked the interior I took in the antler chandelier, the green-and-cream-striped sofa, the stack of logs and old Bon Appétit magazines piled by the stout woodstove. She insisted I take the largest bedroom, the one with a soaking tub in the en suite bathroom. She took her usual room down the hall.
“And watch out for rabbit poop,” she called as I unzipped my bag. “In the closets and stuff. Apparently a family keeps getting in and making a mess. I wanna kill the little assholes—they ruined these gorgeous moccasins I gave Nana for Christmas.”
“Aw. Bunny just wants a nice Airbnb,” I murmured to myself.
We changed into bathing suits and dragged lawn chairs out to the boat dock (not to be confused with Grandpa’s Pier, on the opposite end of the property). I followed waves with my eyes, watched them scatter around lily pads, get punctured by reeds. An azure bluet dragonfly, pretty as a piece of turquoise, landed on my knee and cocked its head. This is going to be great, I thought. And having Kristen down the street will be wonderful. I needed to stop girding my loins around her. Don’t we elicit whatever we anticipate?
“This place is so healing,” I said, glancing her way. “I feel like it’s already helping me release some stuff. From Cambodia. And…Chile.”
She was quiet, the only sound the waves slapping against the dock. Would she fiiinally open up about it?
“You know what else is good for that?” she said. The lawn chair creaked as she rose from it. “Wine. Let’s run to the grocery store before it gets too crowded.”
She strode toward the cabin, shoulders loose, hips swaying. Like someone without a care in the world.
* * *
—
At the Lakewood Supervalu, we zoomed around the aisles, joking as we piled things into the cart. We tossed supplies for s’mores atop a case of spiked seltzer, nestled bottles of wine among the fixings for burgers and brats. Kristen selected two T-bone steaks from the case: “A dinner fit for the birthday queen.”
Back at the cabin, we chitchatted as we put the groceries away—mundane stuff, purposely avoiding anything about Chile or Cambodia this time. It felt so normal that for a second I forgot about the past, the rough-skinned men who’d attacked us, the lives we’d snuffed out, the people who were looking for them, for us. I felt a sudden, swooping ache for how our lives had been, the friendship we used to have. It felt like homesickness.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Kristen dropped a loaf of bread and rushed over to me.
“I’ve been so worried. About you, about being caught…about everything.” My voice teetered and I swiped at my cheeks.
“Aw, Emily, it’s okay! We’re not going to get caught.”
I snuffled. “It’s not just that.”
She gazed at me, her eyes tender.
“I just…you’ve been acting so normal. Like this huge and terrible thing didn’t happen. How are you so…fine?”
For a moment she stared at me, lips taut, pink emerging on her cheeks like a Polaroid developing. Then her nose quivered, catlike, and glassy tears dripped.
“Oh, Emily.” She cupped her hands over her face and dropped into a kitchen chair.
Whoa. “Kristen, hey. You’re not alone in this.”
“Aren’t I, though?” She pulled a napkin from the holder and blew her nose, a long, ducklike honk. “You don’t even— I don’t know what you want me to do. How I’m supposed to act. I can’t go back in time and do things differently, Em. I can’t make it all go away. And the way you look at me ever since then—the way you’re looking at me now, like I’m a monster, like the sight of me makes you sick. It was an accident. I never meant for it to happen the way it did. I hate myself, Emily. I hate myself for putting us through that again, and you hate me too.”
My stomach plummeted. I lunged around the table and wrapped her in my arms. “Kristen, listen to me: I don’t hate you. I don’t. I wasn’t…I’m not calling you a monster, I’m not saying it’s all your fault.” I rested my cheek against the top of her head. Her hair smelled autumnal, like sunflowers and scalp.
“It’s not fair.” Her voice was so watery, I could barely make out the words. “When you were the one who was attacked, we did what we had to do, period. But now that it’s me, suddenly you’re…” She trailed off.
My guts twisted. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. You’re right.” A tear rolled off my cheek. “But I wasn’t fine after Cambodia either. And I’m not fine now. You’ve been so calm, like nothing happened. Like we didn’t experience this majorly traumatic thing. I was starting to, I don’t know, question my sanity or something. Like we were on totally different pages.”
“Well, I’m not fine! Clearly.” Her trunk shook with sobs. I could feel relief sweeping through me, prickly sweet, like Champagne.
So Kristen felt everything too. Kristen was also steeped in guilt and horror, scrabbling through the days just like me. Her calm confidence, that dismissive air—I saw now that it wasn’t gaslighting; it was her being strong for me, because she felt responsible. How unfair would it have been for her to quiver and quake and confess to me that she thought we’d both be caught, when it had been her attacker, her hand around the wine-filled weapon? She had no choice but to reassure me. Suddenly the weight of how I’d been treating Kristen clobbered me. Kristen, an assault survivor, no less.
We cried together for a few seconds, then sat up and let the sobs turn to shy laughs.
“We’re okay?” I asked.
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “We’re okay.”
“And, Kristen, thank you so much for making this trip happen. And the whole treasure hunt, obviously. I’m sure it took a lot of work on your part. It’s magical being up here and I’m—I’m so glad to be here with you.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad we’re here too.”
I glanced beyond her. “Should we finish putting the food away?”
“We definitely should.” Kristen giggled again, the sound wet and rickety, and as I headed for the fridge she fitted an album in the old record player, and as Fleetwood Mac lashed its way into the living room, Kristen danced over to me, and as we sang along with the chorus, crooning into the walls of our big pine box that we could still hear you saying you would never break the chain, something popped between us like a cork, and in its place rushed sweet relief.
* * *
—
Later that night, our bellies full, we sat on Grandpa’s Pier and watched the sun sink behind the tree line, painting the clouds orange and red in a final hysterical blaze. I was so relieved, I kept tearing up: Finally, finally, my psyche had stopped yanking away from Kristen, my oldest, purest friend. We sipped our beers as the water turned to oil, then became too dark to see. But I could hear what I could no longer view—waves percussing the dock’s metal legs, the lonesome warble of a loon, bullfrogs like plucked strings on a bass guitar.
“Oh, I have something for you.” Kristen’s voice skimmed over the water, a puck on a rink.
“More surprises?”
“Just me being cheesy.” She pulled an envelope from the pocket of her hoodie. I shined a flashlight on the card inside: a pretty, painted flower motif, HAPPY BIRTHDAY visible in the corner.
Dear Emily,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! It’s hard to believe we’ve been friends for 10+ years. I can’t imagine my life without you—in a way, I guess I owe those douchebags in our Stats 101 class a thank-you. I’m so proud of the smart, strong, independent woman you’ve become. And I count myself so lucky that, after 2 years apart, we’ll finally live in the same city again!
I’ve been thinking back to those late nights when we’d sneak out at 4 or 5 am and splash in the water and then watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan together. Remember that? When we’d feel like we were the only ones awake in the whole world. When we’d feel like not just Evanston but the entire world was ours. When we would dry right off—perfectly, boldly ourselves.
XOXO,
Kristen
PS If you ever forget how amazing you are, you know who to call. Because I never, ever forget, and I’d be honored to count the ways.
PPS Last line of the day, promise!
“Aw, Kristen!” I stood to wrap her in a hug. “This is super sweet. It’s been a great birthday.”
“Even with the surprises?”
“If surprises get me to paradise, then sure.”
Out on the water, a fish jumped, bloop. “I was thinking about how it felt at Northwestern—like we were in our own little world,” she said. “Figured it was time to bring back the riddles.”
“Clever. And hey, I’m glad to enter my thirties with a reminder that we’re huge nerds.”
We watched distant headlights curve around the far side of the lake.
“I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes,” I announced, and she followed me inside.
I hadn’t looked at my phone in hours, but when I did, it couldn’t find cell service. “Hey, Russell said I should be on email tomorrow,” I said. “Do we have to drive somewhere for Wi-Fi?”
“No, we have a thingie now. A hotspot.” She ducked into the hallway, and I heard her fumbling through plastic. She returned and tossed the gadget my way. “But we only get a limited number of gigs a month. So you can’t stream a movie or anything.”
I waited for it to connect, then sifted through all the birthday wishes. There was a peculiar note from Nana, sent only to me:
Dear Emily,
How are you doing at the lake? I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. Kristen has been acting a bit strange lately. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.
That was alarming enough, but then another email, one from less than an hour ago, made my vision swim. A discordant hum whooshed in my ears, shrill and wrong, like the sound of an orchestra tuning up.
It was also from Nana, and it was sent to Kristen and me.
“This is why I think you’re so brave with all your travels,” it read, followed by a URL. I tapped the link with a shaking finger.
It was a CNN article, Paolo’s smiling face at the top. The headline: Backpacker’s Remains Found in Remote Chilean Village.
CHAPTER 21
“Hey, did you want to make a campfire tonight?” Kristen called. She’d stuck her face into the freezer so her voice echoed. “We bought ice cream, but we could also do s’mores. I’m great at building fires. But we can wait until tomorrow.”
When I didn’t answer, she smacked the freezer door closed and whirled around. “Did you hear me? We should probably get more firewood, but—”
“Kristen.” I dropped my phone on the table, thunk. “You need to see this.”
“What is it?” Her nose wrinkled. “Did someone you used to hook up with send you a birthday text? I hate when dudes—”
“I’m serious. Check your email.”
She squeezed her eyebrows, then snatched her phone off the kitchen counter. I watched her face as she read: expressionless.
“Well, shit.”
I reread the email. “Do you think Nana knows?”
“Knows what? That we’re stupid girls who travel to faraway places and are lucky to still be alive?” She rolled her eyes. “The obnoxious thing about Nana’s performative concern is that she isn’t actually worried about me—she’d be glad to say ‘I told you so’ if something happened. It’s just another way for them to criticize me.” She raised a naggy finger. “ ‘Look at you making stupid decisions, and no surprise, I was right and the world is dangerous and you’re not a functioning adult.’ Typical.” She flopped into the chair across from mine.
“Wait, that’s not even my point. Paolo. Was freaking found. Doesn’t that disturb you the tiniest bit?”
Kristen stared at me, stock-still, then cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s turn our phones off.”
“Kristen, for Christ’s sake, no one is listening, we’re in the middle of nowhere with crappy reception, and—”
“Phones off.” She said it firmly, calmly, like I was a little kid having a meltdown. I slowed my breathing and knew she was right. Siri was always listening, always ready to pipe up and hook us into the grid.
“Not till after we read the article,” I said.
“Fine.”
The body of a 24-year-old Spanish-American backpacker who went missing after months of traveling around South America has been found, according to police. Paolo García was last seen in Puerto Natales, a city in Chilean Patagonia, on March 27.
