The End, page 20
He started crying when he parked the car in the square. “I’m so sorry, Lucinda. I’m so sorry about what’s happened.” It took me a while to realize he hadn’t just confessed to murder, but meant everything else: the cancer, Tilda’s death, doomsday.
The square was still full of litter after the soccer game. I looked at the ads on the bus stop and in the windows of abandoned shops. There was something macabre about them. They were reminders of a future that would never come. We have no use for driving lessons, diet pills, year-long subscriptions, anti-aging creams, or pension plans anymore. There won’t be any vacations abroad during Christmas. The movies on the posters will never be screened.
We walked past the square and sat next to each other in the park. People were sprawled all over the grass. They had connected speakers to their phones and kept trying to drown each other out with music. A lonely old man must have spent his entire bread ration on feeding pigeons and gulls. They were everywhere with their flapping wings, their eager beaks. An old woman handed out leaflets about the Foxworth fraud. “It’s the communists,” she said. “They’ve been preparing this since the wall came down.”
The more Tommy and I talked, the more I realized that I like him. It was like I was meeting the actual person Tommy for the first time, despite him having been a huge part of my life for so many years.
He said he swims every day, far more frequently than he did as a coach. And he mentioned the party at the pool. I saw my chance to bring up the subject of Tilda. But I fucked up.
I’ve run the final part of the recording through the TellUs app. You can read it in my next post. I keep rereading it (because I definitely don’t want to hear it again), but I can’t get any answers.
Goddamn it. This would have been easier if I hadn’t liked him so much.
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0031
Tommy: Took me days to clean up the shit they left behind.
Lucinda: I can imagine.
(pause)
Lucinda: I really miss swimming.
Tommy: You were one of the best.
Lucinda: Mmm. But I wasn’t close to Tilda’s level.
Tommy: No. No one was.
(laughs)
Lucinda: No.
Tommy: I think she’s the one who threw that party.
(pause)
Tommy: I can’t believe she’s gone. I just can’t.
Lucinda: I know.
(pause)
Lucinda: How did you find out?
Tommy: I think it was the morning after they found her. Word got around quickly. How about you?
Lucinda: Dad told me. He was at the hospital when they brought her in.
Tommy: Oh my God. Did he have to see her?
Lucinda: Yes. But he wasn’t the one who examined her.
Tommy: No. . . . Oh my God. No, of course not. He’s known her since she was a kid.
Lucinda: Mmm.
Tommy: At least you got to hear it from your dad. It’s better than seeing it online or something.
Lucinda: Yeah, it was.
Tommy: I hope they find the person who did it. Though I don’t know if they can investigate it nowadays.
(pause)
Tommy: How are you? Are you okay?
Lucinda: Huh? Yes.
Tommy: You just looked tired. I wondered if you . . .
Lucinda: No. I mean, I . . . It’s just difficult to talk about.
Tommy: I get it. It’s probably for the best if we change the subject.
Lucinda: No. I’d like to talk about Tilda. I saw you left the medals at North Gate.
Tommy: Yes. It felt like they belonged to her.
Lucinda: Mmm.
(pause)
Lucinda: When did you last see her?
Tommy: I don’t remember.
Lucinda: You don’t?
(pause)
Tommy: No.
Lucinda: But you did see her after the team broke up?
Tommy: Yes. A few times.
Lucinda: I heard you weren’t really seeing eye to eye on something.
Tommy: (inaudible)
Lucinda: That she was mad at you.
Tommy: Who told you that?
Lucinda: It doesn’t matter.
Tommy: It matters to me.
Lucinda: I heard it from Erika. Tilda’s aunt.
(pause)
Lucinda: Is it true? Were you fighting?
Tommy: I really don’t want to talk to you about this. I really don’t.
Lucinda: But . . .
Tommy: Whatever was going on was between me and her. What if I asked you a bunch of questions about why you two weren’t friends anymore?
Lucinda: I’d tell you if you asked.
(pause)
Tommy: I know I could be tough sometimes. Especially on those of you who were good.
Lucinda: And Tilda was the best. So you were the toughest on her.
Tommy: Yeah, you could say that.
Lucinda: Mmm.
Tommy: Tilda was kind of lost when . . . when she didn’t have swimming anymore. I think she . . . (inaudible)
Lucinda: What did you say?
Tommy: I think she was angry about having sacrificed so much for swimming. And blaming me was easier. I became . . . the symbol of everything she’d missed out on.
(pause)
Lucinda: Was that it?
(pause)
Lucinda: Does Caroline feel the same way?
Tommy: Caroline?
Lucinda: You didn’t talk to each other after the funeral. Have you fallen out, too?
(pause)
Tommy: No. I haven’t fallen out with Caroline.
(pause)
Lucinda: Can you believe how much trash there was in the square?
(pause)
Lucinda: Did you come here to watch the game?
Tommy: No, I . . . Why?
Lucinda: I stayed at home. But I usually do.
Tommy: What are you actually asking me?
(pause)
Tommy: Why are you acting so strange?
Lucinda: Strange?
Tommy: You seem nervous.
Lucinda: I’m just not used to crowds.
(pause)
Tommy: You think I did it?
(pause)
Tommy: That you could even imagine—
Lucinda: Tell me what you did the night of the game, then.
Tommy: I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.
(pause)
Tommy: Is that why you wanted to see me? Is that why we’re sitting here?
Lucinda: It’s not the only reason.
Tommy. Isn’t it?
(pause)
Tommy: Lucinda, I understand you’re upset about what happened. We all are. But you can’t dig around like this.
Lucinda: I just want to know what happened.
Tommy: What you’re doing right now is dangerous.
Lucinda: I know.
Tommy: Not to mention the fact that you’re hurting other people.
Lucinda: I know!
Tommy: Do you?
(pause)
Tommy: I think it’s time we get going. Can I drive you home?
Lucinda: I can walk.
(pause)
Tommy: Damn it, Lucinda. This is probably the last time we’ll ever see each other. And it had to turn out like this.
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0032
Having read my conversation with Tommy several times now, I’m not as embarrassed. Doesn’t it feel like he’s hiding something from me? Something must have happened between him and Tilda. Doesn’t his explanation sound rehearsed? And he got cagey when I asked him about when they’d last met.
Tommy is almost fifty. He looks good in an entirely nondescript way, like an aging soap star, and he’s obviously fit. Amanda called him a DILF once.
Could Tilda have fallen for him? What if they were in a relationship?
Or did he do something to Tilda against her will?
As you know, I have a tendency to think the worst of people. Now that the idea’s stuck in my head, I can’t get it out.
Simon will be at Caroline’s now. He’s coming over afterward. (Dad’s at work and Miranda’s at a friend’s house.) I’m looking at Caroline’s house as I’m writing this. They’re so close, but naturally, I have no clue what they’re talking about over there. I’ll have to wait.
Will she tell him why she kept away from Tommy during the funeral? If not, what should I do? Should I bring my idea up with Simon? Do I really want it to get stuck in his head, too?
SIMON
Iwas so angry with Tilda for not coming home,” Caroline says. “I called and called her, but she’d only ever text back.”
We’re sitting on the porch around the back of the house. Caroline is watching me, and yet not. She’s a million miles away. A vein throbs in her forehead, and her hand trembles slightly as she adjusts the collar of her blue-and-white striped blouse.
“I was worried about her, but I never doubted that Tilda wrote those texts.” She blinks. Focuses on me. “How couldn’t I see that it wasn’t my daughter? Can you explain that to me?”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t know, either.”
A late-summer wasp crawls across the table. I watch the gleaming body, following its slow, heavy movements.
“I keep waiting for her to come home,” Caroline says. “Sometimes, I think I can hear her in the house.”
I shiver, despite the sun’s warmth on my back.
The wasp has found a spot of what looks like spilled red wine. Its lower body sways up and down, and I remember from biology that that’s where a wasp’s heart beats.
Caroline brushes the wasp off the table. “I was so happy when Lucinda told me,” she says. “I really didn’t want it to have been you.”
My vision goes cloudy, and I quickly blink away the tears. I have to get myself together. Have to focus on what I’m here to do.
“Tilda told me that night that she was going to meet someone,” I say.
Caroline nods. She doesn’t look surprised. The police must have already told her.
“You don’t know who it could have been?” I ask her.
Caroline laughs. It comes out as a bitter snort. “No. I clearly had no idea what Tilda was up to.”
The wasp buzzes half-heartedly around my head. I bat it away, and it zooms off across the garden.
“Did you know she was doing drugs?” Caroline demands.
Even now, admitting it to her is difficult.
“I should have said something,” I say.
“Yes, maybe you should have.” She leans forward, and takes my hand. “There are things we all wish we’d done differently.”
The phone rings inside the house, an inappropriately cheery tune for the occasion. But Caroline doesn’t react.
“Sometimes, I wonder if it was my fault.” She lets go of my hand, crosses her arms over her chest. The phone finally stops ringing. “I pushed her too hard, just like my mom pushed me too hard with figure skating. She’s the one who taught me that you don’t waste talent.”
Caroline gazes out over the garden. Most of the flowers have bloomed already, but the flower beds still carry colorful globe thistles and orpines, something that looks like daisies, and clusters of red valerian.
“I told myself that Tilda wanted it,” Caroline continues. “You couldn’t keep her away from the pool. She always wanted to stay and train for a little while longer, didn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I say, but Caroline barely seems to register my presence. “She had fun doing it.” I look at the red valerian again and spot torn stems. Someone’s been picking flowers.
“Was it my fault that it happened like it did? What do you think?” Caroline asks. She’s watching me again, wide-eyed and hungry.
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t your fault.” I do my best to sound convinced. Convincing. But I don’t know what to think. I just want to leave.
“Are you sure? Did she think I was a good mom?”
“Yeah, she did.”
Caroline’s smile is exhausted. She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put this on you. I’ve just been having all these doubts since she died. . . .”
Caroline takes out a balled-up tissue and wipes her cheeks, then scrubs at her nose.
I look away, toward where Lucinda’s roof sticks up above the tree line, and see the upper half of a window that must be hers. She’s waiting there for me. Tommy didn’t give her any answers. It’s up to me.
“If anyone pushed Tilda, it was Tommy,” I say. “I mean, it was his job as a coach, but . . .”
Caroline sniffles a little and tucks the tissue back into her pocket. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“He was sort of over-the-top sometimes, wasn’t he? He was never satisfied, no matter what she did.”
Caroline studies me silently. Her eyes suddenly look clearer. In an instant, something’s changed between us, but I don’t know what.
“Do you know why he and Tilda were fighting?” I ask.
“Who said they were fighting?”
I realize that she has her guard up; I just don’t know why.
“Everyone says so.”
Caroline laughs. My uneasiness grows.
“You think Tommy did it? Is that why you’re asking me about this?”
I can’t get a word out. And Caroline’s eyes are still fixed on mine.
“Is that what the rumor mill is saying?”
I shake my head. Try to smile. “Not that I know of. Everyone seems pretty convinced it was me.”
Caroline doesn’t return my smile. I look away, go back to the red valerian, and remember the dry bouquet on top of the tangled medals. I search for the woodland sage and spot it by the fence.
Out of the corner of my eye, something stirs. When I look over, the door to the porch closes with a sucking sound. There’s a draft coming from inside the house. The front door slams shut, and Caroline abruptly gets to her feet.
“Stay here,” she says.
Her feet move swiftly across the wooden deck. She’s almost reached the door when it’s pushed open again.
“Honey? Are you there?”
I recognize his voice. I just can’t get it to make sense.
“Wait!” Caroline shouts.
But he’s already stepped out onto the porch. We’ve already made eye contact.
Tommy is wearing his tracksuit. His hair is still wet. I can smell the chlorine from his bag, the scent of Tilda. Even diffused through the fresh air, it’s so strong it almost feels like she’s here.
“Simon,” he says, and stops to collect himself. “How nice to see you. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I just came to run some things by Caroline . . .”
But Caroline doesn’t make any attempt to play along with the scene Tommy is preparing for them. She remains standing between us.
“I was just going,” I say, and get up.
“No. Stop,” Caroline says.
She walks up to Tommy and gives him a slight nod. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We have nothing to hide.”
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0033
Now I know why Tommy wouldn’t tell me what he was doing the night Tilda died. And why I smelled chlorine at Caroline’s house the first time I visited, why I heard a thud from the upper floor.
I know why Tommy was “in the area” this morning.
He was at Caroline’s place. And he was with her when Tilda died.
He couldn’t have done it.
Now I also know why they avoided each other at the funeral. They were so worried people would be suspicious that they went too far in the other direction. They’ve kept their relationship secret all summer so they wouldn’t have to deal with Klas’s reaction.
Caroline’s the person Tommy was talking about in the car when he said he’d never felt like this before.
It feels weird to picture them together, but maybe it’s actually weirder that it didn’t happen sooner. Now I keep thinking of all the camps Caroline came along to, all the hotel restaurants where we celebrated after competitions, the long bus rides when Caroline sat up front with Tommy.
And they shared so many interests: Tilda’s successes, her future career, her tenths of a second.
They told Simon that Tilda had found out about their relationship and didn’t like it. That it was the reason why she was angry with Tommy.
It sounds logical. But it doesn’t sound like Tilda. Would she really care that much? I can’t help but wonder if there was something else lurking beneath the surface. Something even Caroline didn’t know about.
While I’ve been writing this, Tommy’s texted me: YOU AND SIMON HAVE TO STOP PLAYING NANCY DREW. THIS ISN’T A GAME. I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU. I’M SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING TELLING YOUR DAD WHAT YOU’RE DOING.
Maybe he’s right to worry about me. I am obsessed. This morning, a cult committed mass suicide by holding one another’s hands and jumping into the Grand Canyon. Armed comet deniers have taken over a sizeable area of Australia and founded their own republic. But I’ve barely been following the news. All I can think about is Tilda.
2 WEEKS, 1 DAY LEFT
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0034
It’s been a while since Dad woke Miranda and me up with any sense of urgency. We haven’t had any place we had to be in a long time. No school, no visits to the doctor. But this morning, he stormed into my room and shook me awake. “We’ve got to go to Dad’s,” he said.
My sister had wrapped herself in my covers, pushed me against the wall, and trapped me there with a leg over my waist. By the time I got her out of bed, Dad had made breakfast. The star from our fake Christmas shone in the kitchen window. The world outside was gray and rainy, the kind of morning where it’s impossible to tell the time.
Grandpa had called to say he was picking up Grandma from the retirement home. She’s lived there for almost fifteen years. I don’t remember anything about the person I see in our old photo albums. The Grandma who always seems happy. It’s not only because she’s smiling at the camera—you can tell by her wrinkles that she laughed a lot. But Grandma doesn’t laugh anymore. She doesn’t cry, either. I don’t know what her voice sounds like. She can’t talk. She can’t even go to the bathroom on her own.
