Of the Trees Page 17

  Jessica’s parents were white. Her father, Barry Evans, looked completely blank, distraught, but as though this was happening to some other family, like it was unreal. Her mother, Doris, couldn’t stop crying. Her skin was blotchy and red, tears leaked in a continuous stream that no tissue could staunch. They both hugged Cassie and held tight to Rebecca. Cassie looked to Jessica’s older sister, a girl she knew only in passing. She was a few years older than her sister. Her jaw was set, and she stared forward, offering a tight smile when Cassie moved closer.

  “Anna, I’m so sorry,” Cassie said. A vast sadness bloomed in the older girl’s eyes and she nodded. Cassie couldn’t help but feel the words were woefully inadequate, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  Rebecca and Cassie followed the family, Rebecca’s parents close behind them, as they filed through the double doors and into the room where Jessica’s body was. The casket gleamed silver and black in the back of the room, standing three feet in front of the lines of maroon-cushioned folding chairs. There were bouquets and rings of flowers surrounding her. Cassie could read the ribbons erupting from them.

  Friend. Daughter. Sister.

  Vague and generalized interpretations of who Jessica really was. Just like at the oak tree by the softball field. There were several dozen pink flowers—carnations and roses and tulips. By her head, a large bouquet of wildflowers sprang out of a golden basket. Cassie thought they were the most appropriate, something that Jessica would have actually liked. She was glad they were at her head, closest to her.

  The lid was propped open, and Cassie kept her eyes lowered, not yet ready to see her friend. Mrs. Evans sobbed once, a short, wretched sound that echoed in the empty, cream-colored room. The family converged on the casket and Cassie hung back with Rebecca and her parents. Jordan lingered at Cassie’s back; she could feel him shifting just behind her.

  The moments stretched and eventually Anna put her arm around her mother, turning her from the sight of her youngest daughter lying still in that coffin. Mr. Evans stepped back, and his wife and daughter moved next to him. Rebecca’s parents went up next, kneeling silently at the small padded bar left before the coffin. Their heads bent, and Cassie could see, for the first time, the pale and waxy skin of her friend.

  She felt Rebecca tense next to her and reflexively grabbed for her fingers. She clenched her hand hard, hard enough to shift her knuckles, but it was a good steady pressure and Cassie felt rooted by it. They approached the coffin together, kneeling just as Mr. and Mrs. Murphy had done. Cassie tried to pray. It was what people did, pray for their deceased loved one. But nothing came. Just a stuttering in her mind.

  Jessica didn’t even look like herself. It had only been a couple days, but her skin was waxy and stretched, her expression painted on and her features forced into a benign smile that was trying too hard for serene. Cassie didn’t think she had ever seen Jessica with an expression even close to that. Her clothes were formal and stiff, a green tweed dress suit with a high cream collar. Cassie wondered if someone had bought this specifically for her to be buried in; it looked so unlike Jessica. They may just have needed something that would cover more of her skin and Jessica hadn’t owned any formal clothing that would do that.

  Cassie knelt there for what felt like an excruciatingly long time, her fingers going numb in Rebecca’s grasp. Eventually, they stood, moved into the room behind Jessica’s family, and waited as the funeral director opened the main door.

  The line of people was never-ending. Cassie didn’t know how the Evans family could stand it. She felt hollow. Standing next to Rebecca, trying to offer support, had put her in the direct line of the mourners. They flowed past her, most recognizing Rebecca as Jessica’s best friend. They stopped to hug her, hold her hand, offer prayers and hollow words. Rebecca nodded and thanked them. They would move on to Cassie, most remarking “Didn’t you play softball with Jessica?” She’d nod and they’d dip their head in sorrowful pity, patting her arm and murmuring condolences.

  Laney was there. Her parents followed behind her, and Cassie’s parents were behind them. Laney was stiff and formal, shaking hands with the Evans and bending her head, presumably in prayer, when she stood over Jessica’s coffin. Her eyes were glassy with tears by the time she got to Cassie.

  “Cass, please, can we talk?” Laney whispered, standing in front of her. Cassie looked past Laney’s shoulder, letting her gaze drift over to the parents who were following in her friend’s wake.

  “Not now, Laney,” Cassie said in an undertone. Laney was forced to move as her parents came up behind her, hugging both Rebecca and Cassie. Mrs. Blake spoke softly in Cassie’s ear, pressing her tightly.

  “Anything you need, hon,” she said, pulling back to look Cassie in the eye. “We’re here. Anything you need.” Cassie nodded numbly.

  The police showed up, too. Cassie recognized the officer that she had given her statement to, and he nodded at her as he came down the line, murmuring his respects to Jessica’s parents. He and his partner, a woman Cassie did not recognize, sat at the back of the room, their presence stark and sobering among the mourners.

  “I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” Cassie whispered. “Want to come?”

  “Sure,” Rebecca said with a grateful sigh. “Why not?”

  They made their way slowly through the crowd, getting a fair share of sympathetic glances and pats on the back. Several people stopped them for hugs, and they nodded dumbly, continuing through the room even as they spoke their thanks to the people they left behind. The bathroom wasn’t empty. Cassie felt a small pang of disappointment at this, but she finished quickly, washed her hands, and then waited in the hall for Rebecca. The swarm of people was exhausting, constantly pressing and surging, patting Cassie and asking questions she had no way to answer. She felt a headache blooming, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. A cold draft washed over her, and she looked up, hearing a murmur of laughter from outside.

  “What was that?” Rebecca asked. Cassie jumped, not realizing her friend had joined her. She shrugged, and they both headed for the back door.

  Cassie wasn’t sure what she expected, but whatever it was, it wasn’t what she found. A group of students, mostly from their grade, were converged in a circle. Someone had stolen a couple of lit candles in hurricane lanterns and had scattered them around on the ground. The gravel of the walkway and the grass that edged it glowed in soft, lit circles. Others had left their phones, screens glowing with different images of Jessica, propped on the windowsills and the bench that sat in the small yard behind the funeral home. There were no other lights, the line of people visiting wrapped around the building on the other side, and so the teens were completely isolated. The laughing and murmuring stopped when Cassie and Rebecca appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” Rebecca asked, her voice quiet. Someone cleared their throat. A boy Cassie knew from the baseball team, Mark DeRubertis, stepped forward.

  “We’re paying our respects our way,” he said, his voice low but firm. “A way Jessica would have approved of.”

  He gestured to Adam McCullough, a junior who was also on the baseball team, to pass the flask he held loose at his side. Adam did so, offering a small smile in the girl’s direction. Mark grabbed it from him and held it up.

  “Jess,” he said, looking at one of the phones propped nearest him. Jessica’s face beamed out from it, a bottle held between her fingers. She had been laughing. “An amazing first baseman, first rate drinker, and a bit of a slut. You will be missed.”

  He caught Rebecca’s eye, holding it with a caring intensity, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. He was asking her permission, her endorsement as Jessica’s best friend that this was okay. He tipped the flask into his mouth and swallowed a quick gulp. There was a quiet round of applause at his words. He offered the flask to Rebecca, and she took it gingerly.

  “To Jess,” Rebecca spoke quietly. Everyone stilled, watching and listening to her. “My best fr
iend.”

  She took a small sip and swallowed with a grimace. The crowd was quiet until a small voice called out, “Here, here.” The rest offered soft murmurs of support and Rebecca passed the flask. It was cold in Cassie’s fingers, sloshing half-full with some kind of liquor. She raised it slowly, looking at all the pictures of Jessica that surrounded her. They spoke volumes, so much more than the formal school picture her family had chosen to enlarge, or the stiff tweed jacket someone had forced her body into. She was laughing, scowling, and in one, obviously swearing as she held a solitary finger aloft for the camera. She was afraid of nothing.

  “To Jess,” Cassie said, her voice louder than the rest and more forceful. “I miss you already. I’m pissed that you’re gone. I love you, you stubborn bitch.”

  There was a smattering of repressed laughter and someone called out “Cheers!” Cassie took a slug of what turned out to be whiskey and passed it around, settling with Rebecca next to a phone that showed Jessica lounging on a beach. They propped their own phones up: Rebecca with a photo of her and Jessica at a sleepover; Cassie had one of Jessica in her softball uniform, squinting at the camera.

  Students came and went, retreating from the stiff, formal gathering inside to the colder but easier wake they created themselves, the send-off that Jessica would have approved of. They told stories, huddled in tight groups against the chill of the night. They laughed at the ridiculous things Jessica had done over the years, sharing things that had happened in elementary school through this past year. Rebecca wiped tears of laughter and anguish away to reveal that Jessica had hated her neighbor Claire, always complaining about how much the sixteen-year-old girl bothered her, and how Claire was now blubbering in the corner of the funeral home. Cassie found herself laughing at how much Jessica would have hated that. Hated the whole fussy thing.

  Cassie didn’t know if it was the sip of whiskey, the rowdy toasts, or the general camaraderie found by making fun of the things Jessica hated, of making fun of Jessica herself, knowing that everyone there really had loved her and really would miss her, but she felt better. For the first time in days, she felt something small thaw inside her chest.

  Even when the door opened, spilling golden light onto the gravel and grass that lined the back of the house, and Ryan appeared framed in the doorway, Cassie didn’t freeze. He moved out of the funeral home, Jon at his back. He watched her as he stepped onto the grass and she held his gaze, staring back with one eyebrow raised, an open challenge. Because yes, what had happened between them mattered. It hurt, and she ached at the thought of it. But there were other things, more important things, to consider. They were both still alive. They had that, and Jessica didn’t, and it felt disrespectful to not acknowledge it.

  Someone tossed him the flask, and he caught it, his eyes widening slowly. But he raised it and made a toast of his own, calling Jessica an incredible friend to Rebecca, saying that she wasn’t easy to know, but that it was easy to see what she meant to others. Rebecca actually teared up again, and someone shoved him, teasing him for being so deep. He shrugged and grinned, taking a pull from the flask before tossing it back across the circle.

  Cassie felt a small glow spark at his words. That was what she loved about him. He saw people. He understood. She watched him lean back against the house, talking quietly to Jon. He must have felt her stare because he looked up at her. She didn’t look away and, for a moment, neither did he. She couldn’t force a smile, her expression open and blank, but it didn’t matter because Jon nudged him an instant later and he was gone, walking around the edge of the circle and further from her. She felt a twinge in her chest, a twist of loss, but it was no worse than the other cacophony of horrid emotions that had been strangling her for days, so it was easy to ignore.

  Cassie and Rebecca eventually made their way back inside, the whiskey still warm on her lips. People started to drift toward the exit. Cassie could actually see the end of the line of mourners, straggling at the doorway, but blessedly ending. The police still sat in stiff observance, watchful of the crowd. Cassie nudged Rebecca and nodded toward them, telling her she’d catch up later. Rebecca headed back toward the front, Jessica’s mother reaching back to squeeze her hand as she neared. Cassie went and sat in the row of chairs in front of the officers, twisting a bit in her seat so she could see them.

  “Hi,” she murmured, catching Officer Gibbon’s eye. He nodded at her and gestured to his partner.

  “Miss Harris?” Cassie nodded at his implied question, confirming her name, and he continued. “Officer Fitzpatrick.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Cassie said, glancing briefly at the young, female officer. It could have been her first year on the job, she didn’t look that much older than Cassie. “Have you found anything more about Jude?”

  “Jude,” Officer mused, frowning. “The boy Miss Evans was with that night.”

  “The man,” Cassie corrected.

  “The one from St. Paul’s,” Officer Gibbons continued, looking to his partner. She nodded in understanding. Cassie looked from one to the other.

  “But, no,” she started, shaking her head, “I mean, he doesn’t actually go there, does he? He said he did, but I really think that was a lie. I saw him at the carnival, he was working one of the booths. Have you found him?”

  “We’re still checking into everything, Miss Harris,” the officer said, his tone dismissive.

  “Have you found the clearing yet?” she asked, irritated at being dismissed so easily.

  “The clearing?” Officer Gibbons started, sounding annoyed. “Ah yes, the basin in the middle of the forest with huge roots that people were sitting on. There was a fire pit too, right? And an unearthly mist that seemed to descend and float all over everything.”

  “I never said anything about any mist,” Cassie said, jerking up and staring at the police officers.

  “You know,” Officer Gibbons cut in, his voice dark and serious, “if you kids would quit messing around and just outright tell us what the hell happened that night, our job would be a damn sight easier. As it is, we’ve got an autopsy report that says one thing and a body that says another. A bunch of kids getting drunk and screwing around with each other and—”

  “I wasn’t drunk, and I wasn’t screwing around,” Cassie interrupted hotly. “I was trying to help.”

  Officer Gibbons leaned in close, his breath smelled of bitter coffee. “Have you seen that picture, Miss Harris? We have. And you do admit you were drinking that night, don’t you? Your own friends have told us you were in no position to see anything that could help us.”

  Cassie paled at his mention of the picture. She looked around, noting her parents watching them from across the room. “Sorry I bothered you,” she said through pursed lips. She stood, turned her back on the police officers, and stalked to the front of the room. She twined her fingers with Rebecca’s once more, tolerating her firm pressure until the end of the line of mourners.

  Laney was sitting on the Harris’ porch steps when they got home. Cassie hadn’t seen her leave the funeral home, but she hadn’t really been looking either. Her parents looked from her to Laney, waiting for Cassie’s cue.

  “Cass, please,” Laney said, standing from the step. “It’s been almost a week.” Cassie saw her mother raise her eyebrows, but Patrick ushered them both past Laney and into the house, flipping the porch light on as they shut the door. It was cold and quiet. The crickets and bugs gone for the year. Not even the wind brushed through the leaves. Cassie stood, waiting Laney out.

  “I’m sorry,” Laney said. It was soft and tentative. She didn’t even make eye contact as she said it, her words trailing off with a helpless little flutter of her hands. Cassie gritted her teeth.

  “It’s not a joke, you know,” Cassie started, flaring up. She was tired and miserable. Her hand hurt from being squeezed in Rebecca’s. She couldn’t get the sight of Jessica’s waxy face out of her head. The police had riled her up, and she still didn’t understand
what they meant when they talked about the mist. “She’s dead, and Jude must know something, and you doing what you did just makes it harder for the cops to figure out how she died.”

  “It doesn’t—”

  “It does!” Cassie shouted. “You made me look crazy! Like I was just drunk and horny and not in control of myself and I’m blaming it all on Jude. Everyone is passing around and talking about that stupid picture like I’m some whore. And you know, that’s not the truth. There’s something wrong with them. Something really wrong.”

  “Not wrong, you just don’t understand,” Laney argued quietly.

  “Jess was with him, and now she’s dead,” Cassie fired back. “I don’t need to understand any more than that.”

  “They didn’t … ” Laney blew out a breath. “Obviously what happened was a tragedy. But they didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t on purpose.”

  “But they know. They know how she died.” It wasn’t a question because Cassie could tell from the way Laney said it, she knew. She knew how it happened, maybe why. And another realization, like ice water thrown over her, dawned on Cassie. “You’re still seeing him—them.”

  Laney stared across the dark lawn at her friend. She didn’t speak, she didn’t have to. Cassie didn’t even need the tentative lift of one shoulder to confirm. Laney was still dating Corey. She had seen him and Jude and the others after the night Jessica died. She knew where they were, or at least how to get in touch with them. Cassie was stunned. Somehow, in the horror and guilt of what had happened to Jessica, Cassie had just assumed that it was over, that Laney wouldn’t see them again, that she would be just as horrified as Cassie, and that would be it. But no, she was seeing him, protecting him. It wasn’t over for Laney.