Page 12 of Waysider
“What was she selling?” Kathleen asked her daughter, still frowning.
Cass was already heading for the stairs, thinking only of her room, her blanket, her chair. Her response floated through the still house, thin and dismissive.
“Just a fantasy.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cal Ryan wasn’t used to feeling helpless.
His mom and his sister were shouting at each other. They hadn’t had a fight this bad since Cass’s prom night, when she’d come home drunk with a fresh tattoo on her chest. Two small lines crisscrossing the exact spot where Cass’s scar was… or where it used to be. Cass had always hated it, for some reason.
Cal never would’ve admitted it in a million years, but secretly, he liked the tattoo. It made it seem like Cass was a map, and the X marked where to find her heart. And she did have one, contrary to what a lot of their classmates had believed.
But today’s fight wasn’t about a tattoo, or underage drinking. Today, Mom had read the letter. The letter that had come from Else & Bellows, offering Cass a full scholarship.
It conveniently left out the part about it being a school for ghost hunters.
“You’re seeing a new psychiatrist tomorrow,” Mom said now, her voice hard. “I can’t force you to go back to school, but I can get you the help you need.”
“Not happening. Sorry.” Cass’s tone made it obvious she was anything but. She hadn’t moved from her chair—since Crane’s visit, she’d barely gotten up long enough to slip into the bathroom—and the only outward sign of tension was the slight hunch to her shoulders.
Their mother went to the door, speaking as she walked. “You’re going, Cassandra. I don’t care if your father has to drag you out of here kicking and screaming. Thursday, two o’clock. You will be showered and in the car by quarter to.”
“I’m twenty years old. You can’t make me do anything.”
The older woman’s eyes went flinty. Suddenly Cal thought of that picture in Dad’s wallet—Mom was in an antiwar protest, standing behind a barrier. Gazing at the photographer with the look she was giving Cass now.
“Watch me,” she said.
Normally, Cal would’ve defused the tension. If things were the way they had been, he would’ve been able to stop his sister before she said, “Trust me, I am. What bothers you more, Mom? The fact that Cal died instead of me, or that your perfect life isn’t so perfect anymore?”
Both of them went completely silent. It was dangerous, that silence. The sort of silence misunderstandings took deeper root in. Cass looked at Mom, and Mom looked at Cass. Cal stood between them, his fists clenched. He wanted to remind Cass their mother was in pain, too. He longed to tell his mom how badly Cass wanted her approval, and how much she hated herself every time she disappointed them.
But he couldn’t utter a single word. He didn’t even try. Then it was too late, anyway. Mom said something, Cass responded, and they were off again.
When it was done, and both of them had said things they couldn’t take back, their mother finally left. Cal turned back to Cass. The sight of her made him swallow whatever he’d been about to say. Maybe it was a good thing, Cal thought suddenly—the fight. It had brought some of Cass’s light back. For the first time in days, she was sitting upright, the blanket pooled on the floor at her feet.
But their mom had barely been gone for a few seconds before Cass slumped again. Her glazed eyes went back to the television. She didn’t bother speaking to Cal.
It felt like she was dying right in front of him, and he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.
Cal’s mind went back to that night, replaying it for the millionth time. Reviewing his choices, what he could’ve done differently. He’d gone to the river a hundred times since then, too, hoping for some kind of clarity. He still hadn’t gotten any.
It didn’t help that Cal didn’t remember anything after he went over—he’d broken his neck in the fall. There had been an instant of white-hot pain, and then, nothing. The next thing Cal knew, he was standing on the riverbank, staring down at his dead sister. He’d been forced to watch as the paramedics tried to bring her back.
That night had only been the beginning. After that, Cal began to realize just how powerless he had become.
He’d been forced to watch his sister flinch away from water every time she saw it. Flinch. Cass, the fiercest and most fearless person he knew. For a while, just after the accident, she had even avoided the shower.
He’d been forced to watch his parents grieve. They tried to hide it, but Cal’s dad kept going into the garage, and his mom was quieter. Her rules became more rigid for Gavin, their younger brother. Cass would’ve balked if those rules were applied to her, so Mom didn’t even try. Cass had never understood. She didn’t see that their parents were completely terrified of losing her, and they allowed Cass to view Mom as a villain if it meant keeping her safe.
And Cal had been forced to watch as everyone else whispered about Cass.
No one was openly cruel to his sister, but it was obvious they didn’t believe her about the boy on the bridge. No body had been found. There hadn’t been any witnesses. The most popular theory was that Cass went up there to kill herself, and Cal died trying to save her.
At least they’d gotten part of it right.
Cal still didn’t know how Cass had gotten to shore—it certainly hadn’t been his doing. What he did know was that it couldn’t have been the stranger who pushed her off the bridge. Cal had seen the look in his eyes, for that brief moment they’d all been clustered on the bridge. He’d seen the intent.
