Page 62 of Jar of Hearts
“Shut up! This isn’t her fault!”
“Help me with her,” Calvin said again. “Let’s get her out of here, and we’ll figure it out later.”
“I can’t,” Geo said, beginning to cry. “I loved her.”
“And I love you,” Calvin said, and she blinked. It was the first time he had ever said it. “And if you love me—if you ever loved me—you’ll help me get her out of here. You don’t, and we’ll both go to jail. Don’t let her destroy your whole life. We can make this go away. For fuck’s sake, help me.Now.”
When she didn’t move, he dropped his voice, and the next words he spoke were soft, gentle, and completely menacing. “Georgina, please. Don’t make me hurt you, too.”
Angela Wong, queen of St. Martin’s and Geo’s best friend, was now a rolled-up lump in the middle of the floor.
Calvin was putting his shoes on. He threw a sweatshirt over his T-shirt. Then he bent over, picking up the body with effort, heaving it over his shoulder.
“Get the door for me,” he said.
***
They buried her in the woods behind Geo’s house, the only place she could think of where there would be no traffic at that time of night. She helped her boyfriend carry her best friend’s body into the woods, and it felt like they had walked ten miles to find a spot, even though it had been only a few hundred feet.
Everyone has a single defining moment in life, something that thrusts them irrevocably into a new direction, something that affects them at their core, something that changes them forever. Her last image of Angela—with dirt all over her face as Calvin shoveled soil onto her—would stay with Geo for the rest of her life. She had seen that face every night for fourteen years, until the police showed up at her workplace to arrest her. Only then did the dreams stop.
But the guilt? It never leaves. It hangs around like a bad smell that no amount of bleach can eliminate. You can get yourself a newlife, get yourself a new love, go to jail for the terrible thing you helped do… but the guilt is still there, stinking like an invisible piece of rotting garbage underneath your bed that won’t go away no matter how many attempts you make to clean it.
Because that smell—of rotting flesh, of rotting soul—is you.
23
The letters Geo received in prison are opened and read, spread out on the bed around her. One by one, she refolds them, tucking the blue paper back into the envelopes they were sent in. She places the letters in a box. She puts the box in her nightstand drawer, the one on the very bottom, beside the empty jar.
She feels everything, and nothing, all at the same time.
It’s easy to get lost in the past, to get buried under the weight and the complexity of the memories she carries with her. The only way to survive it, to have any kind of life despite it, is to compartmentalize it. That chapter in her life all those years ago in high school is best put away in a locked box and shoved into a drawer, to be taken out and dissected only when she’s forced to. The rest of the time, it’s best not to think about it.
There is no other way to move forward.
It’s taking longer than she expected for her life after Hazelwood to feel normal again. Everything seems like a luxury that she doesn’t really deserve. Long, hot showers. Staying up late. Sleeping in. Netflix. Ordering pizza. Credit cards. Even the selection of tampons at her local Walgreens is mind-blowing. In prison, there’d been one kind; you bought them in packs of two, and they were terrible.
She doesn’t enjoy leaving the house. Except for Mrs. Heller, who makes a point of staring at her, the neighbors avoid Geo at all costs.A woman who lives down the block was pushing a stroller on the way to the park that morning, and at the sight of Geo dragging a recycling bin to the curb, she crossed the street. As if she thought Geo would hurt her. Or the baby. Christ, did people actually think she was capable of that? But stories get twisted, and the more time that passes, the more they grow.
Later that afternoon, someone at the grocery store snapped a picture of her buying a can of baked beans.Beans, for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it; he whipped out his phone and took her picture. His Facebook post for the day, no doubt.
Geo’s back at home now, wrapped in her mom’s old sofa blanket, which is stained and worn in several places, but which her dad can’t bear to throw away. The TV is on and she has the volume turned up loud in an attempt to distract herself from her own thoughts. She knows she’s lonely, and the irony isn’t lost on her. In prison, she had friends. Her appointment book at the hair salon was always full. People were happy to see her, to talk to her, and there was laughter and conversation. She felt useful. Now, her fancy smartphone never rings, and the only emails she receives are from Domino’s, about the day’s pizza specials. She has all the freedom in the world and can’t enjoy it.
It’s the ultimate punishment. But Cat would be out soon, and things would get better. They had to.
She contacted six hair salons that morning, all of which had advertised on the Emerald Beauty Academy’s website that they were hiring new stylists. Geo had renewed her cosmetology license while at Hazelwood. Upon giving her name and asking politely to speak to the manager, two salons had hung up on her. Another two said the positions were filled and they were no longer hiring. The last two invited her in for an interview, presumably because they didn’t know who she was.
But they did once she arrived. The first manager, blanching at the sight of Geo’s face, asked her to leave. At the second place, the owner of the salon stared at her incredulously.
“You’re kidding, right? I don’t care how good you are with hair. I don’t want my clients around you with sharp objects.”
“I could answer phones, sweep up hair, prove myself—”
“I’m sorry, but no.” The woman, about Geo’s age, shook her head. “I’m a small business owner, and I can’t afford the bad publicity.”
Geo thanked her for her time and turned to leave.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” the woman said when Geo’s hand was on the door. “I went to high school with you and Angela.”
