Page 88 of Fragments of the Lost
“We have to go,” his father says.
But Caleb doesn’t move. “We can’t yet. You know that.”
“I’m getting the tent, Caleb, and then we’re going.” And then his father disappears back into the night, and Caleb turns back to the trailer. I pocket the knife, trailing after him—always a few steps behind.
“Caleb,” I say, “whatever happened to Sean, it doesn’t have to be like this.”
Inside now, he turns to me, and I see the shadow of the boy I knew in his expression. “You know me,” he says. “You know I didn’t do that.”
I also thought he was dead. He let me believe that. He made me believe that.
“I thought I knew you. I don’t. You ran. You let us allthink…”
He shakes his head, everything pouring back. “Sean was hurting me. He was choking me. I’d confronted him about these papers I found—”
“In the library,” I say. “I have them.”
“You have them,” he repeats. “I accused him of framing my father. Of putting him in jail for something he didn’t do. My dad swore he didn’t do it, that he was nowhere near that house that day. He thought it had to be my mother, but nobody believed him, because there was a witness. Only when I looked up the witness, you know what I found?”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
“They must’ve been having an affair. It must’ve been their plan together. She convinced Sean to lie. They both set my father up to take the fall.”
“Oh,” I say. I know some of this, because I’ve followed his footsteps. But I didn’t know he suspected his mother had been the one to put his life in danger. I’m starting to understand why he left, why he couldn’t stay.
“He was angry. He was so angry, Jessa. I thought he would kill me. My mom came upstairs, and she pushed him off. And I used that letter opener to take a swipe at him, and he stumbled back. I didn’t even hit him. He stumbled back. Near the window.” He takes a deep breath. I know what comes next. The window screen is gone. The concrete has been painted.
“But he was okay. I swear he was okay. Until he lunged for the letter opener in my hand, and she pushed him.”
His mother, then, coming to his aid. As a mother would.
“She was helping me, Jessa. It was because of me. He was so furious. I’d never seen him so mad. I don’t know what he would’ve done if he thought I was going to tell the police or something.”
The day comes back into focus. “I was there,” I say.
“All the evidence pointed to me, so she decided. We weren’t going to tell. We couldn’t do anything for him. She said, we’ll say he left. And it was just like that. We said heleft.”
“You said she kicked him out.”
“You had showed up. You saw my face. What could I say? So I made something up, but my mom thinks you know. She thinks I told you.”
“Oh.” The reason for her keeping such close watch. All along, she thought I knew more than I let on. She didn’t know she was leading me right to it, just as I did for her.
“I have to go now, but I want you to know that. I want to know you believe that, Jessa.”
And I do, I realize. I wonder: can I take both sides? The parts I do know, and the parts I missed? This is what I know deep in my bones: he didn’t do it. I can tell because I’ve seen the different sides of him—the regret, the love, the fear, and the anger. I do know the sides of Caleb now. I know what a lie looks like, and he’s not lying.
“If you told the police it was self-defense, Caleb, your mom would’ve confirmed it. You didn’t have to disappear.”
He laughs then, and it’s pained. “Oh, no, Jessa, she would not. I wanted to tell. The guilt was too much. I thought we had done the wrong thing, and I couldn’t live with it, not in that house, in that room. And you know what she said? ‘All the evidence points to you, Caleb.’ She said she kept his pocket watch and wedding band, that they would have my blood. And we used my car to move him. Then we took his car when we left that week and sold it for cheap. I only realized after why she made us use my car, and not his. She said it was because we were selling it, but come on. It was to make sure I never said anything. And if Sean had helped set up my dad back then, then so did my mom, right? Jessa, who had I been living with?”
His voice drops, and he’s asking. He’s really asking.
“You could’ve left…,” I begin, but Caleb’s already shaking his head.
“She would’ve never given me permission to leave. Not even for college. She’s the guardian of my account, and as long as I was there, she could use part of the money to maintain our quality of life. But I have tobe there. Leavingwas not part of the picture for her. You know why she’s so determined to find me? It’s not because ofme.It’s because the money is no longer hers. It goes to my dad, if I’m dead. It should’ve been his from the start. My grandparents left the money to me because my dad was in jail. This was the only way.”
“It’s not,” I say. “There are still other options. It’s not too late. You have to tell the police.”
