Chapter 38

As Chloe trudgesthrough the dense, green woods, she’s hyperaware of the man a half-step behind her. He’s close enough to push her forward with the heel of his hand when she hesitates at a fork in the path. Under other circumstances, she’d enjoy this hike. Instead, she’s trying to beat back her panic.

Rich’s cell phone rings incessantly. He doesn’t answer it or silence it. He simply ignores it. He’s muttering to himself, trying to find the spot where there’d been a bonfire three decades ago.

She tries to focus on the lushness of her surroundings. The canopy of trees and the abundant wildflowers and native plants create a fairytale ambience. Unfortunately, she’s here with a big, bad wolf rather than a charming prince.

“It all looks so different now,” he grumbles.

She clears her throat. “If you can’t even recognize this place, how do you expect it to prompt me to remember anything? Let’s go.”

“I know you remember.”

Her fear turns to anger and she stops walking. She plants her feet, balls her hands into fists, and screams at him, “I don’t remember anything!”

He lunges at her, grabs her shoulders, and shakes her hard. “You shouldn’t have come back here. Not after what you did.”

What she did? Chloe’s so surprised she almost asks if he’s joking, but one look at Rich’s red, angry face makes it clear he’s very much serious. Chloe stares down at her feet, scouring her brain for some way to de-escalate this situation, diffuse this man’s anger, and get out of the woods safely. She scuffs the dirt with her toe.

This desperate, fearful feeling, this desolate spot, Rich’s anger, it’s all so familiar. And then a rush of images comes at her. Chloe remembers.

She’s dancing. A boy hands her a drink and introduces himself. Andre. They start talking. Amy’s there, but she walks away with a tight frown of disapproval. Heather doesn’t care. She turns back to Andre.

After a few more beers, she suggests they go deeper into the woods. He’s game. He gives her a wide smile and an easy laugh as she pulls him away from the group. They stop at his friends’ fire and he grabs two more beers.

She hangs back, pretending not to hear the gross comments his friends make. They’re no different from the guys at her school.

Brett’s cousin nods at her. “Hey, Heather.”

“Hey, Stacey.”

And then Andre’s back. He hands her one of the beers. The can’s already sweating in the humid night. He takes her by the hand, and they follow an overgrown trail up a hill and deeper into the woods. They find a large, flat rock to sit on, and crack open the beers. As she takes a lukewarm sip, she presses closer to him and he wraps an arm around her. They’re knee to knee, hip to hip, when he turns his head and kisses her. His mouth tastes of beer and salt and something minty. Gum, she thinks.

“Why are you just standing there?” Rich’s angry voice interrupts her memories.

Chloe risks a look up at him. “I don’t know what you expect me to say, Rich. I’ve already explained I have dissociative amnesia, probably from something that happened that night. It’s so traumatic that my brain is trying to protect me by not letting me remember it.”

He scoffs, his face a thundercloud. “Something that happened to you that night? More like something you did.”

Her eyes widen. “Something I did? I didn’t do anything.”

“How do you know, if you can’t remember?”

He has a point there, so she falls silent again.

“Rich, why don’t you tell me what you think I did?”

It can’t be that he knows she was fooling around in the woods with a boy. That’s hardly the sort of transgression that would make a grown man this furious. Heck, it’s not even a transgression, is it?

“You know what you did, Heather.” His voice is a warning.

Instinctively, she takes a step back, away from him. She stumbles, falls, and lands hard on her butt. He comes toward her with his hand outstretched.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams, and another flood of memories washes over her.

May 27, 1994

They’re kissing,really kissing. Hot and heavy, as her friends would say. Her tongue is in his mouth, and his hands roam down her back and across her waist. She leans into the feeling, happy to be with someone other than Rich, who’s been so whiny and clingy lately.

Which is doubly annoying since he has a girlfriend. But he’s possessive and jealous when she talks to other guys, even though they’re a secret and she can’t tell anyone. The whole thing is a mess. She can’t wait till school ends. Just a few more weeks and then Rich graduates. It’ll be easy then to freeze him out and move on. She’s tired of him. She’s even thought about sending an anonymous note to Julia to let her know Rich is cheating.

But if she does that, she might end up stuck with him. If Julia breaks up with him, he’ll expect Heather to step into the role of girlfriend. She did this to herself, she knows. At first, she liked being with Rich. She liked the secrecy and the thrill of getting a page out of nowhere and making an excuse to go find him. She liked him. But it’s getting old, and she doesn’t have the patience to be a side piece.

She shakes her head. Stop thinking about Rich, she thinks. Enjoy this.

Andre pulls back. “You shook your head. Was that a no? I’m sorry.”

“What? No! I was thinking of something. You’re good.”

He tips her chin with his finger. “You sure?”

She grins broadly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Get your hands off her,” an angry voice shouts from across the clearing.

Heather jumps, and they both turn toward the sound.

“Oh, great,” Heather says under her breath. “It’s Rich and his merry band of bootlickers.”

“What the hell are you doing, Heather? Get out of here. The cops are on their way. Go.” Rich gestures wildly at the woods behind him.

She hears people calling out their friends’ names, the pounding of feet, and the rumble of engines starting. Amy’ll be freaking out if the police are here. Little Miss Perfect is not gonna want to get caught. But knowing her sister, she won’t leave without her. Amy’ll end up getting arrested and it’ll all be Heather’s fault.

She turns to Andre. “Hey, I’m sorry. If the cops are here, I really gotta go. My sister?—”

“I get it. I’m not looking to get hauled in tonight either. Give me your digits?”

Rich glowers. “No, she’s not gonna give you her digits. Get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Heather says with a grin, studiously avoiding Rich’s gaze. “You got a pen?”

“No, but I got a memory.”

She rattles off her pager number. “You gonna page me?”

In answer, he reaches up and takes out one of the diamond studs glittering in his ear, turns over her palm, drops it in, and then closes her fist around it with his hand. “I’m gonna have to. You have my earring. Go ahead. Get out of here, girl.”

She gives him one last kiss before running back toward the bonfire to find Amy. The noise behind her stops her, and she turns to see Rich squaring up chest to chest with Andre. Andre’s outnumbered but not cowed.

He pushes Rich back and calls for his boys. As the guys from the Allderdice stream up the hill, Heather presses herself against a tree. She should go. She needs to find Amy. But she’s excited by the thought of the fight. She wants to watch.

She creeps back toward the group and listens as they trade insults back and forth, jawing. Then someone throws the first punch. She doesn’t see who, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. There’s a flurry of fists and grunts and boys’ bodies slamming into each other. In the faint light, it looks like they’re dancing, not fighting.

Then someone—it sounds like Brett—shouts for people to break it up and get out of there before the cops come. To her surprise, they do. Arms fall to sides. Guys spit blood on the ground and shuffle away from each other, still mouthing off. Rich turns to go back to the bonfire, and Heather presses herself deeper into the woods.

Andre’s white Air Force Ones have come untied in the commotion, and he sits down heavily to retie his shoes while his friends take off. Everyone’s cleared out, only Andre’s left in the clearing. She thinks it would be romantic to run back to him for one last impulsive kiss. She’s just coming out of the trees when Frankie circles back to loom over Andre. He kicks dirt toward Andre, who raises his arms to cover his face.

“Hey, man. What’s your problem?” Andre gets up cautiously, keeping his eyes on Frankie.

Frankie jabs a finger in his chest. Hard. “Stay away from Heather.”

“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?”

“Stay away from her,” he repeats, jabbing again.

Andre bats his finger away. “Don’t touch me.”

“She’s Rich’s girl.”

“Yeah? Somebody should have told her that.” Andre laughs.

The derisive laughter must enrage Frankie. He hauls off and punches Andre in the chest. Andre staggers back a step. Then his face goes slack, and he leans forward, reaching for Frankie.

But Frankie’s already turned his back and is halfway down the hill. He doesn’t see Andre collapse into the dirt, but Heather does. She runs toward his prone body, calling his name.