When I looked back at our memories, I could pinpoint the exact moment where it all went wrong. Coincidentally, it happened right before you disappeared during an unusually chilly fall season.
Evan wasn’t doing so well. He was withdrawn, preferring his own company over mine or any of his old friends. I sent him texts and walked him to class, but he remained mum about what was bothering him. Eventually, he stopped coming to school altogether.
The teachers asked us if we’d seen him, but no one knew where he went. I remember fiddling with the leather bracelet he gave me, an awful feeling flooding my chest. He stopped responding to my messages and ignored my calls.
The old version of me would have embraced this. My childhood bully banishing himself from school was something I could only dream of. But the new me was his friend. We were close, picking up on each other’s moods like the way dogs could sense the weather.
You didn’t think much of it. “Didn’t you hate him when we were younger? Wasn’t he awful to you?”
Not anymore. The irony of the words that came from your mouth were not lost to me. You were the one who pushed me to him in more ways than one.
“I’m worried,” was all I said. A horrible feeling crept up my neck. Worried was an understatement.
I went to his house, telling myself that he was fine. It was nothing. He got sick and forgot to tell the teacher. It would be OK.
I stood in front of his door for a while, knocking until my knuckles were sore. Just when I was about to leave, the door opened. His mother stood at the entrance with her arms crossed.
“Hello Mrs. Cummings. Is Evan home?” I stood up straight, hoping that I hadn’t been disturbing her.
Her green eyes narrowed. She ran her hands through her mussed auburn hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. Although Evan’s dark hair and black eyes were nothing like his mother’s features, he clearly had her face, sharing her round eyes, pointy nose, and full lips.
“He’s sleeping. He caught a terrible virus so we’re trying to keep him quarantined from other students. Do his teachers need anything?”
“They’ve been asking for him.”
She clicked her tongue. “Of course they have. I’ll give them a call. It’s only been a week for Christ’s sake.” With that, she closed the door.
I retreated from the porch, going back through the stone path that cut through the lawn. I raised my head, my eyes going to the window of his room. He pulled the curtains back, meeting my gaze.
The sight of him took my breath away. Long red scratches covered the left side of his face. Bruises dotted his neck, purple and yellow. Worst of all, his right eye was dark and swollen, evidence of him being punched in the face. He waved to me through the glass and slipped a piece of paper through the cracks of his window. I rushed forward to pick up the note, my finger finding the folded thing quickly on the grass.
My ears picked up the sound of his mother moving through the house so I left, running to the sidewalk before she could see me.
It was worse than I expected. At home, I unraveled the note, smoothing it on my desk. In it, he explained that his parents were getting a divorce. His mother was going through a tough time so she needed him to stay with her. For whatever reason, she took away his phone and confined him to his room. Aside from that, things were OK and there was nothing to worry about. His mother sometimes got angry, but he promised me his injuries would heal. The accident was no one’s fault.
Rather than placate me, the note only made me ask more questions. From what everyone in the neighborhood knew, the Cummings had a happy marriage. Evan’s parents were essentially the role models of our small town. His dad owned a chain of grocery stores and was close friends with the mayor. His mom was secretary of the Parent Teacher Association and led a popular book club that everyone’s mother except mine attended. They were wealthier than most families, walking around with well-made clothes and the latest smartphones. Even the car they bought was the most recent model, but I hadn’t bothered to remember the brand.
What could have split them apart? And which one of them was taking it out on Evan?
I persuaded you to help me spy on their home. Once I told you about the state I saw Evan in, you were sold. I could tell that you wanted a distraction and a family more dysfunctional than yours was just the thing to keep your mind off of what was going on at home.
We hid in the bushes with a pair of binoculars, training our eyes on the exposed windows. The Cummings were at the end of the block, further away from the other houses. They were given the kind of privacy that made them confident enough to leave the lower floor of their house wide open to onlookers. Not that we were able to see much since only a few of the lights were on.
His family was asleep, save for the person sitting in the guest room. If I guessed correctly, the lone male figure was his father, kicked out of the room he shared with his mother for reasons unknown to me. From an open window, I heard his mother snore, deep in what I presumed to be a gin-induced sleep judging by the bottle illuminated by the faint glow in her room.
A car pulled up in the driveway. There was something about the vehicle that was familiar, particularly the paint and the bumper stickers. You stiffened beside me as we both realized in horror who the driver was.
Your mom stepped out, wearing a delivery uniform and holding a box of pizza. Evan’s dad got the door, placing his hand on her waist as he pulled her inside. You made a choking noise as we switched positions, shuffling in the bushes to get a better view.
I placed my hands over your eyes as your mother undressed. The bizarre affair unfolded before me as Evan’s father did things with her that no child wants to see their parents doing. I felt as though I was peering at a scene from a parallel dimension. Your mother and Evan’s father looked like older versions of you two so it was as if I was viewing a nightmarish reality where the both of you got together.
The palms of my hands grew wet. Although you couldn’t see the strange scene before us, the knowledge that your mother was cheating with Evan’s father was enough to make you cry. Before that night, you respected your mother. You admired her discipline, the way she regularly read the Bible and kept her cool when your father lost it. But to see that your mother had been the irrational one all along shattered that image of her.
The bushes next to us shifted. Evan stuck his head out, a Picasso of cuts and bruises. His mouth was set in a grim line as he spied the pair through the window. He looked at us and a mutual understanding passed between us.
Not a word, his eyes said.
No one hears about this, you agreed.
I touched the bruise on his neck and he winced, pulling back. At least he was in one piece.
Later, I found out that it didn’t matter what we agreed to that night. A week later, word spread throughout the town about the affair. Evan stayed at home, far from the prying eyes of his classmates. You had to endure being the town slut’s daughter. The crop tops you loved were suddenly covered up with demure cardigans, but it didn’t stop people from whispering “like mother, like daughter.”
You were intent on hiding every inch of your skin. When you weren’t swimming, you wore my hoodies and borrowed my sweatpants. You talked about joining a convent and being a nun as if changing your dreams would redeem you in the eyes of the townspeople.
The rumors worsened. They said unspeakable things about you and your family. They loved slandering the Moores because they were self-righteous, high and mighty while being the barely tolerable moral compass of the town. Years of resentment bubbled to the surface as facts spiraled into lies. Your God-fearing parents turned into philandering caricatures.
But if they enjoyed gossiping about your family, then they loved sinking their teeth into the Cummings. Finally, there was a flaw in their perfect lives that the townspeople could exploit. Because everyone was jealous of his family before, they all had something to say. Leaving school wasn’t enough for Evan to escape everyone’s wrath.
So part of me understood him when people mysteriously found out about my relationship with you. The rest of me went back to hating him for outing us to divert attention away from his family. No one else had known outside of him, you, and me.
He left us more exposed than your mother and his father when I saw them through the window. If he was willing to do that to us, then maybe he was also willing to kill you.
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