I stumble out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition even as I understand in some small way that this will look unnatural. My car parked helter-skelter on the grass, my keys dangling, and the driver’s seat speckled with grime. I run my hand over the faux leather, trying to sweep some of the mess to the floor, but I only manage to smear it.
Headlights lurching down our driveway make my breath hitch, but there’s nowhere to hide, so I stand slowly and watch the vehicle come. If it’s a police cruiser, the sirens are not on, but already I know that the slant of light is too high for a sedan. Dad’s truck? Jonathan’s?
Sullivan.
My body starts to tremble, but even before he’s put the truck in park I’m sprinting across the grass toward him.
“Hey,” he calls, jumping from the cab. He catches me at the last moment, strong arms enfolding me as he pulls me to his chest. “June, what happened?”
I can’t get close enough. I can’t burrow deep enough into the hard lines of his body, and I wish for just a second that I could crawl right inside his clothes, press myself against him skin-to-skin. I bury my face against his neck and breathe him in, praying that this has all been a bad dream, a terrible nightmare, and I’m waking up beside him, his fingers laced through mine.
I’m not.
“They’re dead,” I gasp, the entire awful story folding in on itself until it’s nothing but a few essential snippets. “Jonathan called the police. We were together. You have to tell everybody that we were together.”
“What are you talking about?” With one hard heave, Sullivan thrusts me away from him so he can look into my eyes. “Who’s dead?”
But I don’t even have to answer. I can see the moment the truth clicks into place. “Oh my God,” Sullivan says, and slams back against the side of the truck, one hand in his hair.
“Who did this?” I ask, thinking for one unreal moment that he knows, that he’ll tell me and make sense of this tragedy and ensure that everything will be okay. But Sullivan is already shaking his head. Another thought takes stubborn hold. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you all day. Not since the pancake breakfast. I called and called. I texted… What have you been doing?”
It’s like he doesn’t hear me. Now both hands are in his hair and he’s bent over, angling toward the ground as if soon I will be the one who’ll have to lift him out of the dirt.
“Get up!” I shout, because I’m scared and in shock and all at once very, very angry. “Get up!”
Sullivan stands and looks at me as if I’m crazy. Maybe I am.
“Where were you?” I want to shake him. I’m thinking, If you would’ve been there, everything might have been different. I know that’s not fair, but I’m past logic, and all my rage is suddenly directed at the man I love.
“With my brothers,” he says numbly. “All day. I couldn’t leave them, not knowing that today…”
Was the day. We knew that. It was really all we knew, but history had shown us a pattern of small infractions—kid stuff—and we had been lulled into a false sense of security. Or maybe we were so caught up in each other we couldn’t see the warning signs. In my wildest dreams I could have never imagined this.
“What did you do, Sullivan?”
“Nothing, June. I swear to you.”
I step toward him and lay my hand over his heart. He softens.
“We drank,” he admits, and up close I can see his eyes are glassy and bloodshot. “We shot trap. Jonathan was with us for a lot of the day.”
“And then what happened?”
“Some of us went to the Pattersons’ party.”
You? The question is in my eyes; I don’t even have to voice it.
Sullivan gives his head an almost imperceptible shake. “When it got dark, I drove with Wyatt to the Murphys’ farm. I didn’t want to let him out of my sight.”
My pulse cartwheels.
“Wyatt shot out the floodlight.”
I can’t help it, my hand bunches Sullivan’s T-shirt as I hold on for dear life.
“Cal must’ve heard the shot because he came running outside. He went for his truck. I think he was going to grab his gun.” Sullivan inhales hard, steadies himself. “So we drove away. I don’t know if Cal got a make and model on the truck, or even if he called the police. No one showed up at the farm, anyway. I convinced Wyatt to lay low for the rest of the night because if Cal saw us, he had us dead to rights.”