Saving Zoe Read online

  August 23

  Today I went shopping, thinking I'd buy something new and exciting to wear to my anniversary dinner tonight

  with Marc. But since everything that's out now is pretty much for fall, and with the daytime temperatures still in the

  triple digits—and the nighttime only slightly cooler than that—/ decided to just save my money and wear something I

  already have. Besides, it's not like I'm all that excited about it anyway, not to mention how I need to start saving as

  much money as possible to invest in my photos, my future, and my one-way ticket out of this hell town.

  And then just as I was about to leave, I remembered how Echo's b-day is totally coming up. And since I was

  already out shopping, I figured I might as well get a head start and buy something early, as opposed to picking up

  something in a last-minute panic like I usually do.

  But since she's not all that into clothes yet, and since she barely wears any makeup or perfume, and since she

  doesn't seem to focus much on her hair, that pretty much ruled out all of my areas of expertise.

  So I headed over to the bookstore, where she likes to spend all her free time, but even though it's not like it was

  the first time I'd ever gone in there (I mean, I'm not retarded, I just don't like to read), still, walking around and trying to

  choose a book for her was basically impossible. I mean, there's like so many titles, by so many writers, and that's just

  in the teen section! And knowing Echo, she's probably read every last one of them anyway. And not wanting to give

  her a repeat, I decided to bail.

  Then just as I was on my way out the door, I spotted this display with like, all these book accessories and stuff,

  which I know probably sounds stupid since it's not like people actually dress up their books like you do a doll, I just

  mean stuff like fancy jeweled and beaded bookmarks and little metal clip-on reading lights and stuff like that. And then

  just as I was thinking about getting her a bookmark/reading light combo gift set, I noticed this whole other shelf filled

  with diaries just like the one I'm writing in now!

  And I thought, oh my God, that's it! I'll get her a diary. I mean, she's going into eighth grade, and that's pretty

  much when all the big drama starts, right? And it might be nice for her to have something private to record it all in, like

  when she gets her first crush, or first kiss, or starts fighting with Jenay and Abby, or reads a really exciting sentence in

  one of her books! (Just kidding about the last one because I know it sounds mean.) And since she's so into reading

  and writing and stuff, I figure she'll probably end up writing in her diary even more than I do mine.

  So at first I reached for the cobalt blue one—/ guess

  I'm just naturally drawn to that color—but then I thought how it's probably better if she doesn't have the exact

  same one as mine. I mean, for starters we're complete and total opposites which means we don't share the same

  taste in color either, and second, can you imagine if we had the exact same ones and then they somehow got

  switched!

  And since that's the kind of risk I'm just not willing to take, I ended up buying her this really pretty turquoise one.

  Still blue, only different, calmer, like Echo. And since I still feel so guilty for never taking her to lunch (even after

  I promised I would if I survived that first Internet hookup meeting thing with Carly—which obviously I did), I bought

  some really pretty silver wrapping paper (instead of using old Xmas paper like I usually do), a pretty cobalt blue bow

  (so she'd know at first sight it's from me), and then this little vanilla-scented candle to go with it, so that she can close

  her door, light her candle, and write about all the amazing things that happen in eighth grade.

  And then after I came back home and wrapped it all up,

  I hid it in the back of my closet, behind my big stack of shoe boxes so she won't find it. I just hope I don't forget

  that it's there—because you know how it goes, outta sight, outta mind and all that.

  I drop the diary and bolt upstairs to Zoë's room, my hands shaking and my heart racing as I dive straight into her

  closet, pushing aside the tall stacks of shoe boxes, desecrating a space that's been preserved for well over a year.

  And sure enough, just like she promised, there's a dark green shopping bag hidden in the back. So I take it

  over to her bed, where I sit on the edge, anxious to get inside.

  But the moment that silver-wrapped box is on my lap, I'm suddenly reluctant to open it. Because this was meant

  to be unwrapped in a room full of laughter, family, and friends. It was never supposed to happen like this.

  Though knowing Zoë, she'd want me to open it no matter what. And since so few of her plans had turned out as

  she'd hoped, I wasn't about to disappoint her now.

  I remove the bow gently, smiling as I tuck it behind my ear, remembering how Zoë and I always used to do that

  on Christmas morning, posing together like two Tahitian goddesses, red and green ribbons woven through our hair,

  while our dad stood before us, taking our picture. Then I slip my finger under the tape, taking more care than usual

  not to rip the paper as I unfold the edges, lift the lid, and retrieve the diary.

  When I open it, the first thing I see is Zoë's familiar loopy scrawl:

  Happy 14th b-day Echo!

  And then right below that;

  May your days be filled with excitement and fun, and may you record it all here!

  Then I unwrap the candle, bringing it to my nose and inhaling its still surprisingly warm scent. Then I replace all

  the shoe boxes, putting them back the way they were, before going to my room, depositing her gift on my bed,

  removing all of my clothes, and heading for the shower.

  And just as I'm closing the door, my cell phone rings. But knowing it's either Abby or Jenay, or maybe even

  Marc, I just turn the taps up even higher, letting the spray beat hard and hot against my back as I sink down to the

  ground, bring my knees to my chest, shield my face from the deluge, and finally let myself cry.

  I never cry. Even at Zoë's funeral, when everyone was falling all over each other, falling all over themselves, I

  wore dark sunglasses, a stiff upper lip, and refused to give in to any of that. I guess I've never been comfortable with

  public displays of emotion. Because those kinds of moments, where I let myself cave and totally lose control, are

  always saved for when I'm alone. I mean, they're really no one's business.

  And with my parents being such absolute basket cases, I knew even then that someone had to stay strong.

  And since it obviously wasn't going to be them, I figured it had to be me. Besides, the last thing I needed was for a

  bunch of relatives, people who hadn't seen Zoë since she was a baby, hugging all over me, crying on my shoulder,

  and giving their heartfelt condolences for a loss they could never begin to imagine.

  And even though I know that may sound awful, the truth is that no matter how sorry everyone may have been,

  there wasn't a single person on the planet who could ever understand how I felt about Zoë. How much I missed her.

  And the huge gaping hole she'd left in my heart.

  But now, with everything veering so out of control, I know I can no longer go it alone. But wouldn't you know it,

  Marc, the one person I trusted enough to turn to, turns out to be one person I never should've gone near.

  When the water starts to run cool, I turn off the taps, dry off with a towel, then slip on a pair of my favorite old

  sweats. Then I pull my
wet hair back into a tight ponytail and head down the stairs to the couch in the den, tucking the

  afghan tightly under my feet and picking up the diary from where I left off.

  Twenty-nine

  August 24

  Everything started off great Marc picked me up and he looked so good in his blazer and jeans, and I wore my

  cool new jeans, some strappy sandals, and my favorite cobalt blue halter top, then we drove to the restaurant where

  we sat at a nice table in the comer of this tiny but romantic plant-filled patio. And after ordering some appetizers and a

  couple of Cokes, I leaned toward Marc and smiled and said, Is there something going on that I should know about?"

  And he just looked at me all innocent and went, 'What do you mean?"

  And I knew I had a choice. I could either act all coy and beat around the bush until one of us gave in, or I could

  just get right to it and tell him how I know he's been holding out on me. So I said, 7 know you're hiding something from

  me and I want to know what it is."

  And instead of getting mad or curious, he just said, "Okay." Then he took a sip of his Coke and gazed around

  the room.

  And no way was I about to leave it at that and allow him to blow it off so easily. So I said, "Marc, really, I'm

  totally serious. The last couple times when you told me you were home, I know for a fact that you weren't. And there's

  this one time in particular when I called and called but you never once answered even though you said you were

  there."

  Okay, the second it was out I cringed at how needy and overbearing that sounded. I even wondered why I

  couldn't have waited 'til after our dinner, or even 'til tomorrow or something. But since it was already out there, I figured

  I may as well continue, so I looked at him and said, 'Well?" Then I kicked the tip of my sandal against the table leg as

  / waited for his reply.

  But it never came, he just shrugged.

  So I went, "But what I'm really talking about is this one time in particular when you told me you were home, but

  then I actually saw you," and then I paused because the waitress had just brought our appetizers. I didn't want her to

  hear any of this and know that we're kind of arguing since when she first came to our table I told her all about how it

  was our anniversary. But then the second she left I leaned in and said, "But I know you weren't home. And I happen to

  know that, because I saw you somewhere else."

  But he just went, "Yeah?" And then he shrugged and grabbed a shrimp by the tail, dunked it in that red cocktail

  sauce, and then popped it into his mouth.

  And I started to get so worked up by his acting so blase and unconcerned about lying to me that I shook my

  head, leaned in even more, and loud whispered, "I saw you at the office where I work. And since my boss is on

  vacation, that means you were there to see Dr. Kenner"

  But he just said, "I think you're confusing me with someone else." Then he grabbed another shrimp, popped it in

  his mouth, and smiled at me with the tail all caught between his teeth, like that was actually funny or something.

  But when I refused to laugh, he started to look worried. And I knew I better just go for it and get it over with,

  since I was clearly teetering on the edge of either a total confession, or a full-blown fight. So I said, "Marc, listen, don't

  even try to lie or cover it up, cuz I know for a fact it was you."

  He just stared, then he set down his fork and said,

  "And how exactly do you know that, Zoë?"

  And that's when I told him about reading his file. And how I know all about his juvenile arrest and violent

  background and the fires and stuff.

  I can hear my cell phone ringing from all the way upstairs, but no way am I going to stop reading just so I can answer

  it. But when the house phone also starts to ring, like the second the other one stops, I know it's my mom, which

  means I've no choice but to pick up.

  "Hey Mom," I say, trying to make my voice sound all thick and groggy and sick, yet not so sick that she'll rush

  home to save me.

  But it's Marc who says, "Echo, it's me."

  And my heart starts pounding hard in my chest, partly because I can't imagine why he'd risk calling me on this

  line, and partly because I can't imagine why he's calling me in the first place. I mean, not after last night. But still, I'm

  determined to sound cool, calm, and relaxed so he'll never guess just how spooked he's making me feel, so I clear

  my throat and say, "Oh hey, what's up?" Seemingly all normal, like it's just another day.

  "Well, it's lunch, and since you're not here with me, and since you're not at your old table with your friends, I

  figured you might be home. You feeling okay?" he asks in a voice that actually sounds concerned.

  "Why are you calling me on this line?" I ask, choosing not to answer his question about whether or not I'm

  okay, since I'm really not sure of the answer myself.

  "Because you didn't answer your cell," he says, sounding pretty matter-of-fact.

  "But what if my parents answered? What would you do then?"

  "I don't know. Hang up?" He laughs. "I guess I just assumed they were still at work, which means you're home

  alone, right?"

  I'm not sure why, but I don't want him to know the answer to that. So I take a deep breath and say, "Maybe."

  Which just makes him laugh even more. "Fine. Listen," he says. "I'm sorry about last night. And I'm totally willing

  to blow off the rest of my classes so I can come over and see you. I think it's time I explain a few things, I think it's

  the least I can do."

  "There's really nothing to explain," I say, wanting to sound blase, but coming off more like edgy, paranoid, and

  totally freaked. Knowing I need answers, but not willing to get them from him.

  "Trust me, there's plenty to explain. But I need to do it in person. I need you to understand. So is it okay if I

  come over?" he asks.

  I grip the phone tightly, partly because my hand is totally shaking and partly because practically all of me is

  shaking. Then I take a deep breath and say, "No."

  Then I hang up the phone, and check all three dead bolts.

  Thirty

  Since I'm already up, I go into my room and grab my cell, scrolling through the missed calls and finding one from

  Marc and one from Teresa, but nothing from Abby or Jenay, which makes me feel even worse than I thought it

  would. Then I put on some old, thick socks, 'cause I can't stand it when my feet get cold, and bring my phone back to

  the den, where Zoë's diary is waiting.

  "What do you mean you read my file?" His jaw was all clenched and his eyes blazed with so much anger he was

  actually starting to scare me.

  And with everything out there in the big wide open, I knew it was time to explain. "Listen," I said. "Promise you

  won't get mad and think that I'm checking up on you or spying on you or something, okay? But the truth is you've

  been acting really weird lately, lying to me, keeping secrets, and don't even try to deny it 'cause we both know it's true.

  And then when I saw you going into the office that day, the same day you said you were home, well, it made me really

  suspicious."

  The second I gazed up at him I knew it wasn't going so well. So I started talking even faster, just hoping to get

  through it before something really bad happened. "And then Carly said we should go to the office and get to the

  bottom of it, though it's not like I'm blaming Carly or anything, I mean, obviously, the choice was all mine. So, well


  anyway, we went and let ourselves in, and when I saw Dr. Kenner was there we almost fled, but when he saw me he

  was all, 'Oh Zoë, excellent. My assistant just called out sick for tomorrow, so would you mind filling in? I know you're

  on vacation, but I'll pay you double to just answer the phone and let people in, and it's only for half the day since my

  wife can take over in the afternoon, blah blah blah, what do you say?' So I said yes. But then as it turned out I only

  had to stay for like forty-five minutes, 'cause his wife got there way early, though it was still long enough forme to read

  the first few pages of your file."

  I stopped, looked up at him, and held my breath.

  "So you read my file," he said, more like a fact than a question, and his lips were all pressed together and his

  eyes looked grim. "Or excuse me, only part of my file. Only the first few pages," he added, his voice sounding

  sarcastic and mad.

  And it's not like I didn't already feel pretty horrible about doing that, but hearing him say it out loud made me feel

  even worse.

  7 can't believe this shit," he said. 7 can't believe you!" Then he threw his napkin down, pushed his seat away,

  and acted like he was about to storm out or something.

  "What're you doing?" I whispered, glancing around frantically, just as the waitress appeared with our meals.

  "I'm outta here," he said, as she just stood there, gaping at us, and holding our plates, probably thinking, And a

  BIG happy anniversary to you too!

  'You can just take that away and bring me the check," Marc said, speaking to her, even though his eyes were

  fixed on mine.

  I watched the waitress leave, then looked at him and said, Tine. Just let me call my dad then. I'm sure he'll be

  willing to come pick me up, especially when I explain to him why." My face felt all hot as my eyes clogged with tears,

  and I was hoping that if nothing else, that would make him feel bad.

  Well it must've worked cuz he just sighed and said, "Leave your parents out of this. You know I'll take you

  home." Then he shook his head and flipped through the bills in his wallet, throwing down more than enough to cover

  our appetizers, Cokes, and uneaten meals.