TMI (23 page)

Simon
is
Ryder.
Meg repeated the words a few more times until they lost any meaning.
Simon
is
Ryder. Simon is Ryder.
Oh, Bailey. She began to cry and hated herself for it. Her heart didn't understand that it no longer needed to care for or worry about or love Bailey. Guess it wasn't easy to break a lifetime habit. As if she'd heard her thoughts, Bailey swung blue eyes wide with shock to hers and then ran. Meg took two steps after her and had to remind her feet that Bailey was no longer their concern.

Should-haves ganged up on Meg until she reminded her traitorous conscience that she'd done everything—right up to risking her friendship—to make Bailey listen.

“Megan! Meg, oh, honey,” her mother rushed into the office and crushed her in a hug, but Meg didn't react. She could only see Simon flanked by two guards. She searched his face, expecting to find that same old arrogance. But she swore she saw regret there when Bailey ran. So…why? Why, damn it, why?

Detective Barilla was back. She took Meg's arm, but Pauline protested. “Mrs. Farrell, you can wait here. We're not done yet.” She led Meg back to the table in the corner of the VP's office and shut the door. “Megan, I know you're upset. But I need to hear the truth from you. Tell me about this video.” She clicked a button on the laptop, and again, she heard Bailey shrieking at her to tell Chase. Again, she heard her own voice—bordering right on the edge of hysterical—blurt out her darkest fear.
I'll kill Chase too!

She folded her arms on the table and lay her head on them. If they could arrest her for thinking bad thoughts, she was going to need one hell of a good lawyer. The thought almost made her giggle. She could just imagine telling Pauline. “Forget college tuition. I'm gonna need you to remortgage the house for bail.”

“Talk to me, Megan.”

Talk about what? About the friend she'd lost? About the boy she was never meant to love? And the mother who cried for her lost love and lost life alone in her room—every damn night?

“I was supposed to be an abortion,” she spoke into the table. “My parents never wanted kids. When my mom got pregnant, she couldn't go through with the abortion and kept me. She quit school to be there for me. My dad really hated that.” She raised her head but could not meet the detective's eye. “I didn't know it. I thought he loved me.”

She heard Detective Barilla's sharp breath.

“There's this show on FOX that everybody at school watches—you know, the one with the talking dog?” She didn't wait for Barilla's answer. “I can't stand it. There's a ‘Meg' on that show too, and everyone just craps all over her. ‘Shut up, Meg,' they say. Or, ‘Who let you back in the house, Meg?' That kind of thing.” She finally looked up to find Detective Barilla hanging on every word. “You probably think that's really dumb—identifying with a cartoon character, but—” she trailed off, wiped more tears from her face. “That's why Chase calls me Megan. Because of that show.” A sob escaped and she swallowed back the ones that wanted to follow.

“I thought I was so special. My dad played with me, brought me to daycare, picked me up, even made me breakfast in bed. I adored him. But he had problems. He used to cry a lot. I didn't know why. I was too little. He told me all the time I had to have a plan for my future because the only person I could ever count on was myself. I needed to get good grades, go to a good school, get a good job so I could be self-sufficient. I thought he was looking out for me. I thought he was telling me all this plan stuff because he loved me so much and wanted to make sure I would be okay.” Meg wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly freezing.

“It was all a lie.”

She shut her eyes and could almost hear his furious voice all over again. She told Barilla everything, reciting it the way she might read a grocery list.

“One night, when they thought I was asleep, my parents had a horrible argument. He'd been out late, and when he came home, it was without the car. He'd lost it in a card game. Mom screamed at him that he had to grow up, he had a child now. Dad screamed right back that he'd never wanted a kid in the first place, that it had been her idea to keep me instead of getting an abortion like he wanted.”

The heart in her chest had cracked that day, and she didn't even know what an abortion was.

“The next day, he picked me up. I went running up to him like I always did. He didn't say anything. He just took me home, carried me all the way upstairs to his room. He opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out this big black thing.”

She shut her eyes and covered her ears, but the sound was etched too deeply in her memory not to hear.

“I never saw a gun before and didn't know I should have been scared. He took me into the bathroom, sat me on the edge of the tub, and told me he loved me so much, more than he ever imagined he could. That made me happy. But then he admitted he'd never wanted to have kids and was so mad at my mom for keeping me. He said she made her choice and it was time he made his. He put me down, and right before he told me to get out, he made me promise to stick to The Plan. I was scared, so I ran. When I heard the shot, I stopped and went back. There was so much blood.”

She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms. “I don't remember much after that. Mom came home and found us, and we had to leave for a few days. When we got back, the bathroom was clean, but I still know where every drop of blood was.

“He left us deeply in debt. I didn't know how bad it was until I started hearing my mother cry every night when she thought I was sleeping. I'd sneak down the stairs and hear her on the phone with bill collectors, begging them for help, but it never worked. She got a job and then another and even a third. I spent all day in school and then in an after-school program and then with various neighbors until bedtime. Some days, I even had breakfast with the neighbors. She told me she loved me all the time, but when I found their wedding video, I knew she was lying too.

“I watched it every day, as many times as I could. My father was so handsome and Mom was so beautiful. She looked like a Disney princess. Dad was laughing and Mom had shiny hair and sparkles in her eyes. I never saw them like that. I watched them put rings on each other's fingers and make promises and dance and laugh and kiss. They were so—” A fresh wave of despair crushed her. “Oh, God, they were happy, and I ruined it.”

She stopped talking when the door opened. A secretary walked over to Mr. Poynter and whispered in his ear. He shut his eyes in relief and then motioned to Detective Barilla. They moved to the window and had a brief whispered conversation. Megan curled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. It was funny. Now that she'd started talking, she had to finish the story. She
needed
to finish the story. As soon as the secretary shut the door, she did.

“A year later, Chase's family moved to our block. I think I fell in love with him on the school playground. He has magic eyes. But I couldn't let him love me. I killed my dad. I'm slowly killing my mom. I don't want that to happen to Chase. So I paint him. That way, I can still be with him. Bailey's the only one who knows this—any of this. I was in the middle of a big oil painting the day I sliced my hand open. I just…worked through it.”

Detective Barilla blew out a slow breath. “Okay, Megan. Okay.” She stood up, closed the laptop. “You can go.”

Meg blinked. “That's it?”

“That's it,” the detective echoed.

Meg felt the old familiar pain claw through her gut, swallowed it down, and rose on shaky knees.

Oh, sure. That's it.

“Meg.” Pauline's tired eyes were red and filled with tears. Oh, God, she'd heard. She'd heard every word. Meg flung herself into her mother's arms.

“Let's get you home.” Her mother put an arm around her and led her to the exit.

“Megan.”

She froze at the sound of Chase's voice.

No. No more. She couldn't bear any more. But she looked up anyway. At least this time, there was no stupid smile. That was some consolation.

“Mr. Gallagher? Why don't you come in and tell us where you've been all night?” Detective Barilla said.

Chase ignored her and spoke directly to Meg. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please believe me, Megan.”

She wanted to. She wanted to so badly that it hurt, but she didn't…she couldn't, not completely.

And he knew it.

The days passed. Bailey had not spoken to Chase or Meg or Ryder or Simon or her game buddies or even her family. She hadn't gone to school, even though Gran had been dropping her off in front of it every day for the past week. That's because every day for the past week, she'd been hiding in Starbucks, the movie theater, or the library until the last bell.

She tugged on the hood of her sweatshirt, tucking her ponytail under it.
A
ponytail
, she thought with an eye-roll. She'd always hassled Meg about her messy ponytails but had to admit it was nice not having hair fall in front of her eyes and really good at keeping people from recognizing her. She kept walking, wondering if her stomach would ever
not
twist into a ball whenever she thought about Meg. Or Ryder. Or Chase. Or even her mother.

Probably not.

She kept walking.

She walked until she reached the enormous house with the windy driveway with closed gates and a little intercom built into the post. A camera mounted high on a tree swept left and right and back again. Even the stupid tree was designer. She stabbed the call button and stuffed her hands in her pockets while she waited.

“Who is it?”

“Bailey Grant. I'm here to talk to Simon.”

There was a long silence. Bailey glared at the camera every time it panned by.

“I'm sorry, but Simon's lawyer doesn't think—”

“Yes,
my
lawyer agrees with Simon's lawyer, but I came here anyway because I need to talk to him.”

Another long silence. Finally, Bailey leaned on the call button.

“Miss Grant, you'll have to leave. Simon is not permitted—Simon? Simon! Get back here!”

Off in the distance at the end of the windy driveway, Bailey could see the front door open. A tall figure jogged her way. It took him almost five damn minutes to reach her.

“What are you doing here, Bailey?” He stopped on his side of the gate.

“Needed to talk to you.”

“You could have texted.”

She shook her head, still under its hood. “You. Not Ryder.”

Simon winced. That scored him a few points in Bailey's eyes.

“So is he the reason you're here?”

“No. Yes.” Bailey shut her eyes. “I don't know. I guess that's why I'm here—to figure it out.”

Simon lowered his head. “You want me to apologize again? I will if you want me to, but it doesn't really change anything. I can't undo what I did.”

“No.”

His eyes snapped to hers, and she had to take an extra breath. It was his eyes that she'd needed to see. Even when he was shooting off his big mouth, trying to be cool, Simon was never able to get his eyes to follow his mouth. They couldn't lie. Like Abraham Lincoln. She could design a whole character around him in the video game if she still had it. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe she could recover everything she'd deleted and—

“Then why?” he demanded.

She stepped closer, wrapped her hands around the cold iron bars. “Okay, look. I don't have very good luck when it comes to guys. Meg always said I tried way too hard. The horseback riding, martial arts, NASCAR racing, video games. She says I'm never just me.”

“Meg's right.”

Wow. Judging by the way he clenched his jaw when she mentioned Meg, Bailey figured it must have really hurt him to say that. It actually kind of hurt to
hear
it. She stared at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Bay. It's obvious, isn't it? You try on lifestyles like they're outfits at the mall. Do you really think I believe you actually liked stamp collecting?”

Bailey's lips twitched. “You didn't?”

“No! Hell, I'm not even sure I like it. I just tried it because my dad wanted me to. At first, I thought it was really cool that you were willing to do things for me. But it got old really fast, Bailey. Your heart was never in it.”

“I really liked you, Simon.” She ran her thumb over a rust spot on the iron bar and watched bits flake off and float away.

“I really liked you too, but you were just pretending to like me, just like everybody else in this freakin' neighborhood since the money came in.” His words were like a whip, and she jumped.

“Is that what you thought? Is that why you weirded out on me? I thought—”

“I never cheated,” he shouted. “I never even looked at Caitlyn before that day Meg happened to see us. But you trusted Meg more than me.”

Damn it, his eyes weren't lying, and suddenly, she realized
that's
why she was there—to look into Lincoln blue eyes and know without a doubt what was the truth and what was insecurity and fantasy and wishful thinking and…and a lost cause.

“You're right. I did, and I'm so sorry. Meg and I—we've been friends for so long, and it's just so hard
not
to believe her, you know?”

“Oh, trust me, I do.”

Bailey's eyes widened. “Is that why you did it? To play us against each other?”

A muscle in Simon's jaw twitched, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. “I wanted you to see what it's like.”

Bailey's filled with tears. She blinked them back. She'd obviously made a mistake coming here. She heard a car approach and watched it disappear around a curve. “You know, it felt real. The only time in my life that it did, but the guy was fake.” She laughed once. “That must be so funny to you.”

He suddenly shook the iron bars that separated them, and she jumped back. “I'm not laughing,” he shouted. “I tried to end it, end
him.
I was gonna tell you that day at the mall. I deleted all the accounts, but it was too late. Half the damn school watched you two fight like it's the Golden Gloves, and I'm—”

There it was again. A flash—a glimmer that lit his eyes for no more than a second.

“You're what?”

He tightened his lips and shook his head. “Forget it. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“It matters to me.”

“You should go. The Dream Team's gonna have a fit when they find out I talked to you.”

“Simon, it'll be okay. You didn't murder anybody. Maybe I can help? Talk to them for you?”

He sneered. “Yeah, like you'd really do that for me.”

“I would. Simon, I came here because I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he murmured, shoving his hands in his pocket.

Bailey curled her hands around the bars. “Simon, did you send me his name?”

He hesitated a moment and then turned away. “I gotta go.” He ran up the windy driveway without waiting for her to reply.

Bailey started walking. But her steps were lighter, and a smile tugged at her lips.

For the first time in her life, Bailey had a plan.