Dreaming of Antigone Page 9

  “Ugh. Not with me driving.” My stomach is starting to hurt again. I grab another donut.

  But Trista doesn’t argue. “Selena can take us,” she says. “If we don’t mind paying for her ticket and for gas.”

  “We have to pay for Andria’s ticket too,” Natalie says. “It’s her celebration.”

  “No, I’m happy to pay. If my mom lets me go. She thinks rides can cause seizures.”

  “So we don’t tell her where we’re going and we buy your ticket.”

  Trista sips her coffee in silence. She probably thinks I’m afraid of having a seizure. And she’s right. Losing control in front of my friends is one of my biggest fears.

  “I’d better call Craig,” I say, sliding down from the barstool. “Tell your mom the donuts were wonderful.”

  “Aw, don’t leave yet,” Natalie says. “We could go get lunch.”

  “At the Indigo?” Trista’s face lights up with a malicious grin.

  I scream at them in frustration as I make my way back up the stairs to find my phone.

  My stepdad picks me up within the hour, with the roof down on his Mercedes. He has been golfing with potential investors in his new subdivision west of the Perimeter. He’s been begging Mom to let us move out there, and promises her the house of her dreams. It’s in a better school district too, but Mom loves our historic neighborhood. I don’t think he can talk her into moving.

  “How was your pajama party? Lots of pillow fights and girl talk?”

  Dork. “Yep,” I mutter, throwing my bags in his backseat.

  “Are you hungry? Want to get some lunch?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I get it, you’ve probably been eating all sorts of yummy stuff made by Mrs. Roman.” He grins. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

  “Ha-ha. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His cell phone rings, and when he sees the number on the display, he sets the call to private instead of answering on his steering wheel. “Business,” he whispers to me. “Hello, this is Craig Williams.” It’s silly, though. With the top down, it’s not like he could hear on speaker anyway.

  I push my hair out of my face and try not to eavesdrop as we drive down Broad Street. Someone is walking out of the Lutheran church. Alex.

  “Yes . . . yes,” Craig is saying. “Of course.”

  Alex looks up just as we pass by, and he recognizes me. Instead of smiling or giving a friendly wave, he frowns.

  “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” Craig says. He turns off Broad, and I stare straight ahead. What is Alex’s problem?

  I try to remember if I said anything last night to piss him off. Maybe he didn’t recognize me, but I’m almost certain he did.

  “Let me get back to you on this,” Craig is saying. “I’m in the middle of something at the moment.... Of course. We’ll talk soon.”

  As he pulls into the driveway, he sighs. “I guess I’m going to have to go back into the office for a bit. Tell your mom I’ll be home before supper.”

  “Sure. Thanks for the ride.” I get my stuff from the backseat and dig my house key out of my purse.

  He waits until I get the front door unlocked before waving and backing out. Mom’s open house isn’t over until five. She has left me a note on the kitchen counter: Did you remember to take your pills???

  I toss the note in the trash and head back to my room. My phone has a few missed texts when I plug it in the charger. From Natalie: I really do miss Caleb.

  And from Trista: Nat really should be with Caleb. Let’s go beat up Erin.

  I smile. Natalie must have opened up to Trista after I left. I’m glad I agreed to hang out with them last night, but there is still a huge distance between me and them. And I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. I never was a part of the soccer team so I never was as close to all of the girls as Iris. I didn’t go on the out-of-town trips for play-off games or tournaments. Rarely got to hang out with them at Pizza Hut after games or practices. Nat and I will always be friends, but never as close as Iris and Tris were. And if Nat and Tris become closer friends now, I’m okay with that.

  And really, Caleb can be a nice guy. But I’m not sure if Natalie would be better off with him or Thomas. Or maybe neither.

  The coffee I drank at the Romans’ this morning is fading fast, and since I have nothing better to do, I lie down to take a nap.

  It’s not restful, though. I keep waking up, sometimes because the room is too hot, and sometimes because I’ve kicked the covers off and am freezing. I swear my phone vibrates, but every time I lift my head to check it, there’s no new message.

  I dream of Iris. At Rock ’n’ Roll Graveyard. She’s looking up at the stars and telling me I’m missing the best part. I tell her I know.

  Mom wakes me when she comes home. My room is dark, and she fusses at me for sleeping all day. My head hurts.

  I sit up and yawn. It’s not like I really got any rest. Iris was telling me to look for the Pleiades.

  “Did you have a good time with the girls?” Mom asks. She’s going through the mail as she sits on the side of my bed. “Mrs. Roman said everyone was excited about going to see the band play last night.”

  “I had fun. Thanks for talking me into going.”

  She pats my knee under the quilt. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Want to come help me with the vegetables?”

  The doorbell rings, and she tells me she’ll meet me in the kitchen. But when I get out front, she’s standing at the door, talking to a police officer. My stomach twists violently. It’s about last night. I know I wasn’t drinking, but I’m sure there’s some other sort of law I was breaking. Trespassing?

  “I don’t understand. How can I help you?” Mom’s voice is pleasant. The same one she uses when little girls come to the door to sell cookie dough.

  The police officer is a tiny young man. He looks uncomfortable on our front porch step. A larger, older female cop stands behind him, her hand on her gun belt. She looks at Mom menacingly. “Mrs. Williams, I’m sorry, but we have a warrant to search your husband’s office. We need to take his computer.”

  “What do you think he’s done?” Mom’s voice is eerily calm. Like nothing is wrong. But the police are here because they think my stepfather is some sort of criminal.

  “We received a phone call from a concerned parent that Mr. Williams may be engaging in inappropriate activity with one of the girls on his soccer team. Do you know when Mr. Williams will be home?”

  “What sort of inappropriate activity?” Mom asks. “He said he had some work to do at the office . . . but he should be home anytime now.”

  “Please, ma’am. We need to have access to his computer.” The young cop holds up a piece of paper. An official-looking paper.

  “Mom,” I say, tugging on her arm. I don’t think she wants to move. But she needs to let them do their job before she gets into trouble.

  When she looks at me, her eyes are glassy. I don’t know what the hell Craig has done, but he should burn in hell if he has hurt Mom, after everything else she’s gone through. “Let them do their job, Mom.”

  She lets me lead her out of the way, and the two cops invade our house. Even the short one seems larger than life in our living room. The room spins a little, and I realize Mom is seeing the same thing I am: the night six months ago when the cops stood in the living room while the EMTs carried Iris’s body out the door.

  I squeeze Mom’s hand. This is not the same, I remind myself.

  “Can you tell me exactly what my husband is accused of?” Mom asks.

  But the female cop is looking at me. “Sweetie, I need to speak with you for a moment about your stepfather. Alone.”

  “Why?” Mom clutches my hand now. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Williams. But we need to ask her a few questions about her relationship with Mr. Williams.”

  “Relationship?” I let go of Mom’s hand. “Do you mean what I think
you mean? Gross. He’s a normal stepdad. I can tell you that right here.”

  “He picked you up from your friend’s house this morning and brought you home, right?”

  “Have you been following him?” Mom asks. Craig must be in serious trouble if this investigation has been going on for a while.

  “Yes.”

  “Andria, has Craig ever been inappropriate with you or anyone else that you’ve witnessed? You don’t have to talk about this in front of your mom if it’s uncomfortable.”

  “Ew. No.” Nothing I’ve ever noticed. “Are you saying he’s molesting girls on the soccer team?” I think of Natalie and Trista and can’t imagine it. Trista would never let something happen to her without fighting back. She’d kick Craig’s ass. Unless—ew. “Or is someone sleeping with him?” I ask before thinking. Mom gasps.

  The younger policeman comes out of the den with Craig’s desktop. He glances at his partner.

  She hands Mom a business card with a phone number and a badge number written on it. “Mr. Williams needs to speak with us. It would be better if he cooperates and comes in willingly.”

  But as they open the front door to leave, Craig pulls up in his convertible. I move to follow the cops outside, but Mom grabs my arm. Hard. “Don’t. The neighbors will see you.”

  Mr. Nosy Old Guy is probably already camped out on his porch, looking at the cop car. The neighbors will know what happens whether we attempt to hide it or not. I try not to think about school on Monday. I still don’t know what is happening. Whose parents are accusing Craig?

  The female cop pokes her head back inside. “Mr. Williams has agreed to come with us to the police station willingly.”

  Craig is standing on the porch with them. “I’m sorry, Patrice.” He doesn’t look at either of us, but turns and follows the police to their car. They don’t handcuff him, but he slides into the backseat, where bad people go. Is he a bad person?

  What does “I’m sorry” mean? I close the front door and turn around to find Mom sinking down onto the floor, sobbing.

  “Andria, baby. Did he touch you? I swear to Christ I will kill him myself.”

  “What? No!” I put my arms around her. “Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe he made one of the players mad and she’s just trying to cause him trouble.”

  Mom shakes her head. “What if it’s not a mistake? That bastard! He’s been . . . different lately. Distant. Working late. Extra out-of-town trips.” She wipes her face, with a bitter laugh. “And here I was worried he was sleeping with his secretary.”

  A million different things are flying through my head right now. I don’t know what to do. What to say to Mom. How are we going to get through this? If Craig was sleeping with one of the girls on the team, Mom will be devastated. The cops were so worried about him doing something with me. A nasty thought slithers up from deep inside my brain. It stops my blood cold.

  What if he was doing something with Iris?

  CHAPTER 17

  Six Days

  I can’t remember the last time I had a decent night’s sleep. I toss and turn, my worries tumbling over and over inside my head. Mostly I worry about my mother. How much more sadness can she handle?

  Sophie whimpers and tries to climb up on my bed. She knows better, but this morning I let her snuggle with me. I need her right now.

  It’s not even five in the morning, and I hear Mom rummaging in Iris’s room. She can’t sleep either. She’s looking for my sister’s diary. Mom looked six months ago but never found it. It was navy blue with a silver unicorn on the cover. She’d had it since she was thirteen.

  I know I’m not going to sleep anymore, so I get up and go to help Mom look.

  “Do you have any idea where she hid it?” she asks. She looks like she’s been crying, but she’s not crying now. She’s calm. Determined. On a mission.

  “Did you look under her mattress?”

  “Of course. That’s the first place I looked six months ago. And the closet shelves, and in her dresser drawers.”

  “Look again. The last time I ever saw her write in it, she was lying in bed.”

  “Help me, then.” Together we throw the pillows off the bed and tug the mattress over. There’s a folded-up poster board from an elementary school project. The science fair project she won a blue ribbon for in sixth grade. I helped her make an astrolabe.

  I lift up the poster board and find her diary. Mom is shaking. Either with anger or fear, or a little of both. “You knew it was here?”

  I shake my head. I’ve always had a pretty good idea where it might be, but I never went searching for it.

  “And you never told me.”

  “Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it. I haven’t seen her write in it in years.” For the longest time, we knew everything about one another. It never occurred to me that she had any secrets. Because I didn’t.

  I live a boring life. Other than the time I tried to steal Craig’s motorcycle. Or drink Mom’s brandy. For that, Iris yelled at me for days. She knew alcohol and my meds didn’t mix. She took the brandy away and finished it herself.

  “What if there was something in here about Craig?” Mom asks.

  A sick feeling grows in my stomach. She is right. Whatever secrets Iris kept in this diary might have saved someone else a lot of pain. She picks up the diary.

  “I don’t want to read this,” she says. “This is probably just full of in-depth descriptions of her dates.”

  Alex is probably in there, I think, staring at the unicorn on the cover. I don’t want to read it either. “We could read it together,” I say. Even though I dread it as much as she does.

  We let the mattress fall back down and both sit on the side of the bed. “Ready?” Mom asks as she opens the book.

  I scoot closer to her and crane my neck to see.

  It’s more awful than I imagined. Craig began touching Iris when we were twelve. Right after Mom gave us our own bedrooms. She wonders early on if he visits my room too, and at first is relieved when he tells her I’m too sickly for him. Later, she gets paranoid and decides she has to be jealous of me. One day it’s because I’m not the one being abused. The next day it’s because she fears she will have to share Craig with me.

  I can’t believe the way that monster warped her mind. I want to throw up as I read.

  Mom gasps as she sees the same words I see on the page. “But she had boyfriends. She’d been dating since ninth grade,” she says. She’s trying to convince herself that what we’re reading isn’t true.

  “And he fought you on that, remember?” I say. “Craig thought we were both too young to date.” Not that anyone ever asked me out. But Craig never liked Noah, Iris’s first boyfriend. And he certainly didn’t like Alex.

  Mom begins to flip through the pages. Iris and Craig’s relationship (ick, I hate to use that word) became something more consensual as the years went by. Even though she still knew it was wrong. She thought that he loved her. And she wrote last Christmas that she loved him. “Who was the boy she dated before Alex? The one with the El Camino?”

  “Mike?” Mike was a drug dealer. I know this now, but didn’t the first time I met him. Now I’m not even sure if his name really is Mike. She was dating him last summer, but it’s evident from the diary that she was just using him to get drugs. By this time, she was depressed and believed she needed to make Craig leave her alone, but he wouldn’t.

  My stomach feels queasy as I think about the last time I saw Mike. The night Iris died. She’d taken me with her to his party somewhere on the other side of the university. Out near the edge of town. I had had a seizure earlier that evening and had made her promise not to tell anyone. In exchange for her silence, I had to go with her and drive her home in case she got too drunk.

  She was more than happy to keep my secret about the seizure, because she knew I’d be obligated to keep that night’s party a secret too. I had trapped myself. And her. And in the end, it didn’t help me at all.

  Iris has filled these pages wit
h her pain. The things she couldn’t tell me, she poured out into this book. My cheeks are wet with my tears as I read page after page. How could we have not known this was going on?

  Mom throws the book down and runs to the bathroom between our bedrooms. I can hear her being violently ill.

  I pick up the diary, so full of poison and suffering. I flip through the pages, searching for her last entry. There’s no date, but it must have been written sometime within the last week or two that she was alive.

  Not sure what Alex thinks or feels anymore, but I don’t think we’re meant to be together. He’s too intense for me, too much for me to handle right now. I think he knows it, too.

  I don’t know if he really knew it or not. I guess I know now how she felt about him, but how did Alex feel about her?

  Mom is reluctant to let me go to school. She thinks my classmates are going to harass me. Or ask me stupid questions. Or at the very least, stare at me with pity.

  That isn’t anything new. Kids have stared at me since the day I had a seizure in kindergarten. “I want to make sure Natalie and Trista are okay,” I tell her. Mom’s face pales when she realizes how many of my classmates might be affected by this.

  I wear my favorite hoodie, favorite jeans, and black boots. I’m dressed for battle.

  She is not going in to work today, so she drops me off at school. “I love you,” she says as I open the car door. She looks small this morning. Frail and terribly human.

  “Love you too,” I say as I face the crowd in front of the main building. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. I ignore that twisty feeling I’m getting in my stomach. Make it to the library, I tell myself. I can hide out in there until the bell rings.

  No one stares at me in the hallway. Perhaps the news hasn’t gotten out yet. I sneak into the library just as Verla is unlocking the doors.

  “Hey, how are you and your mom holding up?” she asks, her eyes sad.

  The news is out there after all.

  “When did you hear?” I ask.