Alyson Noël - Saving Zoë

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.

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, “I 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

I 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.”