“Wait. She thinks that Owen . . .” But my words trail off as the entire scene clicks into place.
He said the state attorney might press charges, Owen.
She wanted to. I swear to god she wanted to.
“Took advantage?” I whisper, and Owen lifts his head to meet my eyes.
“I didn’t, Mar. You know I didn’t.”
“Took . . . advantage?”
But we all know that’s not the right word. The word we should be using lunges into my throat, trying to unfurl on my tongue. “Did you . . .” I shove the word back down. There’s no way in hell I can say it. There’s no way it’s really the right word. “Owen, did you . . . force yourself on her?”
“Mara!” Mom springs to her feet, her eyes blazing, her curls wild.
On the couch, Owen flinches, recoiling farther into the cushions. “No! Hell no. You know I would never do that, Mar.”
“I know you wouldn’t. I know that. So why would she say you did?”
“That’s enough, Mara,” Mom says, but it’s not. And I can’t stop. I have to understand. I need Owen to explain this. Because, yes, I do know Owen would never do that, but I also know Hannah would never lie about something like that. She loves Owen, so why would she lie?
“We had a fight, that’s all,” Owen says, raking both hands through his hair. He leaves them there, resting his forehead in his palms.
“You told me this morning that you weren’t fighting,” I say. Unshed tears sting my eyes; my thoughts tangle and scatter and I can’t hold on to one long enough to make sense of any of this. It has to make sense somehow.
“All right, enough,” Mom says. “Go to your room, Mara.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“You’re not helping. Go to your room and cool down.”
“No. I need . . . we have to . . . Owen, just tell me what happened.”
He keeps his face pressed into his hands.
“Owen!”
“Go,” Mom says. “Right now.” She places her hand on my shoulder and pushes me gently toward the hall. I feel boneless, weightless, so I go.
“It’ll be all right, honey,” she says. “You know your brother. It’s just a misunderstanding.”
She leaves me at the bottom of the stairs, a light squeeze to my hand the only other comfort offered. In the kitchen, I hear Dad mumbling into the phone. In the living room, I hear Owen start to cry again, Mom whispering support.
I stand by myself in the hallway, the unspoken word echoing through my mind as though it’s another language. The stairs unfold in front of me, but I can’t seem to push myself up. Instead, I find my keys and ghost toward the front door.
Open.
Close.
Car door. Key into the ignition. My body moves through the motions but my thoughts . . . where are they? My eyes drift toward the still-blue sky.
Not a star in sight.
Ten minutes later, I pull up outside Charlie’s house.
Chapter Four
IT TAKES ME ANOTHER TEN MINUTES to get out of the car, and even then, only because Charlie comes out of her house and taps on my window. I turn my head slowly toward the sound, my eyes taking in Charlie’s tattered Nirvana T-shirt and concerned face. I’m underwater, drowning in that unspoken word, and I need air.
