“You didn’t seem to feel that way three years ago.”
“I … I know. Kellie, I’m sor—”
She raised a hand to silence me. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about it.”
“You’re not?”
“I was back then,” she said. “I was sure that if you’d spoken up, people would listen. They seemed more likely to believe you than me. I was sure that if just one person—the only other person in that bathroom who was still alive—spoke up, everyone would apologize to me. God, I was naive.”
“But maybe they would have.”
She shook her head. “No. That story was more powerful than either of us, Lee. And I get it. It’s a damn good story. The sweet, pretty dead girl, dying a martyr for her beliefs, is way better than the angry emo chick, stuttering out answers in a panic because she doesn’t know what the maniac with the gun wants to hear. Maybe if I’d died it would be a better story. Maybe not. Not sure I’m great martyr material.”
“I still should have said something.”
“Yeah. You should’ve. But then there’d probably be two families chased out of that hellhole of a town instead of just one. Like I said. It’s a good story. And you know what people like way more than the truth? A good story.”
She said all this so casually. No passion. No bitterness. Complete apathy, with maybe just a hint of resignation. These were the facts, at least as far as she saw them. No need to get worked up. Not anymore.
“I was so stupid back then,” she said, almost laughing. “I tried to tell everyone the truth. Not because I wanted people to worship me the way they did Sarah. I didn’t care about that. I just … I don’t know. I thought the truth mattered.”
“It does,” I insisted. “The truth does matter.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because … because it’s thetruth.” I was having trouble articulating what I wanted to say. I kept thinking of Miles, of our argument in the parking lot the night before. It seemed like such a simple concept to me. The truth was important. Facts were important. Why couldn’t these people understand that? Hadn’t we been told since childhood that you should always, always tell the truth?
I’d failed at that three years ago. I’d kept my mouth shut, and it was a horrible mistake. Why, now that I was trying to fix it, couldn’t Kellie and Miles be on the same page as me?
She took another long sip of her coffee, her eyes turning toward the window off to our left. People were walking past the café. Mothers pushed babies in strollers. Couples held hands. Outside, no one knew that two of the survivors from a national tragedy were sitting in this rinky-dink café. Heck, they probably hadn’t even thought about the shooting in ages. They had moved on so long ago that we were just …
A story.
“Did you know I used to go to church?”
I looked back at her, but Kellie wasn’t looking at me. She was still watching the window.
“This tiny little Methodist church in the next town over. It’s where my grandparents went, so I didn’t mind making the drive. No one from school went there. I thought … I thought that made it safe.” She pressed her lips together. “I told my preacher the truth. And the next week, he wrote a whole damn sermon about Sarah. Said we should all strive to be more like her. My grandma said it was the best sermon he ever gave.”
“He didn’t believe you?”
“Nope. And when I tried to tell Grandma the truth, she said, ‘Now quit that, Kellie Renee. Lying to get attention is not becoming of a young lady.’ Sometimes, I wonder if my parents even believe me. They said they did but …” She raised a shoulder and let it fall. “I have a feeling they were both relieved when I stopped talking about it after we moved. They got almost as much hell as I did, you know.”
“I’m so—”
“Stop trying to apologize,” she snapped, turning to glare at me. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m not trying to guilt you. I don’t give a damn about your guilt, Lee. My point is that telling the truth hasn’t done anything but make things worse for me. So while you’re sitting there telling me the truth matters, I’m telling you—it doesn’t. Not to me. Not anymore.”
“But—”
“Every time I spoke up, I got shouted down. My voice was stomped out. I was turned into a freaking cartoon villain by my own friends and neighbors. That’s what the truth did to me. They hurt more than that gunshot ever could. So Sarah’s parents can write whatever book they want. That’s their choice. Mine is to try like hell to put this behind me. And that’s really freaking hard when you keep emailing and calling constantly just so we can sit here and talk about how importantthe truthis to you.”
The weight of her words began to sink in, and a slow realization dawned on me. She hadn’t just been avoiding me—the girl who didn’t speak up—for the last few weeks. She’d been avoiding the past. She’d built a new life for herself, and here I was, harassing her, hoping to convince her to write a letter for my collection, hoping she’d share the truth with … whoever I decided to give these letters to when I was done. And that was the last thing she wanted.
Maybe I was no better than Brother Lloyd.
She stood up, grabbing her purse from the floor and taking a final sip of coffee. “I need to go. Campus is half an hour away, and I promised my friends I’d meet them to study for finals. So if that’s all you wanted to talk to me about …”
I nodded. I had to work to bite back another apology. It kept creeping onto the tip of my tongue, nearly pushing through my lips, but I fought it. She didn’t want an apology from me. She’d made that clear. And the least I could do now was to listen to her about what she wanted.
