Emily’s heart jumped. She saw herself walking up to Clay, tongue out for the tab of acid, wearing the silky green dress that she’d borrowed from Ricky.
She said, “That’s right, Gram. I was in a green dress. Do you remember that night?”
“The saddle-oxford was outside.” Gram smiled. “Such a funny little bubble. Beep-beep.”
Emily’s heart sank. As quickly as Gram was there, she was gone. At least she wouldn’t remember the conversation Emily had just had with her parents. Which meant that the more Emily’s belly grew, the more surprised Gram would be every time she recognized her pregnant granddaughter.
“Sweetheart?”
“I’ll get the cookies.” Emily stood up to fetch the box. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do you want some milk?”
“Oh, yes, please. I love cold milk.”
Emily opened the fridge. She forced her mind to go back to the morning after The Party. She clearly remembered waking up on the floor of her grandmother’s bedroom. Her dress was on inside-out. Her thighs had felt bruised. Her insides had throbbed from pain that she had passed off as breakthrough cramps.
Why couldn’t she remember?
“Saddle-oxford, saddle-oxford, beep-beep-beep,” Gram sang. “What’s that called? The little bubble car?”
“A car?” Emily repeated, placing the glass of milk on the table. “What kind of car?”
“Oh, you know what I’m talking about.” Gram nibbled at one of the cookies. “It’s sloped in the back. Looks like something a clown would pop out of.”
“A—” Emily sat down in the chair across from Gram.
She had another flash of memory, this time featuring the dark interior of a car. The dashboard lights were glowing. The song on the radio was turned down too low to catch the lyrics. Emily’s hands were nervously working a tear in the hem of Ricky’s green dress.
“They slope down in the back,” Gram said. “The cars with the trunks you can see through the rear window.”
Emily felt her breathing turn shallow the same way it had at Dr. Schroeder’s office. She heard the song playing on the car radio again, but still couldn’t make out the words. “A hatchback?”
“Is that what it’s called?” Gram shook her head. “So strange to see a grown man in something like that.”
“What man?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Gram said. “He dropped you off outside the house on the night you’re talking about. I saw him from the window.”
Emily felt her teeth grit. Again, her mind flashed up an image that felt as real as the one she kept seeing of Clay putting the acid on her tongue. It was hours after The Party. The night was so dark Emily could barely see her hand in front of her face. Suddenly, a car door closed. An engine turned on and a pair of headlights illuminated the front of the house. Emily stumbled. Her thighs chafed, the skin sticking together. She looked down to see the torn hem of Ricky’s green dress. Then she looked up to find Gram standing in her bedroom window.
Their eyes met. Something passed between them. Emily felt different. Dirty.
The engine revved. The car quickly reversed. Emily didn’t need to turn around to know what it looked like. She had been inside the car moments before, months before, at least a year before. Getting a lift home in the rain. Hitching a ride to track practice. The interior smelled of sweat and pot. The outside was bubble-shaped. The paint scheme was like a saddle-oxford shoe, light brown on the top, dark brown on the bottom. There was only one person in town who drove a Chevy Chevette that looked like that. He was the same man who had driven her home the night of The Party.
Dean Wexler.