Page 46 of Trapper Road

“What about you?” I ask, desperate to deflect her attention from how lame I sound.

She walks a few feet more and then stops. She stares off into the woods, then lets out a long breath. When she turns to face me, her eyes are wide and bright with tears. “I might be the reason my best friend Juliette disappeared.”

She barely gets the words out before covering her face with her hands and starting to sob, her shoulders shaking.

I have no idea what to do or how to handle the situation. All I know is that I have the urge to do anything to make her feel better. I think about what makes my sister feel better when she’s upset, and I put a tentative hand on Willa’s shoulder. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, I fold her into a hug.

She leans against me, almost collapsing. Her arms immediately slip around my neck as she buries her face against my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she cries.

I tell her there’s no reason to apologize as I try to gently stroke her thick hair without getting my fingers tangled.

After a minute she pulls away, giving an embarrassed laugh as she swipes at her eyes, leaving a few tears still clinging to her lashes. Remarkably, her face is clear, no red splotches or puffy red eyes. My sister always said there are pretty criers and ugly criers, and Willa is most definitely a beautiful crier.

I miss the weight of her head against my shoulder and can still feel the remnants of her warmth in the palm of my hand. “You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Sorry, I just… it’s still so hard, you know? It’s been months and everyone says I should get over Juliette and move on. Accept that she’s gone. But I can’t.” She gives another self-deprecating laugh. “I’m sure you think I’m crazy for still holding out hope that we’ll find her.”

“Not at all,” I say automatically, without thought. “I know exactly what you mean. Trust me. Sometimes you just need to keep believing something, even when everyone else thinks you’re crazy for doing so.” I think about Kevin and how I’m still holding on to how good a friend he was to me. And about Dad and my need to believe he still loved us. Both despite all the horrible things they did. “Especially then,” I add.

Her eyes meet mine. She studies me for a moment, long enough that I start to feel awkward. “So you do understand,” she finally says. She sounds almost surprised.

I nod. I’m afraid she’ll ask me more and that would mean talking about the shooting and my father, which would ruin everything. It always does. So instead I ask her, “Why do you say you’re the reason she disappeared?”

She crosses her arms around herself which makes her look even smaller and more fragile. Her voice is barely a whisper when she says, “We got in a fight that afternoon.”

I don’t remember reading anything about that in the file. “Really?”

She nods and chews her bottom lip, suddenly anxious, as if she’s second-guessing having said anything. “You can’t tell your mom, though. You can’t tell anyone.”

The request makes me feel uncomfortable. “But what if it would help them find her?”

“It wouldn’t.”

“But how can you be sure?”

She cringes and looks down. Whatever happened clearly distresses her, and it’s obvious she wants to talk about it.

I ask, “Have you told anyone? Does anyone else know?”

She shakes her head. “I’m too embarrassed. It’s too terrible.”

As much as I think it’s wrong to keep information from the police, I can’t resist the idea of sharing this secret with her. Other than Kevin, I’ve never had many close friends — it’s rare for anyone to confide in me. That she might consider me a confidant makes me feel important. Valued. Trusted.

Sure, we just met, but sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to share personal things with strangers. There’s no history involved, no expectations either.

“Ok, I promise I won’t tell my mom without your permission, how about that?” I hope it’s a promise I can keep, because I would absolutely betray Willa’s confidence if it meant saving Juliette’s life.

She considers me a moment longer. Then she says, “On the day she disappeared, I told Juliette she was a bad friend.”

I wait for her to say more and when she doesn’t I want to say, “That’s it?” But I’ve learned enough from having a sister and from being around other girls at school that the inner workings of female friendships can be a tumultuous thing.

“What happened?”

She sighs. “I found out that she’d been talking to some guy online and telling him things about me that were private. Secrets that I trusted her with absolutely. Even worse, she’d been spreading rumors about me. Telling him what a horrible person I was.” Her voice trembles at that last bit, and her eyes once again fill with tears. “She called me cruel.”

Her revelation surprises me. I can’t imagine anyone describing Willa as cruel. I know I hardly know her, but everything about her seems so genuine and sweet.

“Why?”

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