And I thought, oh my God, that’s it! I’ll get her a diary. I mean, she’s going into eighth grade, and that’s pretty much when all the big drama starts, right? And it might be nice for her to have something private to record it all in, like when she gets her first crush, or first kiss, or starts fighting with Jenay and Abby, or reads a really exciting sentence in one of her books! (Just kidding about the last one because I know it sounds mean.) And since she’s so into reading

and writing and stuff, I figure she’ll probably end up writing in her diary even more than I do mine.

So at first I reached for the cobalt blue one — I guess

I’m just naturally drawn to that color — but then I thought how it’s probably better if she doesn’t have the exact same one as mine. I mean, for starters we’re complete and total opposites which means we don’t share the same taste in color either, and second, can you imagine if we had the exact same ones and then they somehow got switched!

And since that’s the kind of risk I’m just not willing to take, I ended up buying her this really pretty turquoise one.

Still blue, only different, calmer, like Echo. And since I still feel so guilty for never taking her to lunch (even after I promised I would if I survived that first Internet hookup meeting thing with Carly — which obviously I did), I bought some really pretty silver wrapping paper (instead of using old Xmas paper like I usually do), a pretty cobalt blue bow (so she’d know at first sight it’s from me), and then this little vanilla-scented candle to go with it, so that she can close her door, light her candle, and write about all the amazing things that happen in eighth grade.

And then after I came back home and wrapped it all up,

I hid it in the back of my closet, behind my big stack of shoe boxes so she won’t find it. I just hope I don’t forget that it’s there — because you know how it goes, outta sight, outta mind and all that.

I drop the diary and bolt upstairs to Zoë’s room, my hands shaking and my heart racing as I dive straight into her closet, pushing aside the tall stacks of shoe boxes, desecrating a space that’s been preserved for well over a year.

And sure enough, just like she promised, there’s a dark green shopping bag hidden in the back. So I take it over to her bed, where I sit on the edge, anxious to get inside.

But the moment that silver-wrapped box is on my lap, I’m suddenly reluctant to open it. Because this was meant to be unwrapped in a room full of laughter, family, and friends. It was never supposed to happen like this.

Though knowing Zoë, she’d want me to open it no matter what. And since so few of her plans had turned out as she’d hoped, I wasn’t about to disappoint her now.

I remove the bow gently, smiling as I tuck it behind my ear, remembering how Zoë and I always used to do that on Christmas morning, posing together like two Tahitian goddesses, red and green ribbons woven through our hair, while our dad stood before us, taking our picture. Then I slip my finger under the tape, taking more care than usual not to rip the paper as I unfold the edges, lift the lid, and retrieve the diary.

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.

Twenty-nine

August 24

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.