Page 54 of The Narrow

“Oh! Of course. I wasn’t planning to,” I say. It hasn’t occurred to me.

“I know you kids are always doing podcasts or the Tik Toks,” she says, exaggerating the spaces between the words so I’m sure she’s making the mistake on purpose.

“I despise being perceived,” I admit. “This is just for me.” And Del.

“I understand that. But I think that’s all that Grace wanted, sometimes—to be seen. She was the perfect daughter. Did everything our parents asked of her. And because she never caused any problems, they never thought to look any deeper. Until she met Maeve.”

“Where did they meet?” I ask.

“Atwood, of course,” Liz replies. “Maeve—Maeve Fairchild—was a junior when Grace was a freshman. It was at the end of that year they started spending time together. Maeve was a bit older, and already wild—a troublemaker. Grace came home more excited and alive than I’d ever seen her. Their first kiss was on Grace’s birthday the next year. She was sixteen.”

Less than a year before she died. Before shedisappeared, I remember, because there is no solid proof that Grace is dead.

“My parents found out. I’m not sure how—maybe someone at the school told them. Maybe Grace did. She could be like that. She was so sure of the goodness in people, sometimes she could be naive. She might have thought they would have no choice but to understand. But of course, they didn’t. They accused Maeve of corrupting her. And Maeve wasn’t a ‘good girl’ like Grace. She smoked and drank and sneaked out at night, and Grace wasn’t her first girlfriend. It wasn’t hard to convince the school to kick her out.”

“They expelled her?” I ask, more shocked than maybe I should be. “For being gay?”

“For corrupting the morals of younger students,” Liz says dryly. “Grace wasfurious. It was probably the worst thing they could have done. Maeve was eighteen by then. She moved into town and got a job waitressing, and Grace would sneak out to see her at night.”

Through the woods, I think. Over the Narrow. It’s the shortest way to get to town.

“I don’t know exactly what happened after that. I know that my parents became aware that they were still seeing each other.They spoke a lot with a teacher who was trying to intervene, to convince Grace to stop seeing Maeve. Things got quiet for a while. And then... then Grace was just gone. And so was Maeve.”

“The articles only ever talked about Grace. They hardly mentioned that Maeve even existed,” I say.

“My parents didn’t want rumors spreading. Maeve’s family had disowned her when the school expelled her, and no one was really looking for her. If my parents had their way, none of this would have been in the papers at all. You have to understand, it was a very different time—and our circles were obsessed with status and very conservative. I think my parents truly would have preferred a dead straight daughter to a living gay daughter.”

“What do you think happened?” I ask. I sit cross-legged on the bed, hunched forward as I press the phone to my ear.

She sighs. “Oh, from time to time I’ve fantasized about the two of them off together somewhere. Living under new names. Growing old around people who love them. But I think that after all this time without hearing from Grace, the only explanation that makes sense is that she died that night. She went to meet Maeve and drowned. And maybe Maeve tried to save her and fell in as well, or maybe she ran away when she realized what had happened. But either way, Grace is dead. I’m certain of it.”

Maeve didn’t run away. She’s still here. But if Grace died that same night, drowned in the river just like Maeve, why is Maeve still looking for her? “Thank you,” I say. “It helps. Knowing more of the story. And I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You’d think a wound that old would be healed by now,” Liz says. She sounds exhausted. As if telling the tale had robbed her of all her energy.

“That’s not really the way it works, though, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. We’re all just bones haunted by our own memories, aren’t we?” Liz asks. “But you’re still young. Not so haunted yet.”

I don’t correct her. “Thank you again for talking to me.”

“Thankyou. It was good, talking about her. I don’t think I’ve ever told the whole story like that. It was... I don’t know. Cleansing,” she said. “You take care, Eden. And be careful.”

“Careful?” I ask.

She hesitates. “I almost don’t want to mention this. It was a long time ago, and things have changed. People have changed. But the teacher who tried to break Grace and Maeve up, who was so dead set against their relationship—his name was Geoffrey Oster.”

My stomach drops. “He’s the dean now,” I say.

“I know. That’s why I wanted to mention it. I don’t know what you’re intending to do with what you learn, but I imagine it could be a very awkward subject to bring up, given how close to the situation he was. What happened wasn’t his fault, but he wasn’t blameless.”

“How is it not his fault? If he hadn’t broken them up, Grace wouldn’t have had to sneak out,” I say.

“He was part of it. But if you really want to blame someone, blame my parents. They’re the ones who were supposed to loveher unconditionally,” Liz says, and now she sounds angry. “I wish I at least knew that wherever she is, she’s loved.”

I can tell that she is done, that grief is overcoming her willingness to talk.

“Thank you for everything,” I say.

---