Page 34 of Not Another Yesterday
Her lips part as if to speak, then her eyes narrow. “I’ve seen you before,” she says, and her eye widen with delight. “Oh my gosh, I’ve seen you before,” she says, louder.Alright, well, this is taking an unexpected turn.
She pulls open a large black bag and rummages through it before pulling out a manilla folder stuffed with papers. She retrieves a single piece of paper. “You’re her, right?” She taps her index finger on the paper. “You’re Ronan’s girlfriend? Or at least you were back in November. This was the last photo I could find. I think I pulled it from Shane’s profile. It’s the last image I was able to find of you with Ronan. He doesn’t have social media, so it’s hard to confirm relationship status. And yours is private, so…” She pushes a paper printout across the table toward me.
I recognize the photo. It was actually taken last summer here at Murphy’s. It was the last time all eight of us were together before Zack and Summer left for California and Vada left for Philadelphia. In the picture I’m standing next to Tori, and Ronan is just behind me, his left arm draped over my left shoulder and across my chest.
“I can’t quite figure out if you’re still together and how long you’ve known him. Your yearbooks don’t have any photos of the two of you together. It looks like you maybe only started attending East Bay High during your senior year? Gosh, I can’t believe I’d run into you here. I was coming to chat with Sha—”
I blink at her, trying to find my way through the onslaught of information and questions, then finally find my voice. “Who are you?” I ask with a shake of my head.
Her eyebrows shoot up as though she’s only now realizing how strongly she’s coming on. “I’m so sorry.” She stands and reaches her hand out for me to shake. I don’t take it. “I’m Rashana Yates. I’m a grad student at Columbia. I’m getting my M.A. in investigative journalism and I’m working on a piece involving abuse cycles in families and the shortcomings of the criminal justice system. I did a bunch of initial research over the summer, you know, trying to come up with a goodidea for a story, and I came across Rica Soult’s case. It immediately spoke to me. It’s kind of the perfect example of cyclical violence, you know? So I’ve been doing my sleuthing”—the word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth—“and I’m going to incorporate it into my story,” she says with such enthusiasm that I have to take a step back from her.
My mind is made up. I don’t need to hear anything else, don’t need to learn anything about Rashana, couldn’t care less about her background and accolades. I don’t like her.
“You’re… You’ve been researching?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around everything she just said.
She nods.
“And you’ve been searching social media?”
She nods again. “I have a lot of threads going at the same time. I’ve reached out to Rica Soult in prison to see if she’d agree to an interview, but nothing yet. It’s not a surprise, to be honest. But there’s a lot I can gather just from news reports, lots of public information and documents. It was a little harder figuring out Ronan’s name, but obviously not impossible. And then there’s social media, which is hugely helpful. Nothing is truly private anymore,” she says with a delighted smile—while my frown deepens.
“I wanted to get a good understanding of exactly what I was dealing with before I made contact with Ronan. The fact that he attends Columbia is just… chef’s kiss,” she says, touching her fingertips to her lips.
The monster in my chest is wide awake and roaring, but this time it’s not one of fear or jealousy. It’s pure, primal protectiveness. I couldn’t shield Ronan from his mother, couldn’t stop the darkness from swallowing him whole… but I can stopthis. Iwillstop this. “Don’t contact him!”
Her mouth clamps shut for a moment. “I already did. Well, I tried. A couple of times.” She shakes her head.
“When?” I ask before I can stop myself. I don’t want to give this chick the impression that Ronan doesn’t share things with me, eventhough it’s not a lie. He very obviously doesn’t—a fact that makes my stomach feel hollow.
“The day before Thanksgiving. He shut me down so fast,” she says with a half-hearted laugh. “I tried again last week but I didn’t fare any better. I figured I’ll give him time to come around while I follow up with my other potential leads. Shane is obviously tied to Ronan, so I thought I’d try my luck here,” she says with an expectant smile.
“Not gonna happen,” I say. “If Ronan doesn’t want to talk to you about this then neither will Shane, nor I, nor any of our other friends.”
Her mouth opens, but no sound escapes.
I shrug. “I’d recommend you come up with a different story.”
“But, I—”
“Let me guess, when you talked to Ronan he asked you to please leave him alone, right? And he probably told you not to pursue this story, that he doesn’t want anything to do with this?” I don’t wait for her response. I know Ronan; there’s no way he’d even consider going into detail about his upbringing with a stranger when he can’t even fathom it with his closest friends. “You won’t have any luck going after Shane, or me, or anyone else who’s connected to Ronan because we won’t talk to you. You’re better off forgetting about this story, forgetting about Ronan.”
Her face contorts. “I can’t do that,” she says. “I’ve already invested so much time. And this is part of my master’s degree.”
I shrug. “I guess you better find a new story quickly, then.”
She leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “I’m not going to do that.”
The roar in my chest increases. I place my palms flat on the tabletop, then lean into Rashana’s space, tilting my head to the side. “You’re in the investigative journalism master’s program at Columbia?”
She narrows her eyes at me but nods.
“Great. Can’t be that difficult to figure out who your advisor is then, right? And your professors? I don’t know a ton aboutinvestigative journalism, but I have a feeling you stalking the victim of severe childhood trauma and relentlessly hounding people who have told you they won’t talk to you wouldn’t go over well. Aren’t there ethical guidelines? So unless you want me to do my own ‘sleuthing,’ I’d recommend you find a different story to write.”
I’m met by a shrieky laugh. “Are you seriously threatening me?”
I straighten. “Yes. And I promise you that if you don’t let this go, I won’t be the only one. One thing you need to know about Ronan is that he has a hell of a force behind him, and we’re going to make damn sure that people like you don’t undo the peace he’s worked so hard for.”
We stare at each other silently, her eyes bouncing between mine as if to determine the seriousness of my warning. I feel someone move up behind me, and a large, warm hand comes to rest on the small of my back.
