Read Online The Girl in the Park by Mariah Fredericks - Free Book Online Page B

near him. Wendy, I think. I’m here to talk about Wendy.
    I mumble, “What you said about Wendy …”
    “Yes.” I like how he says just enough to fill in the blank spaces, but not so much that I feel rushed.
    “I’m really glad you said it.” Now I can look at him. “You know, that somebody did.”
    He coughs a little, pushes at the papers. “Well, I appreciate that, because I thought it was pretty … inadequate.” He smiles, and that connection I always knew was there—two people scared to speak—hums between us. “I thought any friend of Wendy’s would think, Who does this guy think he is?”
    “I was friends with Wendy, and that’s not what I thought.”
    “Oh,” he says, clearly surprised. “I didn’t know that.”
    “It was a long time ago.” He filled my silence before; now it’s my turn. “I know, people think, Hm, pretty different …”
    “No.”
    “But that was one of the things that was sort of great about Wendy. She didn’t …” I’m not putting it right. “She wanted to be popular? But she wouldn’t put other people down. She was into status, but she wasn’t a snob. Actually, she could get pretty fierce when people were snobby to her.”
    “I wish you had said that at the assembly.”
    Immediately, I shake my head. “Public speaking and me …”
    “Why not?” he asks.
    I check his face. He’s serious; he has no idea why I would be afraid to speak. It makes me think of Wendy in my kitchen:
Give up the silence
.
    For no reason, I blurt out, “I already can’t remember what she looked like.”
    “That happens,” says Mr. Farrell. “When my dad died, I kept all these pictures of him on my desk, so I could have him fixed in my head.”
    I have this horrible impulse to tell him that I don’t have any pictures of my dad. That I might not even know when he dies.
    Mr. Farrell’s briefcase is open on the table. Inside the top, there’s a photo of a little boy. Just past baby. He has big happy eyes and brown hair. He’s crazy about whoever he’s looking at, you can tell from his face. Total love.
    “That’s your little boy?” I ask.
    “Nathaniel.” He moves the briefcase so I can see better.
    “So cute.”
    “Thank you.” He glances at the picture. “He … Well, he’s mine. So he must be the most wonderful, perfect kid ever born, right?”
    “That’s how dads should feel,” I say.
    Looking at the picture of Nathaniel and thinking of Wendy reminds me of Ms. Geller. She has the same picture of Wendy—hundreds of them, I’ll bet.
    Without thinking, I say, “I said totally the wrong thing.”
    “When?”
    “Wendy’s mom called me. That morning. She wanted to know if I knew where Wendy was. And I was all like, Oh, she’s fine, don’t worry. Now I feel horrible.”
    He leans in. “That’s what she needed to hear, Rain. You sensed that, so you gave it to her. There’s nothing wrong with that. It was kindness.”
    I shake my head. “You should call Ms. Geller. Tell her what you said.”
    He smiles, breaking up the sadness. “What, that her daughter talked too much in class?”
    “
No
.” I smile back. “The part about Wendy laughing, caring. That stuff. She’d like that.”
    “Really?” He looks unsure, and I love that he’s so cool and doesn’t know it.
    “Really,” I say. “Hey, made me feel better.”
    He laughs. “Well, then I’m really glad I said it.”
    I twist my hands together. “Mr. Farrell?”
    He leans in. “What?”
    “I don’t want to gossip or anything. But … do you know what the police are …? Like, if they have a suspect? You probably can’t tell me things like that.”
    “I can’t,” he says gently. “Because I don’t know myself. They’re keeping a very tight lid on this.”
    “Why were they here?”
    He considers his answer; I wonder what he might be hiding. “Primarily so that Mr. Dorland could introduce Detective Vasquez. We felt it would be easier for students if they saw him before they got a