“I won’t.” I’m shocked it was this easy.
She nods. I glance at the door. “I should go and start…” I don’t want to lie, so I let her assume I mean packing, but I really want to talk to Matt.
And announcing I need to speak to Matt feels like a bad idea. She might think I’m going to tell him about the birth control. I’m so not going to tell him about birth control. But right then I realize I like thinking I’m moving in that direction. I kind of like this elusive thing called a future. I’d really like Matt to be in it.
“Go,” she says.
I stand, but before I even turn she’s up and has me in a big bear hug. “My little girl is growing up and I’m not sure I’m ready.” She pulls back. Tears are in her eyes. “I still want to comb your hair and put it up in pigtails.”
I smile. “And dress me in pink.”
She nods and then says, “What’s wrong with pink?”
It’s now or never. “Pink isn’t my best color.”
She looks surprised. “But I thought you … What about your room?”
“It’s great.” I say quickly. Too quickly.
She hears my lie. “You wouldn’t have chosen pink?”
“No, but—”
“Well, shit!” she says.
I gasp dramatically. “Just because I curse, doesn’t mean you can.”
We laugh together. “We’ll do something about your room. You can pick it out this time.”
I know she paid a fortune for all the pink. “Maybe next…” The word years catches on my tonsils. “Later.”
She brushes my hair off my cheek. Her eyes sparkle with mama emotion. “As much as I hate to see you grow up, less than a year ago my worst fear was that you wouldn’t. Just promise me you’ll make wise choices.”
Choices and chances, I think. That’s what having a future is all about. “I promise.” And I mean it. This is my second or perhaps my third chance at life. I don’t want to screw it up. I know not every choice I make is going to pan out. But I won’t know until I try. And not trying isn’t living.
I give her another hug. The choice made, I hurry to go take a chance on Matt.
* * *
Matt’s resting on his bed with Lady sleeping at his side, as he stares at his phone. He’d tried to call Leah three times and chickened out. Eric would be so damn disappointed in him.
Matt tells himself he doesn’t want to interrupt Leah’s shopping spree.
The truth is he’s afraid she won’t answer. He’s afraid she really was brushing him off yesterday. But damn it! He needs to talk to her.
He needs to tell her to stay away from Cassie. Something tells him that Detective Henderson wasn’t bullshitting him about Ms. Chambers having her fiancé get involved. And the last thing he wants is to get Leah in any trouble.
Man up! He can hear his brother say.
Angry at himself for being a wimp, he dials her number and presses it to his ear.
“Hi.” She answers before he hears it ring. Her voice, her one word, sends a wiggle of happiness to his chest. “I was calling you.”
“Really?” he asks.
“I was dialing when it rang.”
So it wasn’t a brush-off. He smiles.
“Did you take Lady for a walk?” she asks.
“Yeah. We missed you.”
“I miss you two too.” She sounds a little shy.
He sits up, careful not to wake Lady. “How did everything go today?”
She pauses. “How did what go?”
“Shopping?”
“Oh, great. I got some clothes.”
“Good.” He hesitates. “I went to see Detective Henderson.” His chest locks out some of the happiness talking to her brings.
“Did you ask him about the police car?”
“Yeah. He said they’re not looking into the case anymore. That police car belongs to Ms. Chambers’s fiancé. Henderson said Cassie’s mom blames me for Cassie leaving and her fiancé is stepping in on her behalf. So I don’t think you should go there anymore.”
“Cassie called me,” Leah says.
His gut tightens. He sits up. Lady whimpers. “What did she say?”
“It was weird. She said to tell you to leave her alone and that she was hurting. I told her you just wanted some answers. She started crying and said that I didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“I don’t know. I may be making more out of this, but it almost sounded as if there was a reason she couldn’t talk. Something besides you reminding her of Eric.”
Validated, his muscles tighten. “I told you she knows something.”
“I know. I just … I still don’t believe she did it. She didn’t sound guilty. She sounded hurt. Maybe scared.”
“Of who? And why would she be scared if she didn’t do anything wrong? Why did she lie, unless she had something to do with it? And why did her mother lie and say Eric wasn’t there that night?”
“Maybe they aren’t lying,” Leah says slowly as if choosing her words cautiously. “Maybe he didn’t get there. What if we’re looking at this wrong? What if what happened to Eric didn’t have anything to do with Cassie?”
“But everything points to Cassie. She wouldn’t talk to me at the funeral. Then she left to live with her dad. And then there’s whatever was wrong with her that made Eric go back to her to start with.”
“Did you two have all the same friends?”
“Mostly,” he says. “There’s a few that go to another school that he was closer to.”
“Have you asked them if they knew something was up?”
“Eric and I were close. We didn’t keep secrets from each other.”
“I don’t mean this the wrong way, but he did keep something from you,” she says. “He took your father’s gun, so something was up.”
Matt closes his eyes. She’s right. There was even a part of him that knew something was up with Eric, and he’d pushed for his brother to tell him. But Matt hadn’t pushed hard enough. If he had, his brother would still be here.
If only … If only …
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No. You’re right. I’ll talk with his friends.” Except he hated the way they looked at him, with all kinds of pity. He suspected they believed Eric did this to himself. That just proved they didn’t know Eric that well.
He closes his fist. “But, damn it, Cassie needs to talk too.”
“Didn’t you say she was going to finish the year of school here?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Then wait until Monday. We can talk to her there.”
He shuts his eyes and tries to push back the grief and guilt he feels. “I should try talking to Marissa again. Maybe Cassie’s talked to her since she’s been back.”
“Do you want me to call Marissa?” Leah asks.
Her offer comes out so sincere and it means a lot, but he can’t forget how scared she looked yesterday after coming from Cassie’s house.
“No, I’ll do it.”
“I want to help, Matt. I think Eric wants me to help.”
“I know, but I don’t want any of this to come back on you. And Marissa’s not avoiding me.” Probably because she liked him, but he’s made it clear the feeling isn’t mutual.
Leah gets quiet. “Okay. But I’m offering.”
“I know. Thanks. For everything. Not just this. Having someone to talk to means a lot.”
“I like talking to you too. Sorry I couldn’t meet you today or this weekend.”
“Me too.” It feels like the end of the conversation and he’s not ready. “What are you doing fun this weekend?”
“Maybe a museum, or more shopping. Fredericksburg has a cute downtown area with unique stores. I’ll mostly be reading. I actually prefer that to shopping.”
“How many books do you read in a month?”
“It depends on how good the books are,” she says. “In the last year, I’ve read seventy-eight.”
&
nbsp; “Wow! You do love to read.”
“Yeah, but I was sick so I couldn’t … I just read.”
He hears something in her voice. “I wasn’t making fun of you. I think it’s great.”
“Thanks,” she says. “My bucket … my goal is to get to a hundred.”
“Then what?” he asks.
She chuckles. “Read a hundred more.”
“You make me feel like a slacker. I’m going to have to find a book to read.”
“You aren’t a slacker, but you should read. Reading is a vacation for the mind. Well, if the book is good, it is.”
“Do you want to write?” he asks.
She gets quiet. “I did. I actually started a project before … I got sick. But it was too hard to be creative. So I just read.”
“You should try again.”
“I probably will.”
“What are you taking in college?” he asks.
There’s another lull as if she’s thinking. Then he hears someone call her name.
“That’s my mom. I should go. My dad’s home.”
“Call me if you get bored of reading. As a matter of fact, don’t take the good books with you, so you’ll get bored and call me.”
She laughs. “I will. Call you. Not bring boring books. I don’t read boring books.”
She hangs up. He drops his phone on his chest. Then he realizes he’s smiling. Just talking on the phone with her makes him feel … lighter. Free. As if he’s not trapped in the dark place he usually stays.
But, damn, he really wishes she weren’t leaving for the weekend.
Lady moves to the edge of the bed and whines. She’s still too frightened to jump off.
He takes Lady out. When she’s done her business, they come back in. He checks to see if his mom’s home. She isn’t. He recalls her mentioning going out for an early dinner with friends before going to grief counseling.
He thinks about calling Marissa. But it’s Friday evening. She’s probably out. The same with John and Cory, the guys Eric hung out with who go to Southside High.
The thought of calling Ted and seeing what he’s doing crosses Matt’s mind. But he’s not sure he’s in the mood for that. He wants Leah. He wants the lightness she makes him feel.
He pushes his fingers through his hair.
He starts back to his room. He stops at Eric’s closed bedroom door. The room has become like his dad’s study. Nobody goes in there. It hurts too much.
Before Eric died, they’d read some articles on coping with grief, hoping to help their mom and maybe even themselves. One of the articles suggested clearing out the departed’s things. It was okay to hold on to keepsakes, but clearing out a closet or a room was part of the healing. Part of letting go.
Matt reaches for Eric’s doorknob, but he can’t even turn it, much less walk in.
He’s not ready.
He should probably clear out his dad’s study first. But he’s not ready to do that either.
He starts back to his own room to just sit there, to think, to hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt. He’s tired of hurting.
Reading is like a vacation for the mind. He hears Leah’s words.
He needs a vacation.
He walks past his room to what his mom calls her library. Two of the walls are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There’s a shelf of books Mom bought for him and Eric.
Matt runs his fingers over the spines. He’s read them all. Moving to the next shelf, he sees his mom’s romance novels. He sees an author’s name he thinks he remembers Leah saying she read. He pulls it out.
He reads the blurb on the back. Definitely a chick book. But he’s curious. So he takes the book and goes back to his room.
At first he has to force himself to keep reading, but then he gets caught up in it. He laughs at the character’s antics; he can’t turn the pages fast enough when the suspense element is brought in; and then uh … it gets … hot.
He cannot believe his mom and Leah read this. He puts the book down, swearing it’s too much. He’s a guy. Guys don’t read this stuff. They don’t …
Shit!
He picks the book back up.
It’s three hours later when the sound of his empty stomach grumbling makes him close the book. He’s almost finished with it.
Reading is like a vacation for the mind.
She’s right. He feels refreshed. Hungrier than a bear, but good.
He’s raiding the kitchen, eating chips and drinking milk, while the pizza cooks, all the while thinking about the book. Thinking about Leah reading the book, especially the sexy parts.
He wonders if he’ll ever get the nerve to tell her he read it? Probably not. Then again, if … if this goes where he wants it to go, yeah, maybe.
He likes that maybe.
The memory of his and Leah’s kiss fills his head. That brings on thoughts of other scenes in the book. The bedroom scenes.
Damn, he wants that. With Leah. The teasing. The laughing. The touching. The getting naked. He really wants all that.
Five minutes later, he’s trying to stop wanting it when he hears his mom’s car. He starts toward the front door when the oven dings announcing the pizza’s done. He’s pulling it out, when he hears her walk in. He’s setting the pizza on the stovetop, when he hears her crying.
Vacation’s over.
Reality hits.
Pain hits.
Guilt hits. Guilt for being excited about living when two people he loved are dead.
20
Matt turns around. His mom walks in. Her eyes are red; her makeup’s smeared down her cheeks.
“You okay?” He walks over.
“I’m so sorry, Matt. I feel so guilty. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been—”
“No.” He steps closer and folds his mom in his arms. “I don’t think Eric did this to himself, but even if he did, it’s not your fault any more than it’s … mine.” The moment he says it, he feels something release in his chest. It’s not his mom’s fault. It’s not his fault. It’s true. “We were all hurting, Mom.”
“But it was my job to take care of you two.”
“It’s not your fault. Listen to me. It’s. Not. Your. Fault.”
When she pulls away, he says, “Maybe grief counseling isn’t what you need.”
“No. I think it’s good. They said I need to cry, until I don’t need to.” She looks up and puts her hand on his chest. “Have you cried?”
He nods and, without meaning to, proves it. Tears fill his eyes.
They sit in the kitchen crying, then talking, then crying, then talking. And hurting. Only this time the hurting feels different. It’s almost cathartic. Or maybe it’s just that this is the first time he and his mom really shared the grief. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even care. He feels a little better.
His mom finally gets up and slices the pizza and sets it on the table. She’s about to sit down when she suddenly folds her arms around herself and lets out another sad sound.
Moving to the counter, she opens a drawer and pulls out the M&Ms bag. She empties the bag of colorful chocolate candy on the pizza.
They both laugh again, then cry again, then force themselves to eat pizza, Eric-style.
* * *
My shoes feel weighted, a thousand butterflies are calling my stomach home, and my lungs are filled with liquid fear. Do I really hate this place that much, I ask myself as I walk toward the doors of Walnut High Monday morning.
I’m thirty minutes early. I have to pick up my class schedule and books from the office, find my locker, take my pills to the nurse’s office, and try to remember how to play the game.
The high school game. The one where you have to know how to fit in, know whom to ignore and whom to smile at, know how to get through the day without wishing you were someone else.
It’s not as if I had a really low self-esteem before. But I knew my place, my people, and my plan. Now, I don’t know shit.
Why did I want to come back here?
I’m
wearing the royal-blue sweater with the tan lacy camisole under it and the new jeans. I paired it with my new black ankle boots.
I spent a good thirty minutes fixing my hair and makeup. I even gave my nails a coat of clear polish. Before I left home, I’d stood in front of the mirror and felt pretty damn confident about how I looked. Pretty sure Matt would appreciate … what did he call it? The art of getting dressed.
But right now all that confidence is gone. Yesterday’s news. Dead. History. I’m nothing but a tight ball of nerves that’s about to start unraveling.
I tell myself it’s silly, but nothing feels silly. Leah McKenzie is going back to school. And I’m not sure who she is anymore.
I open the heavy front doors. The smell hits me. I can’t define the scent but I know it. I haven’t smelled it in over a year and a half. It’s school. It’s over a thousand kids in one building with their hormones, anger, dreams, egos, and identity crises. It’s the slight smell of the lunchroom’s hideous tuna casserole. It’s people. Lots and lots of people. I haven’t been around a lot of people in a long time.
Several students shuffle around in the halls. I recognize some of them, and know a few of their names because I’ve had classes with them. But if the way they’re staring is any indication, they don’t know me. Their eyes stay glued to me as if I’m a stranger in their world.
I feel like a stranger. Like I don’t belong. Like I’m supposed to be dead.
Then a crazy thought hits. They all knew Eric. They all loved Eric. What they don’t know is I have his heart. That I’m alive because he’s dead.
Thank God they don’t know.
A couple of times, I look down and just stare at my black boots moving, but I don’t want to appear weak or like a dweeb. So I lift my chin, exist in their stares, meet their gazes, keep walking. Thank God they don’t know.
I feel their gazes crowding me. Eric was their hero. I’m not sure I’m worthy to have a hero’s heart. I want to run, run away. Please God, don’t ever let them find out.
I turn the corner and spot the office. I breathe easier. I lift the backpack higher on my shoulder and open the door.
I hate carrying the backpack. It reminds me of the one I had to carry for almost six months.
There are two people talking to the office staff behind the desk. Another five or six students stand around as if waiting for something. Several have their backs to me, and I don’t have a clue who they are. I stand still and wait for my turn.