“Thank God,” I said, blowing air out of my cheeks. “What about Mary and Rose?”
“No longer suspended.”
I felt a twenty-pound weight lift from my chest.
For the next four days, I didn’t leave the house or see anyone besides Mom and Grub. Mom decided to close the café until after Letty’s memorial service, which was set for Saturday. I exchanged a few texts with Dylan and let Axl and Novie know how sorry I was for the loss of their great-grandmother. Rose and I talked on the phone before bed every night, but we didn’t see each other. I’d see everyone soon enough.
Meanwhile, I needed time with my family.
Time with Grub.
Time to myself, to grieve for Letty.
Mom, Grub, and I spent a lot of time looking through old pictures, reminiscing, and simply enjoying one another’s company. It felt like old times. We talked about growing up and growing old and everything that happens in between. We also played about two dozen games of Battleship. Grub won every time.
By the time Saturday arrived, it felt good to get out of our apartment and breathe fresh air. Letty’s memorial service was held at one of the old churches in downtown Buffalo Falls. As we walked in, I squinted at the peak of the tallest steeple, which looked as if it were trying to pierce the clouds.
Inside the church, the air buzzed with conversation. Dylan played instrumental acoustic guitar in the corner. The pews had already filled, so we found open space to stand in the back along with dozens of others. I recognized several familiar faces: the Larsens, Candy, Vera, the Bettys. I spotted Axl and Novie’s white-blond hair near the front with the rest of their family. I looked for Rose in the sea of people but couldn’t find her.
While we waited for the service to begin, I wandered over to a display of photographs. I looked at black-and-white glamour shots of Letty as a young woman, a wedding photo of her and Dickey, and numerous others of her surrounded by her enormous family.
The most recent picture was from her ninetieth birthday party. I picked it up for a closer look. Someone must have stood on a table at Hilltop to get an overhead angle. It was a shot of the entire dance floor. I could make out the band off to the side looking, well, like a real band.
In the center, a flash of gold, a cone-shaped party hat, and pure joy.
I heard Letty’s voice in my head, her cackling laugh. Enjoy today, kid, you might be dead tomorrow!
It brought a smile to my face.
The service began with a minister reading passages from the Bible, then addressing the congregation and making vague statements about Letty’s life—all the things one might expect at a memorial service. Honestly, it didn’t feel Letty-like at all.
But after that, a cordless microphone was passed around, and one by one people began to share their memories of Letty. While there were plenty of funny stories about Letty’s escapades—her love of dancing, her sense of humor, her infectious laugh—just as many were told of her kindness. The way she’d feed any kid in the neighborhood who needed a meal, even with five kids of her own. The way she volunteered at the community soup kitchen for years and turned every meal into a party. The way she always seemed to know when someone needed a friend.
Vera spoke, telling the story of her first day at Hilltop and how scared and lonely she’d felt. She’d sat in her room and cried that night, until Letty sprang in with a grin and a checkerboard to cheer her up.
“Letty found a reason to be happy every day of her life until the very end,” Vera concluded. “We should all live so well.”
Letty’s granddaughter, Crash, took the microphone then. After sharing a few stories of her own, she thanked everyone for coming and ended by directly addressing Letty’s casket, which had been covered in wildflowers.
“One last thing, Grandma.” Crash pulled a small flask from her pocket and held it in the air. The crowd murmured and laughed. “Here’s to you. Here’s to living life your way. You knew how to have a good time like nobody else. I’d pour one out for you, Grandma, but I know what you’d say—‘That’s a waste of a good drink!’” Everyone laughed, a few people clapped, and a couple even hooted. “So I’ll drink yours for you. We’re all going to miss you, Letty Kowalczyk. Cheers!”
I laughed and clapped along with the rest of the room. As the noise subsided, Dylan resumed playing guitar and people began to disperse. I scanned the crowd but still couldn’t see Rose.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned.
“Hello, Zeus.”
“Hello, Ms. Stouffer.”
We stood looking at each other in awkward silence. I realized two things about Hilltop’s director in that moment: (1) death was an unfortunate but common job-related hazard for her; and (2) she didn’t enjoy it any more than the rest of us.
“Thank you,” she finally said, “for returning everything. Detective Van Reusch let me read the police report. I found it very enlightening.”
“You did?”
Missy paused a moment, as if she struggled to say the next words. “Mr. Porter—Blackjack—may never know what you did to protect his dignity, but I will. The whole situation was very unfortunate. As a result, the staff and I have established a few new rules to protect everyone’s well-being, volunteers included.”
My eyes shot to the ground. Here comes the lifetime ban from Hilltop.
“That said, we’d love to have you back at Hilltop, Zeus. Your brother, too.”
I glanced back up and tried to find words to thank her, but I was too shocked to produce any.
“One more thing,” Missy added. “Letty’s wearing her husband’s class ring. Family decision. I thought you’d like to know she got it back.” Then she smiled. I almost told her she should try it more often. I almost shook her hand. Hell, I almost hugged her, but she turned to leave, and I just stood there grinning.
Suddenly, Dylan played the opening flurry of notes to “She’s a Lady” and began to sing. The Bettys, the Larsens, Vera, and several other Hilltoppers stopped in their tracks upon hearing Letty’s favorite Tom Jones song and began dancing with one another at the back of the church. Letty’s family joined in, and soon what seemed like the entire population of Buffalo Falls belted out the chorus. “She’s a lady! Whoa, whoa, whoa, she’s a lady!”
Letty would have loved it. Maybe, in fact, she was clapping along that very moment from her dance party in the sky.
After the song wound down, Crash approached Mom. “Coriander, I can’t stop thinking about those brownies of yours. Oh. My. God. Listen, I have a Christmas party every year at the Beauty Saloon. There’s usually a hundred people there, and a lot of them are local business owners. I’m thinking: you, me, a bottle of wine, and some tacos. Then we brainstorm and come up with a menu. What do you say?”
Mom glanced at me with an expression I understood—things were looking up. “I think that sounds wonderful!” she said, squeezing Grub, who stood in front of her. He and I winked at each other.
Just then I spotted Rose, who waved and nodded toward the exit.
“Be right back,” I said.
Mom smiled, ruffled my hair, then returned to her conversation with Crash.
Around the side of the church lay a sprawling green lawn, recently mown. An arched trellis consumed by morning glories led to a cobblestoned clearing where Rose sat upon a stone bench. “Hey stranger,” she said.
“Hey,” I said softly, sitting beside her. I took her hand and pulled her into me. She leaned her head on my shoulder. That familiar feeling I’d been missing returned. I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb while we sat in comfortable silence.
“How’s Grub doing?” she finally asked.
“He’s okay, but sad, too. He misses Blackjack and Hilltop, although Missy Stouffer just informed me she’d love to have us back, if you can believe it.”
Rose lifted her head from my chest. “That’s great, Zeus!”
“I know. It’ll be different without Letty there, but we’ll still have fun.” I squeezed her hand. “M
aybe we can learn a new song for the Christmas party.”
She hesitated, then sat up straight to look at me. Something flickered in her eyes. Apprehension, maybe. “Zeus, I need to tell you something.”
My stomach clenched, though I tried to keep my expression open, inviting her next words. “What is it?”
Rose bit her lip. “My dad’s coming through with the money for school. I can go now. To New York.”
I stared back at her as a million thoughts raced through my mind.
“I haven’t said yes yet,” Rose said, her voice catching.
The whole summer flashed before my eyes—the Sunday surprises, Hilltop, Old Dump Road. Every conversation, every glance, every touch. All the time I’d spent thinking, wondering, daydreaming about Rose. My family. White light. All that I’d done—right, wrong, and everything in between.
And then I remembered the last thing Letty had told me: Remember the good stuff, kiddo. Nothing else matters.
I threw my arms around Rose. “You have to say yes!” I released her and held her by the shoulders. “This is your dream, this is what you’ve been waiting for!”
“I know it is,” Rose said, her eyes shiny with tears. “But what about you?”
“Me? I’ll roll up in the fetal position for a while until I find the will to live. It shouldn’t take long, maybe a few months.” I smiled. “I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. You’ll be amazing. You have to go, Rose, you know you do. Seriously.”
She smiled big, bringing out the dimple below her lip. “You’re the best, Zeus. Seriously.”
In all honesty, I don’t remember what I said next. I don’t need to though. As far as memories go, it’s one of the good ones, and nothing else matters.
For the next two weeks, Rose and I spent every possible moment together. I helped her pack, and we read through all her books on New York City. Grub and I continued our volunteer visits to Hilltop. Blackjack slept a lot, but he still seemed to enjoy his comrade’s company at his bedside.
The night before Rose left for New York, we lay on a blanket at Old Dump Road holding hands and watching the stars.
“This was the best summer of my life,” Rose said.
“Mine, too. Sorry I screwed it up there at the end.”
“Oh, stop. What you did was very brave.” Rose kissed me. “You’re very brave.”
I squeezed her hand. “No, I’m not. There’s one thing I haven’t told you yet.”
Rose turned toward me. “So tell me.”
“Not now. But someday, Rose. I promise.”
Someday I’d tell her.
Someday I’d have the words.
THIRTY-FIVE
December 23
Dear Rose,
How’s the weather in the Big Apple? (And why do people call it that, anyway?) I bet your dad and family are glad to have you show them around the city for the holidays. You must be an expert tour guide by now.
As for Buffalo Falls, we got slammed with six inches of snow yesterday. I took Grub and his new friend, Foster, sledding down the big hill at the park. They rode bazooka, Nerf guns and all. Remember our afternoons there by the river?
I just got back from the Beauty Saloon, where World Peas Café catered a party. It’s funny how even though I was surrounded by people, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Mom got to debut her newest creation, All I Want for Christmas Is Tiramisu, and the band played Christmas songs. Crash gave us a whopping fifty dollars to play—our first paid gig! We’re actually getting pretty decent.
I think Crash has single-handedly saved Mom’s business with these catering jobs. I swear, that woman knows everyone in this town. Missy Stouffer even showed up to the party with her new boyfriend, Detective Van Reusch. They call me their criminal cupid, ha. In other small-town-romance news, Dylan’s new girlfriend, Kaylee, was there, and I invited your friend Tracie, whom Novie was crushing on all night, so Buffalo Falls may have another “cutest couple” soon. And Axl just upgraded to a brand-new five-string bass, which I’m pretty sure is a love affair all its own.
I still see your mom every weekday at Hilltop. I’m sure she told you that Blackjack was moved into hospice care last week. Grub stops in often and draws maps at his bedside, but Blackjack is rarely lucid anymore. He does seem comforted by Grub’s visits though. Grub’s made friends and is doing well, but he meets regularly with the school psychologist to help him process what happened last summer and understand Blackjack’s illness.
I spend my time at Hilltop with my new pal, Vera, playing Scrabble and checkers. Everyone misses your piano playing there, me most of all. Dylan and I bring our guitars sometimes, but we have big shoes to fill.
Anyway, I know I’m a little late, but I haven’t forgotten about my promise, the one thing I never told you:
You were the first girl I ever loved, Rose, the girl who taught me to enjoy today, even if it meant tomorrow might hurt. I wouldn’t exchange a single day.
No matter where you are—here, there, everywhere—you’ll always be the first, Rose.
The first everything.
Merry Christmas, Miss Santos.
Love, Zeus
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Our deepest appreciation to Catherine Wallace, for pushing us to find the heart of this story, and her patience while we did so.
We’re also indebted to Kristen Pettit and the talented HarperTeen gang for all their behind-the-scenes magic to turn our words into a real live book.
Heartfelt thanks as well to the home team:
To our agents, Tracey and Josh Adams—for being the best at what you do!
To our early readers—Joe and Bonnie Terrones, Kyle Durango, Peter Kousathanas, Sherry Stanford, and Diane Stevenson—for cheering us on and laughing in all the right places.
To Ryan Durango, map-maker extraordinaire, World War II buff, and our inspiration for young Grub. Pew-pew!
To Cheryl Pollard, for generously sharing her beautiful cottage on Geneva Lake. We can’t imagine a better writing, research, and relaxation retreat. (Or hostess!)
To Santiago Durango, for advising us on the criminal justice system (all literary crimes are our own) and his punk-rock badassery in general.
To Hillary Stanford, for Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude and her incredible piano talent.
To Annabel Tomás, RN, and her father, Arturo Tomás, MD, for their dedicated work in the medical field and for double-checking our Tagalog. Salamat!
To Larry and Susan Greider, Angie and Mike Stevenson, Jenny Cottingham, Tracie Vaughn Kleman, Pat Sauber, Paul Higgerson, Katie Belle and the Belle Rangers, and our extended family and friends, for your ongoing enthusiasm and support throughout the process. Your love and friendship mean the world to us.
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
PHOTO BY LORI NICOLI
JULIA DURANGO and TYLER TERRONES live in Ottawa, Illinois—a town that very much inspired Buffalo Falls and the story in these pages. When she’s not writing, Julia enjoys reading, spending time with her sons, and salsa dancing in the kitchen. Tyler plays guitar in a local band, waters his houseplants, and grows delicious tomatoes. Julia is the author of fifteen books for children and young adults and is the 2016 recipient of the Prairie State Award for Excellence in Writing for Children. Tyler has yet to receive an award but thinks his spaghetti sauce could put him on the map. This is their first novel together. You can visit Julia online at www.juliadurangobooks.blogspot.com.
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BOOKS BY JULIA DURANGO
The Leveller
Here, There, Everywhere
CREDITS
Cover design and art
by Jennifer Heuer
COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
HERE, THERE, EVERYWHERE. Copyright © 2017 by Julia Durango and Tyler Terrones. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2017934822
ISBN 978-0-06-231403-1
EPub Edition © December 2017 ISBN 9780062314055
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FIRST EDITION
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