Happenstance: A Novella Series (Part Two) Jamie McGuire Copyright © 2014 Jamie McGuire |
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real |
and not intended by the author. Cover designed by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com Interior designed by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com |
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The Providence Series |
Beautiful Disaster |
Walking Disaster |
A Beautiful Wedding |
Red Hill |
Beautiful Oblivion |
For Kelly Barrows |
Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four |
Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Acknowledgments |
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THE DOOR WAS SHUT, something was |
drawing me to Alder’s room. I had been living with my real parents three weeks, and I had never seen Alder’s door open, but every time I passed by the white painted wood with the pastel wooden letters that spelled ERIN, something inside me told me to open it. I won’t, I promised. My second evening at the Aldermans’, Julianne had sat with me on my queen-sized bed and flipped through catalogs of comforters, wall décor, and |
clothing. She asked me to mark everything I liked and must have ordered it all, because the boxes were arriving nearly every day. The doorbell rang, and I trotted down the wooden stairs, trying not to make too much noise, even though I knew Sam and Julianne were awake and in the kitchen. After wading through boxes, I opened the door, grinning when I saw Weston jerk his head to the side to get his bangs out of his face. His hair was still wet, and his eyes were a bit puffy. We’d been up late on the phone the night before. “Smells like they’re trying to lure you into the kitchen again,” Weston said, leaning over to peck my lips. “Morning,” I said when he pulled |
away. His eyes fell to the floor, scanning over the different-sized boxes. “More stuff?” “More stuff,” I said, casting my eyes over the dusty cardboard in awe. “Weston!” Julianne called. “There is a plate piled with bacon in here!” He passed me, taking my hand on the way. We walked down a lightly colored hallway and turned to the right, under an arched doorway. Julianne was fond of pale colors and lots of natural light, which made sense, because she embodied sunshine. The entire house was decorated in mostly whites or shades of white, pale blues, and sheer curtains. |
On the stove was a pot full of white pepper gravy, and as promised, on the far side of the granite island was a serving dish full of crispy bacon. “Are you hungry?” Julianne asked, cheerful. She was wearing a yellow- and-blue plaid apron over her pink angora sweater and jeans. Her russet hair bounced and shined like it always did. Weston looked to me with his big, emerald eyes, because she wasn’t speaking to him. “I’m sorry.” I cringed. I hated disappointing her, but I’d never eaten breakfast that I could remember, and it felt weird to eat in the mornings. Gina hadn’t cooked for me since I was old |
enough to make a sandwich, and sleep and the walk to school took priority over cooking eggs, even if Gina had ever bothered to stock the cabinets or fridge with breakfast foods, which she hadn’t. Julianne shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Just take a couple of pieces on your way out, sweetie.” “Did you make…biscuits and gravy?” Weston asked, lifting his chin as he took in the savory smells. “And sausage,” Julianne said, her eyes bright again. Weston looked to me and then to his watch. “We’ve got time.” I let my brand-new green backpack fall gently to the floor, and I took a stool at the bar that protruded out from the |
island. “Yes, we do.” Julianne flipped around, scooped two biscuits off the aluminum sheet pan, and then cut them in half. With a small ladle, she smothered them with gravy. Weston swallowed, already salivating. “Doesn’t your mom make breakfast?” I asked. “Sometimes,” Weston said. “But she doesn’t cook as well as Julianne. I don’t know if anyone does.” “Aw,” Julianne said. “Flattery will get you everywhere in this house.” I squirmed in my seat. It occurred to me that it wasn’t the first time Weston had sat in Julianne’s kitchen and eaten her food with her daughter. But it was a |
different daughter. “He’s right, honey,” Sam said. “You’re a fantastic cook, and I’m a lucky man.” He took a handful of bacon and kissed Julianne on the cheek. “If all goes well, I’ll be home around eight. I have a late case.” Julianne nodded and leaned in, offering her cheek to his lips. Sam walked over to me, leaned over, and kissed my hair. “Have a good day, kiddo.” He paused. “Do you have to work tonight?” I nodded. “I usually work every evening, four to eight.” “That’s a lot,” Julianne said, unhappy. Sam nodded to Weston. “Are you |
picking her up?” Weston bobbed his head. “Can I pick you up from work tomorrow?” Sam pushed up his glasses, looking at me expectantly with his naturally puffy eyes. I glanced at Weston and then nodded. Sam shrugged. “I’d like to take you out for ice cream.” Everyone in the room gave him a look. “I’m kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “I thought maybe we could have a late dinner?” He looked to his wife for approval. “Sure,” I said, taken a little off guard. He squeezed my shoulder and then grabbed his jacket, rushing down the hall |
toward the back door that led to the garage. “Sam?” Julianne called. “Your purse!” She winked at me. Sam jogged in and picked up a brown leather bag. “It’s not a purse!” he said, exasperated. He disappeared again. Seconds later the back door slammed behind him. A low hum sounded, signaling the garage door. Julianne shook her bangs from her eyes. “I have got to get a haircut. It’s driving me bananas.” She looked at me with excitement in her eyes. “Do you want to come?” I looked down at my hair, the color nearly identical to Julianne’s russet |
tresses, minus her highlights. I’d braided it because it was still a little moist from my shower the night before. Most of the time I kept it in a bun or ponytail because it just got in the way. Gina had cut it a few times when I was in grade school. The one time I tried to cut it on my own was in the ninth grade, and that was an epic failure, so I had just let it grow. Now, the ends hung right at the middle of my back. Weston looked to me. “Uh, sure,” I said. “How short?” Weston asked with a frown. “As short as she wants,” Julianne said, only half kidding. “Just asking,” Weston said, holding |
up his hands. “I’ll call and make an appointment. When is a good time?” I shrugged. “Saturday morning?” “I’ll make it happen,” she said, rinsing off a skillet. Weston scooped the last bite of biscuit into his mouth. “Thanks, Julianne. But we better get going too.” “Of course. I’ll unpack your things, Erin. You can put them where you want tonight.” “Okay. Thanks,” I said, sliding my arms through the straps of my backpack. “See you later.” “I…Have a good day, sweetie.” “You too,” I said, following Weston to the front door. |
His enormous red Chevy truck was parked by the curb in front of the house, still running. The paint looked freshly waxed, the tires shiny. “Did you spend some time on the truck yesterday?” “I’ve been bored since you moved here. Sharing you is harder than it sounds.” “What did you do before me?” I asked. I was teasing, but Weston made a strange face. He had spent his time with Alder and their friends. He didn’t have to stay away to respect Sam and Julianne’s need to get to know their daughter. Now that Alder was gone and he didn’t hang out with the same friends, |
he probably felt a little lost when I was with Sam and Julianne. Weston opened the passenger-side door for me. “Pretty much the same thing. Wishing I was spending time with you.” I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. He didn’t smile. I climbed in, and Weston ran around to the driver’s seat. As soon as he settled in behind the wheel, he held his hand out for mine. When I took it, he tugged on my fingers. “What?” I asked. “C’mere,” he said, gesturing for me to sit next to him. I scooted over and buckled the lap belt. He pulled his seat belt across his |
chest. It clicked, and he put the gear into drive. With his arm resting on the top of the seat behind me, he drove to the high school with one hand. He’d probably driven with one hand a lot when he was with Alder. Internally, I cringed. Those thoughts had to stop, or I was going to make myself miserable. When we parked in the student lot and walked together into the south side of the building, fewer people stared than the week before. I still didn’t feel comfortable holding hands during school, but sometimes Weston got carried away. First period was quiet as far as anyone harassing me, which had become |
the new normal. Brady still shot glances my way, but he was more curious than angry. Mrs. Merit began the lesson as soon as the bell rang and had gotten through most of her slides on the Smart Board by the time Sara Glenn leaned over. “What’s up with the necklace?” she asked. “Girls tend to wear jewelry on occasion,” I said. She wasn’t deterred. “Weston must have given it to you. You’ve worn it every day for almost a month.” I ignored her. Answering didn’t feel necessary. “Chrissy North said you moved into Alder’s room. Is it haunted?” |
“No, and no.” “Brendan said Weston said you’ve already had sex in her bed.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Weston wouldn’t say that.” “So is it true?” “That’s disgusting.” Her eyebrow arched. “Sex with Weston is disgusting?” My chest pressed against the table when I leaned toward her. “Don’t you get tired of listening to and spreading gossip, Sara? Isn’t it exhausting, or is that really all you have to feel important?” “Ladies?” Mrs. Merit said. I sat back in my chair and looked down at my book, putting my hands in |
my lap so Sara couldn’t see them trembling. A heavy disappointment came over me for engaging her. What was wrong with me? I was above that. That couldn’t change too. Mrs. Merit read the assignment, and I got to work on the twenty-two questions at the end of the chapter. Sara didn’t speak to me again, and I made sure my things were packed ten seconds before the bell rang so I could leave in a hurry. Weston met me at my locker. He sensed something was wrong. “Did Brady say something to you?” I shook my head. “Brendan? Micah? It was Andrew, wasn’t it? That little shit stain…” “No. No one said anything,” I said, |
shoving my bio book into my locker and getting my textbook for next period. Weston took my chin gently in his hand and turned me to face him. “Tell me.” I closed my eyes. “They’re saying awful things.” I shook my head. “Awful.” “Like what?” His hand left my chin, and his eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t want to say. I can’t…it’s awful.” “That we had sex in Alder’s bed?” he asked. I looked up at him. “You’ve heard?” “Last week. I’m actually surprised this is the first you’ve heard of it.” “I’m so sorry. I’m—” |
Weston’s cheeks flushed with anger, but it wasn’t directed at me. “Don’t apologize for them, Erin. Feel sorry for them. That’s such a twisted and…” His words trailed off. “Whoever had that thought and was sick enough to pass it on to someone else has more problems than gossip. You can’t help what they think or say.” “I know. I don’t care what they think of me. But that is just…I don’t want that to get around to Sam or Julianne.” “I’ve already told them. They know we would never disrespect them like that.” My mouth fell open. “You’ve told them? How could you say that to them?” “It’s a small town, Erin. I’d rather |
they hear it from us, wouldn’t you?” “But they didn’t hear it from us. They heard it from you. Why didn’t you tell me?” The more agitated I became, the more nervous Weston was. He swallowed, and his face fell. “You’ve been through enough.” “Please don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “That oh-you-poor-thing look. I get it enough as it is.” “Erin,” Weston began, but the bell rang. “Shit!” I said. I grabbed my things and slammed my locker, half walking, half running to my next class. Second and third period were a blur. |
The look on Julianne’s face when Weston told her the latest rumor was the only thing my mind could think about. Weston met me at my locker between classes, waiting for me to speak first. When I didn’t, he let me walk away. He was at my locker again before lunch, but I went straight to the cafeteria and ate alone. The other students watched my every bite. I couldn’t win. They stared at me when Weston and I were together and when we weren’t. The attention was significantly less negative than before the accident, more of just curiosity, but it was still attention I didn’t want. By the time I got to health class, the heaviness was too much, and my |
emotions were getting the better of me. Coach Morris handed out a word find and sat at his desk, putting his feet up. I got to work, acutely aware that Weston was staring at the back of my head. I could hear him rummaging through his bag and then taking a puff from his inhaler. His desk creaked a few times when he made several attempts to get comfortable. His warm fingers touched my back between my shoulder blades, so gently I thought maybe I’d imagined it. He choked out a whisper. “Please talk to me.” I turned my head toward my shoulder, but didn’t turn around. “I don’t know what to say.” |
“Say I’m a jerk for talking to your parents without talking to you first, and then say you don’t hate me.” “I don’t hate you.” His fingers left my shirt, and I heard him exhale. I glanced up from under my brow, seeing Coach Morris trying not to stare. After a hasty scan of my peripheral, it was evident that Coach wasn’t the only one who had noticed the quiet exchange between Weston and me. I felt the pull in my chest. It had been weeks since I’d had to fight the urge to cry, but the walls lifted like old friends, and I turned my thoughts to how many scoops of coconut to put in a Hawaiian Blizzard, and how many boxes of cups, |
spoons, or napkins we would have to stock once the supply truck came. I imagined folding worn, white rags and counting them as I did so. Being inside the Dairy Queen had always been comforting to me. Not only did the work keep my mind occupied, but it’s also where I spent time with my closest friend, Frankie. And no matter how many people I came face-to-face with, the screen and window were always between us. The bell rang, but I was lost inside the walls of the DQ. Weston stood and stopped at my desk, but when I didn’t look up, he kept walking. Soon I was the only person left in the room, or so I thought. |
“Hey,” a voice said. I looked up. It was Brady Beck. “Are you really living with the Aldermans now?” I gathered my things and stood, but Brady stepped in my way. “I bet they worry all the time what you’re stealing. You might be blood, but you were raised by a druggie.” I just stared at him, refusing to answer. He gave me a once-over, smug superiority still in his eyes. “Has Weston admitted why he’s suddenly so interested in you?” I remained silent. “Maybe you should ask him.” He walked away. |
The fake white marbling in the red tile of the hallway looked like tiny albino snakes slithering in different directions, mostly toward the large glass windows that lined the south wall of the commons area. The chairs bordering the dozen-and-a-half lunch tables that filled the commons were empty, and as I passed the round, glass sphere in the center of the high school that was the library, I decided to forgo my locker and go straight to Spanish, my next class. Miss Alcorn greeted me when I walked in. I was the first student in the classroom, and likely the only one without my textbook. “I forgot it at home,” I told her, trying to avoid answering later in front of |
everyone. “Be sure to bring it tomorrow. You’ll definitely need it.” I dipped my head once and then tried rubbing out the knots in my neck. Barely ten minutes into class, Micah Norton tore off a tiny piece of notebook paper and threw it onto my bare desk. “Did Weston dump you already? He’s been attached to your hip, and I haven’t seen you together all day.” I didn’t turn around. “Easter,” he whispered. It was the first time someone had called me that since word got out that I wasn’t Gina’s daughter. It felt derogatory. It always had. I still didn’t turn around. Micah |
didn’t have his friends there to encourage him to harass me, so if I ignored him, he usually gave up. There were three types of bullies: those like Sara, who were more passive- aggressive than anything, and usually only when they were having a bad day. Others, like Micah or Andrew, only gave me grief when there were other people to join in, and then there were bullies like Brady and Brendan, who didn’t care who was around. When they decided to target someone, the torment wouldn’t stop until they had somehow broken their prey. I had read a handful of books and articles on bullying, and how girls usually targeted one another, but in my |
school, it was the boys who were the worst. They relished the power that came with intimidation. Many times the level and length of cruelty depended on how many others would join in the attack. No one was safe. It was random and always sudden and ruthless. The best protection was to befriend the bullies and join in. The cycle was vicious and predictable, the only cure being graduation, and I knew I was just one of many desperate for the last day of school. My indifference coupled with Miss Alcorn’s zero-tolerance policy on harassment likely were two factors in Micah giving up quickly. A familiar relief came, but it was also unsettling. I |
felt out of practice, even after just a few weeks of not having to feel so guarded. Thankfully, Micah left me alone for the remainder of class. By the time I saw Weston in art class, he was a nervous wreck. He sat on his stool that he’d moved to my table, his knee bobbing up and down in anticipation. “Why are you avoiding me?” he blurted out. “I’m not,” I said, keeping my voice down, hoping he would do the same. Mrs. Cup swept into the room, quick to threaten us if we went anywhere except straight to the old pizza place next to the mural we had been working on. |
“Who doesn’t have a ride?” Mrs. Cup asked. Weston looked at me with worried eyes. Only two students raised their hands. “You can ride with me, or you can hitch a ride with someone else. Let me know now,” Mrs. Cup said, waiting for the two students to decide. Weston didn’t take his eyes from mine. “Can I take you?” Walking out to the parking lot, Weston offered his hand, testing the waters. The only people outside were the other art students and Mrs. Cup, so it was less awkward than before or after school, but I could feel tension radiating from his fingers the moment we touched. |
As soon as his door slammed, he took a breath. “I’m sorry, Erin. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was trying to protect you. I can see now that it was stupid to talk to them without talking to you first.” He waited for me to respond, clearly bracing himself for an argument. “I’ll get over it.” I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sure what I was, but it was weird for someone to be so…apologetic toward me. A line formed between his eyebrows, and he turned to face forward, slamming the gear into reverse. He was unhappy with my response, and quiet, lost in thought while he drove to the vacant lot of the former pizza place. Everyone else was already standing at the brick wall, |
getting supplies out and ready when he pulled in and parked. “This is new for me too, Erin,” Weston said. “I didn’t care if Alder dumped me. I didn’t worry every night that when she left for college, I might never see her again. All of these bizarre, awful, amazing things are happening to you, and it would be completely understandable if you said you didn’t have time to try to make this work with me…and I’m crazy about you, Erin. Do you have any idea how much that freaks me out?” “You wanna talk about being freaked out? You already know that my mom is a good cook, because you’ve already dated her daughter. You’ve probably had |
sex in the room I sleep in. You know my house and my parents better than I do. I’m living someone else’s life, Weston. So tell me more about how you’re afraid of getting dumped.” I gasped and covered my mouth. He exhaled like I’d just punched him in the gut. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry I said that.” My hands muffled my shrill words. He shook his head, rubbing his bottom lip with his index finger. “There are no rules for this. I might have deserved that. I don’t even know.” “Nobody deserves that. Your feelings are just as important as mine. We’ve both been through a lot. I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for him. |
He switched off the ignition and turned to pull the door handle. A jolt of fear went through me. The door opened just a few inches, and then he paused. He turned and wrapped me in his arms. The tears I’d been holding in all day finally escaped in streams down my cheeks. Mrs. Cup rapped on the driver’s side window, and we both turned to see the top of her head. Weston pushed open his door. “Come on, you two. You’ve got work to do.” I wiped my eyes with my sleeves, nodding. When we climbed out of the truck with our paints and brushes and walked |
over to the wall, several pairs of eyes glared at us. If we had been anyone else, detention or at least a stern talking-to would have ensued. There was something about being an Alderman, or a Gates, or a Masterson, or a Beck. Rules didn’t seem to apply to people with those last names. Not in Blackwell. |
SOFT SERVE INTO THE blue-and-red cup |
in her hands. Even though she filled it with the perfect amount of ice cream and then tossed in the precise amount of strawberry sauce and bananas, she was absently chatting away about her kids and their weekend. “I woke up with not only gum in my hair, but also two boogers and a Popsicle stick. I mean, only me, right?” My eyebrow arched, and she shrugged, dipping a waffle cone in chocolate dip cone sauce. She stared at |
it for a moment until she was sure the chocolate was dry, and then shook the Blizzard concoction inside the cone without even a smear of white on the chocolate. “Will you ever tell me your Blizzard waffle-cone-making secrets?” I asked. “What’s the point? You’ll be leaving me soon.” I frowned. “I still have four months, thank you very much.” Frankie held the cone out the drive- through window and then slid the glass shut. “You don’t need the money anymore, Erin. Go be a kid. Enjoy the rest of your senior year.” I made a face. “I haven’t worked this long to have to ask someone for money.” |
“They’re your parents, Erin. That’s what kids do. And it’s okay. You deserve it.” “I understand what you’re trying to say. I still don’t want to depend on someone else for money. Not even Sam and Julianne. Besides, I may or may not miss you.” “Aw,” she said, flipping the OPEN sign. “I hate you.” “I hate you too.” The sound of Weston’s Chevy rumbled behind the shop while we restocked and cleaned. “I kind of miss you turning me down for rides,” Frankie said. “I kind of miss you barely asking because you know I’ll say no.” |
“Why do you let him and you never let me?” she asked, wiping down the soft-serve machine. “He lets me drive,” I said with a smile. She held out her hands and let them fall to her thighs. “You could have driven my piece-of-crap Taurus! All you had to do was ask!” I chuckled as I followed her out of the storeroom. “’Night, Frankie.” “Good-night, Erin. Hi, Weston!” she said with a wave. Weston waved back to Frankie, and then looked down to me, his elbow resting against the red paint of his door. “What?” His maroon-and-white baseball cap |
was turned backward, pieces of his brown hair peeking out. He’d already had a shower, and I imagined his Old Spice body wash—which was now my favorite smell—would probably hit my nose the second I climbed into my seat. His cheeks were flushed, and his slightly pointy nose was still a little shiny from being freshly scrubbed. The pair of emerald pools that sat within those long, dark lashes smoldered against his tanned skin. I used to steal glances of him as often as I could, and now I could stare at him for as long as I wanted. He’d said a few times now that he loved me, and it wasn’t a recent epiphany. Weston Gates had loved me since we were kids, and |
all that time I probably loved him too. I just didn’t recognize it for what it was because I couldn’t. There was no hope then. And there he was, sitting high above me in his jacked-up truck, the glasspacks announcing to the world that he was at the Dairy Queen to pick me up from work, and it was becoming a normal thing. For us and everyone else in our tiny town. “You’re not going to say sorry again for earlier, are you?” he asked, clearly not wanting to rehash it. “No, I was kind of hoping we could stop out at the overpass before you take me home.” He beamed. “Oh yeah?” Before I could answer, he disappeared, leaning |
over to pull the handle of the passenger- side door and push it open. His face popped back into view. “Hop in, babe. I’ve got a Fanta Orange in a cooler in the back with your name on it.” I walked around and climbed in. “You’re so romantic.” He pulled me closer to him and rested his hand on my thigh. “You’re welcome,” he said with a teasing smirk. After a quick peck on my cheek, he pressed on the gas and pulled out onto Main Street, making a quick left to head to the overpass. Our overpass, as he called it. The truck hadn’t been in park for ten minutes, but we were already skin to skin in the bed of his truck. I sensed |
hesitation as he kissed me, and I pulled back to look him in the eye. “What’s up with you?” I asked. “Nothing.” “Liar.” “Uh…this is embarrassing,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “What’s embarrassing?” “And really inappropriate. I should have said something sooner.” “Oh God. What?” I thought of the worst possible scenarios, so that no matter what he said, it couldn’t be as bad as I had imagined. “So, after practice today, I get a text from Julianne.” “Okay?” “Sam had some time before his late |
case, and they invited me over to chat. They”—he cringed—“had the talk with me.” “What talk?” “About us. About this. About protection and—” “Oh God! Oh no!” I said, rolling out from under him. I sat up and slipped my shirt over my head. “Please, no. Don’t tell me.” He was amused, not at all concerned that my parents had spoken to him about our sex life. “They just wanted to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of your situation, and that we were, you know, being careful. They know you want to go to college, and they didn’t want me screwing that up.” |
I covered my face with both hands. “Do you want to know what Sam said to me?” I shook my head. “Not really, no.” “He said”—Weston lowered his voice to mimic Sam’s—“‘if you’re not going to marry her, then keep your hands off another man’s future.’” “Oh. Wow. Stop.” “So I said, ‘Fine. Do I have your blessing to ask her?’” “That’s not funny.” Weston busted out laughing. “He said, ‘No!’” He shook his head and flung his arms, imitating a very flustered Sam. “I was just messing with him.” I squinted one eye. “Please tell me you didn’t admit anything.” |
“I did. I confirmed.” I hung my head. “That we were having sex? Or that we’re using protection? I’m guessing both?” “Correct.” I stood up and dressed. Weston didn’t seem happy about it, but he didn’t argue. “Are you in a hurry to get home now?” “Well, yeah, since now they know what we’ve been up to. Every minute longer I’m gone after work, they’re more sure that we’re out…This is bad. So embarrassing.” “We’re not in middle school anymore. We’re consenting adults.” “Who still live at home.” I groaned. “How am I going to look them in the eye |
when I get back?” “They’re not naïve. They already knew.” “But I didn’t know they knew.” “You’re confusing me.” “I don’t want them to think I’m a bad person.” “You’re not. And they don’t,” he quipped, looking away. He was holding something back. “You’re being weird. What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “They knew about Alder and me. They weren’t thrilled, but they didn’t freak out.” “I’m sorry I asked.” “Me too,” he grumbled. |
We took our Fantas to the cab of the truck and rode home in near silence. Once we pulled into the drive, I peeked at the house as if there were a monster waiting inside. “They’re not going to yell at you.” “I’m not used to all this pressure, or worrying about what parents think of me, or disappointing someone. It’s stressful.” “Welcome to my life…and pretty much everyone else’s,” he said with a nudge and a wink. I climbed down to the concrete, and Weston handed me my backpack. “Why did you put your apron back on?” “I don’t know. Not coming home with it on feels like the equivalent of having |
my shirt on backward.” “Good thinking. I’m going home and taking a cold shower.” “If Julianne and Sam are waiting at the kitchen table when I walk in to talk about periods or something, I’m blaming you.” Weston threw his head back and laughed. “It’s just part of that catching you up you get to do.” My mouth pulled to the side. “It used to baffle me how ungrateful Alder was to have them. Now listen to me. I’m lucky they’re not sitting in there with a case of beer, cussing at me to bring them cigarettes.” “There is no right way to do this, Erin. Stop putting so much pressure on |
yourself.” I nodded and slid the nylon strap over my shoulder, smiling when the Chevy didn’t pull away from the curb until I had a foot in the front door. I started to walk up the stairs but noticed the kitchen light was on. “Erin?” Julianne called, her voice shaky. I left my backpack at the foot of the stairs and walked down the hall, leaning against the doorjamb. Julianne was sitting at the island on the first stool, her hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was wearing one of Sam’s T-shirts and navy-blue lounge pants. She was babysitting a coffee mug, but the liquid inside was |
milky brown, with a pile of marshmallows floating on top. “How was school and work?” she asked. I pulled my apron strap over my head and tugged at the knot at the small of my back, untying it with one hand. I rolled it up and shrugged. “Both good, actually. How was your day?” “Good. A bit boring. I cleaned the house, and by that I mean put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and took out the trash, because Sam’s kind of a clean freak, as you might have guessed. And then I watched Days of Our Lives. That EJ is a beautiful, evil genius. I wish he and Sami would get their crap |
together.” I wasn’t sure who EJ and Sami were, but she seemed irritated by their lack of togetherness. “I could help with the dishes and trash. If you just show me what buttons to push on the dishwasher. I’ve never used one before, but it can’t be that hard.” Julianne waved me away. “Please. I barely have enough to keep me busy as it is.” “Have you thought about going back to work?” She looked at the fridge, but wasn’t really looking at it. “At the clinic? I don’t know. I’ve been a stay-at-home mom so long…Alder always seemed to |
have a lot for me to do. Now I don’t really have that much…” Her eyes focused. “Oh, Erin, I didn’t mean anything by that. I would never compare you to her. I’m going to stop talking now.” She covered her eyes with her long, elegant fingers. Her nails were perfectly filed and polished with a pale mauve. I walked over and sat down on the stool next to her. “You can talk about Alder. You raised her. You loved her. It doesn’t hurt my feelings or anything.” Julianne clasped her hands together and leaned her cheek on her wrist, staring at me while shaking her head. “I know you said you’ve raised yourself, Erin. May I say you did a fantastic job?” |
I smiled. She slid something over to me, and I looked down. It was a smartphone. “Sam charged it, so it’s ready to go, but the charger is plugged into the outlet behind the nightstand in your room. The number is on the sticky on the back.” I turned it over to read the seven digits written in Sam’s scribble on a Post-it strip. “It’s mine?” “We’d feel better if you’d carry it.” “How much is it? I mean the phone and the monthly bill.” “We just put it on the family plan. We’ll take care of it.” “Thank you, but I—” Julianne put her hand on mine, and |
her eyes turned soft. “It’s just a phone, Erin. We wanted to.” “O-okay. Thank you.” “Would you like some hot chocolate?” “I’m going to take a shower and head to bed, if you don’t mind.” “Oh, of course,” she said, making a show of being unoffended. The stool grated across the tile when I scooted it back to stand. Just when I reached the doorway, Julianne spoke again. “We, uh…we talked to Weston today about something. I’m not sure if he told you or not, but we decided too late that it was a little too personal and a little too late in the game for us to be prying.” |
I kept my back to her and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry if we overstepped our bounds. We might be going a little overboard, trying to make up for lost time. Sam and I talked about it earlier. We’re going to work really hard on not invading your privacy. It must be particularly difficult when you didn’t have that…oversight before.” I turned around. “It’s embarrassing,” I admitted. “I’m not used to it. I’m feeling a little pressure, but I don’t know. It’s kind of nice that you cared enough to harass him about it.” Three wrinkles formed on Julianne’s forehead when both her brows lifted. “Oh, okay. Well…good-night, |
sweetheart.” “Good-night.” “Erin?” “Yeah?” I said, poking my head back into the doorway. “Would it make you uncomfortable if I said that I love you? You don’t have to say it back.” “I don’t think it would make me uncomfortable.” She smiled. “I love you.” It was so surreal that I didn’t mind returning the sentiment. “I love you too, Julianne.” I walked down the hall and could hear her sniffling as I climbed the stairs. The pastel letters on Alder’s door were gone, and I stopped in front of her |
door. The entire second floor was dark, but there was enough light from downstairs to see what was missing. I wondered if they were in a box amid a bunch of boxes in Alder’s room, or if Sam and Julianne had left everything the way it was. I put my hand on the knob, but thought better of it and dragged my bag down the hallway to my bedroom. Stacks of new clothes had been laundered, folded, and placed on top of the perfectly made bed that was now covered with the duvet cover I’d chosen. It was white, with pale-green horizontal stripes across it. By Julianne’s subtle reaction, I could tell it wasn’t the fanciest she’d seen, but I’d already gone |
through three catalogs, and it was the first one I liked after I grew tired of looking. And it was green. Green was kind of my new thing, to go along with my new boyfriend, new house, new parents, and new life. I packed away the clothes that Julianne hadn’t hung up in the closet into the dresser drawers and took a shower. The steam filled the entire bathroom, and I lingered so long that my fingers began to wrinkle. After taking my time through my nighttime routine, I crawled into bed and took in a deep breath. The house was so quiet at night. No bass humming through the walls. No loud television. Just the light hum of the ceiling fan and the |
intermittent, low hum of the central heat and air blowing through the ducts. Just as I began to drift off to sleep, I heard Sam’s deep voice murmuring to Julianne in their bedroom downstairs. Within minutes I heard quiet footsteps up the stairs, and then my door opened. I lifted my head to see them both looking at me. “Sorry,” Sam whispered. “Just checking on ya. Habit.” “It’s okay,” I said, laying my head back on the pillow as the door creaked closed. I lay there, thinking about how many nights they’d peeked through the door that no longer had the pastel letters hanging from it, and how strange it must be for them to open this one to check on |
a different girl. A peculiar sensation came over me, a strong feeling that I didn’t belong in that house. For the first time since I’d left Gina’s, I missed the ugly, matted shag carpet and the lopsided fan in my bedroom. The walls in this room weren’t scuffed or peeling, and the carpet was too clean. The fixtures in the bathroom weren’t dripping or caked with some kind of scum, and the dresser drawers didn’t whine when I opened them. It smelled like Downy dryer sheets and a clean, sophisticated smell unique to Sam and Julianne. The bed was too comfortable. The sheets too soft. I didn’t belong with Gina, and I didn’t fit into Alder’s life. There wasn’t |
enough time to try. The hot chocolate suddenly sounded fantastic, but I didn’t want to wake the other two people who lived in the house. A fleeting thought crossed my mind that I sort of wished they drank too much or got high so I could walk around in the middle of the night if I wanted, but then I felt so guilty for it, I could barely stand to be in my own skin. |
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walked toward the Chevy. I turned to see him pointing at my backside. Like a dog chasing its tail, I made a three-sixty in the the front yard, trying to see what he was pointing at. He chuckled and stopped me, pulling the smartphone from my back pocket. “This.” “Oh. Julianne gave it to me last night.” “It’s a phone.” “I know.” “Does it work?” |
“I think so. I haven’t turned it on.” He handed it back to me with a smirk on his face. “You haven’t turned it on? Why not?” I shrugged and proceeded to the truck. “I didn’t have time to read the directions. I don’t know how.” After Weston and I settled into our seats and buckled our seat belts, he held out his hand. I took it. Then he held out his other hand. I frowned. “Are we making a secret handshake?” His amusement turned into a full- blown cackle. “The phone, Erin! Give me your phone so I can give you the crash course.” I handed it over, and he instructed me |
on how to turn it on, add contacts, and send text messages. He even added a couple of songs and showed me how to listen to them. “The most important thing during school is this,” he said, flipping a tiny switch on the side with the little bit of thumbnail he had. “It makes your ringer silent. You can change your ring tone if you want. I can show you that later.” “Why?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just something people do to make it their own. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you should definitely keep it on silent. If your ringer goes off during class, you might get your phone taken away.” |
“Who’s going to call me during school?” “I might text you if I knew your number.” He tapped the screen twice and then grabbed his phone, punching in more numbers. “Never mind. Got it.” I took back the phone. “Maybe I didn’t want you to have it,” I teased, but then realization dawned on me, and I felt a little sad. “You’re probably the only person who’ll use it.” The phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked down. It was a text message. Weston leaned over and showed me how to open it. |
It’s Sam (Dad). Don’t forget about dinner. See you tonight. Have a good |
day at school. |
Will do, I typed back, and let the phone fall in my lap. The corners of my mouth curled up. “Who was it?” Weston asked, clearly unhappy about the look on my face. “Sam,” I said. “He was reminding me about dinner tonight.” “Oh yeah,” he said, his brows still furrowed. He drove away from our neighborhood toward the school. He seemed lost in thought, using his signal and going the speed limit like he’d done a hundred times before. But he didn’t say anything else until we parked in the student lot and walked inside. This time he didn’t try to hold my hand. He put his arm around me, walked |
me to my locker, and kissed my hair. “See you after class,” he said, walking away. The juniors and sophomores who had lockers along the same unit stared at me, surprised at the unusual show of affection. I put my backpack in my locker, grabbed my bio textbook, and headed to class. My table was empty when I arrived, but then so were several others. I was early, so it was a good time to put my homework on Mrs. Merit’s desk. Thinking ahead and doing things in a way that would draw the least amount of attention was a part of me. It would probably always be. Just as I returned to my chair, Brady Beck strolled in and sat in Sara Glenn’s |
seat across from me. Instinct had me recoiling, and then I was immediately embarrassed that I did so. He seemed to enjoy it. “Did you ask him?” “Ask who what?” “Weston. Why he’s so interested in you all of a sudden.” “We’ve already talked about all of that.” “Then he didn’t tell you the truth.” “Why don’t you just say what you want me to hear, and we can be through with it?” Brady’s eyes sparkled with the many things playing out behind them. He was considering his options, what he wanted to say, and whether the outcome would |
be what he wanted. “Nah,” he said, pushing back the chair and standing up. He sat down in his own chair, still staring at me. “You can take the girl out of the trailer park…” I looked down at my phone and pressed the button Weston showed me to push. His name was on the screen, and I smiled, knowing he’d put his number into my contacts. It was nice to have a short conversation with him to keep me distracted while the class filled with sleepy students. “Did the Aldermans get you that?” Brady asked. The dozen or so students who had filtered in and sat down all turned to |
look at me. I didn’t look up. “What does it feel like to benefit from the death of someone else?” I still didn’t respond. “I can’t believe they’re just letting you take over her life like that, as if she never existed.” I pressed different buttons on my phone, anything to distract myself. “Julianne has never been that smart —” “Shut your fucking mouth!” The words pushed from my throat before I could stop them. My ribs were pressed against the table, my palms flat against the many inscriptions that past and present students had carved into the |
black, slate surface. Brady sat back with smug satisfaction unlike anything I’d seen on his face before. He knew now how to get to me. I’d exposed my weakness, and he would undoubtedly exploit it every chance he got. Sara’s eyes drifted behind me, and I turned around. Mrs. Merit had heard my vulgar outburst, and I awaited punishment. “Open your books to page two hundred and eighty-three,” she said, walking behind her desk. During the break between second and third periods, Weston came to my locker with a very different look on his face than he had that morning on the way to |
school. His cheeks were red, and he was breathing fast. “What did Brady say to you?” he asked. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” “It matters. I heard he said you were happy that Alder died, and that you were benefiting from her death, and that he also mouthed off about Julianne, and you freaked out in class. Is any of that true?” “Close enough.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, a little hurt. “Are you upset?” “No, I’m pissed off. I’m bordering on rage.” “That’s why.” He shifted. “Why let him get away |
with it, Erin? Why keep letting him treat you that way? He should get a fist in the face, his ass kicked, trip and fall face- first…something. People like that don’t just get to treat people like trash and go on with their life with no repercussions.” “Didn’t you say the other day to feel sorry for them?” “Brady makes it really hard to feel anything toward him but extreme loathing. It’s not just you. What about that impression he does of Annie Black every time she motors by in her wheelchair? What about Jenny Squires?” “What about her?” “She was the boys’ basketball manager just one season, because every |
night after an away game, she had to wash Brady’s snot out of her hair. He’d sit behind her, no matter where she was on the bus, and hock loogies in her hair. As many as he could clear out of his throat until we pulled into the school parking lot.” “If you knew about it, why didn’t you say anything?” Weston looked wounded. “You’re right. I should have done something. A lot of somethings. Especially for you.” “You did.” “Ten years too late. Just like Frankie said.” “Better than never. You can’t save the world. I’m just curious, if you saw it and were so against it, why did you let it |
go on?” He looked down. “Maybe I’m a coward.” “You’re not a coward.” “Maybe I was until now.” Brady walked by and whistled his disapproval. “Still slummin’ it, Gates.” Weston grabbed Brady by the T-shirt and turned, slamming his back against the locker next to mine. I flinched and stepped back. Brady’s eyes grew wide, and in that split second, it was like we were both wondering the same thing: what Weston would do next. “If Karma won’t kick your ass, I will,” Weston seethed, with a tiny hint of a wheeze. “What the hell is wrong with you?” |
Brady yelled. I touched Weston’s arm, taking a quick glance to see if any teachers were coming. “Weston?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Weston. Let him go.” Weston’s wild eyes slowly relaxed, and he released the two fistfuls of T- shirt in his hands. “If and when his behavior catches up with him, that’s his Karma. How we react is ours.” Weston’s breathing slowed, and his shoulders relaxed. Brady walked off quickly, straightening his shirt and rocking his neck from side to side, as if he would or even could retaliate. All he had were his |
words, and even he knew it. That was why he used them so viciously. Students had only paused for a moment, thinking a fight was about to break out, but it had ended so quickly, no one had time to congregate and draw more attention. Like nothing had ever happened, everyone walked to class, passing one another like two opposing rivers, taking the same path every day without knowing why. “Sorry,” he said. “Lost my temper.” The wheezing that had been barely audible before was more prominent. Weston worked a little harder to pull in a breath. “Do you have your inhaler?” I asked. He nodded, pulled it from his pocket, |
shook the palm-sized container, and squeezed, taking a puff. He kissed my forehead and then walked away without uttering anything more, except for a cough halfway down the hall. Through the glass surrounding the library, I saw a few students staring at me. I shook my head and made my way to class. Within the walls of our high school were the weak, the sad, the pompous, and the proud, all flying down the same road at a hundred miles an hour to an end for which we weren’t ready. Students who were barely able to remember to bring their coats home from school were waiting to be unleashed into the world as adults. Part of me was glad that I’d had to |
fend for myself for so long. Without their mothers nearby, most of my classmates had no clue how to balance their checkbook or even how much Tylenol to take and how often. In school we were babied, scolded, and told when to eat. We even had to raise our hands for permission to go to the bathroom. In just a few short weeks we would be free to rack up credit cards and student loans, or to sign contracts for an apartment we Дата добавления: 2015-11-04; просмотров: 33 | Нарушение авторских прав
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persons, living or dead, is coincidental
ALSO BY JAMIE MCGUIRE
Chapter One
About the Author
EVEN THOUGH THE LIGHT WAS OUT AND
FRANKIE PRACTICALLY MASSAGED THE
“WHAT IS THAT?” Weston asked as we