Half In Love With Death (7 page)

• • •

When we were outside, May turned to me. “I'm sorry. I forgot she worked there.” She added in a whisper, “My sister and Geraldine were in some of the same classes. Linda said she was smart and interested in fish.”

“Marine biology,” Sheila said. She cupped her hands around her lips. “Some kids say that she was murdered, and that her spirit walks the desert.”

“What?” It felt like the air was rushing out of me. “Who's saying that?”

May glared at Sheila. “Linda says those are just rumors.”

First Mom mentioning Geraldine, and now rumors I'd never heard. There was so much I didn't know. “I need to talk to them.”

“No, you don't,” May said. “They're really bad news. And there's no such thing as spirits.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Please don't blab this around. Linda told us not to tell anyone, and we're only telling you because of what happened to Jess.”

What happened to Jess? I got the awful taste of onion rings in my mouth. Black shreds of darkness floated in the air. It was like all their whispers were tearing me apart, and at any moment I was going to faint. “We better get going. Mom will kill me if I'm late,” I said.

• • •

Speedway grew livelier as we waited for the bus. Cars full of kids cruised by. Some slowed and boys called out to us. Everyone was out looking for someone or something. I gripped my bag tightly. Soon the night would close over us, and this would be Jess's world—the world we'd lost her in.

It felt like the bus would never come. I was relieved when Tony pulled up in his gold car and rolled down the window. “You girls want a ride home?”

I looked from May to Sheila. May mouthed,
No
.

“Thank you, but we're taking the bus,” I said.

Tony sighed. “Caroline, this is Speedway. Any minute the rattlesnakes will be slithering out of the woodwork. You really want to wait for the bus?”

I looked at May again. She shrugged.

“If you really don't mind,” I said.

Tony smiled. “It will be my pleasure.”

They sat in back while I sat in front. The car smelled like my parents' house after a party—“eau de cigarettes and stale beer.” I kicked aside some paper cups on the floor and put my bags down by my feet.

“You buy some nice stuff?” Tony fiddled with the radio.

“School clothes,” I replied.

“Three little schoolgirls,” he said, and I could feel May and Sheila holding back laughter. “Jess always said you loved to study.” The car became silent.

“I suppose I do,” I said.

As he drove fast with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for a cigarette, he said, “Light that for me, hon.” I beamed, hoping Sheila and May had heard, and lit his cigarette and handed it back to him. “Thanks, I needed that,” he said, exhaling. “You girls want a smoke?”

“No thanks,” Sheila said.

“Not even you, May? I could have sworn you were the sophisticated French actress type.”

She stared into her hands and didn't answer. He took a curve so fast I was pushed up against him. “Whoa,” he said. “Sorry about that, sugar.” He patted my arm with his free hand. When we got to May's house he said, “It sure was nice meeting you, hon.”

I was jealous that he called her hon, too, but all she did was frown and say, “Thanks for the ride.”

“I'm getting out here, too,” Sheila said.

Tony grinned. “You two sisters?”

“No, I'm just hanging out at her house.” I waited for May to invite me too, but she didn't.

Tony eyed them.

“Yeah, you don't look a bit like sisters.”

I watched as they disappeared into May's house. As we drove down her dark, curving street, it felt strange now that it was just the two of us in the car. He turned to me. “You'd be as pretty as May if you were blonde, prettier maybe.”

Though I knew this was just flattery, I couldn't stop smiling.

“There's a party at my place tonight. My band's gonna play,” he added.

“I'm late. I should have been home hours ago.”

“Don't worry, chickadee. I'm not inviting you.”

I felt foolish for thinking he was. As he blew a stream of smoke out the window, I took the box with my new patent leather shoes out of the bag at my feet.

“What have you got there?” he asked.

“New shoes.” I lifted the lid and beheld their shiny loveliness, pristine as a frozen pond back east before a single skate had touched it. I missed winter so much. Here, the closest thing to snow was the cold stars that sprinkled the sky. I felt a catch in my throat. What if I never saw snow again? Or Jess?

Tony rested his arm on the back of my seat. “Jess never liked going to parties with me.” It was as if he'd known I was thinking about her. He went on, “She wanted me all to herself. She didn't understand I need to have a lot of other people around, but that's not important now. Nothing is the same anymore.” I followed his gaze out the window. We were in my neighborhood. I'd been down this street many times, but it was like I was seeing the inky palm fronds and soft glow of the streetlights for the first time. Tony was right. Nothing was the same.

I put the box back in my shopping bag. “Sometimes I think it's my fault she's missing.” He glanced at me. “If I'd told Mom right away when she snuck out, they would have looked for her sooner. She might be here right now.” I slouched in my seat.

“And I thought everyone blamed me,” Tony said. He laughed as though my confession was really nothing, and I was relieved. He pulled up about a block from my house and said, “If your parents saw me dropping you off, they'd kill me. They don't understand how much I want to find Jess.”

I looked down at my hands. “They don't.”

“Caroline.” His voice made me jump. “Look here.” He leaned close and pointed to a dull purple bruise on his face. “You know how I got that?” I shook my head. He pressed my hand to his cheek. I could almost feel how much it hurt. “One of your dad's friends. I got other bruises. You want to see?” He began to lift his shirt.

“No.” I winced. “I'm sorry they did that to you.”

“They think I know something about Geraldine Keanen. Don't know how they got that idea. Do you?”

My stomach tightened. “Probably some stupid rumor kids are spreading.”

“Jesus, I hardly knew the girl.”

I was glad to hear that. “Everyone's got crazy ideas,” I said.

“That private eye your dad sent sure asked a lot of questions.”

“My dad didn't send him. His boss Ron did.”

“Well, you might want to tell Ron to stop asking me questions and actually start looking for Jess.”

I sighed. “My dad went to California to look for her, but he didn't find out anything. He didn't even go to Schwab's.”

“Unbelievable. That's the most important thing he could have done.”

I smiled. “That's just what I thought.”

He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. “Everyone blames me and you, but sometimes I think we're the only ones who really want to find her.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “It's like my parents have already given up.”

“That's how some people are when something bad happens. Their fear paralyzes them.” He was staring at me, his eyes so blue they seemed to jump out of his face. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't move. It was almost as if
I
was paralyzed.

He cocked his head. “But you and me, we're not like most people.”

I twirled some hair around my finger. He'd seen death and come back from it, and I'd had a vision of my sister. We'd both been touched by something from outside of this world. Maybe we were alike.

He went on, “I think we can find Jess.”

I felt hopeful for the first time in a while. “How?”

He shook his head. “As soon as I come up with a plan, I'll let you know.”

I hesitated. “I've got to go. I'm going to get in trouble for being late.”

He smiled. “Just tell them the bus broke down.”

The next day at school, in every one of my classes as attendance was taken, the teacher would pause extra long after I said, “Here,” wondering, I suppose, what to say to the girl whose sister had disappeared. Kids I knew from last year kept their distance. Kids I didn't know didn't approach me. All I wanted was to be anywhere other than this place where everyone stopped talking as soon as I came near them. By the time I got to AP English, my last class of the day, I was officially sick of school.

Everyone turned to look when May walked in. She gave me an embarrassed smile as she sat down next to me, and angled her long legs to one side. “I know I don't really belong here. My mom got the principal to let me in.” She pushed her curtain of hair out of her face. “So were your parents mad when you got home last night?”

I shrugged. “I told them the bus broke down.”

Our teacher, Mr. Raymond, wore a wrinkled plaid shirt and looked like he'd forgotten to comb his hair, but all the kids liked him. Even Jess did. She said he let kids talk about real stuff like rock-and-roll, love, and what was wrong with the world. He handed out copies of poems by E.E. Cummings and asked us each to choose one to read aloud. We would have one minute and not a second more to give our impression. The only wrong answer was silence.

The words in the poems were all mashed together. Lines zigzagged across the page and there was no punctuation. It was like E.E. Cummings was saying screw the world, I can write however I want. I was so entranced, for a second I forgot about Jess. When I saw the phrase “blue-eyed boy” in one of the poems, I made my choice. Class was almost over before it was my turn. As I read, “How do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death,” the room grew quiet. Everyone was staring at me, curious as to what the girl whose sister was probably dead would say about death. “It's . . . .” No words came. Silence was the wrong answer.

Mr. Raymond cocked his head. “Are you all right?”

This was the worst. I wasn't all right. There was an impossible tickle in my throat. “Buffalo Bill did everything fast, riding the water-smooth stallion, breaking onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat. He was impatient for life. But now Mister Death has him, and he's . . . .” I could barely get the word out. “Still.” The blank faces in front of me blurred.

At the end of class, Mr. Raymond gave a homework assignment to write a poem inspired by the one we'd read aloud. As May and I were leaving, he motioned to me. I braced myself for his uncomfortable words of concern.

He tucked in a shirttail. “If you ever want to talk about poetry or anything else, I want you to know I'll listen.” I nodded and rushed past him.

The corridor was nearly empty. I'd missed my chance to do something with May or Sheila after school. As I grabbed some books from my locker, someone tapped me on the shoulder and I almost dropped them. I turned to see Billy standing behind me.

He said, “You walking home?”

Buffalo Bill, Billy—reality stranger than a poem. I hadn't seen him since the kiss. Talk to him, I thought. Now. Before he leaves. “Yes.”

“Want to walk home together?” he asked.

As we stepped out into the sunlight-soaked world, Tony's gold car was idling in front of the school. He was everywhere lately. For a moment I thought he was waiting for me, but then Debbie came over and got in.

May and Sheila walked up to us, and May beamed at Billy and said, “Linda's picking us up. She can give you a ride home.” She added, “And you, too, Caroline.”

Billy shook his head. “No, thanks. I need the exercise.”

May frowned. “Caroline, you can still come if you want.”

“That's okay. I need the exercise, too.” I tried to look disappointed I wasn't going with her.

For a moment, she was at a loss for words. Then Linda pulled up in a bright red convertible. “Last chance, guys,” she said. “Top down.”

Billy smiled. “Maybe another time.” As they sped away, Billy shook his head. “May doesn't like to hear ‘no.'”

As we walked, circles of sweat formed under my armpits. My dress was plastered to my back, and my shoes hurt. More than anything I wanted a cold drink, but there weren't any stores, just house after house, all the same, right down to their brown front lawns with prickly cacti rising out of the dust.

When we were in front of his house, I said, “Thank God. I can't take another step.”

“If my bike wasn't broken, I wouldn't be walking,” Billy said.

“Your bike is broken?”

“Yeah. I wiped out coming home from a party at a dry wash in the desert.”

“What were you doing at one of those parties?” Jess had told me about how kids liked to hang out and drink in the dry creek beds in the desert.

“Drinking,” Billy said. “Don't look so surprised, Caroline. Everyone drinks.” He wiped some sweat from his brow. “Can I ask you a question?”

I smiled, waiting for something romantic. “Okay.”

“I was wondering how you're dealing with it.”

My heart sank when I realized he was talking about my sister, but I gave him the advice people always gave me. “I just put it out of my mind and go on. What else is there to do?”

“Right.” Billy paused. “We got a letter from Steve yesterday.” He let out a slow sigh. “He saw someone get his head blown off. It's good to hear from him, but I wouldn't want to know if something like that happened to Steve. I'd rather go on thinking he's all right.” He looked at me. “Is that how you feel about Jess?”

For a second I couldn't speak.

“I wish I had a letter from her,” I finally said. “It could say, ‘I hate you all' or ‘I'm never coming back,' it wouldn't matter. Just hearing from her would be enough. Not knowing is the worst.” My stomach was in a knot. “She could be a pain, but it's a bummer not having her around.”