Hate (6 page)

TWO HOURS LATER, I FOUND myself sitting on the hard wood of the gymnasium’s bleachers, surrounded by people but feeling very much alone.

It didn’t take the school long to figure out that there would be no focus that day. Not among students, teachers, or any other faculty. The scale of tragedy was too grand, the loss of loved ones too great.

Parents marched into the gym on an endless parade, swallowing their kids up in hugs and tears and uncertainty.

From what I had heard, making phone calls had become nearly impossible, and for a lot of people, locating loved ones was no longer a right but a luxury.

It was no different for Blane. I hadn’t spoken to him directly since he left the classroom at a run, but his face wasn’t one of someone who knew. He hadn’t been in contact with his father, and conversely, he had no confirmation that he no longer would be able to. No one knew anything, and I feared that with the scale of this event, it would be much too long before they did.

He stood across the gym, his normally tan skin pale and clammy looking, and stared at a spot on the basketball court, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. His gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t search the room for people he knew. He didn’t watch while people got good or bad news.

His world lived completely in his mind, and I couldn’t see inside.

I lifted my head at the sound of the gym door swinging open and watched as Blane’s petite mother hurried inside.

Emily was always put together, not because she had to be to impress Blane or his dad, but because she wanted to be the best version of herself.

And today, to the untrained eye, she was no different. But I could see the blotch of her pale skin and the evidence of over-tucking at the hair behind her ears.

She’d tried to clean up her face, and as far as her makeup went, she’d done a good job. But I knew her too well. This was not how Emily Hunt normally looked—anchored and full of purpose.

No, today, she looked lost.

She headed straight for Blane, who’s gaze stayed fixed ahead, unaware of her presence.

That is, until she called his name.

I was too far away to hear the sound, but I watched as her lips formed each word, his eyes locked on hers.

“What are we going to do?” A sob opened her mouth wide until she regained control. “Oh God, Blane, he’s gone.”

I knew she didn’t know that for a fact, but the forceful feeling in her gut transferred straight to mine like a wire was running between them.

I’ve heard people say that a true connection with someone else goes beyond the reasonable. It goes beyond science and fact, and instead, takes root in the connection of your souls.

The look on Emily’s face was all the proof I needed to believe in such a fantasy.

She didn’t just look tortured. She looked
incomplete
. As though a piece of her beautiful soul had wilted at the loss of his.

The other man in her life stepped up with no hesitation.

As Blane became the man of his house, tucking his mother into the crook of his arm to give her comfort, I closed my eyes and once again, cried silent tears.

I mourned the loss of William Hunt, a man who had not only welcomed me into his home, but raised a son who welcomed me into his life when I had no one.

A life full of ambition and self-worth, but completely devoid of friendship.

I hadn’t even known I’d wanted anyone to be a part of it until him.

My blurry eyes opened just in time to watch Blane walking his mother out of the gym still tucked under his arm.

Emily needed him to be there for her.

But who was there for him?

I hated that in a time when we would have—should have—had each other, we were all alone.

And I hated that despite our distance, I could still
see
him suffering.

But most of all, I hated that hate won out over love as the stronger emotion once again. On a day filled with hate, literally stamped in the history books with the makings of it, I let it win yet another battle.

Oh, yeah. And I
loathed
terrorists.

Most people describe September eleventh as the day that tilted their normal world on its axis. But what about the people whose lives were already leaning?

I DIDN’T GO TO FRANNY’S house that afternoon. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I wasn’t allowed.

Once my parents had me home that night, they wanted me close.

And I understood. I did.

If ever there was a time to hold your loved ones close, this was it.

But Franny’s grief didn’t stop flowing just because more people were lost. If anything, I feared that so many traumas in a row would be too much for her, and I didn’t know if I could live with myself if she fell over the edge.

After one night at home, I found that the worry was too much, and I put up one hell of a fight until my parents agreed to let me leave the house.

Of course, their stipulation was that I took Gram with me.

I had a feeling that they were more interested in getting her off of their backs than keeping an eye on me.

I just hoped Gram would be able to dig down deep and find her usually missing people skills.

“On second thought, maybe you should wait in the car,” I pleaded as I pulled into the driveway and noticed that Franny’s doorstep wasn’t empty.

“Are you kidding me?” Gram asked as she spied Blane for herself. “The hunk is here which means this is just getting good.”

“You are the last thing either one of them needs right now, Gram,” I argued as nervous butterflies took flight in my stomach, the tips of their wings scraping at the lining and making it burn.

I had no idea what I was going to say or do, and now that Blane was here, that problem was compounded tenfold. Fathoming what he was going through in that moment was completely beyond my capability.

“You don’t know that,” Gram huffed, her silvery hair looking a little scraggly since her hairdresser had cancelled her usual standing Wednesday appointment due to the circumstances.

She was completely outraged, but in my book, if they cancelled school for the day, Gram’s hairdresser could cancel her hair appointment.

“Just stay in the car, Gram,” I reiterated, rolling down the windows and shutting off the ignition.

Before she had a chance to answer, I shoved the door open with my foot and jumped the short trip down from the inside of my blue Jeep Cherokee.

She was old, but reliable. Kind of like the woman still seated inside of her. That’s all I could really ask for.

I gripped my keys hard, the ribbing digging painfully into the flesh of my palm as I ascended the final steps at the end of their front sidewalk. Blane turned to me, whereas before he’d been just staring at the closed front door, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Aren’t you going in?” I asked quietly, surprised I even managed to force the words past my lips.

“I’ve already tried,” he responded. “She won’t see me.”

“Blane, I…” I started, unable to finish.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said instead of waiting for me to make sense of my scattered thoughts. “Hopefully she’ll see you today, though.”

With a casual wave, one worthy of acquaintances, he stepped down off of the stoop and headed for his motorcycle.

I fought with myself, unsure of whether I should bring up his dad or not, but something told me I should say something. Anything.

“Blane!” He turned back to me, waiting to hear what I had to say. “I’m sorry about your dad,” I finished lamely.

With a nod, he looked to the blue sky and then answered, “Me too,” before finishing his walk to his bike, throwing his leg over, starting it up, and seating his helmet on his head.

The door creaked open behind me, Franny’s mother Gina filling its void. As I turned to face her, her kind eyes softened even further.

“Franny’s not feeling up for company today, honey. I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“That’s okay,” I agreed. “Could you just make sure she knows I came by?”

“Of course,” she nodded, her eyes softening into the bags under them.

I needed Franny to know she wasn’t alone. That no matter how many times she turned me away, I would keep coming back.

After one last soft look, Gina shut the door with a gentle click, once again physically cutting me off from Franny.

Meeting Gram’s brown eyes through the windshield of my car, I shrugged my shoulders.

She smiled in return.

My feet didn’t drag on my way back to the car like they had on the way up, and my door seemed to appear before me in no time.

Opening it up and climbing inside, I took a deep breath, cranked the ignition, and settled both hands on the wheel.

“Blane’s dad is most likely dead, and all I could think to say is ‘I’m sorry’. How stupid is that?”

She didn’t mince words. “Really damn smart.”

“Huh?” I questioned, scrunching my face up in confusion.

“Listen to me, Whit. Don’t ever struggle so hard trying to come up with something to say that you don’t say anything. That’s the real crime because you’re never, ever guaranteed another chance. As long as you say something, they’ll know exactly how you feel.”

Her advice seemed sound, but in this case, I just couldn’t convince myself that my simple sorry was enough.

“Now, where are we headed?” she asked as I shifted into reverse and started to back out of Franny’s driveway.

“I don’t know. How about home?”

I wasn’t particularly in the mood to socialize. Not to mention that part of me felt wrong to just go about my business so soon after such a major national tragedy.

“Home shmome. I’m locked in that place all the time, and I finally had an excuse to escape. We’re gonna live this up,” she declared, obviously not feeling the same mournful vibe that I was.

“Let’s go to a bar. Do some shots.”

After taking a deep breath to steel myself, I reasoned, “Gram, legal drinking age is twenty-one. An age that I am not. Plus, don’t you think we should take some time, just be with the family? You know, pay our respects.”

“How in the hell are you my granddaughter? I thought I taught you to go against the grain. Rebuff the rules. That kind of thing. Instead, I got this rule-following, conservative, do-gooder. As for staying home, you just take that bullshit and shove it right back where you got it. What do you think those terrorist bastards are trying to accomplish?”

Before I could say anything, she talked right over me. “I’ll tell you. It’s fear. A change in our goddamn lifestyle. I, for one, won’t stand for it. And as long as I’m anything less than six feet under, neither will you.”

It was amazing.

She was right.

Fear and lifestyle changes were exactly what they wanted. Sure, the people who lost their lives yesterday were a huge part of it, an extensively planned and far-reaching short term goal, but in general, they wanted
all
of us to change.

If you waited long enough, and sorted through all of her rants and riots, Gram often came up with some really good insight. And she was also really good at adapting to the times. Unlike a lot of older people, she embraced new technology like she’d been using it all her life. And even though she didn’t always say things in the most politically correct way, she accepted people of all backgrounds, cultures, and lifestyles.

And I really admired that.

“Now, since you’re such a stickler for the rules,” she mocked, changing her voice to whiny and drab to emphasize her point. “Let’s go get some Rita’s Italian Ice. The weather’s gonna be changing fast, and you know how I love my gelato. I have to get as much as I can before they close for the winter.”

Right.

So she was insightful and tolerant, but also, a little bit immature.

Immature elderly.

Ha. Now that was an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one.

“Fine. Rita’s it is,” I conceded, like any good mother would for her kids, and steered the Cherokee in that direction.

Taking care of Gram was basically the same.

“Groovy. And then maybe we can go to Target too,” Gram said, milking this for all she could.

“What do you need at Target?”

Her hands tapped her knees, the excited anticipation exiting her body through her limbs when it grew too strong to be contained.

“Nothing. I just love that place. Plus, I can never seem to get out of there without spending more than a hundred dollars, and I’m really intent on using up all of my money so I don’t have to leave it to your parents.”

“Gram! That’s terrible,” I accused, shaking my head but smiling a little bit too. She was too much.

“Why? I worked for my money, and they can work for theirs too. Same with you. You’ll never appreciate something you’re given as much as something you’ve earned. And you can write that down. Quote it. Emblazon my tombstone with it—right next to ‘She was a cold bitch’. But that’s a fact of life that will never change, my dear.”

Life lessons from a crazy old woman.

There wasn’t anything better.

“Okay. We’ll go to Target, spend your money. And if you behave yourself really well, I might just drive you through your old neighborhood. You know, let you tell me stories about the old days. That’s what you elderly live for, isn’t it?”