How it Ends (6 page)

“My what?” I said as if I had no clue, then turned and glanced at Seth. “Him? Oh, no. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just…” I cocked my head like I was deliberating, then shrugged and said, “Some guy
from school.” And I turned away again, stung by the sight of hatchet girl and her skinny-hipped, S-shaped stance, groin out, boobs level with Seth’s nose, and Seth’s hand resting way too close to hers.

“Cool,” karate guy said, “then hop on. I’ll take you for a quick ride. Unless, uh…” He glanced at Seth again, eyebrows high, like he was giving him one last chance to step up.

“Oh, no, he doesn’t mind, he’s busy,” I said with a dismissive wave as if I didn’t give one shit about him picking up a girl while he was with me. “I’ll be back,” I said over my shoulder, took the extra helmet, and squeezed it down over my ears. And karate guy, who seemed to be enjoying the drama way too much, waited till I climbed on and then, twisting around to face me, buckled my chin strap and tucked my hair in around my cheeks. As if that wasn’t enough, he touched the tip of my nose with his finger and said in a low, mischievous voice, “You want me to give ’em even
more
to talk about?”

“No, you’re doing just fine,” I said with a wicked look from under my lashes.

He laughed, which surprised me, as down at Crystal’s he always seemed too cool to actually laugh but it was a good sound and I loved that Seth got to see an older guy treating me nice.

“Later, dude,” karate guy said, smirking at Seth and completely ignoring hatchet girl.

I settled my hands low on his waist, he checked behind us, and we took off.

I glanced back—I know I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it—and hatchet girl gave me a knowing look like I was just too obvious and turned to Seth, who was already looking away from me.

Damn.

The bike was sleek and cool and scary as hell. Karate guy took me around the parking lot and out to the road. He waited for a break in traffic, then said, “Hold on,” and in a rumbling surge of “holy shit”
power, gunned it.

“Oh my God!” I cried, laughing as we roared away. “This is amazing.”

“First bike ride?” he threw back.

“Yeah,” I said, squinting over his shoulder at the road.

“Cool,” he said. “Then enjoy.” He turned off the congested main drag, and meandered through side streets, shaded lanes, and out onto an empty road where he opened it up and took my breath away.

“This motorcycle makes a very distinctive sound,” I yelled at his helmet, in the spot where I figured his ear should be.

He laughed and shouted, “Never heard it put that way, but yeah, she does.” And then, “So you into that dude back there or what?”

“Is it that obvious?” I said.

“Yeah, you were looking pretty miserable. Glad I showed up.”

“You and me both,” I said and squeezed him a little tighter. “Thank you.” I laughed forlornly. “And how weird is this, anyway?”

“What, you and me?” he said. “Why not?”

He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. “Are you serious?”

“What would you say if I was?”

And it was the smile in his tone that freed me, that took me one step past who I
thought
he was and delighted me with who he was being right now, so I said, “I’d say you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Suppose I said I’ll take the chance,” he said.

I bit my lip and snickered. “Well, then I’d invite you to my sixteenth birthday party in May so you can meet my parents.”

The bike swerved, and cursing, he righted it and steered over to the curb. Turned and gave me an astonished look. “How old?”

“Fifteen, same as Crystal,” I said with a cheery grin. “What, did you think I was older?”

“Uh,
yeah.”
He stared at me. “I could go to jail for you. Like, right
now.”

“Nah,” I said airily. “You’re what, eighteen? That’s no big deal.”

“It is to the law,” he said.

“That’s dumb,” I said. “First of all, everybody knows girls mature faster than guys, and second, you haven’t done anything but give me a ride.”

He gave me this look, half amusement, half disbelief, and shook his head. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, girl.” And then his eyebrows rose like he’d just thought of something else. “Isn’t this a school day?”

“Mm-hmm,” I said. “But it was so nice, we cut out.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said. “C’mon, let me get you back to Romeo.”

“Wait,” I said, tugging on his dread. “Does this mean you’re not coming to my birthday party?”

He laughed. “Ask me again when you’re eighteen.”

“You got it,” I said and smiled because he was making it so easy to like him.

When we got back to the mall, not only was the cement planter where we’d been sitting abandoned but the bag with my uniform in it was gone too.

“Looks like lover boy got pissed and left,” he said, as the bike idled at the curb. “Now what?”

“I don’t know,” I said, panicking. “I mean, I don’t care about him but, oh my God, where’s my uniform?”

“Think he took it with him?”

“No,” I said immediately. “I think he would have said, ‘I’m not babysitting her shit,’ and left it there! Oh my God, my father’s gonna kill me if I lost that uniform!” I hopped off the bike and ran over to see if maybe he’d tucked the bag down inside the planter.

Nothing.

Then I ran to the garbage can and tried to look in. I couldn’t see, so I had to lift the whole top off, which was humiliating, but there was
no bag in there either.

“Oh my God, where is it?” I said, stopping and staring around the parking lot.

Karate guy glanced at his watch. “I have to be at work in forty-five minutes, Hanna, but I don’t want to just leave you here. What do you want to do?”

Kill Seth.
Kill
him.

“Can you give me five minutes?” I said, wringing my hands. “Let me just run in and see if maybe somebody left it at the lost and found? Please?”

“Go ahead,” he said and cruised over to a parking space.

I ran to the first counter in Macy’s and asked if anyone had turned in a bag.

No.

Bolted down the center of the mall, not even looking for Seth, and was almost past the food court when someone called, “Hanna.”

I skidded to a stop and spotted him alone at a table. Frowning, I scanned the area but didn’t see my bag. “What’re you doing in here? Where’s my stuff?”

He leaned back and shrugged. “Isn’t it out there where you left it?”

“No! I only left it because I thought you’d watch it,” I said. “Seth, my uniform’s in there!”

He looked at me, eyes cool and face expressionless. “Well, you weren’t too worried about it when you left, so I figured…” He shrugged again and glanced over to the pizza place where hatchet girl was in line. “Try lost and found. They probably have it.”

I couldn’t even begin to say what I wanted to, because if I did, I would have hit him, cursed him out, or burst into tears. Probably all three. So I just whirled and ran to lost and found, where yes, the bag was waiting. I took it and ran back past the food court, past him and hatchet girl, through Macy’s, and out to karate guy, who, good as his
word, was leaning against his bike waiting.

“Can you drop me off at home?” I asked. “I’ll give you gas money, I swear.”

He surveyed my face. “Guy’s an asshole, huh?”

I nodded, near tears.

“Sure,” he said. “Climb on. And don’t insult me with the money thing again, okay?”

So I did and he got me home before noon. My mother wasn’t there, she was over at Gran’s, so I changed into sweats and crawled into bed, and when she came in, I told her I’d felt sick all morning and had stayed in the bathroom, never even went to homeroom, and finally got a ride home. I said I had a bad stomachache, which I did, and I must have looked like hell because instead of asking me all kinds of questions, she blamed it on the homemade sun-dried tomatoes she’d put in last night’s salad, told me to rest, brought me a cup of hot tea with honey, and left me in peace.

Sometimes my mother’s so good.

I saw Seth coming toward me down the far end of the hall the next day and I could tell by the slow way he was walking that he didn’t really want to run into me, so I just took the side staircase, and problem solved.

Lon and I loaded the car
with the candied yams, a butternut squash casserole, two pumpkin pies, and a gallon jar of pickled green tomatoes and drove over to the Thurys for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Go slow,” I said, balancing the pies on my lap as he pulled out of the driveway.

Freshly shaved, salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed to the side, the thin navy blue stripes on his favorite dress shirt making his eyes look even browner, he glanced across the car at me and said, “Well, will you look at that: a pretty woman with a pile of food sitting right there in my shotgun seat. Talk about having something to be thankful for.”

“Oh, really,” I said but couldn’t help feeling pleased because I
had
taken pains to look nice, digging out the cranberry-colored blouse I’d worn back when I worked in an office and pairing it with my black slacks. I’d even put on earrings, something I hadn’t done in years as I didn’t have pierced ears and the levers on the backs of the shiny gold buttons always left painful scallops in my earlobes. “Stop trying to butter me up and keep your eyes on the road, old man.”

“Impossible,” he said and, with a cheeky grin, reached over and squeezed my knee. “Want to go parking later?”

“I’m not allowed,” I said primly and, when he removed his hand, “Oh, hell, I didn’t think you’d give up that easily.”

“I haven’t,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Just wait till the ride home.”

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” I said after a moment.

“Oh?” he said, sounding far too innocent. “What am I doing?”

“Distracting me,” I said and smiled when he met my gaze. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said gruffly and, reaching across the seat, took hold of my hand. “You’re shaking. Do you want me to turn up the heat?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just nerves. I haven’t seen her in so long…”

“Who, Hanna? Helen…my God, don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been so worried about?”

I hesitated—missing Hanna was one thing but not
all
things—then nodded.

“Well, you can stop because she’s going to be as glad to see you as you are to see her.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said softly and turned my gaze out the window, watching as we drove past the woods and around the bend that would lead us to the Thurys.

He
was
right, and not even Hanna’s curious look at my trembling or the catastrophic moment during dessert could tarnish the glow on the day.

Hanna met us at the door sporting flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and a beaming smile, looking taller, older, and rebelliously lovely in her antiholiday outfit of jeans, the opossum-patterned socks I gave her last Christmas, and a scoop-neck black sweater.

She hugged me hard but I hugged her harder, and when I finally stepped back to look at her, I found she was doing the same to me.

“It’s trite and awful but I’m going to say it anyway,” I said, laughing and wiping a shaky hand across my damp eyes. “I can’t believe you’re so grown-up!”

“And I got a job, too! Oh my God, Gran, I missed you so much,” she burbled. “You look so pretty! You should wear earrings all the time. I’m serious. They make your—”

“Ahem,” Lon said good-naturedly from behind me on the porch stoop. “I hate to interrupt, but these yams aren’t getting any younger…”

“Oh, no way, you brought
yams?”
she said, and when I nodded, she snickered and said, “I can’t believe you remember that! He’s probably still working there, too, the jerk. Hi, Grandpa, come on in!”

Melanie and Wes came to greet us and take the food, although Hanna refused to surrender the gallon of pickled tomatoes and insisted on lugging that out to the kitchen herself. “I swear I’ve been dreaming about these things,” she said, setting the jar on the cluttered counter and wrestling with the lid. “I’m serious. You don’t know how bad I was hoping you’d bring them, and I was even gonna call and ask but…” She bit her lip. “I feel kind of mean for not helping you this year.”

“Well, I missed your company, that’s for sure, and a phone call would have been nice, but I managed to make it through,” I said lightly, not wanting to spoil the day.

“So you’re not mad at me?” she said.

“No,” I said and laughed as she blurted, “Oh, yay!” and hugged me again.

That moment alone would have made the day perfect, but there were more, so many more…

Melanie, catching me before dinner, slipping a gift card into my hand and saying they’d won a drawing for a week’s free groceries but hoped I would take it and put it toward the ingredients for all those delicious Christmas cookies I baked every year.

The expression on Lon’s face when Wes offered him the chair at the head of the table, handed him the knife, and asked if he’d do the honor of carving the bird.

Hanna looking around, looking at me, and with a satisfied sigh, saying,
Cool. Our whole family is here.

Wes asking if Saturday would be a good day for him to come and cut us some wood.

Hanna and I working side by side in the kitchen, her loading the dishwasher, me scraping the leftover turkey bits into a container to take back to the cats.

“So tell me about your boyfriend,” I said and grinned at her sudden blush. “Oh-ho, so you
do
have one, then, hmm? Come on, let’s hear it.
I know:
He’s an egghead named Waldo who collects bottle caps and wears itchy argyle socks, right? No? Then he’s one of those underfed goth boys who insists his name isn’t Harold but something intense like Storm-Ominous, with fake black hair and little porcelain fangs he puts in to creep out the cafeteria ladies.” I went on this way, making her laugh even as she protested that no, she didn’t have a boyfriend, but okay, okay, there
was
someone she was mad at right now but she still might like and he might like her, too, but he was already going out with someone.

This dilemma, according to her, would be resolved with time because he went out with a lot of different girls, seeing as how he was hurt bad by the first girl he ever loved and now he never wanted to love anyone again, so basically all she had to do was hang in there and sooner or later she would get her chance to show him how perfect they’d be together.

I asked her why she thought they’d be perfect together and she stopped, gave this look, part puzzled, mostly irritated, and said,
Because I just know we would,
leaving me certain he was a raging fool who didn’t deserve her but unable to say it because the happily ever after she was targeting was so far beyond anything I could give her.

And it was during dessert, while Melanie was serving the coffee and I was handing out huge slabs of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream, that Hanna sat up straight and said, “Hey, Gran, I know! Tell the story about how you and Grandpa met.” She glanced at her mother. “Do you know it, Mom? Oh my
God,
it’s so romantic.”

I stared at her, stricken, and Lon went still, and the silence stretched and gradually the anticipation on Hanna’s face turned to bewilderment and then embarrassment and she said, “What?” and I didn’t know how to answer because no matter how frantically I searched my brain, I couldn’t remember what I’d told her, what fairy tale I’d made up years ago because the truth was too raw to put into words, and finally Lon cleared his throat and, looking paler than normal, forced a weak smile and said, “Helen’s busy serving the pie. Why don’t you tell it, Hanna?”

“No, that’s okay, forget it,” Hanna said, staring down at the table. “It’s not important.” She pushed her plate away. “I’m done. ’Scuse me.” She slid out of her chair and hurried from the room, pounding up the stairs and shutting her bedroom door behind her.

“Ah, the joys of a moody teenager,” Melanie said after a moment, and her awkward laugh hung in the huge silence. “Last week I humiliated her by telling Sammi she’d gone to bed early. It seems I should have said something cooler.” She shrugged. “She’ll get over it, Helen. No harm done.”

And I smiled and nodded, forced myself to hand Lon the slice of pie I’d been holding and swallow a few choking bites of my own, to make stilted small talk as if everything was fine while listening for the sound of a door that didn’t open and a footfall on the stair that didn’t come.

We left soon after that, with Melanie calling up to tell Hanna we were leaving and Hanna shouting back in a monotone, “Bye, Gran, bye, Grandpa. Happy Thanksgiving,” without even sticking her head out of her room.

“Helen, what the hell did you tell her?” Lon said as soon as we were shut safely in the car. “You didn’t tell her the truth—”

“No,”
I said, clenching my hands in my lap to try and still their shaking.

“Jesus Christ,” he said on an exhale. “Then what did you say?”

“I don’t remember,” I said and burst into tears.