Long Black Veil (12 page)

“Yeah, there’s not much I want to hear from you.” He’d been the one to back up Skylar’s claims.

He tilted his head to the side as he looked at her. “How about an apology?”

Devon stared at him, completely at a loss for what to say next. She took a couple of steps closer, positive she’d misheard him. “What?”

He pushed himself away from his car and walked over to her. “An apology. For what I said about you.”

She looked up at him, not sure where this was coming from. Micah never apologized for anything. There had to be something else going on here. Devon’s gaze swept the parking lot, trying to see if there was somebody else putting him up to this. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. She took a step back, just to be sure.

He took another step closer, keeping the distance between them even. Her eyes flashed up to meet his as anger filled her. “Sorry doesn’t take it back, now does it?”

He grinned. Devon gritted her teeth, remembering what a complete asshat he could be. “You know how Skylar can be when she wants something,” he answered, as if that excused it.

“You didn’t have to lie to back her up,” Devon shot back, knowing that this argument was going to go nowhere.

Micah shrugged and she wanted to hit him. So nonchalant, as if her reputation didn’t matter a bit. “You’re right, I didn’t,” he conceded, again knocking her off-balance. He stepped closer to her, so that they were only an arm’s length apart. “But if you’re nice to me, maybe I can do something about it.”

Devon narrowed her eyes, suddenly getting where this was going. Did he think she was that desperate to improve her reputation in this crappy town—a town she hoped to have put well in her rearview by this time next year—that she’d be nice to him? Clearly the flow of oxygen to his brain had been diverted to other areas.

She crossed her arms across her chest. “So what you’re saying is that if I do with you what you already said I did with you, you’ll tell everyone that we never did it in the first place. Am I clear on that?” She made sure she put extra sneer into her voice on that last bit. “Yeah, I’m going to have to pass on
that
generous offer.”

Devon turned to go, but Micah grabbed her arm. He was fast, but she should have figured that. Still, his grip on her upper arm was really hurting her. “Hey!” she protested, even as he hauled her closer to his face.

“Look, you little hilljack, you’re nothing but trash, just like your mama. You should be thanking me for letting people think I’d even touch you.”

“Let go of me!” Devon jerked her arm out of his hand, nearly spinning herself around from the force. She was furious, probably angrier than she’d ever been in her entire life. Thanking him? For making her sound like a whore?

“Skylar’s on to what you’re after!” Micah made to grab her again, but Devon stumbled back.

“Just stay away from me!” she shouted back, already running to the street that bordered the parking lot.

She didn’t stop until she was almost to the town hall and the stitch in her side was almost unbearable. She had no idea what that was all about, especially Micah’s last words about Skylar. Skylar and Brock had dated, sure, but they weren’t together anymore. That left Brock fair game for anyone, even Devon. But Skylar was off her meds if she thought Devon stood a chance with him; all he saw her as was writing help with his college essay.

Devon sat on the steps in front of the town hall, taking a look around while she tried to get her pounding heart to slow down. The iron lamp posts lined either side of the street like evenly spaced sentinels. A few people walked on the sidewalks, scuttling between shops and offices. Clouds were moving in from the west, darkening the late afternoon sky. They’d get rain tonight.

The ache in her arm began to really bother her. Devon pulled off her black sweater and pushed up the sleeve of her t-shirt to get a look. Bruises were already darkening the skin of her upper arm, and there was an angry red mark from where she had jerked away from Micah. She cursed under her breath.

“You okay?”

Devon jerked, surprised. Brock stood on the step behind her, a box full of envelopes in his arms. “Yeah, fine.” She shrugged back into her sweater. “Off work?” she asked, checking the time on the large town hall clock behind his shoulder.

He shook his head. A piece of hair fell forward, obscuring one eye. “Gophering for Mrs. Welbourne.”

Devon nodded, climbing to her feet. She had work to do. She pulled her messenger bag over her head, settling it across her chest. “Ah, okay. See you around.” She walked past him on the way up to the double doors.

“Hold up.” Brock had turned and followed her. Devon stopped, waiting for him to continue. He stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. He looked at his shoes so she couldn’t see the expression on his face. The silence stretched out between them like inchworm threads that were everywhere come spring, and Devon tried not to fidget.

Finally he spoke. “About Saturday night…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She knew they sounded harsh, but she didn’t care. After the run-in with Micah, the last thing she wanted to talk or think about was Saturday night. “I’ve got to get some more research done before the archives close.”

She thought she saw a flash of hurt on his face before she turned around to walk inside, but she shrugged it off. Devon had enough to distract her without worrying about whether she hurt Brock’s feelings. Since he was friends with Micah and Skylar—he had even dated her!—Devon seriously wondered if he even had feelings. She knew it wasn’t a fair thought, considering how nice he’d been to her, but she didn’t really care about being nice right now.

Devon signed in at the desk, waving at Mrs. Welbourne who was on the phone. She was grateful for the quiet in the archives; there was no one to disturb her. She still had a few more property records and birth certificates to find, but she had made some solid progress on the requirements for the scholarship application. Pulling out her notes and sheaves of copies, Devon began cross-checking her list. Her mother’s family had been easy to track, since her Gammy kept everything. Her father’s family was a little harder, which was why she had to slog through the public records. Her father’s mother lived in this same town, but Devon hadn’t visited her once since Gammy had brought her back.

The last time Devon had seen her grandmother was right after her father’s death. Grandmother Charlotte had arrived to fetch his things and arrange for his body’s transport back home. She remembered Grandmother standing in the doorway, looking tall and forbidding. When Devon tried to give her a hug, Grandmother Charlotte held her at arm’s length, as if Devon might somehow dirty her. She marched in, speaking quiet words to her mother that left the woman sobbing. She completely ignored Devon. She’d come to find out later that Grandmother Charlotte had told her mother not to bother coming to the funeral.

Devon pulled out her birth certificate, followed by copies of her mother’s and father’s. She studied them carefully, trying to remember her father. Her memories had faded with time, but she had a few that still could make her smile. As she ran her eyes along the pages set out side by side, she noticed the blood types listed. Her father was O, her mother B, and Devon herself was AB. But that couldn’t be right.

She felt eyes on her and swept her papers together hastily. Brock stood in the doorway, looking at her with the strangest look on his face. It was almost as if he liked looking at her. She felt herself smiling tentatively at him, her anger from before leaving her in the wake of this new mystery.

“Gophering all done?”

Brock smiled and stepped into the room Devon realized she had kind of taken over the place: her folders and notes were scattered across the desk, her messenger bag slung over a chair, the computer monitor turned to face the way she liked. Brock was the one who actually worked here. She wondered if he was ever bothered by the way she had just sort of made the place work for her.

“Yeah, all finished.” He scooted around behind the long counter so they were on the same side. “I’d still like to talk to you about something, if you’ve got a minute.”

Devon felt her feet turn to ice. “Saturday night?” Why couldn’t he just leave it alone?

He nodded. “You left before we could decide on a time for you to help me with my essay.”

Devon had already opening her mouth to deny whatever he’d been about to say, but now she shut it with a snap. “Your essay?” That’s what he wanted to talk about from Saturday? “That’s all?”

He shrugged, taking a step in her direction. “Well, sure. I mean, what else…” he trailed off, his eyes snapping up to hers. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” She found herself staring up at him. His eyes were a muddle of several colors: grey, green, and brown, all mixed together. Devon realized she liked watching the way they changed when the light hit them.

“About Skylar,” he began, then stopped, spreading his hands helplessly. “I got nothing.” He shook his head. “She was drunk and stupid and mad at me. I’m sorry you got dragged into the middle of it.”

“Mad at you?” Devon still wasn’t clear how being mad at Brock equated to public humiliation of her, but she was willing to listen.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning one hip against the counter. “She’s going through a rough time right now. And with us splitting up over the summer,” again the shrug. “It’s just hard.”

“So you broke up with her?” Devon asked before she can stop herself.

“Kinda. I guess.” He caught her eye. “We weren’t having fun anymore. All we did was fight over the stupidest stuff. It was like we were staying together because everyone expected us to.”

“Prom King and Queen,” she said, remembering that Skylar and Brock had been voted to the junior court. “She’s told everyone that she dropped you.”

Brock nodded. “I know. I said she could if that made it easier.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want us to be miserable our senior year.”

Devon straightened and crossed her arms. Her upper arm ached when she moved it, reminding her of why she was mad in the first place. “That still doesn’t explain the costume. Or the mountain trash thing.”

“She was mad I invited you.”

“Wow,” Devon said, widening her eyes and blinking. “I never would have guessed that!”

Brock laughed. “Okay, okay, that was pretty obvious.” He brushed his hands on his jeans. “She felt threatened, I guess, when she found out you were coming. She can be insecure sometimes.”

“There’s insecure and then there’s ‘call me Pocahontas’.” Devon tried to keep the disgust out of her voice and failed. What on earth could Skylar Preston have to be insecure about? Her money, her good looks, her luck with boyfriends? The only thing that she had that Skylar might want was valedictorian, and somehow Devon doubted Skylar really cared about being remembered for her brains. For her perfect back handspring and ability to make letters out of her arms, maybe.

Amazingly, Brock went red. His eyes skipped away from her face and he cleared his throat. Devon watched him, wondering what was wrong with him. She reached over to pound on his back, thinking he was maybe choking, but he moved out of the way.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, still not meeting her gaze.

Devon realized he was still flushing. It dawned on her what she had said. She frowned, wanting desperately to know what Brock was thinking. He couldn’t possibly believe that about her, could he? God, what did that say about her? Or him? “You don’t actually believe that stuff Micah said, do you?” Her voice was quiet, much quieter than she’d expected it to be. She wanted to shout at him.

His eyes finally met hers, startled. “God, NO!” he practically yelled. “Micah can be a dick sometimes.”

“No arguments there,” she answered, absently rubbing her arm. “So what then?”

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting to hear you…you know…say it.”

Devon plopped down in the tall swivel chair in front of the computer, suddenly worn out from the stress of the day. “Why not? It’s not true, so why shouldn’t I talk about it? I haven’t got anything to be ashamed of.” She paused, idly picking up a strand of her hair to examine it for split ends. “I just don’t get why he’d make up something like that.”

Brock inched closer. “Skylar.” At her quirked eyebrow, he continued. “He’s always had a thing for her. I guess he thought he could get in with her if he trashed you.”

“They sound perfect for each other,” Devon muttered darkly. Then she thought of something. “So why aren’t you trashing me along with them? Not so long ago, you probably would have.”

He opened his mouth to say something in protest, but then he shut it. He rubbed his face, and Devon thought he almost looked tired. “You’re right. If it was last year, I probably would have.”

A stillness fell over the room, the air charged like it was before a summer thunderstorm at dusk. Devon leaned forward in her chair. “What changed?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. She seemed to be asking him that question a lot.

This time he finally gave her a good answer. “I did.” Brock shrugged and it was like whatever spell had kept everything quiet was broken. He pushed himself away from the counter. “I just don’t see the point in all of it anymore. I mean, we’re leaving for college. Why does it matter if someone’s from the mountain or the town?”