Long Black Veil (9 page)

“How’s it going back here?” he leaned down to ask. “You having a good time?”

“Yeah,” Devon answered, glancing around nervously to make sure he was talking to her. It seemed like he was. “Although any more people and I think you’ll have a fire hazard on your hands.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to smack herself. Could she sound like any more of a buzzkill? Maybe if she concentrated hard enough she could will a black hole into being directly underneath her to swallow her and her ineptitude whole.

Instead of making fun of her, Brock laughed like he appreciated her joke. “True that.” He pulled her away from the press of people. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Devon tried to make her heart slow down; it had started doing double-time at the touch of his hand on her arm. She hoped that Gil would stay gone just a little bit longer. “Sure, go ahead.” She hoped it came out more casual than she felt.

“I know you’re really good in English—well, really good in everything, actually,” he began. Devon nodded. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me with my college application essay. It’s kicking my ass.”

Devon tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. Of course he wanted her help with a paper. That’s why he’d been so nice to her at the Records room and why he’d invited her to his party—a party that she never normally would have received an invite to. He was trying to be nice to her so she’d say yes when he asked for her help. Stupid, Devon. They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything. She was just a way to help him get into college. To meet his expectations.

Before she could formulate any kind of coherent response involving actual words, the buzz of conversation picked up around her. Kids began jostling for position, as if something was happening, or was going to very soon. Devon looked up, unsure of what to expect. Loud hoots and catcalls began to filter in from the front of the house, followed by shouts of laughter. Brock had his head up too, his eyes trying to see beyond the heads of everyone in front of him.

The crowd in the hallway began to move to the sides and Devon had a sudden sinking feeling in her chest. She caught a flash of orange as people began to push and shove to get a better look at what all the commotion was about. All she wanted to do was get away.

“De-VON!” A very loud, twangy, put-on Southern drawl cut through the murmurs. “Devon!”

Skylar shoved her way to where Devon stood next to Brock. She had a herd of the senior class mean girls with her; all popular, all gorgeous. They were wearing their Halloween costumes and Devon was not surprised to see a large number of slutty Red Riding Hoods, Alice in Wonderlands, and Bo Peeps among them.

But Skylar’s costume was different. She was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, like the kind people in prison wore. Devon’s prayers to be swallowed up by a black hole increased by a million. She wanted to die.

“Hey Devon, do you like my costume?” Skylar’s smile was rotten at its heart, the sweetness in it a complete lie.

“What the hell, Sky?” Brock asked, sounding angry.

“Oh hush, you,” she said, throwing him a pout. Devon could see that her eyes were a little glassy. She was probably lit. “I was just asking Devon a simple question.” Skylar turned back to Devon, taking a step closer. “Do. You. Like. My. Costume?”

Devon had no idea what she looked like, but knew she had to pull herself together. This was clearly not the place to lose it. As it was, she was likely never going to live this night down. Still, she would be damned if Skylar Preston would know how much her costume had hurt her. She mustered every ounce of calm she had and managed to get out, in a normal voice, “Orange is a good color on you.”

A few kids close enough to hear what she’d said laughed. Devon’s mouth twitched from nerves. She saw Skylar’s eyes narrow and knew that her torture wasn’t finished yet.

“I know,” the girl said, brushing imaginary dirt of the orange jumpsuit. “But it doesn’t suit me nearly as well as it does your mom.” She turned a megawatt smile on Devon. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Burn!” Micah shouted, already halfway drunk. “She’s got you there!”

Devon felt her hands grow cold. The sounds of the party began to dim, almost like she was hearing them underwater. She tried to rally. “I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t seen my mother in a decade.” Weaksauce was what that was. And everyone knew it.

“Poor Devon. Poor little orphan girl.” Skylar’s sincerity was cloyingly false.

Devon gritted her teeth. This was why she was so desperate to get out of this town, this right here. She would go as far away as scholarship money and student loans would take her and she wouldn’t come back until she could rub everyone’s face in her success. And maybe not even then.

Brock grabbed Skylar by the arm and pulled her back down the hallway. “That’s enough.”

A few boos from those disappointed at being deprived of a good fight rang out as the two disappeared into a room at the front of the house. Devon caught looks of pity, but when she tried to meet anyone’s eyes, they turned away, suddenly deeply interested in something else. She didn’t know which one was worse.

She was done. So very, very done here. But she wasn’t going to run crying out into the night like some pathetic little bitch. She wouldn’t give any of them the satisfaction of seeing her run. Instead Devon went to find Gil. She was amazed he hadn’t immediately appeared in the thick of it, like some kind of conflict genie, as drawn as he was to drama.

He found her first. “Are you okay?” His voice was trembling, as if he was holding back anger.

“I’m good.” It was a lie, but it was all she had right now. “But I have to get out of here.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“NO!” She said it too loud, and immediately quieted. “No. You’ve been drinking. Just stay here and sober up. I can make it home on my own.” She had to get out while she still had some dignity left.

“But it’s like miles…” he trailed off when he saw the look on her face. “Be careful. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.” Devon was already moving towards the back of the house. She planned to use the back door and cut across the side lawn. It would put her closer to the road and would have the added bonus of having fewer people to run into. It would be a long, cold walk, but cold was exactly what she needed right now.

*****

It was way beyond late when she finally hit the gravel road to Gammy’s house. She was wrung out and tired and just sick of it all. She’d walked fast at first, rage and embarrassment fueling her footsteps. It had been a huge mistake going with Gil to that Halloween party; she should have known better. She wasn’t their kind and everyone knew it, including her. She would have been better off just passing the night with Gammy, watching her knot charms and all her other mountain superstitious stuff. Gammy didn’t believe in going out on Halloween, but she didn’t stop Devon. Now she kind of wished her grandmother had.

Her legs hurt and her feet ached and she was full on tired. All she wanted to do was get to the trailer and crawl under the covers and never come out. Devon forced herself to plod on, shocked when she felt wetness on her cheeks. Angrily she wiped away the tears. Tears were stupid. They didn’t do any good. At least she had held off the waterworks until she was alone and almost to Gammy’s.

She passed the old church. The moon was out, almost full, so it cast good light on the ramshackle stones. Devon slowed, the adrenaline from her furious pace slowly leaking out of her. She took a deep breath of cold air, feeling it crystallize inside her. It would be nice if she could feel this cold all the time; if ice could just take up residence in her body and she could just not care. Nothing could hurt her if she were made of ice, not Skylar or Brock or her mother.

A sharp wail cut through her reverie. At first, Devon thought it might have come from her accidentally—the sound had been that close by. But it went on, a wailing keen that she imagined a banshee must sound like. It froze Devon’s feet to the cold-rimed earth. It was so public, and yet so private, all at the same time.

She waited for the sound to die, then moved in closer. It sounded like it came from the far side of the church. It was late for mourning, although when Devon thought about it, was there a preferred time for grief? Like 7 to 10 was okay, but anything between 1:30 and 5 was right out?

Devon stifled a hysterical giggle. She must be getting beyond tired, to laugh at the jokes in her head. She tried to move as quietly as she could. The keening wail started up again, not so long this time, and swallowed by a harsh sob. She felt badly for a moment, like she was eavesdropping.

This kind of grief wasn’t supposed to be witnessed.

Still, whoever it was might need help. They might be out of their minds with sadness and need someone to call a loved one or whatever. Devon didn’t remember anyone being buried out here recently, but maybe someone’s grandmother had wandered away in their dementia. Wouldn’t be the first time that an old person had wandered off thinking it was fifty years in the past. That was part of why she dreaded leaving Gammy alone.

Devon rounded the front of the church, hanging back in its shadow. She could see someone standing in front of a headstone. A woman, Devon amended silently, taking in the long black dress the motionless figure wore. A biting late autumn wind blew the long thin veil she wore out behind her. It streamed like a banner, a black flag unfurling beneath the moonlight.

Devon couldn’t look away. The woman reached down and placed her hand on an eroded grave marker. She bowed her head as though in prayer and the keen came again. Devon had to stop herself from jumping as she recognized the sound—it was the wind blistering down the mountain. It sounded so strange out here; nothing like the sound the wind usually made when she was safe inside her Gammy’s trailer.

Devon stepped out of the sheltering shadow of the forgotten church. “Hello,” she called to the woman, trying to be heard over the sighing grasses and the screaming air. “Do you need some help?”

The woman turned slowly, so slowly that Devon thought her eyes might be working strangely. Everything seemed washed in light, like a flash had gone off. She saw the woman’s face, dark tears streaking down her hollow cheeks. One hand stayed on the grave marker, while the other was lifted towards Devon, reaching for her. Devon felt the spiky urge to back away surging up her spine.

The full moon disappeared behind a heavy cloud, blotting out the light for the briefest of moments. Devon looked up, and when she returned her gaze to the old cemetery, the woman was gone.

Devon shook her head, feeling thick and dumb. She checked her watch; it was just after midnight. She looked back at the gravestone, marking where it was in her mind, then turned back to the path to Gammy’s. She tried to tell herself that the shivers coursing through her were because of the cold wind howling down the mountain.

But she’d never been very good at lying to herself.

Chapter Eleven

It was late when Devon crawled back to wakefulness. Sunlight was streaming in through the slats in the blinds that covered the one window high up in the wall. Devon covered her eyes with a groan. She was awake. Dammit.

The party last night came flooding back to her. So she hadn’t dreamed it then. She’d hoped it was something her overactive imagination had cooked up just to torment her, but no such luck. School on Monday was going to be a nightmare.

She levered herself up on one elbow and checked her alarm clock. It was 10:30, well past the time she usually slept. Devon was surprised that Gammy had let her sleep so late, especially on a Sunday. Still, Gammy knew she’d been upset when she came home, so perhaps she’d decided Devon could use a break. Either way, Devon wasn’t going to complain.

Yawning, Devon kicked her feet over the side of the bed. It took her a minute to push herself up and when she did, she immediately regretted it. Her whole body ached, but most especially her legs. She staggered into her robe and slippers and teetered her way down the hall and into the living room.

“Gammy?” There was no answer.

Devon continued on into the kitchen and found a note on the counter. It read:

Went to church with Stella. Left breakfast on the stove for you. We’ll talk when I get home.

She took a look on the stove and, sure enough, there was the plate covered with aluminum foil. Devon pulled it off to reveal a plate of Gammy’s buttermilk silver dollar pancakes and thick strips of bacon. She smiled; Gammy didn’t often make her favorite breakfast anymore. The old woman must have known she needed a treat. Sometimes Devon wondered if Gammy wasn’t a little bit psychic.

She heated up the plate in their small microwave and took it into the living room to eat. She plopped herself down on the sofa and began to dig into the pancakes. They weren’t as good as straight from the griddle but they were certainly better than cold cereal or a PopTart. Devon chewed and thought about what she should do today.

She still had some research to do for her scholarship applications, especially the one that required proof of her family’s history in the mountains. And she had her senior writing project to begin. She could go into town and try to knock some of it out at the library. She could, but the thought of going back into town before she had to made her feel queasy.