The Best Friend (8 page)

Becka suddenly had the feeling she wasn't alone.

She turned to her bedroom door—and cried out in alarm.

“H
oney!” Becka cried. “How long have you been standing there? How did you get in here?”

Honey, her features tight with concern, stepped into Becka's bedroom.

“Listen, I've got to go. Bye,” Becka said hurriedly into the phone. She hung up the receiver and stood up.

How much did Honey hear? Becka wondered.

“Becka, I heard the bad news. About Lilah,” Honey cried. “You must feel
awful!”

“Yes,” Becka replied warily. “How did you get in here? Did my mom let you in?”

Honey nodded, then bounded across the room and wrapped Becka in a tight, protective hug.

“There, there,” Honey said in a low voice that was meant to be soothing. “There there there there there.”

“Honey, please—”

“You don't have to say anything,” Honey said, not letting go of Becka. “I understand what you're feeling.
That's why I came running over the moment I heard. I knew my place was here.”

“Well, really, Honey—” Becka struggled to free herself from Honey's tight hug.

Finally Honey let go and took a step back. She stared at Becka with an expression meant to be sympathetic and understanding.

“How awful for you, Becka. How awful. But you can let it out with me. You can be yourself, express your feelings without being embarrassed. That's what best friends are for, right?”

Grateful to be out of Honey's smothering hug, Becka made her way to the bed and dropped down onto her quilt with a weary sigh. “I really don't want to talk about it, Honey.”

“Of course. I understand,” Honey replied, crossing her arms in front of her, moving forward until she was standing directly over Becka.

An awkward silence followed.

Honey stared down at Becka who was sitting hunched over on her bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Becka avoided Honey's stare, keeping her gaze focused on the evening darkness outside the window.

“You don't have to talk about it,” Honey said finally. “It must have been such a shock. Such a horrible thing to witness.”

“Yeah,” Becka agreed, feeling her throat tighten.

“Didn't Lilah see the truck?” Honey asked.

Becka sighed. “Honey, I don't want to hurt your feelings. Really, I don't. But I really feel like being alone right now.”

Honey's dark lips formed a small O of surprise, but she quickly recovered her concerned expression. “Of
course you do, Becka. You were always like that. Even when we were little. You always had to sit and figure things out by yourself.” Honey shook her head. “You were such a loner sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Becka said, feeling the urge to cry again and fighting it down.

“Well, I'm going home,” Honey continued. “I just came to say that I'm here if you need me. You don't have Lilah anymore, so I want you to know I'm right here for you. Whenever.”

You don't have Lilah anymore? Is that what Honey said?

“What did you say?” Becka cried.

“I said I'm right here for you,” Honey said, retreating to the door.

No. I heard what you said. I heard what you said about Lilah.

You don't have Lilah anymore.
Something about the way Honey said those words gave Becka a chill.

Suddenly, before Becka even realized it, hot tears were rolling down her cheeks, her shoulders were heaving, and she was sobbing, loud sobs of utter grief.

No! No! I don't want to cry! Becka thought.

But she couldn't stop herself now. Huddled on the bed, she let out loud, racking sobs, and covered her face with her hands.

“That's it. Let it all out.” Honey's voice floated into Becka's consciousness.

She felt Honey's arm go around her shoulders. Honey was beside her on the bed now, hugging her, holding her, whispering soothingly. “There, there. Let it all out. I'm right here, Becka. It's okay. It's okay. I'm right here.”

“Becka—?”

Another voice broke into Becka's consciousness.

A voice from the doorway.

Becka wiped her eyes with both hands and stared at the doorway. Trish was standing there, looking surprised and uncomfortable.

“Becka, are you okay?” Trish asked, taking a reluctant step into the room.

Becka cleared her throat, tried to reply.

Before she could answer Trish, Honey was on her feet and sailing across the room.

Grabbing Trish's elbow, Honey began to force her to leave. “Sorry, Trish, not now” Becka heard Honey say firmly. “Becka wants to be left alone.”

Trish flashed Becka a helpless look. But Honey insisted. Holding her by the elbow, she led Trish out of the room.

Becka heard them both go down the stairs.

Then she buried her head in her hands and cried some more.

B
ecka put her hands behind Bill's neck and pulled his face to hers. She returned his kiss, a long, hard kiss, closing her eyes at first, then opening them to stare at the fogged-up windshield.

She liked the smell of his leather jacket.

She liked the softness of the long tangles of hair behind his head that she wrapped her fingers in, holding him close as they kissed.

He started to pull away, but she pulled his face to hers and found his lips for another kiss.

She didn't want to let him go.

Parked in her car on River Ridge, the windows all steamed, surrounded by the dark night, they were in their own world.

Safe and warm.

And silent.

Far below, the Conononka River flowed quietly, slowly, its waters choked with ice. Beyond the river
stretched the town of Shadyside, lights twinkling through the trees on a clear, cold Saturday night.

But up on the high cliff known as River Ridge, pressed together in the front seat of the small car, Becka and Bill were alone. Far from everyone. Far from the people who would keep them apart.

After a long while Bill reached up and removed Becka's hands from the back of his head. “I—I can't breathe,” he whispered, laughing giddily.

Becka sank back with a sigh. She pressed her forehead into the shoulder of his leather jacket.

“I like it here,” she said softly, still tasting his lips on hers.

“Want to get out and look down at the town?” he asked, running a hand back through his hair, smoothing out some of the tangles.

“No. I don't want to move,” Becka replied. “Ever.”

She squeezed his hand, then held it. With his free hand, he absently drew circles in the steam on the passenger window.

“This is the first time I've been able to relax,” she admitted. “I've been so crazed all week.”

He turned to her, his expression serious. “Because of Lilah, you mean?”

“Because of everything,” Becka told him, snuggling against his big shoulder. Lilah. Honey. You.”

“Me?”

“Having to sneak out tonight,” she said softly. “Having to lie to my parents. I really hate it.”

“Well, why don't you just tell them you're with me again?” Bill asked. I mean, I'm not such a bad guy.”

Becka didn't reply for a long while. Finally, she said, “You don't know my parents very well. Once they get an idea about someone in their heads—”

She let go of his hand and sank lower in the seat. “They'd probably give in after a while,” she told him, staring at the dark windshield. “After a lot of screaming and yelling and arguing. And I just haven't felt—I haven't felt like screaming and yelling. Know what I mean?”

Bill nodded solemnly. “I guess. It's different at my house,” he added thoughtfully. “There's never any screaming and yelling at my house because no one cares.”

“Well, my parents care too much,” Becka said, frowning. “Sometimes I wish they'd just back off, get out of my face. And then there's Honey.” She groaned and ran her hands around the steering wheel.

“Honey is a pest, huh?”

“Pest isn't the word for it,” Becka replied unhappily. “I—I've had such terrible thoughts about Honey. I mean, about Honey and Lilah's accident. I just don't know what to think. Honey is just so weird. So
weird!
She honestly believes we used to be best friends. But we weren't. We hardly knew each other. I really think she's made up a whole fantasy about how close we used to be. She believes her fantasy, and she's trying to force me to believe it too.”

“She means well, doesn't she?” Bill asked, leaning close to her, his face showing his concern.

“I don't know,” Becka told him. “Sometimes she's kind of sweet. I mean, she tries hard to be a good friend. But she just tries too hard.”

“In other words, she's a pest,” Bill said, snickering. He spelled out PEST in the window steam.

“It isn't funny,” Becka said sharply. “Ever since—ever since Lilah's accident, Honey calls me three times a night. She drops over all the time. Every time I
turn around, there she is, staring at me, giving me heartfelt sympathetic looks with those big gray eyes of hers.”

Bill reached over and placed a hand tenderly on Becka's shoulder. “Calm down. You're getting yourself all crazy again.”

“I can't help it,” Becka wailed. “Honey is
making
me crazy! She's always hugging me. It's like she wants to smother me!”

“Becka, please—”

“She took my best blue top. You know—the silky one. She took it home to clean off a stain. And I never saw it again.”

“Why don't you ask her for it?” Bill suggested.

“I did. She stared at me as if she didn't know what I was talking about!”

“Well, I don't get it,” Bill said with growing impatience. “If Honey is so terrible, why don't you tell her not to come over? Why not tell her you don't want to be her friend?”

“That's easy to say,” Becka replied heatedly. “But it's not so easy to do. You know how I hate to hurt people's feelings. I can't just say, ‘Honey, get lost.'”

Bill shook his head. “It shouldn't be that hard to get rid of her.”

“You don't know Honey. I don't think she'd even listen to me,” Becka cried. “She's just so intense. She wants to be my best friend so badly. She's at the door every morning after breakfast. We have to go to school together. We sit together in homeroom and in several classes. She always hunts me down in the lunchroom, and we have to have lunch together. She even brings the same lunches I do!”

Bill laughed.

“It isn't funny!” Becka cried, giving him a shove. “Trish thinks it's really funny too. But it's not. It's
sick!”

“Have you told any of this to your parents?” Bill asked, shifting in his seat to face her.

“Of course,” Becka told him. “They think Honey is sweet. That's because Honey is always playing up to them, telling them how great they are, telling them how much she misses having a mother and how her father is always traveling and never around, and how she wishes she had a family like mine.”

“Yuck.” Bill put his finger down his throat.

“Yeah, I told you. It's
sick!”
Becka exclaimed. “But my parents just eat it up. And now, every time I start to complain about Honey, they don't want to hear about it. They even take
Honey's
side!”

“Calm down, Becka. Calm down,” Bill urged with genuine concern. He reached over and took her hand. “You're shaking.”

“I can't help it,” Becka wailed. “She just makes me so crazy.”

“How's Lilah doing?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“She's better,” Becka told him. “I visited the hospital this morning. She's doing real well. Better than the doctors expected. We had a nice talk, but. . .” Her voice trailed off.