The Girl Most Likely To... (10 page)

She's still at the high school, believe it or not. She's got to be close to seventy years old at this point.

Kat shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Thanks for letting me know.

Of course. Madeline folded her hands in her lap, summoning the courage to do what had to be done. Kat, I really don't know how to say this, since it's technically none of my business, and a rather delicate matter …

She could swear that Nola did that thing with her eyes again.

Kat frowned. What's up?

Well, I suppose I should just tell you and not beat around the bush. I mean, no matter how I say this, it's going to be uncomfortable.

It's already plenty uncomfortable, Nola said.

Madeline managed a smile. It's about Riley.

Kat's spine straightened, and Madeline could immediately see the fear in her eyes. Briefly, Madeline considered that what she was doing was wrong. Maybe Kat had real feelings for Riley. Maybe there were details of this story she wasn't privy to. Matt had never wanted to talk about any of it, after all, saying that Kat had run off and broken his brother's heart, and it was all ancient history. But Kat was sitting there looking like she was going to faint, and Madeline hadn't even gotten to the good part.

Did something happen to him? Just tell me. Is he all right?

Madeline was startled. The poor woman looked spooked. Oh no! He's fine as far as I know. I just thought that you might benefit from a little background information.

Kat's frown intensified. Madeline watched her take a breath and a small sip of her coffee before she looked back at her. I'm not all that interested in old gossip, Madeline.

I see, she snapped. Well then, I'll just forget the whole thing.

Madeline started to stand up, but Nola's hand smacked down on her forearm.

I'm interested in anything you got, hon, Nola said. Lay it on us.

Now it was Kat's turn to flash her eyes at Nola.

Madeline cleared her throat. Well. I'll start by asking you something, and it's only because I don't want to see you hurt.

Kat nodded. OK.

Did Riley mention to you that he was engaged to be married?

Both women stopped breathing. Madeline waited for several seconds before it became clear that no one was going to answer.

A Christmas Eve ceremony is planned. It's very hush-hush right now, but I can tell you that there is a woman who fully expects to be Mrs. Riley Bohland in less than three months. I just thought you should know. I didn't want you to get your hopes up.

Kat stood abruptly, her chair making a spine-tingling scrape against the wood floor. She ran out of the room and down the hallway, the sound of her thumping up the steps echoing through the downstairs.

Nola briefly glared at Madeline, then got up without a word.

A half hour later Nola and Kat checked out. Kat's hair was still wet and her hands trembled as she signed the bill. Madeline pulled aside the curtain in the front bay window in time to see Nola flatten the sedum blossoms in her haste to back out of the parking lot.

Madeline sighed deeply and shut her eyes for a moment. She reassured herselfyet againthat not a single thing she'd told Kat Cavanaugh was a lie. Not technically, anyway. And she could be proud of that.

Virgil was tired of lying around on his back like a dead fish. The hospital room smelled like day-old cabbage, and none of the nurses were attractive enough to serve as a distraction. He wanted to rip the damn tubes out of his veins, get the hell out of there, and get to his studio. For the first time in years, his hands were itching to do real work, substantial work. Funny how the rest of his body had chosen this particular time to break down.

He tried to get comfortable by turning on his left side, which didn't work because the hospital bed was as snug as a slab of marble. He tried to remember the last time he'd spent the night anywhere other than his own bed. It wasn't when BettyAnn was sick. That he knew. Even at the end, when everyone knew she was dying, he'd get in the car and go home at night. That meant it had to have been all the way back in his New York days, when it wasn't uncommon for him to spend his evenings in an acid-induced fog looking for trouble and women, which, now that he thought about it, was redundant.

Virgil grunted, pulling at an IV line that he'd somehow managed to twist around his butt. Life was strange. One bad acid trip and he ended up taking a temporary teaching post at a no-name college in Appalachia. He only wanted to lie low until the police stopped nosing around. It wasn't his fault that that girl had decided she could fly and chose his fourth-story window as her launching pad.

Virgil coughed. His chest was sore.

As fate would have it, he met BettyAnn his first week in Persuasiona pretty, soft-spoken girl with a big problem and not a lick of sense. It didn't take him long to see that just paying attention to her made her follow him around like a puppy. She'd worshipped him. And why not? He was a sophisticated visiting art instructor, older than her and famous by Persuasion's standardsone of his sculptures had been featured in /Life/ magazine! BettyAnn was so grateful he'd married her that she did everything he told her to. She was a good girl. Sure, they'd had their rough patches, but it had been a marriage that workedshe got what she needed and he got what he wanted, which was something most people couldn't say about their blessed unions.

Virgil was just about to buzz for the nurse when the esteemed Dr.

Bohland strolled through the doorway. Virgil studied him, noting how much he'd aged in the year since he'd cared for BettyAnn.

Good morning, Virgil.

Nothin' good about it.

As his doctor flipped through his chart, Virgil decided that Riley Bohland had grown into a refined version of his daddy, with more smarts and less brawn. It was the younger Bohland kid who'd turned out to be a carbon copy of Aidana charming good ole boy who thought his last name gave him the right to tell people what to do with their lives.

Has the cardiologist seen you?

Of course not. I was simply thrown in here and left to rot. You people just want me for my insurance money.

Riley clipped the chart back to the foot of the bed and sighed. Maybe we just enjoy the pleasure of your company.

Virgil narrowed his eyes. Riley had a silly grin on his face. It had something to do with Kat; he could smell it. He sometimes wondered what would have happened with Kat and Riley if she hadn't run away. Probably nothing good.

Did you know Kat was coming to town?

Riley flinched ever so slightly at the question, then put the stethoscope in his ears and leaned close to Virgil. Nope. Please hold still for a moment.

It felt like an eternity, but Virgil did what he was told, waiting patiently as Riley pressed the cold metal disc onto his skin and asked him to take a deep breath.

Anything? Virgil asked.

I'm definitely hearing some irregularities. Dr. Zhou will be in to see you shortly, and you'll be in excellent hands.

Virgil grunted. He sounds like another damn foreigner.

She's originally from China.

A woman /and/ a foreigner? Jesus! I've hit the jackpot.

She trained at WVU, same as me.

Peking, Persuasionit's all the same nowadays, anyway, right? Virgil tried to adjust the pillows behind his back so he could sit more comfortably. This hospital looks like it's run by the UN. My nurse is from the Philippines. You must be the last American doctor in this state.

Riley smiled slightly at that. Not hardly. I'll be back to see you this evening.

Hold on a damn minute.

Riley turned, not bothering to hide the fact that this conversation apparently required every bit of patience he possessed.

I never liked your family much, Bohland.

Riley shoved his hands in the pockets in his chinos and said nothing.

But you were a good doctor to BettyAnn and I want to thank you for that.

Riley looked shocked. You're welcome.

She always said good things about you. She liked you for some reason.

I'm glad.

Now, I never got around to asking you this, but what was it my wife said before she died, when she shooed me out of the room that day? Was it a medical question?

Riley frowned. I'm afraid I can't say, Virgil.

His face went hot with anger. Why the hell not? There were no secrets between us. I'm sure she'd want me to know.

Riley shifted uncomfortably. She asked that I not share it with you.

He shot up in bed so fast that an electrode popped off his neck. Liar!

His vision began to swim. My wife never kept anything from me! Never!

Calm down, Virgil.

A wall of pain slammed into his chest. His lungs caught fire. It's happening again, he gasped. Get the Chinese woman. Quick.

It happened on a Saturday morning when Kat was thirteen, in mid-May. The big lilac bush outside her bedroom window had blossomed. Lush, fluffy purple cones and dark green leaves blocked her view of the side yard and the broken split-rail fence that separated their property from Mrs.

Estes'. Because it was warm enough to sleep with the window open, Kat had woken up that particular morning with her senses filled with the deep, sugary sweetness of lilacsand the familiar sound of her mother being beaten.

Kat pulled the covers over her head and shook. Would this be a short one, or a long one? Should she shut her window so Mrs. Estes didn't hear? Exactly where in the house were they fighting? The hallway? Would she be able to run out the back door without them noticing? Would there be drops of blood on the wood floor? She hated cleaning up blood. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together so hard it hurt, then bowed her head under her blankets. /Please, God, no blood today. That's all I ask./ She knew what would come next. On Monday, Kat's mom would have to tell the school that Kat had the flu, so she could stay home for a few days to put ice and Band-Aids on her mom's face and make sure she had aspirin. Kat hated that.

And she hated that she'd have to make meals because her mother would be too weak. Those dinners were always terrible, and not just because Kat wasn't the world's best cook. They were terrible because she would have to take a tray to her mother, who would eat propped up in bed, and then Kat and her father would sit there at the kitchen table, alone, long minutes of silence pierced with his usual warning: /Stop worrying about your mother or I'll really give you something to worry about./ She hated that he'd come home with flowers for her mom, like that was supposed to make everything all right, and her mom would tell Kat to fetch a vase and put them in water so she could /ooh/ and /aah/ over them from her sickbed, like the flowers weren't edged with brown and her eyes weren't rimmed in black-and-blue.

Kat hated that her dad would act all cheerful and announce that they were going to the Rialto for father-daughter movie night, where they'd catch the latest Arnold Schwarzenegger flick.

She hated that her mother refused to go to the doctor every time she got beat.

But more than anything, Kat hated that the single most important rule in her family was that none of this ever happened.

On that particular morning, Kat thought maybe she'd had enough of secrets. She got up out of bed, pulled on a pair of light blue seersucker shorts, a pale green T-shirt, and sneakers. She ran a comb through her hair and pulled it back in a ponytail. She decided to put off going to the bathroom, because she didn't want to risk opening her door. Kat pulled her nightstand to the windowsill, pushed the window open as wide as it would go, took out the screen, and climbed through, feet first. There was no way out but through the lilacs, so she jumped into the bush, breaking more than a few branches in the process. She rolled out into the grass, scraped, bleeding on the inside of her thigh, and covered in a sheen of tiny four-petaled purple buds. But she was out of there.

She ran down Forest Drive to Main Street, the soles of her shoes slapping at the concrete, purple specks flying off her like confetti.

Based on the fact that the Gerhards hadn't picked up their morning paper, she guessed it was about six-thirty. Riley would still be home, because baseball practice didn't start until nine.

She raced by the Missonis', the Ballingers', and the McClintocks', then took the usual shortcut through the Wilmers' backyard, jumped the chain-link fence, and landed in the row of cedars that fringed the south end of lawn of the Bohland House. Like always, she ran across the lawn to the side of the house, then hopped up onto the large central air-conditioning unit so she could reach the porch railing. She walked along the railing until she could get a foothold on the wide ledge of the dining room bay window, then pulled herself up onto the tile roof.

Once she got a handhold on the window frame of the turret, she inched along until she got to the carport, remembering to avoid the three loose tiles on her way to Riley's window.

She didn't bother knocking on the glass because she didn't want to wake up Big Daddy or Matt. She pushed up the heavy old sash and threw her legs over the ledge, landing with a thud on Riley's floor. His room was a disaster, like always, and it smelled like sweaty socks. She took off her shoes and crawled under the covers with Riley, spooning against his back, his solid heat spreading through her like a blanket for her insides. She sighed. He woke up.

What the? Riley flipped over so fast he nearly tossed her out of the bed. Kat? Holy shit! Big Daddy's gonna skin me alive!

Sssshhhh. Kat put her arms around Riley's waist and pulled him close.

She felt her body begin to tremble.

Oh no, Scout. Is he doing it again?

She nodded, keeping her face buried in his neck. Riley was the only person who ever used that nickname, and it sounded so comforting and safe that she wanted to cry. She took a deep breath of himhe smelled earthy and sweet, and she could detect the lingering traces of bath soap and deodorant. He had probably taken a shower just before bed.