Fire With Fire
Page 27
I lift my chin. I’m not going to grovel at Rennie’s feet, like she’s the lady of the house and I’m a beggar off the street. “Tell him I stopped by.” I try to pick up the poinsettia to push it inside the house, but Rennie shakes her head and starts closing the door.
“They have a cat, and poinsettias are poisonous to cats.”
A woman’s voice behind her shouts, “Who’s at the door?”
Rennie calls out, “Nobody,” as it shuts in my face.
On my way back to the car, I tell myself that this is for the best. Reeve and I are done. I’m finally off the hook. And even though it’s a huge relief, I still cry my eyes out the entire way back home.
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
* * *
MARY
KAT AND I ARE STANDING near the start of Lillia’s block. She’s on the phone with Pat. She’s been trying to get him on the phone for the last few minutes.
“Yo! What the hell! You’re supposed to come pick up me and Mary from Lillia’s, remember?” I can hear Pat’s voice on the other end. He doesn’t sound as chilled out as he was on Halloween night. His voice is sharper, more stressed. “Are you serious?” Kat makes an unhappy snort, and silently mouths to me that the car isn’t working again. Then she screams, “Call a damn mechanic, then!” into the phone. Pat shouts something back, and Kat hangs up on him.
“Fool needs to get his ass back to trade school.” She tucks the phone into her jeans pocket. “I could try Ricky, but I think he’s working, and anyway, only one of us can fit on his bike. We can walk back to Lil’s house and get her to drive us.”
“Or we could walk,” I suggest halfheartedly. I figure Kat will ixnay that plan right away because it’s far for both of us, and it’s kind of cold out. I don’t mind it, but she doesn’t seem to own a proper winter coat. To fight the falling temperatures, Kat keeps layering on sweatshirts and thermals and her army coat. She’s practically bulletproof at this point.
“All right,” she says, “we can head up the State Road and split off near the high school.” She unrolls her sleeping bag and wraps it over her shoulders like a big cape. “We’ve got plenty to talk about anyway.”
So we start walking. At first we walk quickly, but then we’re slow and leisurely about it, as if this were a summer afternoon. It’s pretty out. The sky is heavy with the threat of snow, and every so often we pass a house lit up with holiday lights.
The whole way, we go through Lillia’s decimation of Reeve. Second by second. Kat has a great memory; she remembers more details than I do. I was so nervous, hoping things would work out the way we’d planned. So I am her captive audience, clinging to every moment.
“I only wish I could have seen Reeve’s stupid mug when Lil shut him down!” Kat whoops. “Damn. You think Lillia’s parents have surveillance cameras?” She turns and faces the wind, and it blows all the hair straight off her face. “I feel like rich people always have security cameras. Plus, her dad’s a little psycho protective over her.”
“They might,” I say with a laugh. “We should ask her!”
Kat takes out her phone and texts Lil. “Tell you what, Mary. If they do, I’m going to get you a copy of that shit on infinite loop, so you can watch the moment of Reeve’s heartbreak over and over and over again, whenever you want. Merry Christmas, baby. You’ve been such a good girl this year.”
“Uhh,” I say, and giggle. “Have I?”
Kat laughs. “Maybe not by typical Santa standards, but you definitely deserve this.” She gets suddenly serious. “I hope this helps you. Makes things better.”
“It has, Kat. More than you even know.” As soon as I say the words out loud, they feel true.
Kat pumps her fists. Then she starts to sing, “Heartbreaker, love taker, don’t you mess around with me,” and her voice carries on the breeze. We pass a house where a man is up on a ladder, hanging lights, and he almost falls from the shock of it.
Hopefully, Lillia will text back, because I would have loved to have seen Reeve’s face too. Even so, I know it worked—my plan worked. Reeve’s heart is broken. There’s no doubt about it.
The whole thing reminded me of that day down at the docks, when Reeve told all those guys that he wasn’t my friend. My heart broke that day for sure.
Now we’re the same.
“Oh, hey. How old is your aunt Bette? Does she have any dresses from the twenties?”
“Kat, she’s not that old! She’s only forty-six.”
Kat guffaws. “My bad. I just thought she might have some vintage stuff you could borrow for New Year’s Eve.”
I swallow. “You don’t mean Rennie’s party?”
“Um.” Kat looks blankly at me for a second, then starts shaking her head. “Here’s the thing. I overheard someone talking about the bouncer password. Everyone at school will be there. I was thinking it’d be fun to crash. She won’t even notice us.”
“What about Lillia? She won’t want to go there.”
“We’ll convince her. What else is she going to do?”
When we get to the high school, Kat waves good-bye and heads toward T-Town. I pick up the bike path and head home.
I can feel it, inside. The peace and the quiet where the rage used to be. It’s like the lowest of low tide; all that bad stuff has gone out to sea. And then, I realize. I can go home now.
Not to Middlebury. Home home. Back with my parents.
Now that Reeve’s gotten his, now that I’ve got closure, what’s keeping me on Jar Island? I love Lillia and Kat to death, obviously, but they’re both out of here next year. It’s not like I’ve made a ton of other friends. It’s the perfect time to say good-bye to Jar Island. I came, I saw, I conquered. I’ll leave after New Year’s. My past is really the past. I’ll finally get to leave it behind.
I feel a twinge, thinking about leaving Aunt Bette behind, especially the way the house is. And the way our relationship is. But maybe she can come with me. Why not? She could use getting off this island as much as I could. Mom and Dad could hire someone to work on the house while it’s empty, get it back to tip-top shape by summer.
Yes, this is the plan. I stop at the water, watching a ferry chug off. I imagine being on it, sandwiched between my mom and dad. All of us so happy, back where I belong. With my family. With my life on track.
I fight the urge to immediately tell the girls. I don’t want to upset them, or let them try to convince me to stay, or at least to finish out the year. I feel the sort of peace that comes from any good decision. It’s the right thing to do.
* * *
Aunt Bette gets a call after dinner, and I can tell right away that it upsets her.
“What is it?” I say.
She sinks into a kitchen chair. “One of the galleries where I sell my paintings is closing down. They want me to come pick up my work tonight.” She glances at the clock and rubs her temples. “Now, actually.”
“Gee. Nice of them to give you a heads-up.” I say it sarcastically, with a mean laugh. But Aunt Bette doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll go with you,” I tell her. “You might need help carrying stuff.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, Mary, I don’t—”
“It’s no trouble. I’m finished with my homework.” That’s a lie, but whatever. How long would this take? As weird as things have been between us lately, I’m still worried about her. She might need me. She doesn’t have friends like I do, to have her back.
Anyway, there’s something about this that feels like good timing. Now that this gallery isn’t showing her work anymore, well . . . what reason does she have to stay?
I meet Aunt Bette in her Volvo. I was thinking she’d change into a pair of pants and a nice sweater, but she’s still in her housecoat. And her hair is wild. I don’t think she’s combed it today. And maybe not yesterday either.
Her hands are trembling. We’re driving kind of fast, taking the turns too sharp.
“You’re nervous.”
She glances at me out o
f the side of her eyes. “Mary. Please. Do not say a word, okay? Not to me, not to the owner. I want to get in and out of there as fast as I can.”
“Okay. Sure. You won’t even know I’m there. Promise.” Hopefully, I won’t have to say anything. But if I need to, I’m not going to hesitate. I learned that from Kat.
The gallery is down in T-Town, at the end of a small stretch of businesses. There are about half as many stores here as there are on Main Street in Middlebury, and none of them are as nice. Of all the parts of Jar Island, T-Town probably gets the least amount of tourists. It’s more a place for the locals. So I’m not surprised the gallery went under.
The gallery is a white building on a corner. It has a big window in front, and across the bottom of the glass, in gold-stencil, it reads art in the jar, lowercase letters because I guess that’s the thing? A temporary wall is directly behind the window. I figure that’s where they hung the best paintings. It’s bare now, pockmarked with nail holes.
The front door is propped open. I can see a ladder inside, a bunch of drop cloths, open cans of paint. There’s a woman sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center, her hair tied back in a black scarf. She’s thumbing through some papers inside a cardboard box.
Aunt Bette turns off the car and takes a few deep breaths. She walks in. I watch her from the car. The woman doesn’t smile; she doesn’t even seem to say hello to Aunt Bette. She just points toward the back.
I get a not-good feeling. I decide to walk in.
“I’m here to help my aunt,” I say as I come through the door, but the woman doesn’t acknowledge me. I step past her and head toward what looks like the main gallery space to my left.
Only this gallery isn’t one big room. It’s a lot of small rooms. I’m trying to figure out where Aunt Bette went to, and I end up getting turned around. I’m about to step through another doorway, when I realize I’m back at the main entrance.
“She looks like a witch!” a girl whispers. And then two people laugh.
I crane my neck around the door frame. Sitting with the woman is Rennie Holtz.
Oh my gosh. This is the gallery that Rennie’s mom owns.
“Like a homeless witch! I wonder if she got here by broom.”
Her mom lets out a laugh that sounds like a goose honking. “Quiet, Ren.”
Then Aunt Bette comes into the room. She’s got her arms full of her paintings. She’s about to scurry out when Rennie’s mom stands up. “Um, Bette? I wondered if I might give you some unsolicited advice.”
Aunt Bette doesn’t answer her right away. She walks toward the door and peeks outside at her car. I guess she’s looking for me. And when she doesn’t see me, her eyes dart around the gallery. I duck out of sight.
“Bette?” Rennie’s mom says again. I hear Rennie snicker.
“Yes. Yes. Sorry.”
I edge my head around the corner again.
“I had a lot of trouble with your new work. To be frank, it was making some people uncomfortable. I’m not saying it isn’t intriguing. It is. But I don’t think that kind of darkness is what most buyers are looking for.” My eyes narrow on the canvases in Aunt Bette’s hands. They are all muddy, dark, haunting. Slashes of blacks and grays. Nothing like her old paintings. It looks like the stuff of a madwoman. Painting hasn’t brought her back to the real world; it’s drowned her further in darkness. “You should go back to those darling lighthouses and seascapes.”
Aunt Bette’s face hangs. “I don’t paint to sell. I paint my world. And this is what it’s like now.” She turns to leave.
Rennie’s mom mutters, “She’s gone off the deep end.”
“Cuckoo!” Rennie says. And they both crack up laughing.
I am about to flame.
I look around the room. I want to do something to make them stop. I narrow my eyes on the open paint cans on the floor and will them to tip. Tip tip tip tip. They start to shake.
“Mary!”
Aunt Bette shouts from the front door. Rennie and her mother look wide-eyed.
I rush out past them and follow her to the Volvo.
“I told you not to come inside!” Aunt Bette is furious. “What’s the matter with you?” Her hands squeeze the steering wheel so hard the skin turns white.
“I finally understand, Aunt Bette. I can make things happen.”
“You shouldn’t be doing any of that. Whatever you’ve been doing. You need to stop.”
“They were calling you crazy! They were saying you’re a witch, that you’ve lost your mind. And anyway, I’ve been practicing. I can control it.” I take my seat and fold my hands calmly. “Aunt Bette, I’ve decided it’s time for me to leave. Right after New Year’s.”
I wait to see if Aunt Bette will say anything. If she’ll try to get me to stay. But if anything, she looks relieved.
“Yes, Mary. I think that would be the best thing for us all.” Then she rolls up her window tight, sealing us both inside like a tomb.
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
* * *
LILLIA
IT’S TWELVE FIFTEEN ON MONDAY and I’ve been dreading this exact moment since I woke up this morning. The lunch table.
I would love to sail right past and sit with Kat and Mary, but Mary doesn’t even have the same lunch as me, and Kat never eats in the cafeteria. And the main reason I have to sit at our lunch table is because if I don’t face them today, I’ll never be able to sit at the table again. That’s my table, and Ash and Alex and PJ, they’re my friends too. I will go in with my head held high, nose in the air. Untouchable. Rennie and Reeve can’t hurt me because they can’t touch me.
This is what I tell myself as I walk into the cafeteria. Thank God Ash is with me. She and Derek got back together sometime over the weekend, so she’s even more bubbly than usual. I’m wearing my best I-couldn’t-care-less-about-you outfit—that high-waisted bandage skirt Kat bought me, plus a silky black blouse with lipstick print that I tucked in, plus sheer black stockings and suede platform booties.
Mercifully, Rennie and Reeve aren’t sitting down yet. Maybe they won’t show. I eat the Cobb salad my mom packed for me and listen to Ash chatter about how romantic Derek was when he asked her to get back together. “He showed up at my house with flowers, and he would not take no for an answer, Lil,” she says, sighing happily.
“What kind of flowers?” I ask. My heart’s not in it, but I’m at least trying.
“Pink carnations!”
That he probably got from the gas station on the way to her house.
“So sweet,” I say. Then Ash spots Derek in line for food and she runs over to him.
I see Rennie and Reeve heading toward the table; Rennie’s got her arm linked in Reeve’s. Even in heels she only comes up to his elbow.
I keep focused on my salad, and I don’t look up when they sit down. I just dip each individual lettuce piece into my honey-mustard dressing with my fork. If I keep at it, I won’t have to look up for all of lunch.
Then Alex comes walking over. I wonder if he and Reeve are still mad at each other or if they made up already, the way boys do. Or maybe he hates me too now, for the thing with the pizzas and for holding Reeve’s hand in front of him. I hold my breath as he sets his tray down and sits in the seat across from me. “You look nice,” he says, taking off his cable-knit sweater.
I smile at him gratefully. “Thanks, Lindy.” Thank you so much.
At the other end of the table, Rennie’s practically sitting in Reeve’s lap. She’s whispering and cooing to him, and he puts his arm around her.
I keep concentrating on cutting my lettuce into tiny pieces and dipping each one into the dressing.
Derek plops down with a tray full of french fries and says, “Yo! Did you guys hear about how Mr. Dunlevy got a DUI over the weekend?”
“Yeah, I heard,” Rennie says. “Coach Christy was pissed. I mean, he gets paid extra to teach us driver’s ed.”
I take another bite of salad. Chew. Chew. Chew.
I shrug. Reeve shrugs too. Neither of us says anything.
“Huh,” Alex says, and there’s this slight edge in his voice. He’s looking at me, and then he jerks his thumb in Reeve’s direction. “You were so chummy-chummy at your party on Friday. And now you can barely stand to look at each other. What gives?”
I almost choke on the piece of hard-boiled egg in my mouth. It tastes like dust.
Lazily, Reeve says, “Lil and I remembered that we don’t actually like each other,” and Rennie smiles a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, which makes me see red.
Across the table, Reeve’s and my eyes lock for a second, and it’s like the rest of the cafeteria goes silent; it’s only us looking at each other. And then it’s over. Reeve shakes his head and chuckles. Like he couldn’t care less.
After lunch, I’m walking to my next class when a sophomore girl comes running up to me with a thick manila envelope.
“Lillia, you don’t know me, but . . . I was hoping you could give these to Rennie for me. She said she wanted them in an e-mail, but my computer broke and it was just easier to print them out. I haven’t seen her yet today, and I don’t want her to think I’m slacking.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, and take the envelope. It’s heavy.
“Thank you!”
I quickly duck into the bathroom and open it. It’s stuffed full of pictures from homecoming. Sophomores arm in arm posing, sophomores on the dance floor. Sophomores shooting the homecoming court from the gym floor.
Yeah, Rennie’s on yearbook committee, but only to make sure no bad pictures get in of her. What would she care about these pictures of other people? You can see Rennie’s sparkly silver dress in a few of the shots, see us all in the background, but mostly we’re just blurry.