by Dian Cronan
I try not to sound offended. I mean, he has to outgrow story time someday right? “Oh. Okay. Well, are you going to bed then?”
Liam glances back toward the rocking chair, as if awaiting some invisible cue, then looks back to me with a nod. “Yup!” He crawls up to the head of his bed and lays down, his head on the pillow and his perfect little curls spilling around his halo-shaped face.
Where is my little brother? I wonder. I hear him say goodnight as I close his door, but somehow I know he isn’t talking to me.
***
Letta and I primp for the party. While I’m creating perfect curls in my ponytail with a curling iron, Letta sits on the toilet looking through Alva’s diary. She looks nice in a cute floral print dress and stylish ankle boots. Her short straight hair has a few well-placed curls of her own and she’s applied a light layer of lavender eye shadow that brings out her dark eyes. I’m so used to seeing Letta in her plain Jane style, I almost didn’t recognize her when I opened the door.
I’ve paired my tightest skinny jeans with my three-inch heeled knee-high black boots. I especially like my skin tight red top because the low cut v-neck accentuates my cleavage without actually showing any of it. (Always leave them wanting more right?) I’m sans necklace, but pull at my dangling silver earrings to make sure they won’t fall out. As I focus on my reflection in the mirror, I feel the energy of the fire room on the other side of the wall, pulsating out toward me. Calling to me.
“What do you think happened to them?” I ask Letta as a distraction.
“I’m not sure,” Letta says, closing the diary and putting it on the counter. “The only common knowledge is that the Callaghans’ deaths supposedly started the curse. Well, there’s all sorts of twisted rumors of course, but who knows what really happened? We just have the based-on-a-true-story version, you know? It barely resembles the truth anymore.”
“It’s so chilling to read her words,” I say, giving orders to some rebellious strands of hair with gel. “She really did lose it there at the end.”
“Yeah, I feel bad for her,” Letta says. “Cleary, she was lonely. To want children so badly, but then realize you can’t handle it? It’s tragic.”
I snort. “Is there anything associated with this place that isn’t tragic?”
“Well, maybe I can pump some people for information at the party tonight. It’s the perfect place to gossip, talk about the taboo, kiss a fool...”
I laugh. “What fool will you be kissing this evening?”
Letta shrugs and winks, “You never know.” She looks at her watch. “Are you almost ready? Shane’ll be here any minute.”
“Almost.”
“And what fool are you trying to look so beautiful for anyway?” Letta says slyly. “Beckan or Ronan?”
I start. When did Ronan enter the picture? And although I can’t deny the developing electricity between Beckan and me, I don’t think a party is really his scene.
“Oh come on,” Letta nudges me. “Ronan’s obviously trying to start trouble, and Beckan staying last night? Clearly he was staying for your benefit, not mine.”
“Listen, I’m in no need of a knight in shining armor. And Ronan’s with Mary.”
“Never stopped him before.”
I’m beginning to form a question when I hear the heavy knockers on the front door echoing throughout the house. Letta gets the door for Shane while I tell Mother I’m leaving.
I find her exactly as I left her hours earlier, lying in her bed under the covers, but she isn’t asleep. She’s just staring off into space. Her mouth almost seems to be moving, but no sound comes out. At least she’s finally changed out of her cocktail dress.
“Mom?” Mother’s eyes slowly move around the room until they find me. “Letta and I are leaving now. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home. Is that okay?” Asking Mother’s permission feels ridiculous; I’m so used to doing whatever I want. But seeing Mother like this makes me treat her more gingerly. She looks like a delicate flower that’s been left in the sun without water – wilted, pale, and dry. She might fall apart in the lightest wind. As I wait for some kind of reply, I feel a certain fear, a fear I’m not familiar with and can’t identify.
“Yes, Rose, that’s fine,” Mother says evenly. “Have fun with your friends. Is Liam in bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” Mother says. “Good.” She closes her eyes.
I quietly back out of the room. I’ve never seen Mother so docile and agreeable. It’s bizarre. Maybe she has more than a hangover.
Shane, Letta, and Patty talk quietly downstairs. Shane, in typical guy style, looks about the same as he always does, but he’s wearing a sweet cologne and has used a little hair gel.
Patty looks pretty. Unlike Letta, Patty usually puts a lot of thought into her outfit choices. There’s always something bold about her, either in pattern, hairstyle, or small accents, like brightly colored feather earrings or a quirky, colorful necklace. Tonight she’s upped the ante with a pair of yellow skinny jeans and a tight fitting red top the same flaming red as her hair. The only thing that’s usually plain about her is her face. A little face powder and mascara were the norm, but tonight she’s wearing bright pink lipstick and a swath of yellow over each eye. It’s like she paged through a fashion magazine and picked out her outfit, but she’s done it well. She certainly won’t be missed in the semi-darkness of a high school party.
“How are you feelin’?” Shane asks as I join them.
“We were worried ‘bout you,” Patty adds.
“Oh, I’m okay, thanks,” I say nonchalantly. “Fainting is pretty normal for me when I get freaked out,” I lie. “I’m just lucky I didn’t hit my head. I was worried about you guys when I woke up. Where’s Eileen?”
Patty shrugs. “Haven’t heard from her since last night, but I’m sure she’ll be at the party.”
“Yeah,” Shane says. “She drops off the radar sometimes. I wouldn’t be surprised if her phone was destroyed in the storm last night anyway. She was soaked when we found her.”
“I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt. Do you have any idea what happened?” I feel silly even asking. Obviously, the girl had been terrified, and instead of fainting like I did, she panicked and ran.
“She was in that little bathroom in the basement,” Shane shrugs. “We didn’t heeah anythin’ until she stahted screamin’.”
There’s a pause as each of us recalls last night in our own mental images.
“Alright,” Letta says suddenly, “let’s go! If we’re lucky, we’ll get there before the rain starts back up.”
As if hearing Letta, Zeus himself unleashes a bright flash of lightning eventually followed by a low and distant rumble of thunder.
“And,” Letta says with excitement as we put on our jackets, “Rose read one of the diaries!”
“Ooh,” Patty says, clapping her hands together. “Do tell!”
Letta and I Shane and Patty in on what we read as we trundle along in Shane’s old clunker. Unfortunately, neither Shane nor Patty has any ideas about the deaths of Alva or Eamonn. That subject is strictly taboo. In fact, they tell me Principal Flynn gave Mr. Lindsay a stern warning in regards to the information he’d given my class about the first Christmas Eve storm. I feel guilty I’d asked the question that started it all.
Shane pulls up near the sign for Penobscot Park and turns off his headlights. Several cars already litter the side of the road. The party itself isn’t forbidden, but to have it on state property after dark certainly is. There’s a casual recklessness by the partygoers, however. They shouldn’t be here, yet their cars are easily visible to anyone who drives by on the well traveled thoroughfare. Shane finds a space between a familiar BMW SUV and an old Ford Taurus.
“It’s a bit of a hike from heeah,” Shane says as we gather on the side of the road. He and Patty take the lead, walking close together, and Letta and I walk carefully in their wake. We aren’t exactly wearing footwear conducive to a walk through a muddy and heav
ily wooded area, and Shane is obliged to help each of us at one point or another to prevent anyone spraining an ankle.
After a ten-minute walk, we begin to hear the telltale signs of a party. There’s the deep bass thump of dance music, the sounds of happy screams and laughter. Light begins to pierce the tree line and we come upon a large modern cabin in a clearing.
People are everywhere. It’s mostly high school students, but I catch sight of a few older looking eighth graders and some twentysomethings. Most of the attendees are making their way inside, unwilling to brave the chill outside, but there’s a group gathered on a second level balcony smoking cigarettes. To my surprise, one of them is Beckan, who leans on the railing as he talks to a girl about his age. They’re both smiling and he laughs at something she says. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen him display. Who is this girl? An uncomfortable warmth spreads through my chest.
The interior of the cabin is contemporary with a floor plan that opens wide below a second level loft. The wood is sturdy but made to look rustic. There’s wooden furniture everywhere, covered with colorful cushions. A large fireplace dominates one wall with a stone mantle going all the way up to the exposed ceiling, a roaring fire burning within. Loud music pours from speakers on a shelf near a fancy kitchenette. Several people have gathered here around a group of kegs. To my surprise, I see Eileen coming out of a keg stand to a round of loud cheers.
Yep, all the signs are here; it’s a party alright.
Shane throws our jackets into a bedroom off of the main living area. They land on the mountain of coats already gathered on the bed next to a couple making out. Our group is separated almost immediately as we head into the throng of partygoers, and I feel abandoned. I’m out of my element – no, that isn’t right. This is my element. Or at least, it used to be. I should feel comfortable and confident here. But I don’t. I feel like a tiny flower, ready to meld with the walls. I make eye contact with Eileen, relieved to see a familiar face. I wave, but she either doesn’t see me or ignores me. Is she mad at me? I wonder before mentally chiding myself. Since when do I care what others think of me?
Trying to fake confidence I don’t feel, I make way through the crowd, looking at those in attendance and trying to figure out what to do. There’s a dance party around the speakers, bodies gyrating against each other to the beat of the music. In another room, a round of Guitar Hero is going on. I catch sight of Adam O’Sullivan, looking much unlike himself as he duels with another teenager, the guitar his weapon. For a minute, I even think he smiles.
In the kitchen, people refill their red Solo cups, which then quickly fill a large rubber trashcan set at the end of the counter. There’s a second large trashcan filled to the brim with a red liquid and floating fruit. I can smell the vodka wafting from it and feel no desire to join that party. I’ve seen Mother and her friends with enough hangovers to know I can have a perfectly good time without imbibing.
I push through the growing crowd and try to pick up shreds of conversation, bits of gossip, or at least something that sounds familiar, but it’s a lost cause. If those around me aren’t lowering their voices as I get close, their conversations are so thick with the slack-jawed Mainah accent that I can’t understand them.
In an effort to find somewhere I don’t feel out of place, I head to the staircase leading to the loft. Maybe this smaller area with less people is something I can use to work my way up to mingling with the rowdy crowd downstairs. Alas, the loft appears to be make-out central. The lights are dimmed and there are comfortable sofas and chairs everywhere, all full of kissing, cuddling couples. There are no other rooms off of this space, only the sliding glass doors leading to the deck where I saw Beckan. Looking through the glass now, I see him again, still talking to the same girl. She’s about his height with long blond hair. She wears a stylish jacket, and stands close to him in a group of about ten people. She’s pretty, I think, and an artist with her makeup. She’s pretty without overdoing all of the face paint like a lot of girls. Like cheerleaders. Her elbow is almost touching Beckan’s. He pulls out a cigarette and his monogrammed lighter to light it, then passes it to her and lights one for himself. Is this is the girl who gave him the lighter? Why haven’t I seen her around before?
I don’t realize I’m staring until the sliding glass door opens and several people come flooding in, hugging themselves and rubbing their hands together. They laugh at a punch line I can’t hear, and I catch the stench of smoke wafting in on the cold air as my eyes meet Beckan’s. He smiles and waves. Should I wave back?
“Rose!” A hand on my elbow turns me around before I make up my mind.
It’s Ronan. Like all the other guys at the party, his usually bed-head hair is tamed with the perfect amount of gel. His cologne isn’t as sweet as Shane’s, but I like the muskier scent. He’s wearing a thin Polo sweater and tight, distressed jeans. He looks good.
“I’m glad you made it! Wow,” he says as he looks me up and down. “You look great!”
“Um, yeah, thanks,” I reply, searching for something to say. “You guys sure know how to throw a party. Whose place is this anyway?”
“It technically belongs to the park,” he says, “but the historical society uses it a lot for meetins and other thins. I snagged the keys from Dad.” His smile is wide, full of perfectly straightened pearly whites, and I wonder how much money it cost.
At the mention of the historical society and his dad, I remember what Letta said about Ronan and Beckan’s fistfight. Didn’t it have something to do with the historical society and Wolfhowl? The historical society has been taking care of the house and employing the O’Dwyre family for years. What could Beckan and Ronan have been arguing about? As far as I know, historical societies are pretty boring.
“It’s really nice,” I say because I’ve paused so long that Ronan is staring uncertainly at me.
“Yeah, my mom decorated it. She loves to design interiors and such. Dad likes her hobby because it keeps her out of his hair.” He chuckles and I’m surprised to feel myself smile back.
“So how was last night?”
“Last night?”
“Whatevah plans you had,” Ronan says. “With Letta?”
“Oh, right.” I feel stupid and blush. “Fine. Nothing special. Just girl stuff.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Ronan says, but his voice is so low I barely hear him over the music.
“What?”
“Heeah,” he says without answering me and takes my hand in his, leading me toward the stairs. “Let’s go somewhere quieter where we can talk. In fact, I think I know the perfect place.”
As I follow Ronan, I’m worried he’s leading me into the room where people are throwing coats on the making-out couple. Instead, he yanks his expensive leather jacket out from under them and hands it to me.
“You’ll need this,” he says and throws the jacket over my shoulders. It’s large on my thin frame. He grabs my hand again, weaving me back through the crowd, and leads me through a back door, back into the wintry chill of the night.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. You’ll like it, I promise.” He winks and keeps hold of my hand.
We walk down a path made of the same colorful rocks lining the beach. The moon, nearly full and peeking through a break in the clouds, lights our way through the trees. We walk without talking. I hear the hoot of night owls and the song of crickets. After a few minutes, I also hear the sound of rushing water. There must be a river nearby, and just as I have that thought, Ronan begins leading me away from the path. We come to the edge of the tree line and are faced with a large rock formation. Water rushes over the edge of the rocks, creating a waterfall just a bit taller than us.
I can’t help myself and gasp as the light of the full moon twinkles endlessly in the moving water. “It’s beautiful.”
“We’re not there yet. A mite bit more to go,” Ronan says with a sly smile. “Heeah, let me help you.” He takes both of my hands and leads me to t
he riverbank, helping me work my way down the slope and to the edge of the waterfall. “Careful. Don’t slip on the rocks. Ready?”
“For what?”
“For this.” He keeps hold of my hands and leads me behind the blanket of water, revealing a small pocket of rock where two people can sit comfortably, or closely, and stay hidden from view without getting wet. It’s colder back here, especially as Ronan helps me sit on the freezing rock floor, but he pulls me close and puts an arm around me.
“Keep me warm,” he laughs.
I smile back. Flirting comes easily to me and reminds me of fun times back in Texas, but I’m wary at the same time. Ronan is flirting with me, but why? He has the beautiful, if bitchy, Mary Donovan on his arm. What does he want with social outcast Rose Delaney?
“Where’s Mary?”
He shrugs. “Back at the party somewhere with her gals. I lost track of her.” His tone is nonchalant, uncaring. Why do the two of them bother to carry on this facade of a couple?
“Yeah, I lost track of my group immediately. I still don’t know very many people. I was fixin’ to melt into the wall when you found me.” I smile again and Ronan laughs. It’s a warm sound that echoes in the small space around us. I lean into him. For warmth.
“How did you find this place?”
“Unfortunately, it’s not a secret,” he says. “Couples have been comin’ back heeah to make out for ages.” He laughs again, but this time it’s a little awkward. I again take notice of his Maine accent that he tries so hard to hide when Mary’s around. I wonder why that is and decide to tease him a little.
“To make out, huh?”
“Well,” Ronan says, quite charmingly pretending to be awkward, “you can do other stuff back here too.”
“Is that so?” This time the sly smile is mine. “Like what?”
“Well, off the top of my head…fish, for example. Or…sleep? Camp, I guess? Or just hide…” From his tone, I think Ronan has been back here a few times for just such a purpose. I had him pegged as the popular kid, shallow and spoiled, and always following Mommy and Daddy’s orders. Have I been wrong? Or is he just a good actor and working hard to charm me? But what advantage would hanging around me really get him? He’d lose more friends than he’d gain.