Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  Letta sits at the kitchen table and picks at her hands. I hear her sigh, but she says nothing.

  “What do you want?” I finally ask.

  “I came to talk to you,” Letta replies quietly.

  “Obviously.” I turn around, prepared to spit something nasty at her, but Letta’s eyes are glassy as she looks up. Something tugs at me and I leave the sink and sit across from Letta, suddenly worried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Letta keeps her eyes down. “I need to talk to you about Ronan.”

  “What about him?”

  “Remember a while ago, when I told you that something happened with him, but I couldn’t tell you?” She sounds absolutely pitiful.

  Of course, I realize. Of course! What an idiot I’ve been. “Vaguely…” I say, beginning to feel like a class A bitch.

  “It isn’t any easier,” Letta says, carefully avoiding my eyes, “telling you about it now. But every time I see you with him – I,” she sighs. “You’ve got to know.”

  “Know what?” I reach across the table and grab one of Letta’s tiny, cold hands. “Know what, Letta?”

  She finally looks at me. Her shoulders sag under the weight of the coming confession. “About what happened between me and Ronan last year.”

  I freeze as a violent urge to disbelieve everything Letta’s about to say wells up within me. It can’t be. It’s not possible. Letta can’t be the girl everyone’s afraid to talk about, because if she is, then I’m the worst friend to ever live.

  “Tell me,” I whisper, swallowing with difficulty. “Tell me what happened.”

  Letta stops and starts several times before her story finally comes tumbling out. “I’d only been here about a year, you know? I moved here right after winter break my sophomore year. Like you, I wasn’t exactly popular at first. There wasn’t anyone to hate up here on the hill, so most people directed their nastiness toward my family because we’re the only Jewish people within, like, a hundred miles. And I didn’t make friends with Patty until after all of this happened.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They called me Anne Frank, made comments about my ‘schnoz’ and mocked Hanukkah and put a gas mask in my locker.” When she sees my shocked face, she adds, “No, it’s okay. That didn’t even really bother me. It isn’t even the first time I’ve been treated like that.” Her nonchalance about such ugliness makes me feel sick.

  “Anyway,” Letta continues, “Mary and Ronan had some explosive fight over Eileen right after school started last year. Yeah, you didn’t know about Eileen either, right? They had some fling at the storm party, and Mary went ballistic when she found out. I guess it’s okay for Ronan to kiss other girls, but the rumor is he and Eileen did a lot more than kiss.

  “Anway, after all that blew up, Ronan started talking to me, but you know, nicely. I was so stunned I guess I didn’t really stop to think about why. One time I was talking to him at my locker. When I opened it, there was that damn gas mask for, like, the twentieth time. Ronan reached in and pulled it out, shook it around and yelled for the whole hall to hear, ‘It ain’t funny, ya gawmy idiots!’ and then threw it to the ground. It was a nice gesture.” Letta smiles a little. “It was nice to have someone stand up for me for once…

  “Then he started walking me to class every day. He’d give me rides to school. Then he asked me for help with some of his classes, so we spent a lot of time together at the library or wherever. Of course, I thought he was so hot, and he knew it. But I never had a shot with him. I figured, as nice as he was being, he just wanted to copy my homework without being an asshole about it. Maybe he just wanted to make Mary jealous.”

  “But you were wrong.”

  Letta sighs. “So wrong, and so stupid.”

  “The Fall Dance?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Letta answers quietly, and adds with a wry smile, “How’d you guess? …He asked me to the dance about a week before. I was totally floored! I mean, why me? The drama with Eileen had died down. Mary had dumped whoever she was dating, so I’d assumed he’d be going with her. I’m not gonna lie. I felt a little like Cinderella.” She flashes me a sheepish smile. “So, Mom made me a dress – don’t make that face. It was actually very nice. – He picked me up at exactly seven and we went to some expensive Italian place for dinner.” My cheeks grow hot as my complete idiocy becomes clear.

  “After dinner, we went to the dance. It was an okay time. I’m not a very good dancer, but he was patient and he complimented me all night, told me how pretty I was… That fucking windbag!” She takes a deep breath to calm herself. “We left around ten and went for a drive…” Here Letta looks down at her lap. She takes a few deep breaths and I realize she’s fighting back tears.

  “Sorry,” she says, sniffing. “It’s still hard to talk about… We went for a drive near the park. There were some other cars around, all with steamed up windows. I knew right away he wanted to steam up his own windows. I’m ashamed to admit I was flattered. I’d never had a boyfriend before or really dated at all. I’d certainly never kissed anyone before.”

  No one? It seems impossible when I think about how many lips mine have met.

  “So, we kissed. He’s a good kisser.” I nod when Letta looks up with a small smile – it’s true. “And then it became clear that wasn’t all he wanted. I told him I didn’t want to. He told me I was just nervous or scared. He said it’d be fun. He’d be gentle. Everyone else was doing it and didn’t I want to be like everyone else? Which, of course, I did.”

  I suddenly feel very sad for my friend. “Letta… did you…?” I let the question hang in the air; I’ve no right to even ask it.

  “No,” Letta shakes her head vehemently. “No. I thought I wanted to at the time, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It just didn’t feel right. When I pushed him away, he seemed hurt or confused. Maybe angry. I don’t know, but his eyes got very dark. It scared me.”

  I silently cheer Letta for standing up for herself when so many other girls wouldn’t have. I know how charming Ronan can be, and how persistent. “Then?”

  Letta shrugs. “He took me home. Said he’d talk to me the next day, which he didn’t. I didn’t see him again until Monday. My bra, which he’d wanted to keep as some kind of Sixteen Candles souvenir, was stuck to my locker. Someone wrote ‘Jewish Slut’ across the front in red paint. Ronan was laughing with all of his friends, said ‘Isn’t that funny, Anne Frank?’ I was crushed. I thought I mattered to him, that he cared about me. And, though it hurt, and it was so very, very embarrassing, it wasn’t even the worst.” I can’t imagine how it could get any worse.

  “Even though he didn’t get past first base, the rumors spread pretty quickly about how I’d begged him to…you know. He said it was all my idea and he’d only given in because he felt sorry for me. He told everyone we did it, and that I was awful at it. Then he was so mean to me. He’d shout at me across the cafeteria and say the most disgusting things, or he’d make kissy faces at me in the hall and then pretend to vomit. Everyone laughed. It’s the worst I’ve ever felt in my whole life. I wanted to die.” The tears finally begin to roll down Letta’s cheeks, and I wish I could do something to make her feel better. It’s awful. Ronan’s awful. And here I am, Letta’s supposed friend, dating the guy who’d done something so terrible to her. I feel like the worst kind of idiot on planet Earth.

  “Oh, Letta,” I say, “I’m such an idiot! I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” she smiles. “I’m sorry about the dance.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” I say. “I should’ve known.” Or worse, maybe I had known all along and just ignored it so I didn’t have to feel guilty.

  “I want you to know I didn’t bring Beckan to hurt you,” Letta says. “I only went to the dance to keep an eye on you and Ronan. I was afraid he’d do the same thing to you that he’d done to me. I made Beckan go in case I needed some muscle. I had a really hard time convincing him to go, if that makes you feel any better. In
the end, he only went because he cared about you. I actually thought I could get you away from Ronan and get you dancing with Beckan. Then you wouldn’t leave the dance with Ronan. But when I saw your face, I realized I’d made a huge mistake… Beckan really cares about you, you know.”

  I snort.

  “No, really,” Letta says earnestly. “I think he might even love you.”

  I laugh; if only that could possibly be true. “No, Letta. He doesn’t love me. I haven’t even seen him in weeks.”

  “I know, and it’s my fault! I should’ve been honest with you. Then all this could’ve been avoided… What’d you guys do after the dance anyway? Did you…”

  “No,” I shake my head. “He tried, but I’ve been playing that game a long time.” I realize how condescending I sound, which makes me feel worse. “I’m sure that’s the only reason he’s still hanging around. He’d just as soon do me dirty the way he did you.”

  Letta stares at her lap. “I wish I was stronger, like you.”

  That cuts me deep, and I rush to make Letta feel better. “Oh Letta, you are strong. What happened isn’t your fault. It’s Ronan’s fault. He’s a convincing liar and you trusted him. He’s the one who took advantage of you, and that can never be your fault. You should be able to trust people. It’s just a shame in this world that you can’t. The only reason you think I’m strong is because I’ve made a life out of not trusting people. I don’t want that for you.”

  Letta squeezes my hand. “Thanks.”

  Letta’s cell phone starts ringing from a jacket pocket just as the ominous echo of the doorbell sounds.

  I hand Letta a napkin so she can dab her eyes and smile. “Answer your phone. I’ll get the door.”

  Ronan’s ears must’ve been burning because he’s standing on the other side of the door, confident and cool as ever.

  “Hey baby,” he says with a toothy grin. “Miss me?”

  “Hey,” I reply icily. “How was the parade?” I stand just inside the threshold with crossed arms, the door just wide enough for me, which puts Ronan off.

  “Oh, the usual,” he says, sounding suspicious. “You know, turkeys, lots of orange and red. And rain of course.” He holds up a folded black umbrella. “Get your shoes and let’s get some dinnah. A bunch of us are headed for The Wharf Rat.” Looking beyond him, I see his SUV idling in the driveway, the shadowy figures of friends waiting for his return.

  I stay quiet, waging a silent war in my head. What am I supposed to do? My gut tells me I have to refuse him, have to break up with him on the spot, for the sake of my friend. He’s an asshole, will always be an asshole. It’s only a matter of time before he treats me the way he treated Letta, right? But the other side of me thinks about how different things have been since we started dating. How different it feels to be accepted and talked to and invited places. I picture Mary’s angry face every time she sees us together. I enjoy that image, hold it up in my mind, salivating at the sensation of revenge. Is it really worth it? Is popularity worth the only real friend I’ve made here – or actually, ever?

  “C’mon,” Ronan says when I don’t’ reply. “Let’s go. Shake a leg!”

  Letta’s footsteps come up behind me. When I turn, her face is dark, her phone still held up to an ear and her demeanor is urgent.

  “What the hell’s Anne Frank doin’ heeah?” Ronan demands when the door falls open to reveal Letta.

  The snap sounds in my head a second before I ball up my fist and knock Ronan square in the nose. The pain in my knuckles is immediate, but so is the sense of relief that comes with it, the anger vibrating out of my body with the jarring stop of my bones as they hit Ronan’s face. His painful grunt brings me sheer joy. Somewhere, my anger management counselor is frowning.

  Ronan stumbles backward cradling his nose as he half-falls, half-stumbles down the front steps, landing on his ass in the mud. Blood colors his fingers as he shouts.

  “What the hell, Rose! What was that for?!”

  Letta rushes up next to me as I shake out my hand. “Oh my God, Rose!” She’s positively gleeful.

  “You broke my nose, bitch!” Ronan shouts as he gets up, still clutching at his face. “You broke my damn nose!”

  “Good,” I say, staring down at him.

  “Good?” Ronan glares at Letta with pure hatred. “You! This is your fault!” He looks at me, sees my fury growing and starts backpedaling. “Rose, baby, I can explain,” he pleads. “For God’s sake, get me a towel!” His eyes tear up and he squints in pain.

  I’m unmoved. “Get off my steps and don’t come back.” I slam the door.

  “Bitch!” Ronan yells before finally retreating, more obscenities following him.

  “I cannot believe you just did that!” Letta shouts, the phone call nearly forgotten. “How’d it feel?”

  “So good,” I say, almost laughing. “But my hand hurts something awful.”

  Letta bends over my hand and examines it like a professional. “It seems okay. Probably going to be sore for a few days.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, knowing from experience she’s right. I look at her, tiny little Letta, my true friend, even though I’m completely unworthy. I feel a rush of terrible guilt. “Thank you, Letta. Thank you for telling me about Ronan. Thank you for trying to protect me. I’m sorry I was such a bitch. Really, really sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course!” Letta shouts. “You just broke Ronan’s nose! We’re friends forever now! I can’t wait to tell Patty –” She breaks off, looking down at the cell phone in her hand. “Oh. Right.”

  “What’s wrong now?” I ask, wondering what else could possibly go wrong.

  Letta frowns. “That was Patty on the phone.”

  “And?” I’m growing more anxious by the second. “Tell me.”

  “Eileen’s sister is dead.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The Funeral

  It’s been three days since Patty’s phone call. I still feel like wind has been knocked out of me. Mother Nature seems to understand the Pattons’ loss; their grief is accompanied by a torrent of rain, hail, and thunder.

  I try to picture Kelly, a miniature Eileen – classically beautiful and mini-fashionista. I bet she was a fiery little girl full of love and tantrums at the same time. I can’t fathom how something like this could happen to a child.

  Kelly’s death spread through town like fire. Eileen’s family gathered on Thanksgiving Day, intending to attend the parade together. Aunts, uncles, grandparents – all had arrived as usual. They were determined to carry on as they normally would, hoping it would help Kelly get better. As they prepared to set out for the parade, they noticed little Kelly was missing. Eileen went to get her, figuring she was taking a nap in her room, as she’d been doing so much lately. It was less than a minute before the family heard Eileen’s scream.

  There’s nothing violent about Kelly’s death. She looked peaceful, as Eileen described her in the vision. Her neck wasn’t broken. Her wrists weren’t slashed. She was simply dead, as if she’d died in her sleep. No foul play is suspected but, of course, everyone’s pinned the blame squarely on Wolfhowl Mountain, and by association, on my family – we’ve awakened the beast within.

  I want more than anything to tell everyone they’re wrong, to prove the house has nothing to do with it. That we have nothing to do with it.

  But that, I know, is a lie.

  It’s Monday, but school is canceled in remembrance, the flag at half-staff. Saddened as I am, I’m glad there’s no school. I don’t want to face Ronan or his friends. With his broken nose, on top of Kelly’s death, I’m certain I’ll be met with pitchforks and flaming torches. I wouldn’t be surprised if they show up on the front lawn.

  The sound of clicking heels breaks into my thoughts as Mother descends the staircase and enters the living room, where I’m moping with Liam. She’s gaunt and dull looking in her long black garb. “Ready?”

  Mother insists we attend the funeral, much to my horror. That’s exactly t
he last place we should be. But my pleas fell on deaf ears, which is why, at this moment, I’m wearing a knee-length black skirt and an equally black sweater and black flats. Liam, on the other hand, hasn’t bathed or dressed and refuses to go. After all, he’d insisted earlier, Kelly deserved to die.

  I’d rebuked him immediately. “Liam! You shouldn’t say such things! Why would you say something so terrible?”

  “She wasn’t nice,” he’d whined. “She said mean things about Her, that She was haunted and She should burn down! Kelly said She was evil!”

  I was taken aback, frightened even, but Mother didn’t have the energy to argue with him. She’d said he could stay home and watch cartoons. She refused my protests that Liam shouldn’t be left alone, reasoning, of course, that he wouldn’t be alone.

  I get up, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding squirming inside me.

  “Should we bring something?” Mother asks, shrugging on her coat. “Flowers?”

  Fuel for their torches.

  “No.” I put on my coat without looking at Mother.

  The short drive to the church is silent. There are so many cars in the parking lot we have to park on the street and jog through the driving rain in our fancy clothes and footwear. My feet are soaked and frozen. We enter the nave like soggy dogs just as the funeral mass begins. The heavy door closes behind us, disrupting the reserved silence.

  The church is beautiful. The altar is covered with the most flowers I’ve ever seen in one place. Roses, lilies, daffodils, shamrocks, pansies… It’s amazing to see, and their fragrant scents flow all the way to the back of the church. The colorful walls of stained glass are darkened by the storm outside. Each attendee holds a small candle, sending the flowers into a gauzy glow before the little coffin. A priest stands beside the shiny mahogany box, Bible open in his hands. Enit sits in the front pew. Her friend sits at the organ, frowning as she plays a dirge. Most powerful of all are the sorrowful faces turning to us, moistened by their tears. I feel their anguish. My own eyes well up. Is this what it’ll be like if Liam dies? Will he lay in a beautiful church, surrounded by an entire town who loved him? But I can only picture the church, huge and empty, Liam resting alone in his tiny coffin. No flowers. No tears. No mourners. I close my eyes, seeing Liam’s dead body in the coffin, not Kelly’s.