Home Before Dark

by Susan Wiggs

  “You must have written it before you took off.”

  “I never took that trip.”

  “That’s why it’s still in the jar. But there’s still time.”

  Jessie crumpled the wish and tossed it aside. Luz started to do the same with the B.A., but at the last minute, folded it around a penny, pressed it to her lips in the age-old ritual and put it back in the jar. She grabbed a pen and the grocery list pad. “Let’s make a wish right now, Jess.”

  “All right.” Jessie scribbled something, her pen running off the edge of the page and scoring the old pine table.

  “Jeez, you ought to think about getting your eyes checked, Jess.”

  “As a matter of fact, I—”

  “I’m going to be late,” Lila said, clomping down the stairs. “No time for breakfast.”

  Luz shot up, folding the lunch sack and dropping it into Lila’s bookbag.

  Lila looked pretty. Beautiful, actually, with her hair damp and slick from the shower. Despite the perpetual disarray of her room, she always managed to look as though she’d stepped from the prom pages of a Delia’s catalog.

  “You’ve got seven minutes before your bus.” Luz knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say. She knew even before her daughter hunched up her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. Lila did not take the bus. Since the start of the school year, Heath Walker had picked her up. She always went to school in his red Jeep, riding a wave of prestige and acceptance that meant far too much to her.

  “Maybe you’ll make new friends on the bus.” A lame attempt, but Luz couldn’t stifle herself.

  “Great, Mom.”

  “Good morning to you, too, doll-face,” Jessie said.

  Lila scowled. “Whatever.”

  “I have a better idea for getting this kid off to school,” Jessie said. “I’ll kick her ass all the way to town.”

  “Good plan,” said Luz.

  Lila studied her reflection in the sliding glass doors. Though she put on a brave face, her nerves were taut and close to the surface. Luz could sense it like a force field around her daughter.

  The pipes groaned as Ian started up his shower, and she felt a flash of irritation. Couldn’t he have waited to see their daughter off today, of all days? She’d survived a fatal accident that had disrupted the whole school. She needed every bit of love and support they could muster. Didn’t Ian realize that?

  “Sweetie, we know it’s going to be hard. I can’t tell you how much I respect you for getting back to your routine so quickly.” She winced at her own platitudes. She sounded like a radio talk show host.

  “Whatev,” Lila said again.

  “I’m proud of you, too,” Jessie said loyally. “No matter what happens in life, school goes on.”

  Lila nodded, then slid a glance at Luz. “Homecoming’s this weekend.”

  Homecoming was a big deal in a small Texas town. Even the fact that the Edenville Serpents’ star quarterback had crashed his car wouldn’t stop the time-honored tradition. By Friday, Luz knew, the excitement would reach a fever pitch. Girls would parade around, sporting corsages of dinner-plate-sized mums in school colors—purple and black—trailing ribbons as long as the girl was tall. Boys would climb the water tower to spray paint the year on its already grafitti-covered tank. Every cookie baked by Paradise Bakery would have a megaphone shape, and cheerleaders would deck the houses of the players in colored streamers.

  Lila had made varsity cheerleader this year.

  Luz bit her lip to keep from pointing out that Lila was grounded and would not be allowed to go to either the homecoming game or the dance afterward. No sense in dumping the painful reminder on her now, when she was about to head off to school.

  “Bye,” Lila said hastily, and rushed out the door.

  With a sigh, Luz sat down at the table. Jessie pushed the paper and pen toward her. “Make a wish, sister.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Lila had lived in Edenville all her life, but today she felt like an illegal alien as she bounced along in a school bus that reeked of diesel fuel and gym bags. Gazing out a smudged window at the postcard-pretty town square, she realized the world had changed overnight. The last time she’d seen Edenville, it had been through the eyes of a girl who knew only sunshine and laughter, friendship and fun. She was returning as some one who had looked death in the face. In the bright autumn morning, people rolled out awnings, swept sidewalks, greeted each other with waves and smiles.

  Who were these strangers with their easy laughs and care free lives, these people who slept well at night instead of dreaming about being tumbled in a rolling Jeep like frogs in a blender?

  No one spoke to her on the bus, though she garnered plenty of nosy stares, some nasty whispers. The other passengers were mostly underclassmen who hadn’t gotten their licenses yet, kids who were too poor to afford a car, or loser girls whose boyfriends had dumped them. The bottom-feeders of Edenville High.

  And now there was Lila. Since walking away from the wreck, she had been cut off from the world. She didn’t really know where she fit in anymore, and that was the worst feeling in the world. The things Heath’s mother had said—It’s all your fault—haunted her day and night. What if Mrs. Hayes was right? What if Lila was to blame? Maybe if she hadn’t gone out that night, hadn’t encouraged Heath, no one would have been hurt. She yearned to flip the calendar forward, turn sixteen and drive away forever. She had her learner’s permit, and once she passed the road test, her dad was going to let her have the old Plymouth Arrow that had been parked in a shed on the property ever since she was little.

  Dodging the stares and whispers as though they were spit-balls in civics class, she wished for today to be like every other day, with Heath picking her up for school, solidifying her position on the invisible but oh-so-important popularity chart. Now, grounded deeper than the Treaty Oak, she had no idea where he was, at home or still in the hospital, or if he’d be at school today. Her mother had turned into a phone Nazi, even disabling the modem so Lila couldn’t sneak a look at e-mail or receive instant messages.

  When the bus lurched along the street in front of the school, Lila felt disoriented. It seemed as if she’d been over seas in a foreign country without phones.

  Edenville High—Home of the Fighting Serpents—was a typical old-fashioned American high school, the sort you saw in nostalgic movies or read about in the AAA Driving Guide, which characterized Edenville as “The Town that Time For got.” The school’s front lawn was planted with magnolias and live oaks. The brick and concrete building was both imposing and reassuring in an ageless, traditional way. It had been here forever, and would still be standing decades from now.

  It was weird to think that her mom and her aunt had gone to school here, but impossible to escape that fact. There were even several teachers who’d had them in class. Her English teacher, Mr. McAllister, constantly reminded the whole world about the Ryder girls and how Lila looked exactly like them both, right down to the last eyelash. Last spring, Lila had browsed through the yearbook archive only to find that for four years, credit for the best photos in the book went to “L. Ryder.” L for Lucinda. Odd. You’d think Jessie would be the one taking all the pictures, seeing as how she grew up and became a world famous photographer. Yet all the yearbook photos had been taken by Lila’s mother. It was totally bizarre to think about her mom being anything other than her mom, but you’d have to be blind to miss her talent at taking pictures. Maybe, a long time ago, her mom had thought about doing it professionally, as a job.

  Of course, Lila had never asked her.

  She wondered if the saying was true, that by the time you were in high school, your life’s work had found you. Mr. Grimm, the college and career counselor, said that the talents and tastes that emerged during high school were likely to be the key to what you were going to do with the rest of your life.

  Lila’s own talents and tastes were still emerging—at least, that’s what she told herself. She liked cheerleading, alternative rock, vinta
ge clothing and Nacho Cheese Flavored Doritos, which girls with boyfriends could never, ever eat because they gave you bad breath. She was good at doing backflips and walkovers, making out with Heath Walker and sitting in the back of class, being invisible.

  She had no idea how these skills would serve her well later in life.

  In the side parking lot, the bus chugged and shuddered to a stop. Lila jostled her way up the aisle and jumped out, free at last. Someone behind her whispered, but when she whipped her head around, she only saw two girls she barely knew, innocently organizing their school bags. Then it came to her—the heavy one was Cindy Martinez. Lila had once borrowed her Spanish homework, and after that, Cindy had tried to be her best friend, but Lila had given her the big chill and she’d backed off.

  Slinging her backpack over one shoulder, she trudged across the cracked and buckled parking lot. Nearby, seniors in the Fast-Track Program—those who were taking career training as well as high school classes—were arriving for the day, some of them organizing carpools to Llano Junior College in the next town. For a moment, Lila yearned to go with them and never come back. But she forced herself to approach the school.

  Like a well-founded rumor, the furtive aroma of a stolen cigarette crossed her path. A knot of Goths and Eurotrash huddled at the west entry, where no self-respecting regular kid would dare to be seen. Never before had she been so sensitive to the way people at this school segregated themselves, with invisible ribbons around their groups that shouted, “Police Line—Do Not Cross.”

  In front of the stadium quadrangle, she spotted a small group of 4-H Clubbers meeting on the green. They were with three little yellow Labrador retriever puppies wearing green pinneys that said Guide Dog In Training, so people would let them into shops and restaurants and history class. Those kids were okay, she supposed, but they were weird in their own way, and just as segregated. In addition to breeding goats and rabbits, they raised puppies from some famous breeding program in Round Rock. The way it worked was that a kid would adopt an adorable baby Lab, raise it by hand, housebreaking it and bonding with it, sleeping and eating with it and everything. Then when the pup was grown, they’d hand it over to some institution in Austin for training with the blind. Lila didn’t get it. Why would you give all your love and affection to a puppy and then let someone else have it? How could those kids stand it? Of course, she reminded herself, some 4-H-ers routinely sent animals they’d raised to the slaughter, so maybe their hearts were different.

  As she neared the front of the building, she felt a keen sense of anticipation. This was her school, her world, the place she belonged. She even dared to hope that Heath had returned, that she’d see him today.

  Black and purple streamers hung from the spreading oaks near the front entrance, and a huge banner proclaimed, Go Serpents. Homecoming was going to go on as planned because this was Texas and in Texas no one would dream of canceling homecoming just because the co-captain had wrecked his car and some kid had died in the crash.

  It occurred to Lila that she was grounded, and she knew her parents. They wouldn’t relent. Still, they were sound sleepers. She would sneak out and go to homecoming. Heath would be all better. He’d give her one of those dorky corsages the Serpent Boosters made each year and she’d wear her new dress, and for years afterward she’d keep that corsage like a museum relic in its molded plastic container.

  She might complain about school but the fact was, she loved it. Loved the noise and laughter, the reek of the cafeteria and the aroma of coffee streaming from the teachers’ lounge, the crackle of announcements over the loudspeaker and the chalky smell of old classrooms, the walls lined with ancient books, the hallways with banging metal lockers.

  Finally she smiled. She was glad to be back.

  She even heard a choir of angels singing in the distance. Then, with a start, she realized they weren’t angels at all, but the Edenville High Chorus for Christ, a club of born-again students whose scrubbed faces were always smiling and whose attitude was always good.

  They were gathered at the flag pole in front of the school. The giant American flag and the even bigger Texas flag both flew at half-mast.

  Dig, she thought, her smile disappearing as she hurried forward. What she saw stunned her. She had never seen so many flowers in her life. Store-bought bouquets still in their cellophane, cut flowers stuck in jelly jars, Indian paintbrush and sorrel blossom gathered from fields—all were strewn and stacked and propped in a giant pyramid around the base of the flag pole. There was a single sunflower in the middle, and at the moment, a scruffy crow was pecking rudely at its seedy center. There were notes and cards and snapshots, even hand-lettered signs attached to bouquets and dime-store teddy bears and footballs and trophies. Lila spotted a pumpkin on which someone had written, “I miss you, Dig” in black magic marker. Overlooking the whole heap, displayed like a grotesque black-and-purple scarecrow, was a football jersey hanging from a rough-hewn wooden cross. The jersey bore the number 34 and the name Bridger in blocky letters across the back.

  “We are high on Jeee-zuz,” sang the chorus. They held hands and swayed as they sang, looking ecstatic with eyes closed and faces raised to the morning sky.

  Watching them, Lila felt a beat of resentment. When Dig was alive, these holier-than-Swiss-cheese kids wouldn’t save his soul if it were a Kmart blue-light special. The kids in this club were exclusive, all-white, pretending the black and Hispanic kids, and kids like the Bridgers who lived in trailer parks, didn’t exist except when they needed to trot one out to prove their diversity.

  But now that Dig was dead, they were ready to accept him as one of their own.

  Lila’s skeptical thoughts must have disturbed the holy firmament, because when the song ended, “I’m so high on Jesus, I can see the face of heaven,” a few of them turned and saw her.

  The news of her presence spread like a computer virus, but she was focused on one person and one person only.

  “Heath!” His beloved name burst from her on a wave of relief. She hurried over to him. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”

  Propped between two crutches, he stood flanked by kids she barely recognized. Ignoring them, Lila rushed forward to hug him, but the crutches got in the way, and she held back. Still, he was here, and he looked wonderful.

  She eyed him with increasing caution. Ordinarily he’d hug her and maybe steal a kiss, and she’d sort of hope people saw because, even on crutches, he was the hottest guy in the school.

  But today, there was ice in his eyes, pure ice, and it stopped her like an invisible wall.

  “Heath?” She spoke more softly, tentatively now.

  He offered her a tiny motion of his head. “Hey.”

  His lower right leg was encased in a high-tech, Velcro-strapped cast. Her confidence dimmed. “So you broke your leg.”

  “Duh,” someone behind her said.

  She ignored the voice. “Heath, I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I’m grounded from everything, absolutely everything. My parents might not even let me go to homecoming this weekend. But I promise I’ll find a way.” She was babbling but couldn’t stop herself. “I won’t let you down.”

  “My leg is broken. I’m out for the season.”

  “But we can still go to the game, and then the party and dance afterward.” She stepped forward, thinking that if she could touch him, the ice would melt and they would be fine.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked.

  She froze. Her stomach knotted tight. “Get what?”

  He pointed a crutch at the strewn flowers. The air was thick with the scent of rotting sweetness. “This changes every thing. You can’t pretend nothing happened.”

  “I’m not pretending anything, but we have to go on, figure out a way to make sense of what happened.”

  “I have,” he stated. “I’ve found forgiveness.”

  She frowned. “I forgive you, Heath.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” A strangely benign expression softened his fac
e as he regarded his new companions. “I’ve accepted Christ into my heart as my personal savior.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Overnight, you’re a changed person?”

  He glared at her. “I’ve been forgiven for the things you made me do that night.”

  “I made you sneak out? I made you go hill-hopping? I made you wreck your car?” Lila was incredulous. “That’s a cop-out. You were driving, and if finding religion helps you stop feeling so guilty, fine. But I’m not getting born again. I was born right the first time.”

  “Then you’re going to hell. But you’ll go alone.”

  Humiliated and on fire with hurt, Lila moved away, staggering a little as though someone had hit her. She spotted Tina Borden, co-captain of the cheerleading squad, and relief washed over her. Tina was with two other cheerleaders. You almost never saw cheerleaders by themselves; they felt naked without at least one on each flank.

  “Hi,” she said, gathering tattered shreds of pride around her. If her parents didn’t let her cheer at homecoming, she would die. Completely die. “So what about the big game?”

  Tina’s eyes narrowed. “You need to see Miss Crofter.”

  Miss Crofter was the faculty adviser of the cheerleading squad. “Why?”

  “You missed a game and two practices in a row, so that means you don’t cheer at the next game, even if it’s homecoming.” She and her companions headed toward Dig’s memorial.

  “Hello.” Lila stalked after them. “I was in a major car wreck. It’s not like I was skipping out.”

  Tina flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Rules are rules.”

  The three of them walked away.

  “That’s ridiculous.” But they weren’t listening. They whispered to each other as they headed off to where the singing was.

  And Lila knew she wasn’t going to hell. She was already there. Blinded by tears of rage and humiliation, she walked away from the school, her backpack feeling heavier with each step she took. She had no idea where she was headed, and she couldn’t see where she was going, anyway. Without warning, she slammed into a tall guy in a uniform.