by Karlik, Mary
He retreated to his room and settled in to kill some zombies before starting his Calculus homework. He couldn’t get the vision of Austin McCoy bringing a girl to Chelsea’s grave out of his mind. What kind of game was he playing? Three girls had lost their lives because of him. Leave it to Austin to figure out how to take advantage of that. He pretended each zombie was Austin, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He would never get his family back no matter how many zombies he destroyed.
He set the controller aside and picked up his Calc book, but he couldn’t focus.
Later. He tossed his homework aside and made his way to the kitchen. His mom looked almost back to normal, stirring the sauce with a wooden spoon. Salad fixings were laid out on the counter next to a bowl and a cutting board.
Justin washed his hands and began to chop mushrooms. “Is Dad going to be home for dinner?”
“If he gets off on time.” She’d barely spoken the words when his dad came in through the garage door.
“Umm, I thought I smelled spaghetti.” He tossed his keys on the counter and took a seat at the bar.
Before the family had been torn apart, his dad would have kissed his mom when he came in. But at least they were all in the same room, speaking. Usually they moved around the house like three strangers trying to stay out of each other’s way.
His dad reached across the counter and stole a carrot from the salad. “I heard you went to lunch with the girls.”
Justin saw a smile form on his mom’s lips, but it looked awkward, as though she didn’t want it there. “Yes. We went to Lady May’s Tea Room.”
“How was it?”
“Nice. They want me to come back to work. There’s an opening in Day Surgery.”
Justin saw hope in his dad’s eyes. “And?”
She turned away from her sauce and bit her lip. “I don’t know, Alan.”
His dad rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to change before dinner.” He slid from the bar stool and headed down the hall to the bedroom.
Justin’s mom turned toward the stove, but he didn’t miss that she swiped tears from her eyes. He set the knife down and went to his parents’ room.
His dad had changed into shorts and was pulling a polo shirt over his head.
“Really, Dad?”
“What?”
“She’s trying. She’s thinking about going back and instead of encouraging her, you just walk out.”
“We’ve been down this road before.”
“So, keep going down it. When Chelsea and I were little you taught us never to give up. You said if it’s important to us, we had to keep trying.”
“I’m not the one who’s given up.”
“Dad, she’s trying. Can’t you see her struggle? Help her.”
His dad slid his feet into flip-flops and shuffled out of the room without saying a word. Justin had to get out of the house before he exploded. Screw dinner, he needed space from his parents. He grabbed his keys.
As he neared the kitchen, he saw that his mom had taken his place chopping vegetables for the salad. His dad stood next to her and said, “Sandy, I’m sorry. Let’s talk about it.”
His mom nodded and his dad pulled her close to his side—it was an awkward movement, but it was a start. Justin returned his keys and finished helping with dinner. And for the first time in too long, they sat at the table as a family.
His dad pulled a piece of garlic bread from the loaf and asked, “How was practice?”
“McCoy hit all of his passes in practice.”
At the name McCoy, Justin’s mom set her fork on her plate. The air grew tense and Justin could see that she was on the verge of unraveling. Shit. He had to go and say the name. He willed her to hold it together. But he knew the meltdown had begun.
“That boy, McCoy, has been at the cemetery. I saw him with a girl…”
Justin’s dad put his hand over hers. “It’s okay, Sandy.”
“Why would he bring a girl there?” Tears filled her eyes.
Justin waited for his dad to leave the table. That was his MO—run from conflict.
But this time he didn’t. He looked at Justin and said, “I’ve got this.”
Part of Justin wanted to take care of his mom—after all, he wasn’t sure his dad knew how to handle her. The other part of him felt relief. It was about time Dad manned up.
Justin set his plate on the kitchen counter and retreated to his bedroom.
He tried to concentrate on his homework, but his mind lingered on Ryan Quinn. Before the attack, he’d thought she had one of the most beautiful faces he’d ever seen. It was perfect. A petite nose with freckles sprinkled across the top. A mouth with a full lower lip that gave her a sexy-pouty look… and her eyes. God, he could get lost in those cobalt eyes. They were wide and full of fire.
His stomach burned when he thought about what those bitches had done to her. It was beyond cruel. What if her face scarred? How would he feel about her? He’d like to think it wouldn’t matter, that it was the girl on the inside he was attracted to. The shameful truth was that he wasn’t sure if he’d feel the same. He didn’t really know Ryan well enough to know what was on the inside. He smiled when he thought of how she’d handled the message on her locker. She was brave—probably the bravest person he knew. What if her face was messed up for life and he couldn’t handle it? He felt like a jerk just asking himself that question.
His dad knocked on his open door. “Hey, your mom and I are going for a drive.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah. We’re just going to get out of the house for a few—maybe get some ice cream.”
“Cool.” Justin refused to let hope burn in his chest. Things could fall apart in the next breath.
“Do you want to go?”
“Naw. I have homework to do.” And Ryan to get off my mind. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Ryan’s face will scar?”
His dad stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Some of the abrasions are pretty deep.”
“English.”
“The scrapes on her face. The deep ones might scar.” He steepled his fingers. “I’m more worried about her lip. How is she doing?”
“She was at school today. Somebody wrote the word slut on her locker.”
“Christ. What did she do to get on the wrong side of the mean girls?”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t know. Macey Brown got it in her head that she was evil. You should have seen her, Dad. When I carried Ryan out of the fountain, Macey looked at me like she was possessed.”
“Her dad is a real head case.”
“He hit her.” Justin rubbed the back of his neck. “When we were at the Quinns’. Macey confessed to what she did and he hit her so hard it knocked her down.” He told his dad about how Mr. Brown left Macey and her mom and nobody would give them a ride home.
“So did anybody report Brown for hitting Macey?”
Justin shrugged. “We were all in shock when it happened and then we focused on Ryan.”
“Jesus. Did they really walk all the way home?”
“I heard that one of the moms picked them up.” He looked at his dad. “Macey has a screwed-up home life, no doubt. But she didn’t have to rip up Ryan’s face.”
“That was just heinous.” His dad stood. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Justin nodded. “Yeah.” When his parents had gone, he clicked on his Facebook page. Ryan was on too.
Justin: How’re you feeling?
Ryan: Tired. Sore.
Justin: Anything I can do?
Ryan: Got a TARDIS?
Justin: A what?
Ryan: It’s a Dr. Who thing. A time machine.
Justin: Who is Dr. Who?
Ryan: That’s the question. LOL It’s a British TV show full of awesomeness.
Justin: I’ll have to check it out.
Ryan: If you’re cool, you will.
Justin: Oh, I’m cool.
&nbs
p; Ryan: Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.
Justin: Okay, I’m totally uncool.
It was great to hear her so lighthearted and he hoped like hell that if scars were left on her face, they wouldn’t take that away from her.
Justin: How’s the lip?
Ryan: Messed up. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow morning. I won’t be in school until after lunch.
Justin: Want to go to the art gallery with me after I get out of practice tomorrow?
Ryan: We have an art gallery?
Justin: Spring Creek does. It’s only twenty minutes from here.
Ryan: You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me?
Justin: I should ask you that question.
Ryan: Yes, I’m horribly embarrassed for people to see my messed-up self with you.
Justin: That’s not what I meant.
Ryan: I know. Yes. I’ll go with you to the art gallery.
Justin: Great. I’m out by five.
Ryan: Pick me up at the feed store. I gotta go.
Justin: Bye.
He closed Facebook and sighed. Yes! He had a date with Ryan Quinn. And no, he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her.
Besides, hardly anybody he knew ever went to the tiny gallery in Spring Creek.
8
Ryan tried not to pace while she waited for Justin. Why had she agreed to go the gallery with him? It had been a horrible day, her face hurt almost as bad as it had the first day, and now it had gooey ointment smeared all over it. If she didn’t scare him off at the door, it would be a small miracle.
She looked toward the back of the store. Her parents discussed rearranging the horse section while Mackenzie and Kelsey unloaded feed sacks onto the racks. She manned the cash register—which meant she’d rung up exactly two transactions since school ended.
Justin’s black truck pulled into the parking lot and she called to her mom, “My ride is here. I’ll see you later.”
She almost made it to the door before she was stopped. “Wait a minute,” Mom called. “Let me give you some money.”
“That’s okay. I have some.” Ryan moved closer to the door.
“Who are you going with again?”
“I told you, a friend from schoo—” Which was as far as she got before Justin came through the door. Crap.
Her parents moved to the front of the store together, and her dad spoke. “Hello, Justin.”
“Mr. Quinn.” He stuck out his hand.
Her dad shook his hand, but it was obvious he was not happy. He turned to Ryan and said, “Can I see you in the back room?”
She nodded and followed her parents to the makeshift kitchen in the back of the store. Her dad leaned against the counter. “I’m not opposed to you going to a gallery with a date…”
“He’s not a date.” Please don’t make this a big deal.
Her dad straightened. “Whatever it is, I don’t like that you didn’t tell your mother or me.”
“It’s not like I lied. I said I was going with a friend. Justin is a friend who happens to be a boy.” And the only friend I have, by the way.
Her mom looked at her dad. “Let it go, Tom. She needs an evening away from all that’s happened.”
Her dad pulled a twenty from his billfold and handed it to her. “Home by ten, not one minute later.”
“Yes, sir.” She took the twenty and hurried out, but as soon as she stepped from the back room, she could feel the tension in the air.
Kelsey stood close to Justin by the cash register. Her arms were crossed and whatever she was saying to him, her expression told Ryan it wasn’t nice.
Ryan glared at her sister. “What’s going on?”
Kelsey turned to Ryan. “I was just giving Justin a little advice.” The tone of her sister’s voice pegged the pissed-off meter.
“You’re unbelievable.” She grabbed Justin’s hand and blew out a breath. “FYI, Kels—next time you want to get all sanctimonious, you might want to hide that big honking hickey first.”
Her sister pressed her collar against her neck and flushed.
Ryan didn’t stick around to see her recovery. She dragged Justin out the door and down the rickety wooden steps. “God, I can’t stand it when she gets like that. What did she say, anyway?”
“That if I hurt you, she’d clip my balls with a butter knife.”
Ryan slid to a stop in the gravel driveway and dropped his hand. “She what?”
He put his palms up. “Honest to God. That’s what she said.”
Ryan couldn’t help the slow smile that crossed her face or the heat that accompanied it. “That’s awkward.”
“Tell me about it.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and walked her the rest of the way to his truck.
Once they were on the road to Spring Creek, he asked the question she’d been expecting. “How’d the doctor’s appointment go?”
“Well, I guess you probably noticed my new look.” She flashed him a fake grin. “He cleansed my face, and by cleansed I mean scrubbed. It was brutal. Then they spread this gross antibiotic gel all over. On the upside, it doesn’t hurt my mouth to talk now. He looked at my lip. When every thing else heals, he wants to see it again.” She studied her hands and refused to give in to the tears that struggled for release. “I might have to have cosmetic repair done to my mouth. I’ll have scars, but he won’t know how bad until I heal.”
She watched Justin squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles were almost white. “I wish I’d gotten there sooner.”
“I wish I’d never met them. But I did and what happened, happened.” She shrugged with more indifference than she felt. “So now I learn to live with a new face.”
“You have a perfect face.” He smiled and it even looked real. Her dad had said those exact words, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.
“I think the goo gives it an extra special glow.” She flashed one cheek and then the other at him.
“Definitely.”
*
This girl is amazing. After all she’s been through, she jokes. And she holds my hand.
Justin felt stupid over getting excited about that, but he was. She was unlike anybody he’d ever met and he didn’t want to screw it up.
Silence grew in the truck and even Eric Church singing about his hometown couldn’t dissipate the awkwardness. When they finally neared the gallery, he gave her a wink. “Are you ready for Spring Creek’s big gallery?”
“So, how did a town as small as Spring Creek end up with an art gallery?”
“It’s not exactly the Tate.”
“The Tate? You know it?”
Score one for small-town boy. “Well, I’ve never been to London, so I’ve never seen it. But I know it’s supposed to be pretty cool.”
“We went during spring break a couple of years ago. My parents don’t get modern art, but I thought it was fantastic. The first room we entered had this huge canvas, the size of a wall. The beauty was in the strokes, the color changes, and the texture. It was so deep, and rich, and big that it pulled you into it.” She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and gave a deep sigh. “It was one of those pieces that you could just feel. Then Dad turned to Mom and said, ‘We can throw red paint on a wall and call it art.’ I was so embarrassed.”
“Yeah, don’t expect anything that spectacular here.” He parked against the curb in front of the gallery. Next to the door was a cat sculpted from car parts.
The gallery was narrow, maybe twenty feet across. Pottery was displayed on a three-tiered wooden shelf that stretched the length of the space. “These are cool.” She pointed to a row of jugs that had faces on them.
“Those are by an artist named Block. He’s a local guy.”
Some of the jug faces grimaced like gargoyles, while others grinned with an I’ve got a secret expression. The colors were bold, matching the attitude of the pieces. At the end of the row was a squat green-glazed pitcher covered in eyes. “This is awesome. The piece is studying the viewer. We
become a part of the exhibit. I’d like to read his artist statement.”
A thin, gray-haired woman appeared from behind a curtain in the back of the gallery. “Hi, I thought I heard somebody come in.” Her eyes grew slightly larger when she saw Ryan, but she seemed more interested in Justin. She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s been too long, Justin.”
Ryan gave him a questioning look and he knew he’d have to explain his knowledge of art. But that would come later. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to Ryan. “The artist once said he allowed the jugs to decide what to become. Welcome to our little gallery. Let me know if I can help with anything—I’m wrestling with a frame in the back.” She turned to Justin again, her face drawn, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “It’s good to see you.”
Justin mumbled, “Thanks.” The woman retreated to the room behind the curtain.
The atmosphere turned heavy. “So, who is this guy who frequents small-town galleries, knows about a gallery on the other side of the pond, yet won’t walk all the way to the art room?”
“It’s a long story.” And time to change the subject. “What do you think so far?”
“It’s interesting. I never expected to see these face jugs.” She turned toward the pictures hanging on the walls. Most of them were old renderings of the courthouse or the shops around the square. As she studied them, he watched. Her expression said they were good, but not unique. Then, she noticed a soft light illuminating a picture in a dark corner at the back of the gallery. As she moved toward it, dread built in him.
In that moment, he knew bringing her here had been a colossal mistake.
*
Ryan was mesmerized by the painting.
It was of three football players from the perspective of inside the huddle. They held hands with their heads bowed, and their pained expressions could be seen behind the facemasks. Mud and grass stains smeared their uniforms. The sky above them was dark and angry and the scoreboard behind them indicated the final score was seven to zero. Ryan waited for the rest of the story to unfold. Were the players the winners? The pain in their eyes seemed much deeper than anything caused by a losing score. Had they suffered injuries?