This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  A burst of laughter rings out. We both look up. It’s coming from the popular table.

  I see who I think is Marissa standing up, holding out napkins as if something got spilled down the neck of her red sweater. She’s dipping the napkin down the front. The front without a camisole.

  I try to ignore them and lean a little closer to Matt. “What did you learn about Eric?”

  Matt looks at me. “I spoke with Marissa this morning. She said that Cassie had an older guy hitting on her when she was still dating Eric. She said at first she thought that was why she broke up with Eric.”

  “Did she tell you his name?”

  “She said it started with a J. But she said that he and his parents moved in next door to Cassie and he rides a motorcycle and has a tattoo.”

  I digest what he’s saying. “You think he could be the one who shot Eric?”

  “Isn’t jealousy one of the main motives for murder?”

  “Yeah.” Chills dance down my spine. I’m reminded this could be dangerous. “Did Marissa say whether Cassie is still seeing him?”

  He shakes his head. “She doesn’t know. Cassie dropped out of her life.”

  “That’s weird.” I watch him eat the last of his pizza.

  “Really weird.” He exhales. “Now I don’t know if I should go to Detective Henderson with what I know or if he’ll just say it doesn’t matter.”

  Surely he didn’t plan to approach this guy alone. “Didn’t you tell me he said you could come to him if you found something?”

  “He said solid evidence.”

  “This is solid.”

  He nods. “I think I’ll check and see if the guy still lives there first. If I send the detective there and the guy doesn’t even live there now, he’ll think I’m crazy. And he’ll never listen to me again.”

  I touch his arm. “You aren’t crazy. But how are you going to check? Didn’t the detective tell you to stay away from the Chambers?”

  “I’m not going to the Chambers. I’m going next door.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t like that idea. If this guy did this, he’s going to recognize you.” Suddenly I’m less afraid for me and more for him. “I should do it. He won’t know me. I could pretend to sell magazines or something and—”

  “Right?” He smirks. “I’m going to let you go talk to a guy who may have killed my brother.”

  I lift my brow. “Then just tell the detective.”

  Determination tightens his eyes. “I don’t have to talk to this guy. Just make sure he still lives there. Just sit in the car and see if he shows up or see if there’s a motorcycle there.”

  I shake my head. “I still don’t like it.”

  He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. I swear I can feel his finger print sliding across my cheek. “I promise to be safe. But the fact you care makes me feel good.” He smiles.

  I frown.

  Keep frowning even when his touch makes my skin feel electric and his smile makes me melt inside. I. Do. Not. Like. This.

  Then I remember what I needed to tell him. “I saw Cassie this morning.”

  “She’s here? I’ve been looking for her and haven’t seen her.”

  I tell him about the car pulling up and about what Cassie said to her mom. Though I skip telling him the reason I was outside. Any mention of pills makes me sound … sick.

  “She was upset,” I say. “She didn’t even go into the school.”

  He shakes his head. “Do you love him more than me?” Matt repeats what I told him Cassie said to her mom. “She has to be talking about the fiancé.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I sigh. “She looked like a victim, Matt, not like a villain.”

  His brown eyes darken. “Victim or not, if she knows something and isn’t saying anything, then she’s guilty.” He sounds angry. Not at me, but at Cassie. And whoever killed his brother. I don’t blame him for feeling it, but I’ve been told over and over again, anger isn’t good for your heart.

  A couple of kids come and sit down at the table. I can tell from his expression that we’re changing the subject.

  He picks up my pizza and holds it to my mouth. I chuckle. I take a tiny bite, then push it away. “I’m done.”

  He finishes it off. Call me silly, but I like seeing him eat my food. It’s … as if we’re somehow closer because of it. My parents do it. Mom will eat all her fries and sneak Dad’s. He always teases her. She kisses the complaint out of him.

  I’m tempted to complain, hoping Matt will kiss me.

  Sitting there in the lunchroom filled with clinking forks, chatter, and unidentifiable lunch smells, we talk about Lady, about working out a study schedule, about small things.

  I like talking about small things. It makes me feel as if he’s falling for me because of me.

  Not because I’m helping him out.

  Not because I believe him.

  Not because I have Eric’s heart.

  * * *

  “So?” my mom tosses the one-word question out the second my feet cross the threshold. She pulls me into the kitchen.

  I should have already figured out what to say. But on the way home all I thought about was Matt.

  I look at Mom. Would she freak if I told her Matt kissed me in the hall? I think she’s still on her germ-phobia mode. Should I inform her what an asswipe my history teacher was? Tell her if it wasn’t for Matt, I’d be begging to go back to homeschooling.

  Decisions. Decisions. I drop my backpack on the table.

  “Well?” she asks.

  “It was bad and good.” I reach for a peanut butter cookie. It’s so warm it breaks apart in my hand.

  “Thank you,” I say. I’ll bet I’m the only senior who has homemade cookies today. I lucked out on parents. Too bad they can’t say the same thing. They deserved a healthy kid. Grandkids. Sorry, Mom.

  “So spill.” Mom pours me milk. “Did you attend the book club?”

  “No. They held the meeting at lunch. And Matt has the same lunch as I do and I wanted to visit with him.”

  Her eyes widen. “Boys over book club?” she asks, reminding me of what LeAnn said. “What have you done to my daughter?”

  I almost tell her I don’t have an effing clue where she is. I’d be freaking if I wasn’t so excited about seeing Matt. “LeAnn and Sandy have taken over the book club. It feels different.”

  “Give it some time.” She sighs with mama sympathy. “Did you get everything solved with your history teacher?”

  I choke, grab the milk, and swallow. “How…?”

  “Mr. Burns called me. He wasn’t happy with the teacher. He assured me that it wouldn’t happen again. He also said if you felt the need to move out of his class, he could arrange that.

  My first thought is hallelujah. My second: it might mess up Matt and I being in the same class. Third: I didn’t like the principal calling my mom.

  “No, I’m fine,” I push out.

  “Tell me about the other good stuff,” she says.

  “I really like Matt.” I smile. “I like my English teacher.”

  “Good.” She rests a warm hand on my arm. “I missed you today.”

  Crap. Now I’m going to feel bad about leaving. I grab another cookie and it hits me then. When I got sick, my world got so small, but so did my mother’s. I can’t remember when she’s gone to lunch with a friend. Or gone for a pedicure. How unfair is that?

  “I’ve been thinking,” I say. “You need to go back to work.”

  She lifts a brow. “That’s odd. My old boss called today asking me to come back part-time.”

  “Say yes, Mom.” I remember thinking I needed to cut the apron strings, and I realize that so does my mom. She’s got to learn to live again too.

  “I’m considering it.”

  “Mom. You quit a job to take care of me. And I’m fine now. Get back to your life.” Guilt makes my words heavy.

  Tears fill her eyes, and it’s contagious. My own grow wet.

  She blinks. “Y
ou and your dad are my life.”

  “Your other life then.” The one you loved before I stole it from you. I see the clock on the wall. I hug her. She smells like cookies and love. But I still want to be with Matt. “Matt will be here soon. We’re walking Lady and I want to change clothes.”

  “Are you not too tired?”

  Am I tired? A little, but … “I’m fine.” I stand up.

  “At least take your blood pressure.”

  I start to argue. I’m only required to do it morning and night. And that only for another week. But to make her happy, I nod.

  Then I remember, “Oh, Matt asked me out for the weekend. Since Dad’s met him, I’m assuming it’ll be okay.”

  She doesn’t look thrilled. “Your doctor’s appointment is on Friday.”

  “No. I shouldn’t have to see Dr. Hughes for another month.”

  “Not Dr. Hughes. The gynecologist.”

  “Oh.” My face heats up because I know Mom’s thinking about Matt and I having sex.

  I hotfoot it to my bedroom, dragging my embarrassment with me. Not that I haven’t thought about us having sex. Well, I start to think about it, but when the thought leads to me taking my clothes off, all I can think about is Brandy gasping.

  And Matt not being able to look at me.

  * * *

  After school, Matt had walked Leah to her car. He’d hoped to steal another kiss, but people were everywhere and the moment wasn’t right.

  So he squeezed her hand and told her he’d see her at four.

  As soon as she drove off, he texted his mom saying he was going to hang at school and would be home a little before four to take Lady for a walk.

  It wasn’t a complete lie. He’s hanging. Just not at school.

  He remembers Leah telling him he shouldn’t come here. But he’s not doing anything stupid. And he’s not going to be here that long. All day he keeps seeing Leah’s face when he kissed her in the hall. She looked surprised and so damn sexy.

  He’s parked across the street, where he can have a good view of both houses flanking the Chambers’s house.

  There’s no motorcycle out front. As a matter of fact, there’s nothing happening at any of the houses, not even Cassie’s.

  Finally, a jeep pulls into the driveway of the house to the right. Matt scrunches down in the seat, hoping a guy with dark hair and tattoos gets out.

  But a woman, blond, steps out. And from the backseat emerge two blond girls.

  He looks at the house on the other side of Cassie’s. Just because this family doesn’t match the guy’s description doesn’t mean he doesn’t live there. But Matt notices the woman looks too young to have an older kid.

  He’s there for another thirty minutes. No one shows up. No motorcycle, no dark-haired guy with tattoos. Unexpectedly, Matt’s chest grips. His frustration rises.

  “Eric?” He says the name as if he half expects him to answer.

  His skin tightens, as if someone’s watching him.

  Slinking in the seat, he peers at the houses to see if anyone is staring out. He doesn’t see anything.

  He wonders if Cassie is home. It’s tempting to knock on her door.

  The more he thinks about this tattooed guy, the more he feels he’s on to something. Eric and Cassie hadn’t been back together long when Eric died. This guy probably saw Eric picking Cassie up, got pissed, and … murdered him.

  The hair on the back of his neck tickles as if someone is breathing down it. Looking over his shoulder, expecting … Hell, he doesn’t know what he expects. Then he sees her.

  She’s walking down the street. He inhales. She gets to her yard. He gets out of the car.

  “Cassie?”

  She turns, shakes her head no, and starts to the front door.

  He rushes over as she’s trying to unlock the door. “Just talk to me.”

  “Leave!” she yells at him.

  “Please…”

  “Leave!” She bolts in and slams the door.

  Frustrated, he clenches his jaw and swings around. Air catches in his lungs when he sees the cop car in Cassie’s driveway with a cop inside. Officer Yates. Breath held, Matt goes to his car, gets in, and focuses on the rearview mirror. Is he going to be arrested? He supposes they could nail him for harassment, maybe even stalking. Which was frustrating because he was just trying to talk to someone.

  Matt sinks into the seat. Still staring in the mirror. The officer gets out of his car. The sound of blood gushing in Matt’s ears is so loud he can’t think. He can’t breathe.

  When he looks in the side mirrors, the police officer has stopped but is pulling out his phone. And he’s staring at Matt’s car.

  Matt’s hands shake, but he finally realizes no one has said he can’t leave. Matt starts his car and drives off.

  But he can’t help wondering if the officer was going to call Detective Henderson.

  Eric, what the hell do you want me to do?

  24

  I no sooner get into my pink bedroom than Brandy calls. I tell her what Lisa said to me about thinking I was dead and what I said back. Brandy laughs her ass off.

  I tell her about Mr. Perez. About getting sent to the office and what I told Mr. Burns before I walked out.

  “Okay, it’s official,” she says. “You definitely grew a pair of balls.”

  I tell her about Matt kissing me in the hallway.

  She squeals and says, “Next thing I know you’ll be going to third base in the art-supplies closet.”

  “The art supply closet?” I’ve never taken art. But Brandy has. “Is that where you and Brian go?”

  She doesn’t answer but doesn’t deny it.

  I ask about how things went in book club. I listen but still manage to think about Matt and find myself wishing I took art.

  Eventually, she tells me about her day. Her conversation moves into how she and Brian are making plans to spend the whole weekend together when her parents are going away. I hear the excitement in her voice. I wonder what it would feel like to sleep with Matt. Not have sex—I’ve already wondered about that—just sleep next to him, to use his shoulder as my pillow. To feel myself wrapped in his arms.

  Brandy doesn’t ask about my dreams or any of the Eric stuff. Which probably means she still doesn’t believe me. It stings, but I love her anyway.

  How could I not? She could’ve dropped me in the grease and found a new best friend who wasn’t dying.

  I look at my pink clock. “Shit. I gotta go. Matt’s supposed to be here.”

  I take my blood pressure. It’s ten points high, but I was in a rush and thinking about Matt. I run into my bathroom, put on powder, blush, and lip gloss. I look at my messy hair, moan, and put it up. Ponytail in place, I dig through my closet for my new long-sleeved burgundy shirt and matching hoodie. I remember I’d worn it over the weekend.

  I tear off to the laundry room to see if Mom washed it. It’s in the dryer. Still warm.

  I ditch the blue sweater. Yank the static-electrified T and hoodie from the dryer, and put them on.

  I’m still dressing when the doorbell rings. I fit my arm in the hoodie, grab my purse, and run out.

  Mom, phone to her ear, comes to the kitchen opening. She offers me a wave and returns to the kitchen and her conversation.

  I open the door.

  Matt’s there. He wears the same thing he wore to school, but he gives me a quick once-over.

  Approval lights up his eyes. I like approval.

  “Where’s Lady?”

  “In the car. I didn’t know if I had to come in, and I’m not in the mood to pick up shit in your house again.”

  I laugh. We head out. I feel him staring, but when I glance at him, he looks away.

  When we get in the car, I drop my purse to the floorboard. Lady tries to get in the front seat. Matt tells her no.

  “Uh…” Matt’s looking at me strangely again. Almost smiling. Almost not.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You have … something stuck to
the back of your jacket.”

  “What?” I look over my right shoulder.

  “Here.” He reaches behind my left shoulder and pulls off a wispy piece of material.

  It takes me one second to recognize my new lacy wine-colored panties. The static must’ve gotten them caught on my hoodie.

  Time freezes. I have options. I can be humiliated or I can make light of it.

  I go with the latter. Before I know what I’m saying, the words slip out. “I was looking for those.”

  A deep belly laugh escapes his lips. His eyes light up in a sexy I-just-saw-your-panties kind of way.

  I reach for them. “This isn’t finders keepers?” His tone’s packed with tease.

  “No. And why would you want to keep my mom’s underwear?”

  He looks mortified, drops the garment in my lap, and this time I’m the one laughing.

  I stuff them in my purse.

  When I look back, Matt’s leaning over the console. He kisses me. It’s soft. It’s hard. It’s powerful. It’s tender.

  I melt. I want this. I want more than this.

  “Wow,” I manage to say when he pulls back.

  He brushes a finger over my lips. “I guess your mom’s underwear really does it for me.”

  We both crack up laughing.

  “They aren’t hers,” I say.

  “I know.” He taps my lips with his index finger, playfully.

  He’s still close. His eyes are wide, filled with heat. They’re brown but have green and gold flecks that I want to study. What really catches my attention is what I don’t see. No pity. No pain. No grief.

  I want to take credit for the last two—to believe I’m helping him. I know he’s never going to stop missing Eric or his dad. I haven’t really stopped missing Grandma, but there’s missing and then there’s missing—the kind that eats at your soul.

  He drives to the park. We walk down the trail and talk about school. Matt alternately has his arm around my waist, or he’s holding my hand.

  We end up back at our bench. Funny how we’ve only been here twice, but it feels like it’s ours. Our place. As if it knows us. As if the trees, the ground, and the wooden bench preserve our memory. The story of us lives here.

  He ties Lady to the arm of the bench. She drops to the ground in a drowsy puppy pose. Her sweet yellow face rests on her paws, and her sad, sleepy eyes glance up at me.