by Shana Norris
My thumb hovered just above the voicemail icon, but refused to touch down. I wondered what Jude would think if he knew I had been lying the whole time. Well, I told myself, not lying exactly—just not telling the entire truth.
I deleted the voicemail and put the phone on my nightstand.
Chapter Sixteen
“Can you get that?” I called as I pulled the pan of steaming chicken from the oven. I poked at the browned bird, praying that it was cooked all the way through. There was no way I was going to attempt a steak dinner, so Jude would have to settle for baked chicken.
The doorbell rang again and then Aunt Lydia hurried through the kitchen. “I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” she said as she breezed by. She was wearing nice black slacks and a white blouse instead of her usual paint spattered T-shirts and baggy jeans. If I didn’t know better, I might have mistaken Aunt Lydia for Mom. I had never realized just how much they looked alike, especially when Aunt Lydia was dressed in a Mom outfit.
“Hello, Jude,” I heard her say in an overly cheerful voice.
Please let this night not be a disaster, I said silently. I checked the pot of mashed potatoes and fluffed the top with a fork again.
I wiped my hands on my apron and then pulled it off just as Aunt Lydia walked into the room with Jude at her heels. She smiled brightly at me. “Our guest has arrived,” she chirped.
Jude smiled nervously, running his hand through his hair, which I now recognized was what he always did when he was nervous.
“You cut your hair,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just a trim.”
He wore a nice gray polo shirt, which looked pressed and starched. His khakis had a perfect crease down each leg and even his shoes looked shiny.
“You look nice,” I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
He nodded toward me. “Don’t be so surprised. And so do you.”
I ran my hands over the front of my red dotted dress to smooth out the folds of the fabric. It was one of my favorite dresses, cute in a retro way. My mom said it was too short and never approved of me wearing it.
Jude’s eyes flickered down toward my legs, so quickly I couldn’t be sure whether he was checking them out or just looking at something near the floor. Maybe the dress was a bit too short.
“Are we ready to eat?” Aunt Lydia asked me.
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat as I tried to fight the flush that crept up my face. I moved the food over to the counter and Jude pulled out a barstool for me. I gave him an appreciative smile as we sat.
“What, no steak?” Jude winked at me.
“Be thankful it’s not blackened,” I told him. “And I can’t guarantee it’s not still raw inside.”
“Well, it smells good,” Aunt Lydia said, breathing deeply. “You certainly don’t have my bad luck in the kitchen. You must take after your mom.”
I picked up the carving knife and sliced into the chicken. It released steam into the air and juices ran down the meat. “Oh, Mom hasn’t cooked in years,” I said. “Not since we moved to the new house.” I cast a glance at Jude. I hadn’t told him about my family’s financial situation and there was no way I’d tell him now, not after seeing his home.
“Yes, well,” Aunt Lydia said as she accepted the chicken I offered her, “your mother always did love to order people around.” She gave me a playful grin.
I laughed in spite of myself.
“She really does take after her mother then,” Jude added.
I waved a fork at him. “Watch it, or else you won’t get anything to eat.”
He held his empty plate toward me. “I’m sorry. Feed me, please. I’m wasting away.”
After we had all loaded our plates with food, silence fell as we started eating. A cold sweat prickled along my back. Was the whole night going to be like this? I glanced at the clock on the stove, watching as the time seemed frozen on that agonizing minute.
“So, Jude,” Aunt Lydia said, wiping her mouth with her napkin, “does your tattoo mean anything?” Her gaze fell on the black lines peeking out from the edge of his sleeve.
Jude pushed his sleeve up to show the black lines that twisted around his arm. “My brother’s initials are hidden in it.” He traced a finger along the tattoo, pointing out the L and the W that I hadn’t noticed before.
“What? Let me see!” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling up his sleeve. His skin was warm and surprisingly smooth. I traced my fingers over the mark before he gently pulled away.
Aunt Lydia smiled. “That’s beautiful. My tattoo isn’t that nice. Just a wishbone.”
My eyes almost popped out of my head. “You have a tattoo? Why haven’t I ever seen it?”
“It’s not exactly in a place that I’m in the habit of showing to people,” Aunt Lydia told me. She waved a hand. “I got it a long time ago, when I was much younger. A silly night out with your mom, back before she married your dad. We’d probably had a little too much to drink and so we thought getting tattoos was a good idea.”
Now my head really felt like it would explode at any minute. “My mother has a tattoo?” I shrieked.
“She did at one time,” Aunt Lydia said. “We got matching ones. She’s probably had it removed by now, I’d guess. It was a silly thing we did one night on her birthday.” She raised her eyebrows. “Not that I’m giving you any ideas, with your birthday tomorrow. Your mom would kill me if you came back tattooed.”
I sat back in my seat, stunned into silence. All that talk Mom had done over the years about how disgusting it was that people mutilated their bodies with tattoos, and this whole time, she’d had one? What other lies had my mom told me to keep up her image of perfection?
“Do you have any plans for the fall?” Aunt Lydia asked Jude, changing the subject. “Applying to any colleges?”
My head was still fuzzy with the idea of my mom with a tattoo, but I could have thrown my mashed potatoes at Aunt Lydia. What was this, torment Hannah night by asking every off-limits question she could think of?
“Well,” Jude said slowly, “I have been doing some thinking lately about what I want to do with my life.”
My eyebrows shot up my head. “You have?”
“There was something I always wanted to do, but haven’t yet,” Jude said. He looked at me with a look of certainty in his eyes. “I’m thinking about joining the army.”
I remembered him mentioning the army briefly after our awkward dinner with Ashton and her friends. But it had been such a quick mention and it had seemed like a closed case. He hadn’t joined the army, he had stayed in Asheville. Safe at home.
“That’s a big commitment,” Aunt Lydia said, “joining the army.”
Jude nodded. “I know. But it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
I opened my mouth. I wanted to say, “But you might die like your brother.” But I couldn’t even say the words. I had no right to say them. Jude and I weren’t involved; I had already established those boundaries with him. What he did with his future wasn’t up to me.
Jude’s gaze met mine again and we stared silently at each other. I saw sadness in his eyes, but I also saw hope and excitement.
“Have you talked to a recruiter yet?” Aunt Lydia asked.
Jude shook his head. “Not since Liam . . . Not since he left.”
Aunt Lydia smiled. “It’s good to have plans for your future. You should go talk to someone and decide if it’s what you really want to do. I think you’d make a great soldier.”
Jude’s cheeks turned red and he looked down at his plate. “Thank you, ma’am. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’d like to be something I could be proud of.”
“Hannah’s dad almost joined the military,” Aunt Lydia said.
I didn’t know if my eyes could get any wider. How many more secrets would I learn that night? “He did?” I asked. “What happened?”
“Your mom was afraid he’d be sent to a dangerous place,” Aunt Lydia said. “Believe it or not, at one
time she loved him too much to let him go.” She sighed as she scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes. “That’s why it surprised me when she went off to Paris and left him in Willowbrook.”
My gaze darted toward Jude, who was looking at Aunt Lydia with a confused expression. I barked out a short, high-pitched laugh. “Well, she couldn’t exactly take him with her, you know.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s so hard to get along with now,” Jude said. “Maybe she’s still hurting from losing him. I know what that’s like. Ever since my brother died, each day has been tough to get through.”
I was too afraid that Jude was about to figure out that my dad hadn’t died to realize how brave he was acting. I was too preoccupied with looking at Aunt Lydia for a reaction, and she was staring at Jude with a confused expression. My heart pounded against my ribs—this was it, I thought, the moment Jude was going to find out that I was a huge liar. But her gaze shifted to me as she chewed her food, her lips pressed tightly together.
#
“Thanks for dinner,” Jude said.
I wrapped my arms around myself and smiled up at him. It wasn’t cold on the front porch, but I suddenly felt like I didn’t know what to do with my hands as we stood there. Aunt Lydia was inside, washing the dishes, which Jude had offered to do and she had refused to allow. So we were on the porch instead, saying good night.
“You’re welcome. I hope it wasn’t too bad.”
“No, it was good. You’re a better cook than you think. And you made me mashed potatoes, which is always the best way to win me over.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But actually, I meant my aunt.”
Aunt Lydia had done well that night. She hadn’t pestered Jude with a million questions and she hadn’t even mentioned the fight he’d had with Carter. I was sure Ashton had already told her all of the details. She also, thankfully, hadn’t said anything about Jude implying that my dad was dead.
“Your aunt was fine, too,” Jude said, laughing.
“I think she thinks we’re dating,” I whispered.
He leaned down toward me until we were eye to eye. Twilight was falling around us and crickets chirped from the grass and trees. One by one, pinpricks of stars appeared in the night sky.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter what other people think,” he whispered back.
I loved how easy he made that sound. As if other people’s opinions really didn’t matter. Reality was what we made it and our reality was that we were friends. We hadn’t let a moment of weakness ruin us. I liked that. I liked these little moments between just the two of us.
“I wish I really could shut out the rest of the world,” I said, sighing.
Jude pushed my hair behind my ear and gave me a half-smile. “Liam always told me that the only way other people mattered was if I let them matter. Don’t let it bother you and it won’t.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I said. “You don’t have to live with my mother.”
I walked across the porch and leaned against the rail, picking at a piece of cracked paint that had started to peel. Jude leaned against the rail at my side, his arms braced against the wood.
“I wish I had the courage to not be the person everyone expects me to be,” I said quietly. “It’s what this summer was all about, figuring out who I am underneath the Hannahs I created for everyone else. It is nice to not be so stressed out all the time, but I know that as soon as I get back to Willowbrook, nothing will have changed. My mom will turn me into the same Hannah Cohen once again. In a year, I’ll head off to Yale and then I’ll be some big shot lawyer at some big shot firm in some big city where I barely know anyone. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Do you even want to be a lawyer?” Jude asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. My dad always said that was what I wanted to be when I was a kid, but I don’t even remember that. I think I’d heard about the job somewhere and decided it sounded nice, even though I had no idea what it really was. I mean, I used to say I wanted to be a My Little Pony when I grew up and yet no one’s making me gallop around with a pink tail.”
“I hear the interview process for My Little Pony is pretty tough,” Jude commented.
“My point is,” I said, shooting him a scowl, “why do I have to be forced into this one idea based on something I may or may not have said when I was six? What kid knows what they really want to be when they grow up? How is it fair to put me into this little box labeled ‘lawyer’ and force me to do everything focused solely on achieving a dream I’m not sure I even want?”
“It’s not,” Jude said. “So, Rule #1. Don’t complicate things. Be honest.” I cringed slightly at the word “honest,” but Jude pressed on.
“What would you be if you could be anything in the world?”
I peeled off a piece of the old paint. “I don’t know.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I cringed. “Isn’t that sad?”
“Nah,” Jude said. “You just need time to explore the world and the opportunities out there. You’ll figure it out.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So the army. Is that for real?”
Jude’s mouth pressed into a straight line. “Sometimes. Liam and I made so many plans together that it’s hard to tell which dreams were his and which were really mine. But joining the military was always my idea. I wanted to travel the world, help people, keep everyone safe.”
“So why didn’t you join?” I asked.
“Liam was older, and so he joined first,” Jude said. “I don’t know that he really wanted to, not like I did. But he said at least he’d get his college education paid for if he enlisted. So the plan was I’d enlist when he came back home to visit. We knew the odds of us ever being stationed in the same place were low, but we always did everything together. So Liam was going to go with me to cheer me on as I signed up. But then . . .” He rubbed at his chin. “Then just before he was scheduled to come home on leave, Liam died. Roadside bomb. Only one person in the truck survived.”
I imagined Jude out there, somewhere halfway across the world, riding along in that truck with his brother. I imagined him not being there with me that night. My throat tightened at the idea of it being Jude who was killed by that bomb and not his brother. I didn’t know Liam, so it was easier for me to live with his ghost than to think about the guy standing next to me no longer being there.
Jude straightened, taking a deep breath. “Anyway, like everything else in my life, the army got put on hold. I still want to join sometimes, but other times I’m terrified. Sometimes I feel like it’s my fault he died, since it was my idea.” He looked down at the ground. “My mom blames me for his death.”
“It’s not your fault,” I told him. “He decided to join on his own.”
Jude nodded. “I know. But now I don’t know what I’m really supposed to do anymore.”
“Join the club,” I told him.
He tilted his head. “You could do it, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Not be the person your parents want you to be,” Jude said. “Don’t go to Yale. Don’t be a lawyer.”
I snorted. “Yes, and then my mother will disown me.”
“Don’t you trust that if she really loves you, she’ll support whatever you want to do?”
I had never thought of it in those terms, but now the question hung in my mind as I considered it. “No,” I said. “She loves the person she wants me to be. I’m not sure that she really loves me as I am.”
My chin quivered just the tiniest bit. If I didn’t pull myself back together, I would crumble right there.
Maybe Jude knew. Without saying anything, he reached for me and pulled me into his arms, pressing my face against his shoulder. I breathed deep, inhaling the scent of him and closing my eyes at the comfort that spread through me.
“I love you as you are,” he whispered in my ear. “I want to make sure you know at least one person does.”
I lifted my head. His face h
overed only the slightest space away from mine. I love you as you are, his voice echoed in my head. I love you . . .
No one besides my family had ever said those words to me. I opened my mouth, my body trembling just a little—
“Hannah?”
I jumped at the sound of Aunt Lydia’s voice.
“Yes?” I called back as I stepped away from Jude. I couldn’t keep doing this, letting myself lose control around him. I smoothed my hands over my skirt, as if smoothing that image of perfection back into place.
“Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off,” Aunt Lydia called through the closed door. “Good night, Jude.”
I could take a hint. I glanced at Jude and then quickly away. “I should go back inside for the debriefing,” I joked.
“Don’t talk about me too much,” Jude said.
“Only good things,” I promised as he bounded down the steps.
“Happy night before your birthday,” he said, shooting me a wide grin.
I stood there until he climbed into his truck. He started the ignition, waving to me as he backed out of the driveway. I watched until he disappeared over the hill.
#
Aunt Lydia was silent as I closed and locked the door behind me. She sat on the arm of the couch, watching as I moved across the room. Finally, I crossed my arms and sighed.
“Say it,” I said.
Aunt Lydia tilted her head to the side, then she said, “Why does Jude think that your dad is dead?”
I twisted my fingers together. “I didn’t tell him that. He just . . . assumed and I let him go on thinking that. I didn’t really lie, just omitted some things.”
But Aunt Lydia wasn’t buying it. She raised her eyebrows, her arms crossed over her lacy white blouse. “You need to tell him the truth. If you like and respect him, you need to be honest with him.”
“It’s not easy to tell people that your dad is addicted to prescription pills and is now in rehab,” I pointed out.
Her face softened. “I know, honey, but it will be more complicated the longer you wait. Be honest with him. He seems like he really likes you, so you owe him the truth.”