by Jill MacLean
A sales guy dashes around the corner in his red shirt with the yellow logo. “Are you all right, sir?”
“She tripped me!”
I straighten two more cans. “It was an accident. I wasn’t watching where I was going…I’m real sorry.”
“I’m not paying for the damage,” Doyle says. “She is.”
I look up at the sales guy. “I came around the corner and we collided. It all happened so fast that—”
Doyle interrupts. “You tripped me with your sneaker.”
The sales guy, who’s only young, says, “As long as no one’s hurt, sir.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement—Hud at the far end of the aisle. I look away because I don’t want Doyle seeing him. A fair crowd’s gathering. Then, to my considerable relief, I hear Seal’s voice. “What’s going on here? Sigrid, are you okay?”
“Stupid little—” Doyle stops dead, probably deciding that swearing at me isn’t the best way to go. “She did it on purpose. Banged into me and wrecked all this stuff.”
“I didn’t,” I wail. “It was an accident.”
“Calm down, Sigrid,” Seal says, and looks at the sales guy. “Will the store make good the damage?”
“Yes sir, we’re insured against accidental damage of goods in-store.”
“In that case, Doyle,” Seal says, his voice like cracked ice, “there’s no problem. You replace what’s broken and head on your way. And leave my stepdaughter alone.”
He puts an arm around my shoulders. There’s a low murmur of approval from the crowd. Hud has disappeared.
Doyle gives me a look that would blister skin. Nothing cold about his anger. Still, give me Doyle Quinn over Mr. Cody any day of the week, which is a weird thought to have when I could have ended up splat on the concrete floor.
Seal leads me away. When we’re out of earshot of everyone else, he says, “Okay, what was that all about?”
“It really was an accident—I was late getting here, so I was rushing along looking for you and collided with him and his stupid tiles. I never would have done it on purpose, Seal, not to Doyle Quinn. He beats on his son. For no reason. In school, you often see Hud with bruises.”
Seal frowns at me. “I’ve lived here for years and I’ve never seen him hit Hud. If he did, though—”
“If? You think I’m making this up?”
“Domestic violence is a matter for the cops. And you’d need witnesses.”
“You remember the morning you helped Doyle with his flat? He beat Hud up for that, and it wasn’t Hud’s fault.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Seal says. “And you tell me if you see Doyle do anything to Hud, okay?”
“You saw how angry Doyle was,” I say in a small voice. “Likely Hud’s in trouble already.”
“I’ll ask around, see what I can find out. But there’s no point fretting about it, Sigrid.” He tousles my hair. “I still have to go to the bank. What about you?”
“I might look for a pair of shorts.”
“How about I meet you by the mall entrance in half an hour?”
I push through the mall doors and walk past the teachers’ supply store and Darlene’s. How can I concentrate on shorts when I feel sick to my stomach?
Which suddenly lurches. Hud has Travis backed into a corner beside the video store.
It’d look innocent to someone who doesn’t know Hud. I pick up my pace.
Hud’s got Travis in a wristlock. While Travis has grown the last couple months, he’s still a lot shorter than Hud. But he’s not cringing like Vi or Selena. Travis has attitude.
I say casually, “Hi, guys. Hud, you gotta minute?”
Travis kicks Hud hard on the ankle. As Hud drops Travis’s wrist, Travis whips past both of us. Hud takes a step after him, stops, and glares at me. “Get lost!”
“When are you going to quit being a bully? You’re worth more than that.”
“You’re like a reformed smoker—now that you’ve quit, the whole world has to quit.”
“I hate seeing your mean side.”
“Deal with it,” he says. “It’s all there is.”
I put my hands on my hips. “That’s such crap.”
“You’re living in la-la land. I like bullying.”
The words come from deep inside. “Once you let your mean side off the leash, it runs you.”
He jams his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. His t-shirt is rumpled, like he left it in the dryer still damp. “You should know. You tripped my dad.”
“It was an accident, Hud! I was in a hurry and I didn’t see him until it was too late.”
“Making a fool of him like that—he’ll be seriously pissed.”
I grab at hope like a drowning man grabbing a stick of kindling. “You didn’t collide with him. Why would he take it out on you?”
“Were you born dumb? Or do you work at it every day?”
I’m shivering, and it’s nothing to do with the air-conditioning in the mall. “The minute those paint cans started rolling across the floor, I knew you were in trouble.”
“No fun leaving la-la land, is it, Sigrid?”
“I’m sorry I banged into him…I don’t understand how he can beat you up when you haven’t done one thing to provoke him.”
“Me living in the same house provokes him.”
“Maybe you were adopted,” I say wildly. “Maybe your mother got pregnant by somebody else and that’s why he hates you.”
“Grow up! I got his eyes and his build and his dark hair. And you think my mother would dare step out of line?”
“I’m the one who put nails in your driveway so his tire would go flat.”
I sure hadn’t planned on saying that.
Hud looks blank, as though I’ve just confessed to first-degree murder. The silence—except for the mall’s sappy music—is more than I can take. “I did it the day I saw him hit you, his fist cracking into your face and you taking it as though it wasn’t anything to get excited about. I sneaked out of the house once everyone was in bed. Used some of Seal’s roofing nails.” I bite my lip. “I didn’t understand that he’d—I’m so sorry, Hud.”
I never realized what a wishy-washy word sorry is.
Slowly Hud’s eyes re-enter real time. “He thrashed me for that,” he says with as much feeling as if he was talking about the weather. “Stay outta my life, Sigrid. You do more damage than a truckload of paint cans.”
“No,” I say.
Doyle flashes across his face, that red-hot rage. “I’m warning you—back off.”
My heart racketing away, I say, “You’re my friend, and friends stick together.”
Astounded, he says, “You coming onto me? You’re too young.”
Cheeks on fire, I cry, “You’re the only person in school who’ll talk to me—doesn’t that make you a friend?”
“How would I know?”
“Well, I figure it does.”
“You know what?” he says. “You remind me of Travis. He comes out with the weirdest stuff, too, and he never knows when to back off.”
I guess this is a compliment. Should I say thank you? But before I can say anything, Hud’s face changes.
“Dad’s coming,” he says, fear cracking his voice. “If he sees you and me—git!”
Praying that Doyle hasn’t seen us, praying that Hud will be okay, I scurry into the video store. DVDs and war games. Guns and blood. No matter what I do, things go to the bad.
I edge past a rack of body-builder videos, then peer out the door. Hud and his dad are leaving the mall, Hud three steps behind, his skinny shoulders hunched.
Not a thing I can do.
I don’t have the heart to buy shorts, so I sit on a bench by the mall entrance and wait for Seal. A few minutes later, he walks up to me, smiling, holding out a plastic bag. “Look what I found in the Dollar Store.”
It’s a red china soap dish, nicer than the one Tate smashed. My eyes fill with tears. “Seal, I don’t want you to move out.”
“I phoned my real dad...he got married this week. Didn’t bother to invite me or Lorne.” I stare at a dried-up wad of bubblegum stuck to the floor. “His new wife wasn’t real friendly to me on the phone.”
“Oh…guess you won’t want to be moving out there, then.” Lines crease Seal’s forehead, deep lines. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something.”
“I love the dish,” I quaver. “Thank you.”
“Let’s eat at Subway,” he says.
“Okay.” I get up and give him a quick hug, knowing how lucky I am.
I can’t bear to think what’s happening to Hud right now.
Twenty-Three
to weep
Seal drives to work after he drops me off at home. Lorne’s at the garage all day. After I clean the bathroom, I carefully put a new bar of soap in the soap dish. Then I stare at my face, my ordinary face, in the mirror.
How will I find out what’s happened to Hud?
I prop myself on the couch for a while and try to read; I wash the kitchen floor; I make a broccoli-and-cheese casserole that I can reheat with leftover fish cakes when Seal comes home for supper. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. I wheel my bike out of the garage and pedal down the road. I don’t even bother to watch for Tate.
Doyle’s truck isn’t outside Hud’s place. I knock on their screen door. Footsteps shuffle down the hall. Through the wire mesh, Hud’s mother says, “Yes?”
She’s wearing a pale blue blouse and navy slacks, both newly ironed. Her hair is clean. But her face—whoever lives behind it went away a long time ago, with no plans to return.
“Hi, Mrs. Quinn,” I say, “is Hud home?”
“He’s gone on his bike.”
“Which way?”
She points in the general direction of Ratchet.
I smile at her. “Thank you,” I say, and take off in the same direction.
In Ratchet, I slow down, my knuckles white on the handlebars as I search for Hud.
The third mailbox past Prinny’s place jumps out at me. Decorated with birds and yellow daisies, it has DAVINA MURPHY printed on the flap. A small blue car is parked by the porch of her bungalow, which is painted green with white trim. The garden is full of flowers in drifts of pink, white, and purple. Lilac plumes scent the air.
Like I’m in a dream, I walk up the driveway. The door is purple, too, with a wooden sign fixed to it, morning glories curling around letters that spell WELCOME.
I raise my knuckles to knock. Then I lower them.
What if she doesn’t want me here?
I’m the reason her and Seal can’t move in together.
I turn on my heel, run back to my bike, and take off down the road.
When I reach Abe’s barn, I lean my bicycle against the fence and walk up the path. He’s not around, and neither are Prinny or Travis. With a sigh of relief, I sit on my bale of hay and lean back. I need some down-time before I find Hud. I’ve just seen a house that’s a home, a real home, a home that’ll never be mine.
Ghost is perched on the crossbeam. We pretend we’re ignoring each other.
For a while, my thoughts chase each other in circles. But as the pig grunts, the hens cluck, and little specks of dust wander through the air, I start to feel better.
Ghost jumps down the hay bales, keeping as far from me as he can, and shoves his nose in his dish. “Hi there,” I say softly. His tail jerks. “You gonna be my friend? There’s not exactly a line-up for the job.”
He stops eating and looks over his shoulder at me, big yellow eyes with dark centers. “We’ve got all summer,” I say. “No rush.”
He chows down again. Then, like it’s becoming part of our routine, he walks outside through the gap in the wall.
A few minutes later, I follow him outside. I can’t put off finding Hud any longer.
I head further east, toward Gulley Cove, and there he is on his rock, staring out to sea.
He knows that I know it’s his favorite place. So is he waiting for me? Or is he here because where else can he go to lean into the horizon?
I’ve been barging into people’s lives right and left and where’s it got me? I’m going to leave him alone for once. I needed alone-time in the barn. Why wouldn’t he need the same?
Or am I being a coward?
So fast it startles me, three ravens swoop from below the cliffs and fly right at me. My bike scrapes the dirt. The ravens veer over my head.
Hud looks over his shoulder.
Stupid to leave now. Dumb, to use his word. Gripping the handlebars, I walk closer.
He stands up. There’s a nasty bruise on his cheekbone that wasn’t there at the mall. It’s purple, like Davina’s door.
Without any warning, tears start pouring down my cheeks. An ugly, snorting sob bursts out of me. I’m so horrified, so mortified, I try to turn my bike around. But I stumble over a rut because I can’t see where I’m going, cliffs, road, and Hud all blurred together.
He says, “What are you crying for?”
My bike clanks to the ground. I sit down hard in the dirt, head on my knees, rocking back and forth as sobs clog my throat, sore and raspy. Behind my eyes, everything’s blacker than black.
An arm lands on my shoulder. Rough, like he’s gonna push me into the dirt. I flinch. But then his other arm goes around me. Edgy, as if I might break. He says, sounding desperate, “Don’t cry—I’m not worth crying for.”
I burrow into him, my forehead bumping his collarbone, and the sobs keep coming. “All I d-do…is m-make everything…worse. I’m s-sorry.”
“It’s okay. If it hadn’t been you, he’d have found another reason to hit me.”
“But that’s t-terrible.”
I’m sniffing and snuffling by now, in desperate need of a Kleenex. Hud doesn’t strike me as the type to carry Kleenex.
I don’t want him to let go.
Loud and sharp, a girl’s voice says, “What’s going on? Hud, what are you doing to her?”
Hud jerks. I look up. Prinny’s standing there, outlined by the sun like an avenging angel. Laice is behind her. They’re both straddling their bikes.
“Nothing!” Hud says.
“Why’s she crying?”
“Dunno,” he says.
“Because,” I say.
He gets to his feet and holds out his hand. I take it and pull myself up, and because I like the feel of his hand, I hold on. Prinny’s looking from him to me and back again.
She came to my defense. It wasn’t needed, but it’s gotta count.
Laice is looking at me as though I’ve got snot on my face. Which I have. I snuffle some more. Prinny digs in her pocket and passes me a small wad of tissues.
“Thanks,” I say, letting go of Hud’s hand and blowing my nose.
Then I say, my eyes on Prinny, my voice still hitching, “Hud’s my buddy. I was crying because I keep screwing up other people’s lives—his in particular. As if I’m still a Shrike, still part of Tate and Mel. I can’t quit! No matter how hard I try.”
Once you let your mean side off the leash, it runs you.
Prinny says, “You stopped Tate and Mel from stealing Selena’s money outside the cafeteria.”
She says it like she’s reciting the words off a piece of paper the teacher handed her in class.
Just as stiff, I say, “Thank you for speaking up just now, when you thought Hud was bullying me. That was nice of you.”
She nods. Then she and Laice climb on their bikes and take off to Gulley Cove.
I say, scuffing my toe in the dirt, “Well, she’s sure sitting on the fence. Hud, I swear I’ll never go within five miles of your dad again and you are worth crying for.”
He starts scuffing with his toe, too. The pair of us, digging holes in the road. “It’s only a bruise,” he says.
“When it comes to bruises, there isn’t any only.”
/>
“You arguing again?” But he says it with the beginnings of a smile.
How can he smile? I blink back another rush of tears. “What your dad does, it’s awful and it’s wrong—”
And then I’m stumbling through all the other reasons I couldn’t stop crying—my dad who left home and never came back, my stepdad who wants to live with Davina Murphy, Mel whose dad misses his dead wife, Tate whose dad prays over her like he wants God to send her straight to Hell…
My breath is still catching in my throat. “Is this rock the place you come when it’s all too much and you don’t know what to do?”
“Yeah,” Hud says, scuffing away.
“I go to Abe’s barn. I’m trying to tame the white cat that lives there. His name is Ghost.”
Hud’s body jolts, like I just ploughed him with my fist. The bruise stands out livid on his cheek. “What white cat?”
“It used to live in Gulley Cove.”
“Why are you shoving that cat in my face?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Last fall—it was in a cage and I was gonna drown it, cage and all.”
My turn to go pale. “I didn’t know that.”
He gives me his blank stare. In a horrible way it reminds me of Tate’s empty smile. He snarls, “You sure get under my skin.”
Ticks get under people’s skin. And leeches.
“I dunno anything about you and the white cat,” I say, “although if you were trying to drown him, no wonder he’s a mess of nerves.”
“So no one ever said?”
I frown at him. “Tate collects dirt the length of the shore and she’s never mentioned it.”
“How weird is that,” Hud says slowly, staring over my shoulder at the sea.
I don’t have a clue what he means and there’s no point asking. “You know what? You gotta stop all this bullying. Picking on helpless cats, punching guys like Travis.”
“The perfect Travis Keating.”
“Travis isn’t perfect, he’s just decent!”
Hud takes two steps back, as if breathing the same air as me will contaminate him. Then he strides over to his rock, yanks his bike out of the grass, and pedals down the road to Ratchet as though every guy he’s ever bullied is on his tail.