by Margo Kelly
“I only have bruises.”
“No, I mean—”
“What?”
“Chelsea told me you punched her in broadcasting—”
“She stole my anchor chair.”
“She said Mr. Arnold asked her to fill in—”
“Don’t believe Chelsea’s lies.”
“Are you saying you didn’t punch her?”
“I swung at her, but I never actually touched her.” I suddenly realized how petty I sounded when Lily was stuck in the hospital. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be ranting about Chelsea when I called to find out how you’re doing. Are you in pain? What do the doctors say?”
“Yeah, I’m in pain. The doctors say I’ll be here a while. Something about internal damage and a traumatic head injury. They shaved off my hair.”
“It’ll grow back,” I said.
“I wish Jordan could come back as easily,” Lily sobbed into the phone.
I cried along with her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. A grief counselor is supposed to visit me sometime today. My mom’s worried that I’m depressed. What else would I be? I just woke up and found out that my boyfriend is dead!”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know, Hannah,” Lily said. “I should go, but can you visit soon?”
“Absolutely.” We hung up. I rested my head on the arm of the couch, and at some point, I fell asleep.
• • •
My phone chimed with a new message from Manny: I’m home. Want to come over?
I texted him back: I’ll be right there.
I darted upstairs to change, but halted when I touched my bedroom door. What would I find inside? I pressed my forehead against the closed door. Everything had been perfect before the accident. I wanted a chance for my life to go back to normal, but if I was spending the afternoon at Manny’s, I had to get out of my pajamas first. I flung the door open. The room was still a mess.
Nothing had changed.
I yanked on a T-shirt and shorts and then shoved my feet into some flip-flops. I snatched my purse from the floor and ran outside, but before I hit the driveway, I hesitated. Did I lock the doors? I walked back and made sure the front door was locked.
But what about the back door? And my bedroom window?
I pulled my keys from my purse and let myself inside. I latched the back door and double-checked the windows, upstairs and down. Then I grabbed the broom from the hall closet and lugged it out to the front yard.
The bright sun pounded down on me, but beneath the shade of the old tree I planted my feet, and with great satisfaction I fished my clothes from its branches. I threw them into the trash bin and propped the broom next to it.
Anticipation filled every ounce of me as I walked to Manny’s house. He was my anchor, my remaining piece of normal. I rang the doorbell and thumped my fingers against my bare legs. He swung the door open, looked me up and down, and smiled. He still wore his suit from the funeral. Black slacks, black jacket, crisp white shirt, and skinny black tie. His hair was smoothed back, and his face was cleanly shaven.
I wanted the pleasure of touching him, but I waited for him to invite me inside. He backed up and motioned me in, but Zeus growled and bared his teeth.
“Zeus, stop it! It’s Hannah!” Manny shooed him down the hall. “Apparently he’s a guard dog today, but I can’t imagine why he thinks I need protection from you.”
I remained on the porch.
“What are you waiting for? Come in!” He snatched my hand, and the hairs on my arms stood when I crossed the threshold of his home.
“Is your mom here?” I asked.
“Nope.” He led me back to the family room. Sunlight streamed in through the sliding glass doors, and muddy paw prints streaked the lower half of the glass. Before we reached the couch, I lifted Manny’s hand and drew my thumb across his smooth knuckles.
“Are you still sore today?” I asked.
“Yeah.” His wristwatch ticked, and the seconds passed.
I slid my hands around his waist. His muscles tightened. “Does this hurt?” I asked.
“No,” he whispered.
I drew him closer until our hips touched. “Does this?”
He shook his head.
I lifted up on my toes and kissed his lips. “This?” I ran the tip of my nose along his jaw and breathed in the lingering fragrance of shaving cream.
He raised one hand to my waist and the other to my cheek. He leaned in for another kiss and tugged me closer to him. He kissed me greedily. I craved him just as badly. Our mouths stayed locked on each other, and we staggered over to the couch. Manny pulled back. We both breathed hard.
I slid his jacket off his shoulders, and he grimaced.
“My ribs hurt when I move a certain—”
“So sit still,” I said.
His eyebrows rose, but he lowered to the couch. I propped a throw pillow behind him and I knelt at his feet. I loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and tugged it out from his pants. The sight of his skin made me tremble. Last week I would never have been this brash, but today I needed to be touched, to be loved, to feel wanted. I opened his shirt wider and explored the lines of his muscles with my fingers. I traced the hair that ran from his belly to his belt buckle. I slipped off his shirt and freed his arms. I gently caressed his tan chest. He raised my chin and pressed his full lips to mine. Warmth flowed through me.
He leaned back and stretched out on the couch. I straddled his lap and balanced my weight to avoid touching his ribs. I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his. Manny’s hands slipped under my shirt.
The front door clicked. Opened. Closed.
I pressed against his hips and kissed his nose, his cheek, his lips. Manny muttered incoherently and pushed my shoulders.
“Hannah!” Mrs. Santos said.
I jerked up and twisted to face her.
Her eyes narrowed, and her cheeks reddened.
I cleared my throat and climbed off Manny. “I have to use the bathroom.” I sounded lame, but I grabbed my purse and ran down the hall to the guest bathroom.
My mouth dropped open when I assessed myself in the mirror. I wore my missing baby blue T-shirt from the other night. Dirt and grass stains covered it. Panic welled. I tried to take a breath, but I stifled a scream instead. I ran my hands along my shorts. At least they were clean, but I had on two different flip-flops: a bright pink one and a brown suede one. I scrutinized my reflection. Yesterday’s mascara was smeared beneath my eyes, my hair knotted and disheveled. I was mortified. Why didn’t Manny flinch when he first saw me? Mrs. Santos probably assumed I was a mess because Manny and I had been fooling around. But we had only gotten started. I ran my fingers through the mop of hair on my head, but that made it worse. I rifled through my purse and found a ponytail holder. I fixed my hair the best I could as fast as I could. I spit on the hem of my shirt and used it to wipe under my eyes.
“Hannah?” Manny called from the back of the house. I dreaded facing his mom, but I returned to the family room where they waited. Manny had put his shirt back on and tucked it into his slacks. His wavy chestnut hair fell across his forehead.
Mrs. Santos pursed her lips when I made brief eye contact with her, and that was a knife through my heart.
“Hannah,” she said and clacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I have loved you like a daughter, but you are no longer allowed to be in the house with Manny alone. I know you care for each other, and you both have gone through a traumatic experience. It’s normal to want to be together. But you’re young. And if you got pregnant—”
I gazed at Manny, and his eyes widened with shock. I did not want to have this conversation with Mrs. Santos.
“Mom!” he said.
Mrs. Santos held up a finger. “Let me finish.” She turned and glared at me. “If you got pregnant, Hannah, your plans for Princeton would be over. You would have to change your priorities to take care of a baby, and remember, Manny has goals, too.�
�� She took a deep breath and wrung her hands together. “Hannah, what happened, or almost happened, here is unacceptable in my house. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
Mrs. Santos left the room without another word.
Manny and I stared at each other for a few seconds without moving.
“I’m going home,” I said.
“That’s probably a good idea.” He held his side, took several gasps, and moved to the kitchen. He swiped the prescription bottle from the counter and twisted off the lid.
“I’m so sorry,” I said and got him a glass of water. “I don’t know what got into me. You’re injured. I should never have—”
He put his soft fingers on my lips. “It wasn’t just you.” My heart beat faster. He traced a line from my lips to my jaw, and then to my neck. His gaze fixed on my lips.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I’ve loved you longer.” His eyes darted toward the hallway before he leaned in and kissed me. He lingered there for a moment, and his breath on my skin made me believe we’d be okay. He drew back, took the glass of water from me, and downed a couple of pain pills.
“Why didn’t you tell me I looked so awful when you first saw me?” I asked.
He swallowed more water before setting the glass on the counter. He took my hand in his and said, “You never look awful to me.”
“Liar,” I said. “You must’ve noticed.”
“I noticed you’re using a different perfume,” he said.
I lifted the collar of my T-shirt to my nose. It smelled musty and a bit like sage.
He leaned in and kissed me again. I wanted to stay, but I doubted my ability to keep my paws off him, and I dreaded hanging around under Mrs. Santos’s condemning eye.
“Will you walk me home?” I asked.
“I can’t.” He pointed to his ribs. “I hurt too bad to even think about walking.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, “but Hannah, something’s changed.”
“You mean, I’ve changed, and you hate change.”
“No, I mean we can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Hannah, we crossed a line today, and we can’t do it again. I can’t disappoint my mom like that.”
My chin quivered, and I turned away before he saw me cry. I dreaded going home by myself to an empty house with malicious surprises waiting inside, but it would be better than feigning restraint and status quo in front of Manny and his family.
Manny led me to the front door and opened it for me. “When do you see that doctor?”
“I’m not crazy,” I said.
Manny bit his lips together.
“Your mom believes I’ve seen spirits—”
“Hannah, I doubt spirits have the ability to do everything you’ve described.”
“You think I made it up?”
“You’re confused,” Manny said and reached for my hand, but I yanked it away. “Hopefully that doctor can sort things out.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I know. That’s what you keep saying. Hannah, I love you, but you need to get help so you can go back to your old normal self.”
“And what if I never go back to my old normal self? Will you still love me?” The uncertainty in his eyes made my stomach twist. “Forget it,” I said. I walked across the lawn and headed toward home.
“Of course I’ll love you,” Manny called out from behind me, but I didn’t believe him.
• • •
From a distance, I spotted Plug’s El Camino parked at the curb in front of my house. I jogged the remainder of the way home but found his car empty. I moved toward the house, and Plug came through the side gate.
“What are doing here?” I asked.
“Worried about you,” he said. “You haven’t answered your phone this afternoon.” He pushed his sleeves up past his elbows.
I dug my cell out of my purse. It was silenced. I toggled the volume back on and checked for messages. Plug had sent several, but I didn’t take the time to read them right then.
“Why were you in my backyard?” I asked.
“You said you were staying home, but you didn’t answer the door.” He lifted my hand and entwined his long, callused fingers with mine. My stomach tightened. I wanted to pull away, but my fingers had a mind of their own and intermingled with his.
“Weird stuff has happened,” Plug said, “and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I needed to let go of him. I loved Manny. A bead of sweat rolled down my back. I peeked up at Plug, and I had an overwhelming urge to kiss him. I desperately wanted to know if his thin lips would feel different from Manny’s fuller ones. I wanted the pleasure of toying with Plug’s lip ring. My heart rate increased, and I stepped closer to him.
But then Plug dropped my hand and walked away.
I snapped out of the trance I’d fallen into and shook my wrists. Why was I even considering the idea of kissing Plug? I rubbed my lips.
Plug moved to the driver’s side of his car.
“You’re leaving?” I asked.
“Just came by to make sure you were okay.” He opened his door, but before he got inside, he asked, “Want me to stay?”
Yes, I don’t want to go into the house by myself.
No, I don’t want to be tempted to kiss you.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. Please stay.
“We could go get something to eat,” he said, “but you should shower first. You’re kind of a mess.” He grinned and pointed at my shirt and shoes.
I plucked at one of the larger stains on my shirt and groaned. How could I have gone out in public like this?
“Come on,” I said. “I think we have your favorite in the fridge.”
“Cold pizza?” he asked.
I laughed and fished the keys out of my purse.
“Nice to see you have your own set,” Plug said.
My heart stopped. He knew where the spare house key was hidden. I stepped off into the flowerbed to retrieve it, but it was gone.
“Did you take the fake rock?” I asked.
“Why would I?”
“You said you came to check on me. Maybe you went inside.”
“I wouldn’t need a key.”
“It’s missing.” I rifled through one bush and then another. Plug stepped next to me and helped. I smashed a daisy in my frantic search for the fake rock. “Where is it?” I yelled.
“It’s gone,” Plug said.
“It has to be here!” Because I didn’t know what to think if it was gone. I kicked a geranium. I scoured the dirt with my fingers. Manny knew we kept it here. I yanked a tulip like a weed. Maybe it was underneath. Lily knew the key was here. I flung dirt against the house.
“Chelsea knew it was here,” I said.
Plug gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from the flower bed. We sank to the ground, and he embraced me.
“Things will get better,” he whispered.
I buried my face in his chest and cried. He held me and rocked side to side.
My sobs slowed, and I whispered, “I’m such an idiot.” I started to pull back, but he held on tighter.
“No. You’re not.” He rubbed my back, then loosened his hold.
I sat and rested my hand on his knee. Plug wiped my tears with his fingers, his skin rough against mine. He held my face and caressed my ears.
Heat lit from my head to my toes, and I imagined reaching up and stroking his short clipped hair. I imagined him lowering me back onto the soft bed of grass and kissing me. I wanted to tease his lip ring with the tip of my tongue, tug at the slick, hard metal. I ached for him to kiss me deeply—
“Hannah?” he said.
I gasped and glanced toward the blue sky. “I have a boyfriend,” I whispered. And I just betrayed him by fantasizing about Plug.
“Your boyfriend is not my concern.” Plug moved his fingers from my face to my hand.
I studied Plug, hoping to figure out
his intentions.
“You are my concern, Hannah,” he said. “I need to make sure you’re okay, as a friend or more than that. Whatever you want.” He let go of my hand and swept the loose hairs from my face. “I care about you.” His fingers lingered on my skin.
I yearned for someone to be on my side, to fight for me, to fight with me. I wanted to stop worrying about losing control and disappointing everyone around me. Plug had never criticized me or blamed me for the crazy things happening around me. He’d been kind and helpful. He’d been here for me when nobody else had.
Plug stood and extended his hand to help me up. I took it.
We ate pizza at the kitchen counter, straight out of the box, and I told him about the recent demonic chaos in my life.
“Did you set up your laptop to record?” Plug asked.
I pointed across the kitchen toward the adjoining family room.
“Why’s it down here instead of in your room?” He walked over and picked it up.
“I wanted to see if it recorded anything, but I was too scared to watch it alone.”
Plug pushed the pizza box out of the way and set the computer on the counter.
“We’ll do it together,” he said.
“Wait!” I set my hand on his before he opened the laptop. “What if none of it happened? What if it was all a delusion?”
“One way to find out.” He opened the computer. “Password?”
“Let’s go upstairs first and see if my room is the same. Maybe nothing really happened.” I wanted to ignore the idea of the videos, because if I found out for certain that evil spirits were messing with me or that I was crazy out of my mind, I’d fall completely apart.
I darted upstairs and threw the door open to my room. Still a disaster. I sank to the floor.
Plug stepped over to the desk and fingered Rose’s art book. He closed the cover and traced the edges. Then he picked up the tiger-eye stone from the desktop, which I hadn’t even noticed earlier. He immediately dropped it, as if it had burned him. He grabbed the half-empty glass of water from my nightstand. Then he used a piece of paper to scoop up the rock and let it plunk into the water.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“The stone needs to be cleansed and reprogrammed.”
“And the water will help with that?”