by Katrina Leno
“Susie,” Jane said, panting, out of breath and filled with an antsy adrenaline that coursed through her veins faster than blood.
“What the fuck?” Melanie said. She pulled herself halfway to her feet, wobbled, fell down again on her knees. “Are you a fucking psycho?” Her nose was bleeding. She touched it with the back of her hand and pulled away a long, thick line of blood. “Are you fucking insane?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t…” But Jane couldn’t finish her sentence, because I didn’t mean to couldn’t have been further from the truth. She had meant to. She still wanted to.
Susie hadn’t taken her hand off Jane’s arm. She tightened her grip and pulled her to the door.
“Jane, come on. Move it, before Mr. Barker gets here.”
“She’s fucking insane! She fucking attacked me!” Melanie screamed.
“Oh, and I’m sure you were just sitting here minding your own fucking business,” Susie snapped. “Go clean yourself up, Melanie, you look like you got the shit kicked out of you.”
Susie kept pulling Jane’s arm, and finally she managed to drag her out of the classroom. There was a bathroom right across the hall, and they burst into it just as the warning bell rang.
“What the hell was that about?” Susie said, letting go of Jane’s arm, moving between Jane and the door like she was afraid Jane would storm right back out and go find Melanie.
“I didn’t… I don’t know. She said… She said something about my family.… And I just snapped.…”
“Jesus,” Susie said. “Put some water on your face or something, you’re beet red.”
Jane went and looked in the mirror. Her face was red and splotchy, and she realized as she struggled to turn the tap on that her hands were shaking.
She backed away from the sink, backed up until her shoulder blades hit the stalls.
“I just got so mad,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I definitely picked up on that,” Susie said, and laughed a little—a short, anxious laugh that didn’t help to break the tension in the room. “You looked like you were going to kill her.”
“She’s going to tell Mr. Barker.… I’m going to get expelled.…”
“Melanie won’t tell anyone. She threw a rock through your window, remember? Now you both have shit on each other. She’s an asshole, but she’s smart enough to realize that.”
“I guess.”
Susie laughed. “You really just walloped her. Right in the nose. Boom.”
“Did you just say walloped?”
Susie laughed again, louder this time, and then Jane laughed, and finally they were both cracking up, doubled over and holding their stomachs.
Jane felt the anger leaving her, like a tiny tap had been opened in her body and it was all seeping out—the dark, hot rage turning into steam when it touched the air. When she went back to the sink, her hands had stopped shaking. She looked in the mirror, and the red was gone from her face.
“What did she say?” Susie asked, not really laughing anymore, coming to stand next to Jane.
“She said my family was dropping like flies.”
Susie took a sharp intake of breath. “That’s so fucked up. I’m sorry.” Susie paused and touched Jane’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“I think so. And thank you. For helping me. You could have just walked away.”
“Walked away, no. What I almost did was take out my cell phone and start filming. But I figured this was the better move.”
Susie winked, then held the bathroom door open for Jane to slip out.
Melanie wasn’t in Mr. Barker’s class when they got back, and Jane didn’t see her again for the rest of the day. She was oddly unsettled by that; she found herself peering around corners before she rounded them, constantly feeling like she was being watched.
Susie drove her to Beans & Books after school, and Jane’s stomach twisted uncomfortably when she saw that Will was there, loading coffee mugs into the dishwasher. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since Saturday morning, since he’d come into the house and found her absolutely losing it.
When he saw her, he greeted her cautiously, like he was worried she might spontaneously collapse.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah. I was out all weekend.”
“I wanted to text you, but I didn’t know if you’d want to be bothered,” he said. “I’m really sorry, Jane. That I just came in like that. I keep thinking about it and… It was totally inappropriate.”
“No, no, I’m glad you did.” Jane reassured him. “It’s really fine. Obviously, you hear screaming, and the door is unlocked, you’re going to come in.”
“I’m just sorry. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
She almost told him. What had happened between her and Melanie that afternoon. About Jemima Rose, her dead aunt. She almost told him everything, but he went back to loading the dishwasher and she decided she didn’t want to burden him, she didn’t want all that baggage sitting between them. She didn’t want to ruin anything.
She grabbed a rag and started cleaning the counters. Since her last shift, Will had done a bit of decorating for Halloween. Just a few things to keep it festive: some fake spiderwebs and decals on the window that made up an elaborate graveyard scene.
She couldn’t believe it was only three days away. And she had to admit—there was something different about Halloween on the East Coast, something the West Coast could never hope to achieve. The grayness of the sky, the crispness to the air, the evenings that grew so dark, so early.
“It looks great in here,” she said when Will finished loading the dishes.
“You think?”
“Yeah. Very creepy.”
“Speaking of creepy, I’m almost done with Mrs. McGinty’s Dead.”
“Really? What do you think so far?”
“It’s great. Better than The ABC Murders.”
“Do you know who did it yet?”
“No idea. Give me a hint.”
“No way!”
“A tiny hint.”
“Are you one of those people who reads the Wikipedia summary before you watch a movie?”
Will rolled his eyes. “Just a little hint, Jane. A little hint never hurt anyone.”
She paused, thinking, then said, “Okay, well… The reveal is really genius. It all hinges on this one piece of knowledge that everyone in the town knows except Hercule Poirot. And nobody’s told him because they all assume he knows, too. It’s called a secret de Polichinelle.”
“A secret de Polichinelle,” Will repeated. “I like that. And I know I said this before, but I keep being surprised by how funny it is. I never knew Agatha was this funny.”
Jane smiled. “Hey, now you’re on a first-name basis with her, too.”
Will laughed. “I guess I am. You’ve rubbed off on me, Jane.”
He reached out and touched the sleeve of her flannel shirt. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the door of the café opened and a customer walked in. Will let go of her shirt and smiled a bit sadly. It was nonstop the rest of the day, and whatever he’d been wanting to say, he never got a chance to actually say it.
On Thursday, Jane went to the local thrift store with Susie and Alana and found an old prom dress to wear for her Rapunzel costume. She bought blond hair extensions at a beauty shop in the next town over. She added purple ribbons to the bodice of the dress, then hand-washed it in the bathtub and hung it up to dry.
Melanie hadn’t come back to school after their altercation. Alana said she was taking more time off, that she’d rushed back to school because she thought she needed the distraction, but really she’d needed just the opposite. To not be distracted. To fully feel her grief.
And although Jane doubted she’d ever forgive Melanie for what she had said, still… she felt sorry for her.
The morning of Halloween arrived gray and chilly. Jane dressed in jeans and a f
lannel shirt, her standard uniform these days, and threw her hair up in a messy bun.
She paused in the hallway and looked at the closed door of Jemima’s childhood bedroom.
What happened to you? she wondered for the thousandth time since Monday night.
And she paused a moment—as if, what? As if Jemima might actually answer her?—then went downstairs to make herself some oatmeal.
The vibe at Bells Hollow High was chaotic and excited. The Halloween dance was the only dance that was open to every grade, and Susie said it was always packed. They were selling tickets at lunch, and Alana grabbed money from everyone and volunteered to stand in the long line.
“I’ll pick you up around eight,” Susie said as Alana made her way across the cafeteria.
“What?” Jane asked, not looking.
“Jane? Eight?”
“Sorry. Yeah. Melanie’s still not here. Do you think she’s going to be at the dance?”
“Oh. I don’t know. Alana hasn’t said anything.”
Jane nodded and rubbed at the back of her hand. There was the faintest shadow of a bruise still spanning two of her knuckles.
“Ouch,” Susie said, pointing. “Have you ever hit anyone before?”
Jane tried to keep her expression light. “No. Never.”
“Me neither,” Susie said. “What was it like?”
“It hurts,” Jane answered. “I don’t recommend it.”
Ruth wasn’t at North Manor when Jane got home from school, but Jane was used to that by now. The part-time job had quickly turned into a full-time job, one whose hours stretched longer and longer each day. It was almost as if Ruth was trying to spend as much time away from the house as possible—whether consciously or unconsciously. Jane couldn’t blame her. She took as many shifts at Beans & Books as she possibly could these days, saving every penny she earned for a trip back to California.
Alone in the house now, Jane made her way down the hallway that led to the mudroom and let herself outside.
It had been so cold lately that she hadn’t come into the backyard in a while. But the weather had turned warmer that week; it was chilly but almost nice. The air smelled like fallen leaves and something spicy. Like a distant bonfire, maybe.
And something else.
Yes—roses.
Always like roses.
Jane had gotten so used to the smell that it took her a moment to even pick it out. It was like how, if you lived by the sea, you eventually stopped smelling the salt.
Unless a particularly bad storm had disturbed the water enough.
And then you smelled it again.
Just like how, if the roses had suddenly taken over half the backyard…
You smelled them again.
And there they were.
Jane walked closer to them.
They had spread considerably since the last time Jane had been out there. They were at least twice, three times what they had been. The rose arbors were completely hidden from view as the plants tumbled over them and around them, spilling out across the yard, eating up anything in their way.
Jemima Rose.
Roses…
What was the connection?
Jane walked to the fountain, dry for so long now, and paused, resting her elbow on it, just looking at the vivid spots of reds and pinks and oranges that stood out against the grays and blues and dull greens of the rest of the yard.
And the spots of black.
Because so many of the roses were black now, a thick, unyielding black.
There had been several frosts in the past few weeks and surely these plants were not supposed to be like this now?
Jane pulled out her phone and took a photo of them.
The picture came out surreal, almost like an oil painting, and Jane composed a message to Sal without giving herself a chance to second-guess whether she should even send it. She attached the photo and wrote: Is this normal?
She watched as the message went through and was marked delivered. Sal was definitely still at school, but her reply came just moments later.
Is what normal?
These plants. They keep growing. But it’s winter. They’re supposed to be dead by now, right?
I don’t know anything about plants, Janie. I’m sorry.
And Jane knew the I’m sorry meant two specific things:
I’m sorry I don’t know anything about plants.
and
I’m sorry for whatever’s going on between us.
Jane wrote back: I’m sorry too.
They look a little out of season. Especially if it’s been so cold.
I know. They just keep growing.
It’s like something is keeping them alive.
Jane stared at Sal’s text for a minute or two then typed—
Or someone.
And hit Send.
Like who? Your mom?
Jane didn’t respond right away. She walked back toward the house, let herself in the mudroom door, and shut and bolted it. She turned back around and looked out the window, through the pane of glass that had to be replaced when Melanie had shattered it.
She wrote a reply to Sal.
Probably my mom, yeah.
And she hit Send, even though she didn’t really believe that at all.
Ruth got home around six thirty and changed into her Halloween costume, a flannel shirt with a pair of ripped jeans and a straw hat. She had a small bag of craft hay that she put on the counter. She made dinner while Jane sat at the kitchen table, watching her.
“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you dressed up for Halloween,” Jane observed.
“Hmm? Oh. Frank insisted,” Ruth replied, shrugging. “I think it’s not a bad idea. For me to get out of the house.”
“How come?”
“Just so I’m not alone.”
“I could stay home with you,” Jane offered, and meant it.
“No, honey, go to the dance. You’re going to have so much fun.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Ruth replied.
“Well, you look cute. You should let me do your makeup.”
“How do scarecrows do their makeup?”
“With stitches on their mouth, and patches.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess you should.”
Ruth brought two dishes of risotto to the table and they ate quietly, then headed upstairs to Ruth’s bedroom. Ruth brought the bag of hay, and Jane opened it and took out a fistful. She arranged it so it was sticking out of Ruth’s collar and the cuffs of her sleeves.
“Perfect,” Jane said.
Ruth reached out and touched Jane’s hair, the little piece of new growth that had annoyingly come to rest on her forehead. “I’m so proud of you, Janie. For everything you’ve accomplished here. Making friends so quickly, getting a job. You’ve really made the best of a shitty situation.”
Jane shrugged. “Thanks, Mom.”
“And you need a haircut,” she said.
“I know.”
Ruth still held the little curl. She pulled it gently and let it go.
“I want to tell you something,” she said after a minute.
“Tell me what?”
There was a long pause, during which it seemed to Jane that Ruth didn’t breathe, didn’t even move. But then she looked up and inhaled and smiled and said, “I’m just so proud of you.”
“You already said that,” Jane replied, and somehow she knew that wasn’t what Ruth had meant to say at all. Somehow she knew her mother had really started to say something else entirely, but had changed her mind at the last minute.
“It’s worth repeating.”
“Come into the bathroom,” Jane said. “Where’s your eyeliner?”
So Ruth sat on the toilet’s lid and closed her eyes as Jane carefully traced a scarecrow’s smile on her mother’s cheeks. She used orange eye shadow to create a patch on Ruth’s forehead, and another one on her chin, and eyeliner to trace delicate stitches around them both. Then she
stepped back to admire her work.
Greer had always been the one to help Jane with her costume.
Ruth hated Halloween; she didn’t take her daughter trick-or-treating or decorate the house, and she would have even refused to give out candy, had Greer not insisted. Jane and Salinger would go out around Jane’s neighborhood, checking back in with Greer every so often to let him know they were safe, to let him slip extra candy into their pillowcases, to let him fix their witch or cat or princess makeup if it had smudged.
Ruth would spend the night in her bedroom, watching movies on her computer, romantic comedy after romantic comedy, an endless stream of happiness in ninety-minute chunks.
And then—a sudden memory. A conversation Jane hadn’t thought about in years.
She had asked her father about it.
She had asked Greer one Halloween, as he carefully traced whiskers on her face for a puppy-dog costume when she was eight or nine. Why did Ruth hate Halloween so much?
Greer had sighed, put down the eyeliner, and looked carefully at his daughter. He’d always been a straight shooter, and Jane could tell he was trying to find the truth now, in a way that was appropriate for his daughter.
“It isn’t my story to tell,” he said after a moment.
“Did something happen?” Jane asked.
“A long time ago.”
“Something bad?”
“Yes, Janie. So it’s hard for your mother to enjoy Halloween, when there’s always this thing hanging over her head.”
“Will she tell me what it is?”
“When you’re older, she’ll tell you.”
Jane blinked and she was back in North Manor, holding the eyeliner, standing in front of her mother, feeling the phantom cool trace of whiskers on her cheek as Greer worked his magic.
“Does it look okay?” Ruth asked.
And instead of answering, Jane said, “It happened on Halloween, didn’t it? That’s when Jemima died.”