by J. C. Davis
He has to be calling Mayor Thompson. The only other Adam in town runs a car wash off Main and I doubt the Suds Company is going to help any of us. From the sounds of it, Mayor Thompson isn’t thrilled about Mr. Beaudean’s request. But after another minute or two of wrangling he must agree because Mr. Beaudean says, “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”
And suddenly things are in motion. One more day before the truth comes out. One more day before Gabe’s dad is in complete disgrace. I give Gabe a worried look and he grimaces back. We’re doing the right thing. What we have to do. But my stomach is sick with worrying about what’s gonna happen to Gabe when the truth about his dad comes out. What if Mr. Beaudean is right and they have to move?
Gabe walks to his dad and puts a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
Mr. Beaudean doesn’t look up, still staring at the phone lying back in its cradle.
It’s awkward being the only one sitting so I get up from the table and grip my hands together tightly. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
Gabe shakes his head. “Let me walk you home at least.”
I nod, mumble good-bye to his dad, and scurry outside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
One Last Piece of Normal
The walk home is endless. I don’t know what to do with my hands so I shove them in my front pockets, but that feels awkward too. Gabe keeps shooting little glances at me. Finally he says, “It’ll be okay.”
“You don’t believe that.” I kick a rock out of my way. It skitters over the sidewalk and smacks into the wheel of a kid’s tricycle with a dull thunk.
“It will be okay,” he insists. “In the end things will turn out like they’re supposed to and whatever happens, happens.”
“How can you not be freaking out? I’m freaking out and it’s not my dad who’s about to be run out of town.”
Gabe grimaces. “Nice visual.”
“You know people are going to go nuts when your dad admits to faking the miracles.”
“Probably. But they’ll get over it.”
“And if you have to leave?”
“I can’t think about that right now. I’m sorry. The past two days have majorly sucked. Can we have one last night of normal? Please?”
I’m quiet a little too long and Gabe’s shoulders tense. He stops walking and I turn to face him. “I don’t know what normal is anymore,” I say, finally.
“It’s the two of us. Just hanging together. The way it’s always been.”
“So you want to hang out? Go grab a slice of pizza, sit on the curb, and watch cars drive past? How can you act like nothing’s changed?”
“Because not everything has.”
I give him a hard look. “Really? Nothing’s changed between you and me?” I feel like I swallowed a tennis ball. It’s choking me and I have trouble getting the words out. Does he regret grabbing my hand earlier? Or was that a friendly gesture and I totally misread things? I feel like an idiot.
He flushes. “Okay, maybe things are a little different. But you’re still my best friend. You’re still the person I trust most in this world and I don’t want things to be weird between us. I want to go sit by the creek and throw rocks in the water. You and me and five million mosquitoes. Our summertime ritual.”
“It’s fall.” But I soften a little. Because he’s the person I trust most in this world too. Is it so wrong to want to hang on to something normal? “Okay. You, me, and the mosquitoes. Let’s go.”
Gabe smiles, tentative and slow. I smile back, although it’s a bit stiff. We start walking again but this time we turn away from my house, toward the little creek that runs on the east edge of town. Most of the year the creek is barely two feet across and only ankle deep. It’s slow moving and lichen grows on the rocks by the bank. There are three large boulders near where the creek curves away from town, out toward the farmlands. That’s where we head. A long time ago, when we were twelve, Gabe and I scratched our initials into the side of the largest boulder. Not deep—we only had an old screwdriver—but the letters are still there, jerky and imperfect.
As I climb up onto the middle boulder, I slide my fingers over our initials. DRD. Delaney Roberta Delgado. Six inches away are Gabe’s, GBB, Gabriel Beauregard Beaudean. We didn’t bother adding a plus sign or BFFs 4 EVER or any of that other crap little kids write. We’d simply claimed the rock as our own. No hearts for us. The distance between our initials, the lack of any other embellishment, feels ominous tonight.
The cicadas buzz loudly in the trees around us and before long I’m slapping mosquitoes. Gabe scours the edge of the creek, gathering small stones. He piles them in a heap between the two of us when he climbs up beside me. It’s dark, but the trees are sparse this close to the water and enough moonlight filters down to let us see a bit. It softens the edges of things.
We take turns tossing rocks into the creek, seeing who can make the biggest splash. Before long we’re laughing. The tension slips away. I throw a stone a little too close and drops of water splash over our jeans.
“Hey!” Gabe says in mock outrage.
I laugh harder and deliberately throw another rock close by his feet. He scowls and grabs my arms, stopping me from splashing more water on him. He’s suddenly too close, the playfulness gone. I look up at Gabe and he’s staring back at me. I go completely still and Gabe’s hands loosen on my arms, sliding around my back and pulling me even closer. His head lowers and in the next moment, we’re kissing. Soft and tentative. A brush of lips on lips. I wind my arms around his neck and hold on tight. We kiss for a long time. And it’s hot and sweaty and wonderful and impossible all at the same time.
When we draw apart I shiver, missing his arms around me. Gabe twists so we’re sitting side by side rather than facing each other and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I rest my head against him and listen to the creek burbling lazily at our feet. Overhead, the stars go on forever, bright pinpricks, and the crickets rasp a furious chorus that can’t quite drown out the thump, thump, thump of my heart beating hard against my chest.
“We need to head back,” Gabe says in a ragged voice, giving my shoulders a squeeze. He clears his throat.
“Okay.” But I don’t move. I want to stay here, perched on this rock with his arm around me, forever. If we leave this place I’m worried we’ll never come back. That it’ll be like that day at the lake with Claire; a last moment of calm before our lives get tossed in a blender.
“Lots of colleges have art programs,” Gabe says.
I draw away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s only one more year and then we’re both off to college. Lots of schools have art programs as well as architecture. We can attend the same school. So even if—” He breaks off, clearing his throat again like he can’t force the words out.
“Yeah,” I say. We both know his dad’s right. There’s a good chance Mr. Beaudean won’t be allowed to stay on at Holy Cross after tomorrow’s meeting with the town council. Their house belongs to the church and without a job or a place to live, they won’t be staying in Clemency. Mr. Beaudean might have to move pretty far away to find a congregation willing to take on a preacher with that much scandal hanging over his head. Maybe even give up the church altogether. I might never see Gabe again. That thought hurts so bad I shove it aside. There’s always email, the phone, and vid chats. It’s not like he’s going to disappear from my life. But he won’t be here. Something with claws and teeth is hollowing out my chest, leaving an empty space. I want Gabe to kiss me again and fill it back up. “What happened just now—” I begin.
Gabe presses a finger against my lips before dropping it. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”
I grin. “How long?”
“Long enough,” he mutters. He brushes a hand over my cheek and I shiver.
And then we’re kissing again. When we finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard. Gabe slides off the boulder and holds a hand out to me. I take it and we walk to
my house, fingers tangled together.
Tomorrow, everything will change. Again. The media trucks will pack up and leave, Clemency’s citizens will erupt with gossip and bickering, as they always do whenever anything big happens, and my world will turn inside out. But right now, Gabe’s hand is in mine and the only mystery left is where the two of us are headed. I’m not sure about anything else in this world: God, tomorrow, why awful things happen. But I’m sure about Gabe and he’s right, I’m going to be okay. Claire’s death didn’t destroy me. And maybe it didn’t completely destroy my family either. I think of Mom, sitting at the table this morning with her stack of pancakes and the way she stood outside my door last night, saying she loves me. I think of Emmet and our awkward hug just hours ago. I have a chance to change things with both of them. There are as many beginnings in life as there are endings. I squeeze Gabe’s hand tighter and he squeezes back.
Acknowledgments
For someone who writes novels, sometimes it’s shockingly hard for me to find the right words, but I’ll do my best.
Thank you a million times over to my incredible agent, Mandy Hubbard. You plucked my story from the slush pile and helped it find wings. I couldn’t ask for a better agent. Even if you do occasionally send me into the deep, dark woods to gather sticks for s’mores.
Thank you to my editor, Adrienne Szpyrka, for falling in love with Cheesus and championing it from day one. I’m insanely lucky to have you and so glad we got to work together.
Thank you to all the writers who helped me on this crazy journey, but most especially: to Rachel Lynn Solomon for being an amazing CP, giving the best book recs, and always being ready with a virtual hug when needed; to Addie Thorley for reading my book a million times, sharing stories, silly hats, and forcing me to rap on video. I’m so blessed to have you in my life; to Kate Foster, freelance editor extraordinaire and fantastic friend—you read my novel over and over, put up with my grammar-challenged ways, and cheered louder than anyone at every tiny success; to Jennifer Park for moral support, crazy cross-country train trips, and Bigfoot hunting at Camp ECLA; to Erica B. for reading an early version of this novel and being honest.
Thank you also to the various writing and critique groups that helped with early versions of this novel, including The Private Eyes and YANA on Scribophile.
Thank you, Mom, for teaching me to love words and always pushing me to do my best. Sorry for all the cursing in this book. I promise to revive Grandma’s curse jar in penance and take you out to dinner with the proceeds.
Special thanks to my husband, John: you cheered me on even when you weren’t quite sure what you were cheering for. There is no one I’d rather spend my life with. Thank you for writing journals, brainstorming, chocolate milkshakes, and leaving comic books scattered around the house in an effort to lure me into reading them with you. You’re a sneaky bastard and I love you. Always.
To my kids, thank you for loving books as much as Mommy and always begging for just one more story. You light up my world with your laughter, enthusiasm, and energy. You still can’t read this book until you’re older, but thanks for asking. Every day. Ten times.
For those who helped me along the way whose names aren’t listed above, please know I’m only trying to protect your secret identities and air of mystery, but I’m still sending a huge thank you your way.
And last, but not least, to everyone who reads this book, thank you for sharing Del and Gabe’s world for a little while.
About the Author
J. C. Davis checks all her food for funny pictures, but so far she’s only found an Eiffel Tower–shaped Cheeto. It was delicious. In addition to writing, J. C. is an amateur photographer, runs a Harry Potter meetup group, and embraces all things nerdy. She lives in Dallas, Texas, with her husband, two kids, a pair of rowdy dogs, an incontinent cat, a hamster with a ridiculously long name, and two adorable hedgehogs who want to take over the world. Cheesus Was Here is her debut novel.