by Amy Waeschle
“This is important!” her mom said.
“So is my life!” Jessie cried.
Her mom’s face froze in an expression of shock.
“Why is she doing this?” Jessie asked Zach at breakfast the next morning.
Zach seemed to be looking for answers in the bottom of his coffee cup. “She’s worried,” he said.
Jessie took another bite of her toaster waffle. “Is something wrong with her?” she asked. The idea had surfaced the night before, when she had lain awake wondering what was going to happen. Was Zach planning to leave again? Was that why he hadn’t said anything?
Zach stood up and placed his empty coffee cup in the dishwasher. He closed the door with a slow, firm motion, his lips in a tight grimace. Jessie heard the latch click. Instead of answering her, he gave her a long look. “She bought tickets.”
Jessie paused mid-chew. “I’m not going.”
“I know,” he said, his expression grave.
Jessie took the last of her toaster waffle and stepped to the front door. She could feel Zach’s eyes on her back.
“Need a ride?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” she said, surprising herself. “I . . . promised Cam I’d skate,” she lied.
She heard Zach’s keys jingling in his hands as she slid into her backpack straps and stepped through the front door.
“I was thinking pizza for dinner,” he said, following her onto the porch.
Jessie put on Stef’s helmet. The strap was still a bit too big—she hadn’t taken the time to adjust it yet. “Sure,” she said, fumbling with it. Finally, the clasp clicked shut, and she grabbed her board.
“I know it’s a school night, but maybe a scary movie after?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.
Jessie bit her lip. Scary movies were their secret indulgence when it was just the two of them. “Heck yeah,” she said, trying to conjure enthusiasm. “But I sort of have a big test tomorrow, so I’d better not stay up too late.”
Zach nodded. “Okay, then, see you tonight,” he said, though he seemed distracted.
“Okay,” Jessie said, and clambered down the steps.
The day passed so slowly, Jessie wondered if she had accidentally slipped into a time warp where everything was happening at half speed. The girls’ bathroom by her math class was still boarded up with tape. Where were the girls? It wouldn’t be hard for them to figure out that she had set the fire that they were being blamed for. If they came after her outside of school, what would she do?
Zach had said run.
After school she went to the skatepark. Cam was there, but with Tom Dolan and Vinnie Cardoza. Though she knew most of the other kids there, without Cam at her side, she felt mostly alone. She was about to leave when Cam skated to a stop at the exit. His temples were spotted with little beads of perspiration and he was breathing hard.
“Is it true?” he asked, his crystal blue eyes flashing that wounded look. Like when she’d said something mean without thinking.
Jessie frowned. “Is what true?”
“That you’re with Stef.” He said this matter-of-factly but the face she knew—the kind one that was always so good at listening—wasn’t there.
“No,” Jessie replied. A rumble of nerves rattled through her insides. Thursday midnight, meet me at the church.
Cam watched her for an uncomfortably long minute.
Jessie longed to tell him about how Stef was trying to do what’s right. That he was her friend. That’s all. I miss you, she wanted to say. I’m sorry.
“I’m not going to set any more fires,” she blurted. “For real, Cam.”
Cam’s full lips flattened into a firm line. “Have a nice life,” he said, then stepped onto his board and pushed off, disappearing into the park.
When Jessie arrived home, she checked her mom’s closet for the roller suitcase, but it wasn’t there. She slumped onto her bed, then rolled onto her back, her shoes still on. The cool air from the open window washed over her face and bare ankles.
She wondered what Stef was doing at that moment. And why they had to meet tonight. Most likely, they were going to his house. How else will we get his mom’s things? She shuddered. Why couldn’t it be Saturday night when her mom would likely still be gone and Zach was back at work?
She thought back to that morning, when Zach had lingered on the porch. He couldn’t possibly suspect that she planned to sneak out, could he? Her legs felt noodly at the thought of him finding out she was going to meet Stef. What would he do?
That night, Jessie and Zach ate pizza, watched The Ring 2, and then she did her homework. They didn’t talk about her mom, Evan, or Alaska. She kept thinking he was going to break the news to her that he knew about Stef, and had turned him in. But that didn’t happen. In fact, they didn’t talk about much at all. After saying goodnight, Jessie went back to her room and emptied her school backpack and loaded the big, heavy-duty flashlight from under the kitchen sink. Then she put on her darkest jeans, a thermal shirt, and Evan’s now-clean black hoodie. Then, she lay on her bed and waited.
The minutes ticked by. She tried reading but her mind kept wandering back to Cam’s hurtful look. Did people really think she was going out with Stef? She wondered if Stef had girlfriends. She had never seen him with a girl but that didn’t mean anything. Did he want to be with her . . . like that? The idea made her skin prickle.
She remembered back to the night they’d set the boathouse fire. What did you do? she had asked. No, he had corrected. What did we do? She realized it was the only time she had seen him look happy.
Jessie woke with a start and checked her nightstand clock, relieved that she had set an alarm in case she fell asleep. After rubbing her eyes awake, she rolled off her bed and carefully slipped on her empty backpack. Her skate shoes made no sound on the thin carpet as she walked past Evan’s room to the edge of the hallway.
She had never dared to sneak out when Zach was home. But this is for a good cause, she thought, pushing the guilt down. After a pause in which she heard nothing, she continued through the kitchen, the bright numbers on the stove clock casting the space with an eerie green glow. Her breath boomed in her ears while she paused again at the far corner of the kitchen, listening in all directions for any indication that Zach was awake.
Nothing.
A deep, steadying breath later, Jessie tiptoed past the dining room table to the front door. Quietly she undid the deadbolt and lock, her heart tapping high in her chest. Then, she slipped through the door and screen and spun to close both silently. Once completed, she took a moment to catch her breath, feeling the silent coolness of the night press into her from all sides.
Then, she stepped carefully down the steps, avoiding the creaky spots, and slipped through the neighbor’s yard.
She exited silently to the street, not noticing that Zach’s truck was no longer parked at the curb.
THIRTY-THREE
Jessie
Stef’s figure emerged from the shadow of a tree as she entered the church parking lot. He was wearing the same shearling-lined jacket and baggy jeans. With a start she realized that of course he had no other clothes. Maybe he planned to take some of his things tonight, too.
In his eyes she caught a glimmer of what she would later identify as relief. “Let’s go,” he said.
Jessie hurried after him, noticing his alert posture. She knew that technically, they weren’t doing anything wrong, but explaining that to a passing cop would be a waste of breath.
“Why does it have to be tonight?” she whispered.
His head whipped around. “It’s veteran’s night at the Casino,” Stef answered simply. “He never comes home before two.”
“Okay,” Jessie said, wiping her moist palms on her jeans, hating how her voice squeaked.
They reached the edge of Stef’s neighborhood, the half-moon’s glow giving every edge and shadow a harsh, ghostly glow. It was even creepier in the night. Somewhere off in the maze of trailers, a dog barked. She could hear th
e hiss of cars traveling on the busy street adjacent to the neighborhood.
Stef led the way, his head swiveling left and right. The hulking shapes of motionless cars in their driveways and untamed yards sat silent, but it was easy to imagine them coming to life, starting up like robots programmed to hunt them down. Jessie kept close to Stef’s back, feeling sure that hidden eyes were watching them pass. Large shadows from trees turned some yards into a patchwork of blind spots, from which Jessie expected dogs or monsters to lunge at them. Her breaths burned in her dry throat, too fast for her to swallow in between. Stef must have heard her because he turned, and his eyes shifted from that alert animalness to something else.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, noticing her chest heaving with every breath.
He took her hand. “C’mon, it’ll be a piece of cake. Five minutes, tops.”
His touch sent a warm quiver through her blood. She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she managed.
Stef led her past two more streets to a corner she recognized, where he paused and peered down the street. His, she realized. Beneath the weak glow of the streetlight, she could see the condensation from his breaths and knew from the way his body felt—taut, like a spring—that he was nervous too.
“Okay,” Stef said, sounding relieved, “His car’s gone. We’ll go in the back so nobody sees. Did you bring the flashlight?”
Jessie slipped off her pack and took out the giant torch.
Stef shielded the lamp and tested it: on, off.
“How are we going to get in?” she whispered. She remembered the gun.
“I have a key, silly,” he replied, and his tight face relaxed for just an instant. Their eyes locked and her insides turned to stone. She stared at his lips and wondered stupidly if he was going to kiss her.
But then he was leading her across the street and through his neighbor’s hulking collection of junk cars to his driveway. She followed him up the gritty concrete, her eyes darting to each window, making sure the curtains weren’t hiding a pair of eyes. They reached the corner of his house. By then they were both back to breathing hard. Stef let go of her hand. They slipped into the shadows at the side of the house and crept along the back wall. Jessie felt the cold dew from the overgrown grass soak through her shoes. Moving swiftly, they stepped past the first window, Stef’s, arriving at the edge of the sliding glass door. Pale light shone onto the backyard. Jessie thought she could hear the sound of a TV, and frowned. Why would the TV be on if no one was home?
Stef peered over his shoulder through the window, then jumped back.
“What?” Jessie asked, a finger of fear tickling the back of her neck.
Stef lay against the side of the house, closing his eyes. “He’s here.”
Jessie stared. “What are we going to do?”
Stef inched back towards the window and slowly peered in, taking longer this time. Jessie watched his steady breaths send puffs of cloud into the beam of light shining from inside.
“It’s okay,” Stef whispered, sliding back to her side. “He’s out cold,” he added, sliding a key on a lanyard from his pocket.
“Wait, we’re still going in?” Jessie hissed.
Stef looked at her. “We have to. My mom’s getting discharged tomorrow.” His eyes had that desperate look to them again. “She’ll come back here.”
Jessie gulped a deep breath of the cold air, her eyes drifting to the dusty-white of the slice of moon hanging low in the sky.
“He must have had bad luck, or got in a fight and they kicked him out. There’s an empty bottle of Jack on the table.” Jessie heard the anger in his voice. “Same old story.” He pulled on a lanyard tucked into the folds of his coat. Jessie saw the silver keys hanging from a ring.
“What if he wakes up?” Jessie whispered.
“He won’t,” Stef said, then must have seen her hesitation. “Look, stay out here if you want, but I’m going in.”
He turned away from her to slide his key into the lock.
Jessie stood with her lungs burning from the cold air and her gut filling with dread.
She remembered the first time she had seen Evan passed out. It had been a Saturday morning. She had come into the bathroom to find him splayed out on the bathroom floor, with orange-colored puke all over the rim of the toilet. It stunk so bad she almost hurled. Her mom had to drag him into the hallway and he still hadn’t woken up. Maybe Stef was right, and his dad would stay out like that. But what if he was wrong?
Stef’s key turned in the lock, and then he was sliding the glass door on its track.
Jessie watched him step through the narrow opening. She glanced at the silhouettes of the bushy treetops crowding Stef’s backyard and gulped a breath. I can do this, she thought. For Stef. To make everything right.
Jessie followed him inside.
The TV sounded much louder inside, which was good because she was afraid her out-of-control breathing would wake the man asleep on the couch. A smell like something stale and oily hit her nostrils and she forced herself not to gag. Her eyes took in the circular table—the one where she’d seen the gun and the white boxes, gone now—surrounded by four chairs, the TV on a small stand against the far wall, and a couch. Beyond, she made out the dark shape of the stove, fridge, cupboards, the sink still full of dishes. Stef’s dad lay sprawled there, one leg hanging limp to the floor and one suck out straight, his head twisted unnaturally to the side, as if someone had thrown him there. A swoop of dark hair covered his forehead. Even in his relaxed state, his lips held the shape of a sneer and his stubbled cheeks looked sunken. His undershirt had yellow stains under his armpits, the grubby black jeans hugged his lean legs, held up by a thick black belt dotted with shiny silver studs. On his feet were black, square-toed boots, scuffed and dull from use. His bare arms showed a variety of tattoos and the elbow facing her had a fat, pink scar curving over it. In sleep he looked anything but peaceful, instead she imagined him as some kind of master predator, sleeping with one eye open in order to tackle any unsuspecting prey that wandered past.
Her heart ticking fast in her ears, she carefully skirted the couch and followed Stef to the hallway. The stale, damp smell was worse here. Darkness enveloped them as they moved swiftly along, passing piles of papers, boxes of what looked like—machine parts? building supplies?—to the first room. From her visit, she knew it was his. Stef clicked on her flashlight as he stepped inside. He went to the dresser and carefully opened a drawer, shining his light on the contents. He snatched a few things, then moved to his closet where his school backpack lay on the floor. He put the items in the pack then stood for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room. She had the sense that he was taking it in for the last time, that he was never coming back. Then, he seemed to notice her and nodded sharply at the door.
They moved to the second room, the looks of which gave Jessie a shudder. Dim light from an outside source—the corner streetlight, probably, illuminated the tangled mess of the bed’s sheets. They were half on, half off the floor, the pillows discolored by a greasy stain in the center. Several dark spots dotted the hard, thin carpet. There were no pictures on the grimy walls. A wooden dresser stood across from the foot of the bed and Stef moved towards it. He seemed to know where to look for his mom’s things, so Jessie stood close, holding the flashlight. Several items went into Stef’s backpack; when Stef closed the drawers they stuck so he had to wiggle them carefully.
They moved to the closet. One side had no door, showing the ghostly images of hanging clothes inside—a series of thick, droopy sweaters, a long, plain dress, work shirts—beneath which rested a collection of shoes, all worn, faded, the leather cracked or laces bunched up, tattered. Stef slid the single door across, revealing a narrow tower of shelves in the middle of the closet. He removed a large box from a top shelf and carried it to the bed. Inside were albums. Stef tried to add them to his pack but it was too full. Jessie slid off hers and unzipped it—too fast—the sharp noise nearly gave he
r a heart attack. Stef’s eyes went wide and they both paused, listening. Jessie’s pulse tapped against her eardrums, a painful, aching pop, pop, pop. Had they woken his dad? After a lengthy pause, Stef refocused. Carefully, they opened the pack the rest of the way. Jessie slid the heavy albums in, and Stef replaced the box to the shelf. Then, he squatted down in front of a lower shelf, which contained a series of worn-looking paperback books. She shined the flashlight over the spines and Stef slid a few from their place, squinting at the titles. Finally, he pulled one into his hands.
He walked it to the bed and smoothed the cover, which showed a woman in a frilly dress being kissed by a beefy-looking man while a waterfall cascaded in the background. Stef thumbed to the middle of the book and opened it to a cut-out section, revealing a hidden storage space. Inside was a roll of money, secured by a white rubber band. Jessie watched in awe as Stef tucked it deep into his backpack. After closing the book, he slid it back into the collection.
Outside the room, a creak shot through the silence. Jessie froze, her eyes locking onto Stef’s.
Chapter 33
Zach
Zach had brought a thermos of coffee plus a wool blanket but hadn’t expected to wait this long. The floor of the treehouse was cold under his butt and he shuffled his position to let a different patch of flesh fall asleep. He checked his watch again; it was after midnight. Where was the kid?
Zach had rehearsed several different speeches while waiting, but still wasn’t sure what he would say when he saw him. The end goal was to get Stef a warm bed somewhere, even if it was inside the unfinished house with a space heater. Maybe he could hire the kid for some of the work left on the house. It wasn’t exactly a plan, but they could figure it out.
Zach let his head fall back against the wall. Through the open window just above his line of sight, the faint stars burned cold. What would Jessie think of all this? Keeping Stef a secret had to be a burden. He would let her know that it was okay, that he wanted to help. Knowing her, she might resent him for butting in, even though it was his house, his gear Stef was using. Zach thought back to the look on Jessie’s face when Dana announced her plan to fly to Alaska. No, she said. I’m not going. Was she so adamant because she wanted to be with Stef?
