I’ll never be able to eat that delicious meal again, I thought sadly.
But it wasn’t just about the lasagna. It was what it represented. Jokes with my family. Togetherness.
It’s true that food brings people together. We’d spend hours helping mom hand make the dough, then carefully feeding it through a pasta machine to create the flat layers.
The tomato-ey goodness that was baked between each layer had to simmer on the stove for hours. All three of us would taste it periodically, rolling the mixture around on our tongues to make sure it was seasoned properly.
“A little more salt,” Kayla would suggest.
“No, no,” I’d argue. “It’s already got just the right amount of salt. I think it needs a pinch of oregano.”
Mom would sit and watch us debate with the hint of a smile on her face. I suspected she had cooked the lasagna so many times that she already knew exactly how much of each spice would make it absolutely delicious.
At the end of the night, when it was finally done, we’d gather around the kitchen table and proudly dish out our creation to Mom and Dad. We wouldn’t let mom serve us. “You’ve done enough already today,” we’d say. Mom and Dad would sit, sipping red wine, smiling at each other across the table.
“Delicious, as usual!” my dad would exclaim upon the first bite.
Sure, the whole scenario was slightly predictable, but it never got old. It was the stuff that wove the fabric of our relationships. It added depth and substance to our existences.
And now I’m doomed to a life of never being able to eat that mouth-watering food again, or share in those memories with my family.
I briefly wondered what new memories they had made since my death. If Kayla’s drastic change in the way she dressed was any indication of a change in her personality, I had a feeling that sitting around helping mom make lasagna wasn’t something she was interested in anymore.
What if I had never left? Would she still have gone in that direction, dressing like a tramp and smoking cigarettes? Or did the shock of my death force her to rebel?
I’d like to think that with my guidance Kayla wouldn’t be acting out like this, but what did I really know?
How had Mom and Dad had handled it? To already suffer such a horrific tragedy, then your surviving daughter goes off the rails.
Do they go to therapy too? I was surprised they were even able to make Kayla see a therapist. For all they knew, she might just be pretending to go and never actually turn up.
I knew it was selfish, but somehow the thought of Mom, Dad, and Kayla sitting around, eating pizza and laughing at bad reality TV was worse than the thought of them mourning their loss of me. I didn’t want them to suffer, but I didn’t want to be forgotten, either. I wonder if that makes me a horrible person?
Chapter 11
It was Monday, the first official day of summer break. Henry left to meet Tad and some other guys at the outdoor basketball courts in the park. Both of his parents were gone. I wonder where Mr. Matthews is right now? I had figured he’d be at home, getting ready for his rendezvous.
I hadn’t heard from Lucas since the cemetery, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t been around to spy on me any, either. He had written me off and I was desperately trying to do the same.
Time for the new, Lucas-free me. It was better that way.
Around 10:00 I headed to the bus stop. Since school was out, there was a greater chance of running into someone I knew. I had tucked my hair into a baseball cap, which I’d decided was the best and least obvious disguise.
It would take about half an hour by bus to get to midtown. I had purposefully left extra early; I couldn’t risk not seeing Mr. Matthews arrive this time. I was determined to find out, for better or for worse, what he was up to.
By the time I got to the Hilton hotel, it was a quarter to 11. The bus ride had been uneventful and slow: mostly empty and no sight of anyone I knew from school.
Everyone must be driving by now. Everyone but me that is. That was something else Henry had said he’d help me with this summer.
I walked into the huge lobby, trying to appear casual. It was a pretty generic hotel lobby, plush chairs scattered throughout, a bar on the far end near the elevators. I decided to sit in a chair perpendicular to the check-in desk. Grabbing a magazine from the table next to the chair, I plopped down and flipped it open, pretending to study its pages.
But I was really focused on the revolving door at the front. No way was I missing David’s arrival.
“Hurry up,” I muttered impatiently. At 5 minutes to 11, David Matthews breezed through the door. He looked calm, relaxed. I held the magazine up in front of my face and peered over the top, watching as he made his way to the check-in counter.
“Are you checking in today, sir?” the man behind the counter asked him.
“Yes,” Mr. Matthews answered. “Jeff Smith is the name.”
He’s using a fake name! This was awful. I had a huge pit in my stomach. I didn’t want to believe that this was really happening.
Maybe I should just leave now? But then I’ll never find out the truth. How can I look Henry in the eye, knowing I was too much of a coward to go through with this? I had to wait and watch everything unfold.
“Just in town for one night,” ‘Jeff’ was saying. “And I’ll pay cash.”
So that’s how he can get away with using a fake name. He won’t have to show his ID. Unless you’re a famous person, there’s absolutely no good reason to go incognito.
“Here you go, sir. Room 411.” The man handed Mr. Matthews his key.
“Thank you very much,” he said, turning and heading for the elevators.
He’ll probably call his mistress and give her the room number to come meet him.
I waited a good two or three minutes after Mr. Matthews had left the lobby before heading to the elevators.
I could hear the elevator whirring as it approached the ground floor. Finally, the shiny metal doors parted and I stepped inside. With shaking hands, I pressed the large round button with a 4 imprinted on it. I tapped my foot anxiously as the elevator slowly ascended.
I was going to get to the bottom of this, and then I’d have to come clean with Henry about whatever I found out.
Ding. The door opened and I stepped tentatively out into the corridor, nervously looking in each direction.
Phew. No sign of Mr. Matthews. He must already be in the room.
There was a placard in front of the elevator. Rooms 421 – 442 with an arrow to the left. Rooms 400 – 420 with an arrow to the right.
Here goes nothing. I walked down the long hallway, reading the number on each door as I passed. Room 411 was on the left hand side. With a quick look to make sure nobody else was around, I pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear what was going on inside. Dead silence. I pulled my head back and double checked that I was at the right room. Yep, 411. His whore must not be here yet.
The layout of the floor was in a square shape. The hallway turned left in about 10 feet, leading to more rooms, I imagined. I can probably hide there and peep around the corner when I hear the elevator.
That seemed like as good a plan as any. I headed to my hiding spot to wait. It was a couple of minutes past 11 now. Mr. Matthews seemed to get really pissy when people were late; had he been stood up?
But I had been waiting for less than a minute when I heard the elevator ding as it stopped at floor 4. And then there were footsteps. Fast, heavy footsteps. I didn’t dare poke my head around to look yet. Whoever was meeting David would be walking straight towards me. I would have to wait until she was at the door of the room.
Knock, knock, knock. Three brisk knocks. This is it! Before I could lose my nerve, I jutted my head out from around the corner.
What the-? Immediately, I knew something was wrong. I’ve got the wrong room. How could I have misheard? This can’t be right.
I stared in utter shock as the door slowly swung open. And there was Mr. Matthews. “You’r
e late!” he said. “Come on!”
The person entered the room and I stopped watching. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to digest what I had just seen. Surely there’s been some mistake?
But the writing was on the wall, and to ignore it any longer would have just been foolish. I would have never in a million years suspected this. But this had confirmed it. Mr. Matthews was in fact having an affair.
But what had shocked me to the core was that the person meeting him was a man.
Chapter 12
He’s never seemed gay. How could he fool everyone for so long? He and Valerie were high school sweethearts!
It was bad enough to think that he was going out on his wife, but this added a whole new layer of insanity. This meant that his entire life was a lie, not just the part where he pretended to still be in love with Valerie.
Sure, he probably cared for her, but he had never been in love with her. He wasn’t capable of being in love with a woman, because he wasn’t attracted to them.
I wanted to sink into the ground. To curl myself up in the fetal position and just pretend I didn’t exist. But the overwhelming urge to get the hell out of the hotel overpowered everything else. I sprinted to the elevator, pressing the down arrow impatiently. The elevator whirred as it approached my floor. Come on!
Finally, it was there. I threw myself inside and punched the L button in one motion. When I got back to the lobby, I again sprinted towards the exit. I heard someone calling, “Miss! Is everything alright?” but I ignored the voice. I had to get out of there.
Once back out onto the street, I finally stopped running. I tucked my hair, which had come loose, back up under the baseball cap and slowly walked towards the bus stop.
When does it get better? Why does everything just keep getting worse and worse? And how the fuck do I tell Henry his dad is not only having an affair, but he’s also gay and been hiding it from the family forever?
Difficult as it was, I would have to come clean with Henry today. He would be shocked, angry, and hurt. But once he got over those initial feelings, he’d be thankful to me for telling him the truth….right?
Chapter 13
I didn’t know how I was going to tell Henry about his father, but it had to be done. I would tell him as soon as he got back from playing basketball.
I waylaid him as he was walking through the door. “We need to talk,” I said.
“Woah.” Henry held up his hand, laughing. “I’ve been playing for three hours. I have to hit the shower first.”
Grr. I didn’t want to lose my nerve. “Okay.”
“I actually need to talk to you, too,” Henry called as he was walking up the stairs.
I didn’t answer, too engrossed in my own thoughts. I should have blurted it out then, not given him the chance to put me off.
Chapter 14
Henry came back downstairs after his shower and sat down next to me on the couch.
Say it. Say the words. “Your dad is gay.”
I opened my mouth to speak.
“So I’ve got to tell you something,” Henry started. He sounded nervous. His face was flushed.
“Um, okay,” I said, confused.
“I kind of failed calculus this semester.”
Huh? That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.
“But Henry, you’re a math whiz!” I said in surprise.
“I know, I know. That’s why I thought it would be okay to skip that class, um, occasionally.”
“I heard Tad say that night at Lucas’ house that he’d missed you in class. Why are you skipping classes? That’s not like you!”
“I know!” Henry said again. “But it was for a good reason. And I figured I could easily catch up, since I’ve always been so good at Math before.” Henry looked sheepish.
“Good reason?” I echoed.
“Yes.” Henry leaned forward excitedly. “Now, I know you might be skeptical – God knows I would have been before all of this – but I figured we needed all of the help we could get. And, I was more than a little concerned about Lucas’ true intentions when you first met him.”
“I thought we got past that,” I said impatiently.
“We did. Let me finish. So anyway,” Henry continued, “I found out about a psychic who specializes in paranormal stuff.”
“Now before you start with the crystal ball jokes, let me tell you this guy’s legit,” Henry said before I could interject.
I raised my eyebrows but didn’t comment.
“His name is Emmett; he’s a professor at the university. He just does this psychic/medium stuff on the side.”
“So he talks to dead people?” I questioned. This was getting better and better.
“Not exactly. He has feelings about things. He can tell you stuff that he shouldn’t know.”
“And you cut class to meet him?”
“I did a few times, yeah.”
“Hmm.”
“What are you thinking?” Henry asked me. “I was sure you were going to give me a hard time about trusting a psychic.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “I would have before. But I don’t know what to believe about anything anymore.”
“Good.” Henry nodded. “I’m glad you’re being open-minded.”
“But why didn’t you tell me when you first contacted him?” It was true I had kept some secrets from Henry, but I had no idea he was keeping any from me.
“I didn’t know how you’d react, and I didn’t know if it would pan out. I figured you – both of us, really – have enough on our minds.”
You got that right. But aloud I just said, “What did Emmett tell you?”
“The first time I met him was at your grave. He didn’t know anything about the situation. I had just called and told him I wanted to hire him, that I needed information about my friend who died last year.”
“So when we met at the grave,” Henry continued, “he immediately told me that you weren’t in it.”
“That is impressive,” I admitted. “So he really didn’t know I was back at that point?”
“Nope. Then I told him about you waking up in your grave.”
“What did he say?” I demanded.
“Well, that was just the first meeting. He said he had to think on things.”
“Pfft. That’s lame,” I said.
“But he called me the next day to meet him again. He doesn’t like talking on the phone. Doesn’t believe it’s safe to talk freely.”
“I hope he’s not some crazy conspiracy theorist,” I said warily.
“He’s a normal guy. You should meet him. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”
“Anyway, getting back to the point,” Henry continued. “The next time I talked to Emmett, he knew a lot more. He said you were involved with someone who wasn’t human, either. That this creature was trying to help you. And that he wouldn’t hurt either of us.”
“Lucas,” I said.
“Yep, and most importantly, he said you were going to have to make a decision.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like we talked about before.” Henry looked nervous. “You were brought back for something epic. Emmett doesn’t know what, exactly, but he said both sides wanted you.”
“Both sides?”
“Yeah, I guess like good vs. evil. Emmett didn’t really elaborate.”
“I guess that information is worth failing Calculus for,” I said slowly.
Henry laughed. “Yeah, I’m not too bummed out about it. I have to go to summer school on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays to make it up and start as a senior in the fall.”
“I’m glad that’s out in the open now. I hate keeping secrets from you, Aurora.” Henry looked relieved.
I tried to push my guilt to the back of my mind. If only Henry knew everything I’m keeping from him.
“So I’ll tell you next time I meet with him,” Henry was saying, “if you want to come with me.”
“Sure, that sounds like a plan.�
��
“Hey, didn’t you have something you wanted to talk to me about?” Henry asked, changing the subject.
By now I’d lost my nerve. “Um, just going to talk to you about tutoring me for school next year,” I fibbed. “But now that you’re in summer school, will you have the time?”
“Of course. I couldn’t imagine starting next semester without you. We’ll make the time.”
“Thanks, Henry,” I said, hoping that I sounded normal.
“Anytime.” He punched my arm playfully. “That’s what friends are for.”
Chapter 15
I had been looking forward to having Henry around more during the summer to help break up the long boring days, but with his summer school schedule and basketball practice I doubted I would see much of him.
I used to love that feeling of the beginning of summer. Kayla and I would start counting down the days nearly a month in advance, fighting over who got to cross off another day on the calendar hanging in the kitchen.
I wonder what Kayla is doing to celebrate this year?
For as long as I could remember, we’d always had our end of the school year celebration. When we were both younger, mom would take us to the grocery store as soon as the last day of school let out. We’d head straight for the candy aisle.
First, before making any choices, we’d carefully study each bag of candy. Once we had completed the initial ‘walk-thru’ then we’d start bargaining with mom for how much she would buy us.
I always had a weakness for chocolate, while Kayla loved anything gummy and sour.
“Please, Mom,” I’d beg. “This one has almonds, so it’s not as bad for me. Can’t I have two bags today?”
“No,” she’d say sternly, although I think she was more amused than annoyed. “One bag each, then you can pick one candy bar for later.”
After wheedling and begging to no avail, we would make our final selection and eagerly wait for Mom to check out so we could tear into the bags of candy. That first bite was always the best, the most satisfying. We were allowed a few pieces before Mom would make us hand over the bags of candy, which were then stuffed into her purse until after dinner.
Stalking Dead (Vampire Hunter Book 2) Page 4
