Delaney waves at us from the front porch and calls, “Come on, y’all! What are you waiting for? Hurry up and get in here!”
Tristan flips her off. “Your friend needs to mind her own damn business, don’t you think?” He gets out and slams the door without looking back. Instantly he’s surrounded by all the jocks, laughing and high-fiving. He starts toward Brandon’s car, where the trunk is open and a cooler full of alcohol awaits.
I get out of the car and run across the lawn to Delaney. She’s reciting the rules to everyone as they walk in. “No cigarettes in the house, no weed, no hard stuff. I smell weed, you’re out. Look like you’re tripping, you’re out, and you’ll never be back. Spill something in the house, and Sean’s college boys will kick your ass. If you’re going to puke, you better do it outside, and then you’re out. No discussion, no exceptions. We cool? Good.”
She sees me and smiles. “Hey, sweetie,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “What in the name of my mama’s palomino were you guys doing out there?” We both turn to look at Tristan and his friends. “God, what a bunch of tacky, mouth-breathing morons. It’s like they’re the poster boys for dumb jocks everywhere. Tristan excepted, of course.”
“Where’s Justin?” I ask.
“I kicked him to the curb last night. He was so freaking handsy all the time, completely uninterested in, you know, actually talking to me like I was a real person. I always felt like I was on a date with a sea creature. All arms and mouth, small, gelatinous brain. It got boring.”
“Totally his loss. And you look amazing, by the way.”
Delaney’s wearing a short white ruffled skirt with one of her mother’s braided leather belts slung low on her narrow hips, her turquoise boots, and a black cowboy hat with chunky bits of turquoise and silver around the crown. Thin silver bangles glitter on both arms.
“Of course I look amazing! Who wouldn’t, with all this cowgirl swag?”
I put my arm around her waist. “You are such a piece of work. You know that, right?”
“Yes, I do. It’s why I am adored far and wide. But seriously, what about you? I thought you’d never get out of that stupid car. Also, I never thought I’d say this about your smokin’ hot boyfriend, but he was a total jerk just now. Nothing says, ‘Hey, thanks for inviting me to your party’ like flipping off the host. What’s his problem?”
I lean my head on her shoulder, breathing in the fragrance of pomegranate juice and Amazing Grace perfume. “I know. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for him, Sparrow. You didn’t flip me off. He did.”
“He’s upset because I forgot to wear the necklace.”
“Wait, what? Are you telling me your boyfriend is mad because you aren’t wearing some piece of jewelry he gave you? That is textbook douchey behavior, Bird Girl.”
“It means a lot to him, Laney, and it’s totally my fault he’s mad. I can’t believe I forgot to put it on.”
“Sparrow,” she says. “It’s his fault he’s mad, not yours.”
I shove her shoulder with mine.
“One of the things I love about you, besides, you know, the whole Rodeo Queen thing, is that you are such a crazy-fierce friend. But this time, you’re so, so wrong.”
She looks at me for a long moment, then shoves me back.
“Okay, I’m wrong. But I’m still right.”
It’s such a relief to laugh. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go inside. Tristan will get over it. Everything’s fine.”
Virginia summers are always thick with heat and humidity, but tonight is cooler than usual. Everything feels fresh and earthy and full of hope. The sky is sprinkled with early stars, and the cicadas are beginning to sing. I feel the blue mountains all around, sheltering us.
Tonight will be like every high-school party in the history of the world, the air suffused with beer and bourbon, cinnamon gum and toothpaste, candles that smell like cookies. Someone will be locked in a bathroom, sobbing about being dumped or their parents’ bitter divorce or a friend’s terrible betrayal. Charlotte will throw up.
Delaney gives me her searching look, her eyes all squinty and worried. “You really going to be able to shake it off?”
“I already have.”
As if he knows we’re talking about him, Tristan turns to stare at me. No smile, just the stare. He finishes his beer, drops the bottle, and kicks it down the storm drain. Brandon twists the top off another one and hands it to him. He takes a long pull, then chugs the rest.
“Go for it, bro!” Trevor, Brandon’s twin brother, pounds a drumroll on his chest. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
Tristan wipes his mouth and sways a little on his feet, leaning heavily against Brandon’s car. “Wooooo!” he yells, pumping his fist in the air. “Let’s get this party started!”
Delaney shakes her head. “They are disgusting pigs from hell. I don’t know why I keep inviting them.”
Suddenly it feels like I’m floating, looking down at myself from far away. Tristan’s back to me again, tight and rigid, anger coming off him in waves, like heat from asphalt. Me, my arm around Delaney’s waist, never taking my eyes from him because I always need to know where he is.
I start to go inside the house, but Delaney pulls on my arm. “Hang on a second.”
“What now?”
“I have to tell you, I’m just the teensiest bit worried.”
I give her an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine, Laney. There’s nothing for you to be worried about.”
“Maybe. But I saw you looking at him just now, and you did not look like a girl who’s in love; you looked scared. Tell me the truth. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Scared.”
Fireflies are flickering in and out of the tree branches, and suddenly I wish I were completely alone, light-years away from any noise or civilization. No party, no Tristan, no Delaney, nobody talking to me, no endless interrogations.
If only he’d look at me, give me a smile, tell me with his eyes that I’m forgiven, that he loves me, that we are okay. If only I could forget his hand on my throat, the pressure of his fingers, the fury in his eyes.
“You’re thinking way too hard tonight, cowgirl. No, I’m not scared, not one bit. Now can we go inside? Please?”
She holds up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute. “Okay. I promise I will shut up now and pull my nose out of your business. ‘This the Dauphin speaks.’”
Ever since we read Henry V last year, Delaney’s been crushing on Shakespeare. She throws out random quotes, badgering us to name the act and scene. We get extra points if we nail the speaker.
“Act one, scene two, the Ambassador. Please let that be the last time.”
She pats me on the head, like I’m a good puppy.
“Not a chance, brainiac.”
* * *
I hear Lucas before I see him, the deep, rumbling voice that makes him sound way older than seventeen. He hasn’t been to a party since March, when his father was diagnosed with cancer. My whole heart lifts.
“Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it. I’m okay. Anybody seen Sparrow?”
He walks into the kitchen, and the crowd around us melts away. He holds out his arms, and I walk into them. He bends down and kisses the top of my head. I breathe in his familiar scent, Coast soap and Suave coconut shampoo and wintergreen toothpaste. Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I pull him closer. “I’ve missed you, Lucas Oliver.”
“I missed you, too, Birdy Bird.” His arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your texts. I was—”
“Oh, Lucas, don’t apologize. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. I wanted to visit after the funeral so many times, but I didn’t know if you wanted to see anyone. I figured you’d let me know when you were ready.” I give him another squeeze and let go. The space between us grows cold.
“I didn’t want to see anyone. But I would have liked it if you’d come.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t, but I’m s
o glad you came tonight. How are you really?”
Lucas, six foot three, muscles on top of muscles, seems smaller tonight. Dark circles under his eyes, sunken cheeks. I wish I could give him a haircut, then fix him a big plate of spaghetti and warm bread, like Sophie does for me whenever I’ve had a bad day.
“I’m glad to be here, doing something normal. It feels like nothing’s been normal in such a long time.”
Delaney’s kitchen is all blue and yellow with red accents, like the KitchenAid mixer, the coffee maker, the dish towels folded neatly near the sink and draped over the handle of the stove. Lucas walks around the deep-blue granite-topped island, running his hand over the cool surface. He picks up one of the many candles lined up down the middle, sniffs it, and makes a face. “God, I hate candles that try to smell like food. Pumpkin is the worst.”
“You didn’t really answer my question,” I say softly.
He takes a deep breath, walks over to the fridge, and starts rearranging the magnets holding recipes and family pictures. “Twelve weeks, Birdy. He lasted twelve weeks. We didn’t have time to get ready. We kept thinking he could get better, even those last few days. How is that even fair?”
His eyes fill, and he strangles a sob.
“Oh, Lucas, it’s not fair at all. I’m so, so sorry.” Having him right here in front of me, seeing the naked grief that’s taken up residence all over his face, is heartbreaking.
“How’s your mom?” I ask. “How’s Anna?”
“Anna’s still so small, I don’t think she really gets that he’s gone. She keeps going into his study and curling up in the chair near the window. She’s waiting for him to come home. My mother is … My mother is not good.”
He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands and gives me a watery smile.
“Sorry. It gets me at the weirdest times. I think maybe I’m doing okay, and then something just punches me in the face. Yesterday I pulled into the garage and saw his tools on the workbench, lined up all neat and organized. I sat in my car and cried like a four-year-old.”
In all our lives, I’ve only seen Lucas cry once, after the funeral. He didn’t even cry when I broke his nose two years ago coming down from a lift. I picture him all alone in his garage, weeping for his father, and my own eyes fill up.
“Your dad was such a great guy. We all loved him. I’ll never forget that weekend he took us to Colonial Williamsburg and wore that stupid tricornered hat and fake powdered wig the whole time. He kept saying ‘ye olde’ in front of everything. Like ‘I need to visit ye olde crapper.’”
He laughs shakily. “Yeah, he could be a dingus, that’s for sure. He took us to lunch at that fancy tavern and made us try peanut soup. Remember how gross it was?”
“Ugh, like hot peanut butter. Totally disgusting. But you know what I’ll never forget about him? Remember when we were seven and my cat died?”
Now he laughs for real.
“Oh God, ‘Lucy the Most Excellent Cat.’ He sang it at her funeral, at the top of his lungs. To the ‘SpongeBob’ tune! How twisted was that? I remember your dad and Sophie were trying so hard not to crack up. Then he gave you that book, what was it called?”
“Cat Heaven. He was such a kind man, Lucas. And a really, really good dad. You’re so much like him.”
“I hope so. I want to be like him. I hope I grow up that fine.”
His voice catches in his throat. “I’d like to make him proud of me. This is probably lame, but I’ve been hoping he’s still hanging around, watching over us, making sure we’ll be okay before he goes, you know, wherever.”
I reach up and touch his cheek. He hasn’t shaved in days.
“I believe he is; I really do. It was always so obvious how much he loved you and Anna and your mom. You should talk to him when you feel him close. You know, like talk to him inside your heart. He’ll hear you. I know he will.”
“Thanks, Birdy. I’m really happy to see you, if I haven’t already told you.”
“You ready to go face the crowd?”
“Yeah, but stay close, okay?”
“Promise.”
Just then, Delaney and Caleb, Israel, Sam, and Luis burst into the kitchen, laughing and joking. “Okay, we gave you guys enough time to be all serious,” says Sam, throwing his arm around Lucas’s shoulders. “Now come outside and have some fun. Sean and the guys are killing it, and there’s food.”
Lucas perks up. “Food? Where?”
“Right in front of your face, doofus, over there on the table,” Delaney says. She smiles and hugs him. “You know how much we love you, right? And we’re here for you, no matter what.”
“Thanks, Laney. But right now I’m starving, and I need to snag me some snacks.” He strafes the kitchen table, grabs a handful of cheese cubes and two burritos, then heads out the door, tucking a burrito into his T-shirt pocket. “For later,” he explains.
He and the guys wander off into the backyard, where Sean’s band, Lonesome Biscuit Gang, has started their first set. Tonight it’s mostly bluegrass, with some Iron & Wine covers. The window over the sink is open, and the outside smells like freshly mown grass and the sharp tang of tomato plants and marigolds. Three girls are swinging in the hammock strung between two enormous sugar maples, their long hair brushing the ground beneath them. Charlotte, drunk already, is doing piqué turns in her bare feet, a red Solo cup in each hand, sloshing rum and Coke on anyone who gets close.
“Look at her,” Delaney says, coming to stand beside me at the sink. “She’s going to puke all over my mother’s lavender in about five minutes. I’m going to go kick her out before she does. I’m done hosing down the garden every time she gets wasted.”
Delaney leaves, and I’m alone, the noise of the party swirling around me. I tiptoe down the hall and peek out the living room window. I can’t see Tristan anywhere. When I come back to the kitchen, I see them. Lemons. In a blue ceramic bowl, the food artfully arranged all around. I pick up the bowl and dump the whole thing into the trash can under the sink.
“What in the hell were you doing with him?” Tristan is standing in the doorway, dangling a beer between his fingers, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
I grab on to the counter to steady myself. “We were just talking.”
“You’re lying. I saw you. I bring you to a party, and you hang all over the ballerina boy? Again? You just can’t help yourself, can you? You can’t wait to rub yourself all up against him, like a trashy little cat begging for attention. And don’t even think about giving me that crap about how you dance together and you’re just friends and it doesn’t mean anything. How many times are we going to have this conversation?”
Now I’m holding on to the counter so hard my arms are starting to shake.
“Tristan, I’m sorry. It was nothing, I promise. We were talking, that’s all.”
“Liar.”
I feel like some huge weight is pressing down on my chest. My breath is coming in ragged little gasps. I need to get out of here. I need to hide. I step away from the counter and make my way toward the door. My legs are trembling. I think maybe he’s too drunk to care, too drunk to stop me, too drunk to move.
I am wrong.
Without a word, he grabs my arm and twists, nearly pulling me off my feet. He drags me between the island and the stove. Wrenching me around to face him, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh above my elbow.
“Tristan, stop it! Let go! You’re hurting me!” I try to free myself, but he’s too strong.
“Don’t you dare, Savannah. Don’t you dare lie to me. You were all over him. I saw you, with your arms wrapped around him. I saw you! He doesn’t get anything from you, do you understand? I’m sorry his father croaked, but that’s not my problem, and I won’t let it be yours!”
He lets go of my arm and grabs my chin, his fingers digging into my jaw, my cheeks, so hard that I start to cry. I can barely open my mouth. “Yes, Tristan, I promise, I understand! Please let go! You’re really hurting me.”
He takes
me by the shoulders, his face inches from mine, and shakes me, like a toddler with a rag doll.
“You must not give a damn about how I feel or what I think.”
“Tristan, I love you! You know I do,” I sob. He puts his hand on my throat again, just like before. I twist my head to try to get away, but I can’t move. He smells like beer and sweat. His eyes are bloodshot, filled with rage.
“God, you look so ugly when you cry.” He lets go of my neck and shakes me again, harder this time. “Stop it.” I do the trick he taught me, tilting my head back so the tears won’t spill, blinking fast so they’ll run back into my eyes. “I mean it, Savannah. You stay the hell away from him. You don’t talk to him. He walks into a room, you walk out. You don’t even look at him. If I ever see you near him again, outside that stupid ballet studio, I will mess him up so bad he’ll never dance again. With you or anybody else. Do you hear me?”
I try to nod, but I’m dizzy. Everything is going dark inside my eyes. I can’t talk, can’t answer him, can’t do anything except wipe my eyes and nose with the back of my free hand. His lip curls in disgust.
“You’re so unattractive to me right now, you know that?”
Outside, Sean’s high, soulful tenor soars, climbing all the way up to the stars. Tristan lets go of my arm and pushes me. My hip slams into the handle of the oven as my elbow smashes into the grate over the gas burner. My leg gives way beneath me, and I fall hard, landing on my tailbone.
“Pull yourself together, Savannah, and get your things. We’re leaving.”
Scuttling like a crab to the nearest corner, breathless with crying, I cradle my elbow, pressing my head to my knees so I won’t be sick. This is my fault, my fault, all my fault. He loves me. He loves me so much. He tells me all the time. This will pass. We’ll be fine. He’ll feel terrible in a few minutes, and there will be apologies and tears and promises and kisses. I will forgive him, because I love him.
Huddled on the floor of Delaney’s kitchen, I do what I always do when I’m too scared to do anything else.
I count. The tiles on the floor. The pearl buttons on my black camisole. The eight lemons I know are in the trash under the sink. There in the dark, I know they’re shining like wicked little suns. I can smell them. I hold my breath to block them out, but it doesn’t work.
Sparrow Page 5
