“You what?!?”
“It was the right thing to do. I wanted to confess to hurting all those boys, too, but as you have astutely pointed out, no one is going to believe me. So, I said nothing about that. I did tell a small lie. I told him that the fight was already in progress.”
“You don’t understand. It’s not that it isn’t the right thing to do. It’s just that my parents are going to lose it! You’re making my mom choose between her real son and her foster son. She’ll send you away. To another family. And I can’t stand the idea of being away from you again! Part of me will die forever.”
His eyes soften. “It’s not nearly as dangerous as letting your brother loose. Whether we are together or apart, it is more important that you are safe.” He kisses me. “I love you more than my life. I will see you tonight.”
And with that he rides off.
“Your brother confessed.”
When I get home, Mom is sitting on the couch in her robe, one leg doubled up in front of her. She sips a glass of wine. The mostly empty bottle sits on the table. It’s dark. The TV is off. An unopened stack of mail sits on the coffee table. Judging by the size and fancy stamps, they’re Christmas cards.
My backpack slides off my shoulder. I shut the door. The house feels hollow. Stunned, I say nothing as I stand in the doorway, clutching the small bag of Christmas presents I got with Judy.
Tears gleam in her eyes. Her words are muddy with alcohol. “He confessed he was trying to kill Aidan. They’re sending him to the detention center in Lake Tahoe until he’s 18.” She wipes her eyes. “My baby is going up the river. Or at least up the mountain.”
“Why do you think he confessed?”
She shakes her head and swallows more wine. “I have no idea. When the DA mentioned Aidan had contacted him in the pretrial hearing today, your brother had an outburst and…he admitted everything. Why would he do that, honey? Why?”
I hug my mom as she sobs.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’ve been an appalling mom to you and your brother. And even worse to Aidan.”
“No, you haven’t, Mom. I love you so much.”
Relief floods my body. For the first time in weeks, I can completely relax. I feel badly for not encouraging Aidan to come forward. It was his right.
Mom staggers to bed. Before she closes the bedroom door, she says, “Please tell Aidan I’m sorry.” She then locks it. Not a good sign.
When Aidan gets home, I greet him in the garage. His face lights up when he sees me, wheeling the bike to storage. “Who would have guessed that such beauty and ecstasy could be found in the common American garage?” He takes my hand and kisses it chastely.
“You didn’t even have to appear?”
“Appear where? Here?”
“No. In court,” I explain.
“I’m supposed to hear back from the District Attorney, but I haven’t yet.” He clearly senses something is up. “Why?”
“Charles confessed.”
“But why on earth?”
“He’s more afraid of us than we are of him. Prison might feel safer than home.”
I remember how frightened I was of Aidan. I can only imagine how my brother must feel. “Mom’s devastated. She’s locked herself in her room. She said to tell you that she’s sorry.”
The light dies in his eyes.
“I’m afraid of what she’s going to do. She’s never been this depressed.”
“Don’t worry. I know just the thing.”
He kisses me. And he won’t say anything more.
The bedroom door stands open as I do my homework. I sent a group text to the gang to let them know what happened today. Michael responded first:
Thank the Gods of Snow. One more psycho behind bars!
Leo was a little more compassionate.
AWESOME!!!!!!! Or is it awesome? It’s kind of awesome, isn’t it? :( I’m sorry.
Judy was the most empathetic. She texted me a string of adorable emojis hugging, kissing, crying.
I listen at the door for sounds from Mom’s bedroom. The rustle of bed sheets. Nothing more. At last, I call Dad on Facetime. He already knows the whole story, but he’s not worried. “Your mom’s going to be okay,” he says, although he looks far from okay himself. “She just needs something good to happen. You know how she is.”
Aidan and I risk kissing in the kitchen as we clean up after dinner. I half hope that we’ll hear Mom’s footfalls in the hallway upstairs but I revel in the freedom of loving him right here. Now. With no reserve. Rain falls steadily, splashing the deck, turning the redwood dark. Aidan’s face shines. “It’s the closest thing to snow I’m going to get without interfering again,” he explains. “But that’s alright.”
My dreams turn frosty. A massive fortress of ice floats before me, blue shadows carved into the jagged walls. The freezing wind punishes my body with crippling blows. I plunge two rods into the snow to steady myself. Smokey goggles cover my eyes, yet ice crusts my eyelashes. Despite the extraordinary layers of clothing, my bones burn with cold. I shout into the wind until I’m hoarse.
Enraged. Dying with desire. I am shouting in a language I do not understand. The words baffle me.
Dream words.
A bloodcurdling scream yanks me from sleep.
5:30 a.m.
Thunk.
I kick off my blankets and jump out of bed. The house is freezing, which isn’t unusual in the middle of the night. I’m not wearing my robe, and the heater isn’t on yet.
I smell smoke.
Before I even reach the bottom of the staircase, I can see what Aidan’s done to the family room.
Mom stands at the lip of the living room spectacle. The wine bottle she had taken to bed lies at her feet. She must have been taking it to the garbage.
The entire living room has been transformed into the ultimate geek Christmas jubilee. The top of a fat pine tree rises to the vaulted ceiling, bushy branches glittering with geek trinkets, including figurines of characters from popular science fiction movies, TV shows, and video games. An electric train races around the tree bottom. Mysterious boxes in shiny paper and perky bows peek out from under the lowest tree limbs. Three stockings lumpy with goodies hang from the lit fireplace. Flashing toy light sabers cross above the mantle. Most of the decorations had been stored in the garage, but some of it’s Aidan’s touch.
Each Christmas card stands open on the coffee table over its own envelope. A giant stuffed polar bear wearing a Santa hat sits next to the front door, mouth hanging open in a dopey grin.
Footsteps behind me on the stairs.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Jones!” Aidan announces.
“What have you kids done?” She comes unhinged. “It’s totally inappropriate!”
“But…it’s Christmas,” I reply.
“Not in this house,” she fumes, and stalks off to the kitchen.
Chapter 33
Stifling a yawn in calculus, I focus on Mrs. Stewart’s precise, even chalk strokes. Differentiable functions. Closed intervals. Relative extrema and inflection points. We’re preparing for the midyear exam.
The bell rings. Two kids lean over their desks to talk to me.
“Um, Charity? Have you considered our applications to be monster hunters?” the boy asks.
Michael is behind this joke, pretending to take applications. I play along. “What’s your name again?”
“Dylan Renke.”
The girl looks hopeful. “Candace Saint Yves.”
“I’ll let you know if there’s an opening,” I say.
Beth Addison might be plotting my demise, the way she looks at Aidan, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s probably afraid I’ll catch her in my monster trap.
At the lockers, I pick up the rest of my books as Judy waits. The din of well-wishers continues. Judy smiles and waves, her hand swathed in a cherry red leather glove. She seems more self-confident than ever before. I’m dying to know how things have progressed with Leo, but I don’t want to pry. Judy’s
parents are back. The day they arrived, she finally sent a flood of texts after I had fallen asleep. How are you? What are you doing? I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL. I really hate my mom.
I’m shocked I’ve not heard a single word about Charles’ arrest, although there’ve been rumors about the fight. Maybe my friends are hearing things and just aren’t telling me.
It’s just as well. I don’t want to hear it.
At lunch, I tell Judy what happened this morning. Just as she’s about to respond, she wrinkles her nose at someone behind me. A shy voice speaks.
“Hi. Can we talk?”
Keiko.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Judy shoots back. “Maybe she should talk to her lawyer first, since you’re the one who’s been defaming her.” Judy edges closer to me. “You can totally still sue her, right?”
I slam the locker door shut. “Maybe you should record this, Jay. Make a legal record.”
“With pleasure.” She whips out her cell phone, starts a voice memo, and holds it between us. “For the record, this is Keiko Mori making a statement to Charity Jones on December 10th.” She shoves the phone at Keiko. “Speak.”
Keiko stammers. “I just want to say…”
“I can’t hear you,” Judy says loudly into the phone. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
Her voice is weak. “For accusing you of hurting my dog.”
“So you promise to tell everyone in this whole damn school that you were wrong and that I did not hurt your dog? That, in fact, I would never hurt any pet if I could possibly help it? So help you not-God?”
She nods.
“Speak! For the record!” Judy says. I would laugh except that Keiko looks dead serious.
“I promise.”
Whatever. Regret is cheap. “Can’t believe I wasted an endangered gas on you.”
“I’ll make it up to you!” she says as we head toward the parking lot. “I promise that, too!”
“I’ll let you know if that’s even possible,” I yell back, giving her a two-fingered military salute from my brow.
I realize it isn’t fair that one reason I’m mad at her is that, if she hadn’t destroyed our friendship, it would’ve taken me half the time to calculate the changes to the monster box. Her math skills are better than mine. She just doesn’t apply them to anything. Theory is her gig. She’ll make a great professor someday.
I glance at Keiko as I slide into Judy’s car. She wipes her eyes with the back of her coat sleeve. Her image dissolves under the rain as it punishes Judy’s windshield.
I would have to be in pretty freaking dire straits to let her back into my life.
My feet touch a paper grocery bag that’s been rolled closed at the top. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” Judy says with evil glee.
“I don’t trust that look on your face,” I say.
“Oh, geez! Would you just open it?”
“Okay. Keep your hair dye on.” I look inside the bag. Inside are dozens of green “bouquets” of a leafy plant with white berries. I sniff. There’s no smell.
“My dad is a major douche bag, but he gets nostalgic for Christmas and smuggles home stuff like this on his trips. It’s totally illegal. I think he’s got a fake compartment in his suitcase so he can evade customs.”
“What is it?”
“You don’t know?” She throws me a look of pity. “It’s French mistletoe. Take a bouquet! Not that you and Aidan need any excuse to smooch.” She leans forward to peer through the windshield as the wipers squeak. “You guys’re adorable, but I think Beth Addison is gonna have a seizure.”
“Beth Addison has the hots for Aidan?” I laugh. “Damn!”
“Oh, yeah. Bad. But he never even glances at her. It makes her nuts. You should hear her complain about how he shouldn’t be with a black girl.”
“Awwwww! Poor boy has jungle fever!” Amused, I remove one of the bouquets from the bag and put it in my backpack. “Too bad. So sad.”
“I predict that despite how cold it is, her outfits are going to get vampier. That’s her pattern. Drop thread ’til he drops dead.”
“Did you just make that up?”
“Yup!”
“Gimme some.” We bump fists. “So, uh, speaking of dropping thread, how are things with you and Leo?”
Judy squirms. “Good. I think.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “Oh, god! He’s super patient. I take that back. I think he’s petrified. Like, even more nervous than I am. I always thought guys were pushy and demanding, but I guess not.”
“He probably wants you to take the lead. If he really cares about you, he doesn’t want you to feel pressured at all.”
“True.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I think I want to move forward. A lot.” She flashes me a grin.
I cover my mouth. “Oh, my god! That’s awesome!”
She smiles even bigger. “I’ll keep you posted,” she says. “So…is Aidan your first?”
“First what?”
“Boyfriend.”
“If you don’t count going with Eron Vartek in 4th grade, yeah,” I say, thinking of my string of torrid crushes that never went anywhere. “What about you?”
“No, but it feels like it.”
“Do your folks know you’re dating Leo?”
“They don’t know much about my life,” she scoffs. “And I plan on keeping it that way. They want to meet you, but I told them no.”
“Why not?”
“They want to meet you because they don’t think you’re really my friend. My mom treats me like I’m autistic or something because I’m not Ms. Gregarious. You’d think she’d understand, being a famous artist, like, how it feels to be an introvert. But no. She thinks I have imaginary friends.”
I don’t know what to say. The car slows as it enters the driveway and idles for a moment.
“You’re the best friend anyone could ever have,” I say at last.
Judy beams. “I know,” she says. “You, too.”
We hug. I exit and the car peels out, Shonen Knife blaring from the stereo.
I’m damned lucky.
Chapter 34
Dear Charity,
Do you think your mother will forgive me if I bake her a spinach frittata this morning?
Your love,
Aidan
This email is already marked as “read,” but I haven’t read it yet. Maybe I read it on my phone and forgot about it? Not likely. He sent it in the middle of the night.
More likely? My email has been hacked. I quickly check past emails. I see nothing unusual.
Wait. A purple arrow next to one of Aidan’s first emails. It was forwarded. I check to see to whom, but it’s garbled like a spam address. I test other emails. If I forward an email, I can delete the forwarded email in my sent box, the purple “forwarded” arrow disappears on the original.
So, they might have forwarded every email I’ve ever sent or received. I only use email for Aidan, my folks and the occasional school project. I just don’t think about it otherwise.
Boiling over with panic, I change my password to something even more secure. When I see Aidan in the kitchen, I tell him to change his password because my account was hacked. Maybe his, too.
“But I change my password every day,” he protests.
That I do not doubt.
The previous password was good enough, I thought. It should have kept out most threats, although someone with sophisticated software can break any password. I just don’t know anyone capable except Michael, but he doesn’t have time or motive. Of course, there are hackers for hire. People use them when they think they’re being cheated on. But who would go to such lengths?
“We’re seeing your brother tonight. Be ready to go at three-thirty.”
We’re eating Aidan’s mouthwatering frittata for breakfast when Mom drops the bomb.
“But I have homework!”
“Do it in the car,” she says flatly, cutting another forkful of frittata. “Your brother has specifically asked to see you. So come home right after school and be ready as soon as I get here. It’s going to be snowing. We need to get to South Lake Tahoe by six. Visiting hours close at seven.”
Aidan takes this in, eating in silence.
“Aidan, just help yourself to leftovers when you get home. Or make something if you feel like it, sweetie. We won’t be home until late.”
Great. I have to visit my boyfriend’s would-be killer. I’m grateful Mom is unaware of that one word in the previous sentence. I’m pretty sure it would give her a stroke. And we’ve already seen she can’t even handle an early Christmas.
Well, from the real Sinterklaas, at any rate.
“What if I don’t want to see him?”
“Your brother is going away for a long time and you might regret not seeing him again. Trust me. My friends have seen it in their clients. If you don’t want to see him again after this, I’ll respect your wishes.”
“He’s only going to Lake Tahoe, which is, like, an hour and a half away! It’s not like he’s going to Sing Sing or a Siberian gulag.”
Picking up her empty plate and coffee cup, she then pulls out The Voice. “You are going. You will see your brother. And if you are not ready to leave and in the car with me when I say, there will be very harsh consequences.”
I want to mouth off. Look, lady, do you know who I am? I’m the one who caught the monster. But I keep my mouth shut and eat.
I hope they have security cameras in the visitation areas. There’s no telling what my brother will do. This could be an ugly visit.
Very ugly.
Chapter 35
The higher the elevation climbs on Highway 50, the more mammoth the pines that line the highway, stretching up to the darkening sky. Placerville looks like a metropolis compared to the towns that follow. Pollock Pines. Fresh Pond. Pacific House. I’ve never heard of any of the places that follow Pollock Pines except maybe Strawberry, which gets pretty treacherous weather.
The highway narrows to one lane in each direction. My mom drives the speed limit, as always, but today she slows even more due to the icy road. Traffic thickens as everyone has the same idea. Mom put chains for the tires in the trunk. We’re in no danger of getting stuck unless there’s an accident.
Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1) Page 17
