Hanging by a Moment (Keeping Score #2)

by Tawdra Kandle

  I shrugged. “I guess. It’s not like I’ve done anything today but lay around and read. Hard to work up an appetite doing that.”

  “Depends on what you’re reading. For instance, in the book I’m reading, the main character keeps ordering Chinese food. I’m thinking maybe your mom somehow planted subliminal messages in it.”

  I smiled. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Pesky woman.” He smirked, because we both knew that my mother had him totally wrapped around her little finger. “Hey, you okay, hon? You know, I didn’t want to say anything before, but shouldn’t you be out raising hell, whooping it up now that you’re done with school? Mom and I had this whole speech prepared about how you needed to think about your future before you got drunk and disorderly. We’re disappointed that we haven’t gotten to use it.”

  “Sorry about that.” I picked up my book. “But it’s not my scene. Plus, I’m not really in the celebrating mood. So I finished school. Big deal. It just means I get to go to another school for another four years. Maybe I’ll be in more of a party mood after college graduation. Stay tuned.”

  Daddy grinned. “You can count on that, sweetheart. Nothing could keep me from being there the day you graduate from Evans, summa cum laude, valedictorian, the youngest hire at the . . .” He cast his eyes up. “New York Times.”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “Hold onto the dream. I’ll just be happy if I make it through.”

  “You will, honey. You can do anything you decide you’re going to do. Never forget that.”

  I waved my hand. “Sure, sure, sure. Go get my Chinese food, oh wise one. Now that you’re talking about it, I’m starting to get hungry.”

  He leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Your wish, my command. Be right back, toots.”

  Listening to him clump down the steps as only a male could do, I smiled again. I heard him talk with my mom for a minute—probably making sure she’d called in our order and kissing her before he left—and then there was the jangle of keys and the slam of the front door.

  I flipped over on my bed, rolling onto my stomach. I had what my mom called the post-graduation-let-down-blues; yesterday I’d capped off four stellar years of high school by showing up at the ceremony, pretending to toss my cap, and then hanging out at a backyard barbecue with my extended family, as well as my best friend Nate and his parents. It wasn’t exactly a wild celebration, even after my great-aunt told us a story about being at Woodstock and demonstrated how she’d danced there.

  I’d expected to feel different. I thought something might change. But no, it was just more of the same.

  The high and low point of graduation had both come at the same time, when my mother and Sheri had insisted on posing Nate, Leo and me together for a picture. I hadn’t been that close to Leo in a year. When he’d put one arm around me and pulled me tight up against his side, it had felt so painfully familiar that I’d had trouble breathing. Dizzy with want, I’d lost my balance and had to cling to Leo’s arm briefly. I’d murmured an apology, and to my shock, he’d caught my eye and said softly, “Me, too.”

  If I were still the kind of girl who harbored hopes and dreams, I might’ve thought Leo meant something deeper by those two words. Since I wasn’t, I’d tamped down any flare of optimism and turned away.

  The summer stretched before me, feeling just as empty as the past year had. My mom and I were planning to stay down at the shore; since she worked exclusively on-line, designing and maintaining websites, she had the freedom to do that wherever she wanted. I’d scored a part-time job at an ice cream shop around the corner from our beach house. My dad would commute on weekends, apart from a few weeks of vacation from the pharmacy where he worked.

  Nate would probably come visit with his parents. And maybe even Lisa and Joe would make their way down for a weekend; Lisa was feeling well enough now to make the hour-long drive. She was officially in remission from the leukemia that she’d been fighting for almost two years. It would be good for them all to be together again, I thought. As hard as I’d tried to avoid causing any tension between the three couples—my parents, Nate’s and Leo’s—after Leo and I broke up, I knew there was still some residual awkwardness. Which was a shame, of course, since they’d been all been friends for over eighteen years.

  Shifting to my side, I closed my eyes, willing away the lingering residual pain that always came when Leo crossed my mind. It had to go away someday, I’d decided. And once I left town to start my new life up in New England, at Evans College, I’d be able to put behind me Leo and those shining months when we’d been us . . .

  I must’ve dozed for a few minutes, because the next thing I knew, my mom’s voice floated into my room.

  “Quinn, sweetie, want to toss some paper plates and chopsticks on the table? Your dad should be home any time now.” She paused, stopping in my doorway much as my father had a little bit before. “He must’ve run into someone and got talking. You know how he is.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know.” I swung my legs off the bed. “Some little old lady comes up and says, ‘Oh, Mr. Russell, I need to ask you a question about the cream you gave me last week . . .’ And then one hour later, they’re still talking.”

  “Meanwhile our Chinese food is getting cold.” She shook her head. “Well, come on down and help me set up, so we can eat as soon as he gets here.”

  Mom and I didn’t fuss; we were both still tired from the graduation party. A few random balloons floated around the house, looking lackluster and wan as the helium seeped out. The folding tables and chairs were propped against the side of the house out on the porch, and some crepe paper fluttered in the breeze.

  I laid out leftover paper plates, bright purple with orange lettering spelling out GRADUATION in letters that were meant to look fun.

  “Did we have any napkins left?” I called into the kitchen as I slouched against the back of a chair. “And can you bring out some serving spoons?”

  “Sure.” Mom sounded distracted, but I heard the silverware drawer rattle as she opened it. A few seconds later, she came into our small breakfast nook, holding a handful of spoons and frowning at the phone in her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” I took the spoons and set them in the middle of the table.

  “Oh, nothing. I tried to call Daddy, just to hurry him along if he did get talking to someone. But it went right to voicemail.”

  “Huh.” I slid out a chair and sat down. “It’s probably dead. You know how he is. Always forgets to charge it.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” Still, she gnawed at the corner of her lip. “But he knew how hungry I was. I don’t think he’d dawdle. Not on purpose. I hope . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Hey, while we’re waiting, want to help me pull down the last of that crepe paper? If it rains tonight, that’s going to be a mess to clean up.” I pointed out to the porch. “Daddy and I were going to do it later today, so if we take it down now, we can guilt him about it.”

  My mother smiled. “I like the way you think. Okay, you bring the ladder, and I’ll get a trash bag.”

  We’d just about finished cleaning up when we both heard a car around the front of the house. Mom grinned, relief evident on her face.

  “There he is.” Stretching her arm long, she snagged the last scrap of crepe paper from the corner of the porch ceiling, crumbled it in one fist and tossed it across to me. She climbed down from the ladder, brushing her hands over her thighs. “Take that bag to the garage, will you, and I’ll have everything set up to eat when you’re done.”

  “Sure. Although I know you mean you want me out of the way while you give Daddy a little hell for making you worry.”

  My mother shook her finger at me. “You just go take care of that trash. I’ll see to your father.”

  I laughed, tied up the bag and went through the back door of the garage, dropping the bag into one of the already-overflowing cans and cutting through to the kitchen. My stomach growled; I was hungrier than I’d thought.


  “Hey, where are you guys?” I closed the door from the garage, glancing from the set table in the breakfast nook to the empty kitchen. I caught sight of my mom from the corner of my eye, standing in the front hallway. “Oh, geez, you two. I mean, he was only gone like an hour . . .”

  I stopped speaking when I stepped into the hall. My mother was frozen, one hand to her throat. And in the open doorway, two men dressed in police uniforms shifted their gazes toward me.

  They were both holding their hats in their hands. I didn’t know why that struck me, but it did; I couldn’t tear my eyes away the way they held the flat caps. One of them, who was a bit shorter than the other, was turning the hat in his hands, little by little.

  The taller policeman cleared his throat. “Are you . . .?” He looked at my mom again, then back at me. “Uh, Bill Russell. Are you his, uh, daughter?”

  I nodded, because my throat had sealed.

  “Okay.” The other man spoke now. “We—we’re sorry to have to inform you that there was an accident. Mr. Russell was involved in a collision, and he suffered extensive, serious injuries.” His eyes flashed toward my mother again. “You and your—uh, your mother? We’d like to drive you to the hospital right now.”

  “Is he all right? Daddy’s okay, right?” My own voice sounded foreign to my ears.

  The first officer’s lips tightened. “The emergency medical technicians responded to the accident immediately and treated the victims on the scene. They transported Mr. Russell to the hospital, but unfortunately, his injuries were extensive, and he succumbed to them upon arrival.”

  “Succumbed?” I screeched. “Succumbed? You mean he’s dead? Is that what you’re saying? If that’s what you mean, then why the fuck don’t you just say it? Is he dead? Is my father dead?”

  Their expressions didn’t waver. The shorter policeman nodded. “I’m sorry. Yes, we’re sorry to tell you that Mr. Russell was pronounced dead upon arrival, despite the best efforts of the doctors.”

  The taller man took a half-step forward. “Do you have family? Is there someone we can call for you, to meet us at the hospital?”

  I started to shake my head. My family had all been here with us the day before, but I couldn’t bear to think about calling them now, having to tell them—no. Instead I fumbled in the back pocket of my shorts, pulling out my phone.

  “Lisa and Joe Taylor. Sheri and Mark Wellman. They’re in my contacts.” With shaking fingers, I punched in my security code and handed the phone to the closest man. “Call them. Lisa and Joe Taylor. Sheri and Mark Wellman.”

  My words, those names, finally penetrated my mother’s stupor, and she moved, wrapping her arms around her middle and emitting a loud, high-pitched keening that I was certain I’d hear to the end of my days. I clapped both hands over my ears, curling onto myself and dropped to my knees, screwing shut my eyes and swan-diving into oblivion.

  “Can’t you drive this fucking car any fucking faster?” I hunched over, one hand braced on the dashboard, as though I could move us along the freeway.

  “No, I can’t. Or let me amend that. I won’t. I’m going five miles over the speed limit. That’s the best I can do.”

  I glowered at the guy behind the steering wheel, wishing like hell there’d been anyone but him sober enough to drive me home. His lips were pressed together and his jaw was tense, probably because I’d been repeating the same words more or less for the past thirty minutes.

  He glanced in my direction and sighed, his mouth relaxing just a little. “Look, dude, I get it. You need to get home. But me breaking the law so we get stopped for a ticket, or worse, get into an accident, is only going to slow us down. So chill, okay? Put your head back and get some sleep. I got the address in my GPS, and I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

  “I’m not going to sleep.” I growled the words. “I can’t. I—I just need to get to her.” Shifting a little, I stared out the window, not even seeing the passing landscape. It was just trees and shit, the same areas I’d been driving past all my life. None of it mattered now; nothing else was important except getting to Quinn as fast as I could. I looked over at the driver again. “What was your name? Sorry. I know you told me. I wasn’t really—it was a shock this morning. I’m still . . .” I ran my hand through my hair. “Processing.”

  “Tate Durham.” He spoke with a kind of resigned exasperation, and I realized he must’ve given me this information more than once. “From Gatbury. I’m—”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “That I remember. You played ball for Gatbury, you met Matt at that passing camp last summer, and you kept in touch. He invited you down to the shore this weekend because you’re going to Carolina with us.”

  Tate cocked a finger at me. “Bingo. I guess you were listening.”

  “Kind of. It’s coming back to me now.”

  “I’m surprised, actually. You were pretty much blotto from the time I got down there yesterday.”

  “Blotto? Who the hell says that? What’re you, from the nineteen-forties?” My lips curled.

  Tate didn’t seem to be offended. “I was raised by my grandpa, and yeah, that’s how he talks. Nothing wrong with a little retro slang, right? What would you rather I said? You were wasted? Drunk? Wrecked? Shit-faced? Bo—”

  “Okay, I get it. Yeah, I was.” I turned my attention to the window again.

  “So, not to be insensitive or anything, but seeing as how I’m your chauffeur just now, I’m going to let my curiosity get the best of me and ask. Who exactly died?”

  Pain crashed over me again. “My girlfriend’s dad. He—” I choked a little as my throat tightened. “I was really close to him. I’ve known him my whole life.”

  “Your girlfriend?” Tate frowned. “So that wasn’t the blonde in bed with you this morning, I’m guessing?”

  Shit. “No. I don’t even know who she was. Quinn is—well, it’s complicated. She’s not technically my girlfriend. Not anymore.” But calling her that had happened without me even thinking about it. In my mind, Quinn was still mine, even though it had been over a year since we’d been together. “And just for the record, the chick in my bed? I don’t know how she got there, but nothing went down between us. I was alone in the bed when I passed out. That much I remember. She must’ve come in some time after I fell asleep.”

  “Hey, none of my business.” Tate lifted one hand off the steering wheel and held it up. “I was just clarifying. So—Quinn, is it? She used to be your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. We’ve known each other our whole lives. Us, and Nate, our other friend. Our families are, you know, really close. If any one of us kids yelled, ‘Mom!’ growing up, all three of the mothers answered.” I managed a smile, remembering. “So losing Bill—it’s like losing my dad, in a way. I can’t believe he’s gone. And I can’t imagine how Quinn is going to deal with it.”

  “You and Quinn are friends, but you also dated?” Tate slid a glance my way. “That must’ve been interesting.”

  “It’s always been Quinn for me.” The truth rose easily to the surface, circumventing the muck and confusion of the last year so neatly that it felt simple again. “I knew it, but I never felt like I was good enough for her. Quinn has this . . . this rightness about her. Like she knows what’s good and she knows the way she should go, and she does it. She stands up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. Injustice—it just infuriates her. And she was never shy about pointing it out, either, even when it made her look bad.” I remembered her frequent run-ins with the cheerleaders, who’d resented Quinn for writing articles about the privileges they received at school. “Quinn sees the good in people. I guess I was always afraid if I got too close, she’d see there wasn’t that much worthwhile in me.”

  “That’s deep, man.” Tate flicked the turn signal and eased into the passing lane. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but it felt as though he’d picked up a little speed. “What changed?”

  “I’d like to say it was me, but it was more like I gave
up fighting how I felt. Gave in.” The memory of my lips on Quinn’s was almost palpable.

  “Uh huh. So why aren’t you still together? Why were you down at the shore getting drunk and groping other girls?”

  That was the million-dollar question. “Because I listened to bad advice from people who meant well. My dad asked me if I knew what it was going to be like, trying to have a long-distance relationship while I was focused on football in college. And our friend Nate convinced me that I was hurting Quinn by being with her. That I was changing her. I couldn’t deal with it. Plus, my mom was sick—” I broke off. “Those are all excuses. Truth is, I was stupid and scared. I gave up Quinn, and it just about killed me.”

  “Huh.” Tate nodded. “I’m not an expert on relationships. Hell, I’ve never had one. But aren’t high school hook-ups supposed to have a short shelf-life? Isn’t that typical?”

  “Maybe, but Quinn’s not typical. And this wasn’t a hook-up. It felt like it should’ve lasted forever.” I rubbed at my eyes. “I know that sounds lame. Sorry.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t. It sounds kind of perfect.” Tate shrugged. “But then, I guess I’m not your average guy.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I was saved from having to reply by the smooth automated GPS voice instructing us to take the next exit.

  Within a few moments, Tate was pulling up to the curb in front of the Russell house. I saw my mom’s car in the driveway, parked behind Nate’s parents’ van and the compact Quinn and her mother shared. For one fleeting moment, I wondered if Bill’s sedan was parked in the garage . . . and then I remembered. No, Bill’s car was gone, just as Bill was. Reality smacked me across the face once again.

  “You okay, Leo?” Tate studied me, his face somber. “You ready to deal with this? It’s not going to be easy.”

  I exhaled and closed my eyes, thinking how different this guy was from most of my friends. On my way out the door at the beach house, I’d tripped over Matt Lampert’s feet in my hurry. The guy I’d thought of as my closest friend for the past few years had blinked up at me in confusion.