by Ashlyn Kane
“’Kay.”
Mom and Dad must have got a new car while he was gone—he vaguely remembered Mom mentioning something about it during some phone conversation or other, but he hadn’t really been paying attention—because he nearly walked past it in the parking lot. He got a quick flash of that brave smile again as Natalie unlocked the doors with the key fob, and then he was sliding in, smacking his head on the side of the roof and nearly breaking his knees on the dash before he found the lever to move the seat back.
By the time they made it into Hudson Bend, Jonah’s nerves were completely frayed. Natalie signaled to turn down into Emerson’s neighborhood, but Jonah put his hand over hers on the gearshift. “Don’t,” he said. “I’ll walk from here. I could use the air.”
Natalie didn’t argue, just threw the car into park long enough for him to get out.
It was only a ten-minute walk, but despite the four-hour flight and the hour-long drive, Jonah knew he wasn’t ready yet to face the situation inside the house. Not that he would ever be ready. He could hardly think of facing Mrs. Blackburn and Kierstyn, never mind Emerson, but he wasn’t going to back out now.
It was no time at all before he found himself ringing the doorbell, and he almost fell over in relief when Emerson’s Aunt Brenda answered the door. She apparently hadn’t heard much about his flight from Austin and surrounding area, because she didn’t look surprised. Instead, all she said was, “He’s in his room,” and it wasn’t like Jonah was ever going to forget where that was. He toed off his shoes and left them on the rack and made his way up the too-quiet stairway in the too-quiet house until he was standing in front of Emerson’s door.
Then there was nothing left to do but go in.
He knocked once on the door—but that was stupid; he’d never knocked on Emerson’s door in his life. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and stood there in the doorway with his heart caught in his throat.
For a half a second he couldn’t move, and then, somehow, he was on the bed on the other side of the room with Emerson crushed desperately against his chest.
Jonah didn’t know how long it was before Emerson finally, finally cried himself out and fell asleep, or how long he’d been staring at him since, but at some point afterward the bedroom door creaked open. Slowly, Jonah looked up, raising the first finger of his left hand to his lips as Kierstyn appeared in the doorway, looking even worse than Emerson, hair a wreck, eyes swollen and red, skin deathly pale. From the expression on her face, she hadn’t quite forgiven Jonah yet for leaving either.
Well, it wasn’t like Jonah was going to hold that against her now, of all times. He squeezed over closer to Emerson and nodded his head at the empty space beside him.
Kierstyn only hesitated for a second. Then she let the door latch softly closed behind her and crawled up on the bed beside him. “You made Emerson cry, a lot. Just so you know, I’m still mad at you,” she whispered without looking at him.
“That’s alright,” Jonah said quietly, distracted again by Emerson’s steady, even breathing. “I deserve it.”
“’S’long as we’re agreed,” Kierstyn mumbled into his ribcage. Then she, too, went quiet.
§
SOME time later Jonah tiptoed his way out of Emerson’s bedroom, having successfully extricated himself from both sleeping Blackburns without waking anyone. He closed the door gently behind him and stood outside in the quiet hallway for a long moment, catching his breath.
Aunt Brenda was nowhere to be found—probably in the master bedroom with her sister, Jonah thought—so for the time being, it seemed that he had the run of the house. Finding himself in the kitchen and at a loss for something to do, he ran some hot water in the sink and washed the dishes, careful to keep them from clanking against the side of the sink. Putting them away was easy—he knew the cupboards here better than his own in San Francisco, and nothing had moved. Then he washed the counter tops and swept the floor and got out the Windex to peel the dead bugs from the window above the sink.
He tidied the living room next—the vacuum would have to wait; he didn’t want to risk waking anyone. Then the main floor bathroom, which was far enough away from the bedrooms upstairs that no one would be disturbed by the sound of the running water as he rinsed out the tub. Finally there was nothing left to do, so he went back into the kitchen and cleaned out the refrigerator until a jar of pickled eggs, John’s favorite, brought him up short, and he had to take a minute to stop and clench his jaw.
Jonah put the jar back in the fridge, all the way on the bottom where no one would find it unless they were looking.
After that he reorganized the pantry, which was a suitable distraction until he found a bag of soup noodles and a packet of yeast. Two hours later he was taking a loaf of fresh bread out of the oven and sealing up the seventh or so Tupperware container of chicken noodle soup, everything but the loaf pan and the Dutch oven already washed and put away as if he’d never been there.
Then the phone rang, and Jonah dropped the ladle onto the tile floor with a loud clatter. “Shit.” He didn’t know why Brenda hadn’t just turned the ringer off—
He managed to pick up on the second ring. “Hello?”
There was a pause. “Jonah?”
He sighed, bending to pick up the ladle and put it in the sink. “Hi, Mom.”
Another pause, and Jonah was sure she was going to ask him when he was coming home, but when she finally spoke again, what she said was, “How’s Emerson, sweetheart?”
Jonah made sure the burner was off before retreating to the living room, farther away from the stairs. “Sleeping, for now. He took it pretty hard.”
“Of course,” his mom answered. Then, hesitantly, “Honey, do you need anything?”
What Jonah needed was for Emerson to be okay, but he wasn’t likely to get that, at least not anytime soon. But tangential to that thought—“I need to talk to you and Dad and Natalie, but that can wait. This is more important for now.” After all he’d put his family through, he was not going to come out to them on the phone, even if Natalie probably already knew anyway.
“Call me when you need a ride, baby,” his mom said. “We miss you.”
Jonah swallowed. “I miss you too. I’ll call you later.”
They hung up just in time for the door to crack open. Jonah felt his shoulders go tense as Emerson’s brother Harper pushed open the front door and stood in the entryway just like everyone else seemed to be doing that day. Of course, it was almost ten o’clock at night, and he’d probably been traveling for hours.
“Hey,” Jonah said, well aware of how painfully awkward the situation was and that it wasn’t likely to be improving anytime soon. “I heard about your dad. Obviously. I’m sorry.”
Harper just gave a short nod and ran his hand through his hair before finally making a move to take his shoes off. “Where is everyone?” He looked a lot less intimidating than Jonah remembered, although of course he’d hardly seen Harper in years and years.
“Emerson and Kierstyn are asleep in his room. I think your aunt Brenda is with your mom, though I don’t know if they’re awake.”
Harper continued to stand there stupidly, nodding, until Jonah finally broke down and said, “You want a drink?”
“Yes, please,” Harper answered, and followed him into the kitchen.
Just because Jonah wasn’t old enough to drink didn’t mean he didn’t know where the liquor cabinet was, and this was certainly no time for beer. He poured two generous measures of scotch over ice cubes and set them on the kitchen table, where Harper parked himself without actually using his eyes.
“We all thought he was doing better,” Harper said at length, curling both hands around the glass and staring down into the amber liquid.
Jonah didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.
“We all thought—” and here Harper interrupted himself by raising his nose into the air and sniffing deeply several times. Then his stomach growled loudly, and he said, “
God, did you bake?”
“I really suck at this,” Jonah admitted in a rush. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Jesus.” Harper got up from the table and located the bread apparently using the power of his nose, then cut himself a generous slice. He ate it standing at the counter, not bothering with niceties like butter or cheese. “Emerson should keep you.”
Again, Jonah could think of no appropriate response. Instead he said, “There’s soup in the fridge? If you’re hungry.”
Which was how Emerson found them, twenty minutes later, slurping their soup in what was otherwise a companionable silence.
“There’s a bowl for you in the microwave,” Jonah said in a voice that was less if you’re hungry and more and if you don’t eat it on your own I’ll spoon-feed it to you; I know what you’re like.
Emerson blinked at him owlishly—he must have forgotten to put his contacts in, or pick up his glasses—and hit the power button to reheat it. “When did you get in?” he asked Harper, taking the seat between the two of them at the table.
“Couple minutes ago.” Harper passed him the basket of bread. Maybe Harper wasn’t such a dickwad after all. “Jonah fed me.”
Emerson paused with a thick slice of bread halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t hear the fire alarm.”
Jonah gave him a crooked, slightly broken smile. “Smartass.”
“You’re making too much noise,” Kierstyn complained from the doorway, and Jonah kicked out the chair on his other side so she could sit down. She took two slices of bread from the basket and slathered them in margarine, then made them into a sandwich like she’d done when she was a child and convinced that she liked neither sandwich meat nor cheese.
Jonah said, “Sorry,” and then Mrs. Blackburn and Aunt Brenda came downstairs, too, and he heated up the rest of the soup and got an extra chair from the dining room so they could all sit together.
“Thanks,” Emerson said quietly twenty minutes later, slipping out to join him on the front steps.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Jonah replied, knocking their shoulders together. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”
“If you’re free. I know you haven’t seen your family in years.”
Seriously? Jonah turned his head just enough to spit Emerson with a penetrating look. “And they can do without me for a couple more days.”
Emerson opened his mouth again, and Jonah said, casually, before anything really stupid could come out of it, “If you thank me again, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
It didn’t quite get a smile, but considering the circumstances, Jonah would take what he could get.
A minute or so later Natalie pulled up in the driveway, and Jonah pulled Emerson up and into a hug before he could talk himself out of it. “Go back to bed,” he advised. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Natalie gave him a sideways look when he got in the car, but Jonah just closed the door and buckled up and let out a long breath. “Can we talk about it when we get home?” he said at length.
“Whatever, Jonah, you are the least subtle person on the planet,” Natalie told him, throwing the car into reverse. “You can tell me whenever you want.”
He tilted his head back against the seat. “Thanks.”
§
BALANCING the tray of coffees and the bag of pastries in one hand, Jonah reached for the doorknob with the other.
Behind him, Natalie said, “You’re not going to knock?”
“I haven’t knocked since I was thirteen,” Jonah pointed out, finding the door unlocked. Yesterday didn’t count. He kicked his shoes off onto the mat and held the door open long enough for Natalie to follow him inside. “Careful of that board”—there was a small step up to the main part of the room—“you only need to stub your toe on that once, and you’ll never forget it.”
Natalie didn’t comment on that, following him into the living room silently, but when they didn’t meet anyone in the kitchen either, she asked, “Are you sure they’re even awake?”
“Kierstyn’s bedroom light was on,” Jonah said absently, taking a plate from a cupboard for the pastries and arranging them neatly before setting them on the table. “And she makes a lot of noise in the morning. Besides, Emerson slept most of yesterday afternoon.”
He didn’t need to turn around to know exactly which look she was giving him. It was the same look she had given him this morning when he’d come to breakfast in a T-shirt that was two years old and, it had to be said, a little small in some key areas. “Gee, I wonder who you’re trying to impress,” she’d said, and Jonah had closed his eyes and begged, “God, not today, Natalie.”
She’d let it drop after that. It wasn’t like Jonah had any choice apparel-wise; he hadn’t exactly packed for this trip.
Unfortunately for both of them, Mrs. Blackburn was the next person into the kitchen that morning, though she didn’t look particularly surprised to see Jonah, at least. “Oh, good morning,” she said, obviously on autopilot since there was nothing remotely good about this morning. Her eyes were horribly damp and red, though she managed a small smile. “And you brought breakfast.” At that she swallowed hard and wiped beneath her eyes with her third finger.
If Jonah was feeling awkward, he couldn’t even imagine how poor Natalie felt. “It was nothing,” he said modestly. “The bakery was on the way.” Then, steeling himself, he said, “Natalie’s just come for the keys to the store, and then she’ll be off.”
Mrs. Blackburn faltered. “Oh—but we told everyone—”
“Can’t have the produce going bad,” Natalie said with forced cheer. “And there’s supposed to be a delivery today. I called in some favors. We’ll take care of it, Mrs. B.”
Mrs. Blackburn let out a big sob before she got control of herself and fell upon Natalie in an excruciatingly awkward hug. Natalie endured it like a trooper, and when Mrs. Blackburn pulled away to find the keys to the store, she was composed again.
Natalie took the keys and hightailed it to the door, but not before Jonah could mouth a heartfelt “thank you.”
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Blackburn managed a few moments later, her back turned to the process of selecting one of the coffees Jonah had brought. “You’ve been a godsend, and I know Emerson missed you.”
“I should never have left,” Jonah admitted softly, and almost swallowed his tongue when he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him.
“Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters,” she said with a brave sniffle, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Emerson, Jonah brought breakfast.”
Still fighting down the urge to blush—pretending fiercely to himself it was from the motherly kiss and not his stupid, ill-timed confession, which Emerson had no doubt overheard—Jonah added, “And coffee—the big one is yours.” Three creams, five sugars, and it was a wonder that Emerson hadn’t developed diabetes or at the very least an unattractive paunch. Not that Jonah could talk; he liked his almost as sweet.
Emerson gave him a bleary stare from behind his glasses, his expression inscrutable. Maybe it was too early for him to work out exactly what it was that Jonah had meant. “Thanks,” he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Jonah suppressed the urge to shudder. “Sure.”
Emerson took a seat at the table, his gaze seeming to stare through the wooden top, though he did manage to choke down half of a chocolate croissant. Jonah watched him for a few minutes until he was satisfied that Emerson wasn’t going to starve himself, then let his eyes and thoughts drift.
Emerson’s dad had redone the kitchen when they had been in tenth grade, and they had been conscripted for the weekend to work pulling out the old cabinets and peeling away the old linoleum so that new tile could be laid. By the time they had finished at the end of the day they’d been too tired and sweaty even to walk as far as the lake for a swim. Instead they’d laid on their backs in the grass until they fell asleep, only to be woken hours later with sunburns and empty stomachs. Emerson’s
mom had given them cold fried chicken and her special potato salad, and they’d had a watermelon seed-spitting contest until the setting sun made it impossible to determine a winner, and they called it a tie.
“Jonah.”
Jonah looked over at him, at where he was sitting, rigid and uncomfortable, at the kitchen table, and wondered when the hell they’d gotten so old. Emerson’s mom was gone, and so was the last half of the chocolate croissant. He blinked in recognition.
Emerson sounded a hair away from losing it. “Take me away from here. Please.”
Jonah let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
They hadn’t walked much of anywhere together since before Jonah had got his driver’s license in eleventh grade, and Jonah found that the mindless locomotion was soothing, falling into step just ahead of Emerson with an ease that spoke of long years of friendship. He’d thought he had no particular destination in mind, content simply to be with his friend under the hot Texas sun, but then he heard the resounding crack of a baseball hitting wood and realized he’d directed them to the ball diamond they’d played on as kids.
Jonah bought a couple of Sno Cones from the canteen, blue raspberry for him and cherry for Emerson, and then they picked out a spot on the rusting metal bleachers, the sun-borrowed heat burning for a moment even through the fabric of Jonah’s jeans.
If they attracted a few stares—and they did; Jonah had been gone for almost two years, and news of Emerson’s father had traveled fast—Emerson, at least, seemed not to notice, and the few scattered parents and friends apparently knew enough not to approach him in his grief. The red team, it seemed, was up by several runs, as evidenced by the fact that their coach called them into the dugout before the green team got three outs, some kind of mercy rule like they hadn’t had in Jonah’s time. Back then the bleachers had been almost brand-new, a vibrant ultramarine, and the concessions stand had smelled of fresh paint as well as popcorn and hotdogs. But the summer sun still held the same relentless Texas heat, and the field had recently been mowed, the smell of the fresh-cut grass bringing back memories.
