The Devil and Danna Webster

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “It’s about Kevin Moore. He got into an accident last night. My dad knew about it because the police were called to the scene."

  "Was he hurt?" I could hardly catch my breath.

  "I don't know, but they did take him to the hospital."

  "I've got to go over there." I had the awful feeling that I was to blame for what had happened to Kevin. I felt guilty. Maybe if I’d gone with him as he wanted, there wouldn’t have been an accident. In spite of everything, I really did care about him.

  "Maybe you should just call his home first? His mother could tell you how he's doing. Could be nothing much is wrong with him."

  I thanked Joyce for the idea, got off the phone with her and immediately called Kevin's house. I thought of how angry the devil had been last night. It wasn’t surprising he’d take it out on Kevin. Had he claimed Kevin’s soul? Was Kevin dead? I felt both fear and guilt. Yet I knew I’d absolutely done the right thing. So why did it hurt so much? Why did I feel so bad?

  The phone rang four times before anyone answered. I was ready to give up, when Caron came on the line.

  "Oh, it's you," she said. She welcomed me with as much enthusiasm as she would the flu.

  "I heard about Kevin. I just want to know how he is."

  “And that would be because?”

  “I care about him.”

  "He's been better. He's got a concussion and some cracked ribs. Mother is at the hospital. What did you say to him last night? Whatever it was, you put him into quite a state. Let me guess? You dumped him for Gar, didn't you? Don't deny it! Gar told me he isn't going to see me anymore! That was your doing too, wasn't it? You’ve been nothing but trouble, and here I was being so nice to you."

  "Which hospital?" I asked, ignoring her accusations.

  She told me, although with some reluctance, and I hung up without another word. No way Caron and I were ever going to be friends, and maybe that was just as well. But I was concerned about Kevin. You don't just stop caring about someone because he's not the hero you hoped he might be.

  Joyce went with me to the hospital. We were allowed upstairs, but had to wait because Kevin already had visitors. While we waited, an imposing man asked the nurse for Kevin's room. I recognized him immediately.

  "Mr. Moore, I'm a friend of Kevin's."

  He turned to me and extended his hand. "Yes, I remember from Caron's Sweet Sixteen party. You're the young lady who did that beautiful portrait of my daughter. You have talent. Kevin rarely has such good taste in his friends.”

  “I like Kevin,” I told Mr. Moore. Somehow I felt the need to defend Kevin.

  “I don't know why my son is always getting into trouble. He constantly defies me."

  "I think he's still hurting about the divorce. He doesn't think you care about him."

  Mr. Moore pulled at his silvered mustache. "Kevin always did think with his heart instead of his head," Mr. Moore observed.

  The nurse came out and said that I could see Kevin but I told Mr. Moore that I didn't mind letting him go in first.

  Joyce waited with me until I finally got in to see Kevin. He was in a private room painted a cheerful canary yellow. Kevin's skin looked sallow against the starched white pillowcase.

  "Never thought I'd see you again. Thought you rode off into the sunset with old Hansen."

  "Not exactly," I said, sitting down on a chair beside his bed. "How are you feeling?"

  "Could be better," he said, managing a wry smile. "I got the worst hangover of my life. They tell me this headache is going to last a while. I guess you're thinking I deserved it?"

  "No, I'm really sorry you got hurt."

  "I was driving kind of fast, I guess. I was in a nasty mood, thinking of you and Hansen together. Anyway, I didn't see this kid on a bicycle. Don't know where he came from, but I swerved to miss him, and next thing I knew, I was slamming into this pole. But they tell me I got off easy, just some busted ribs and a concussion. Could have been a lot worse. Trouble is I think the car is totaled. I'm glad you weren't with me after all. The passenger side was smashed in like a crushed peanut shell."

  I shuddered. “At least you didn’t hurt the kid on the bike.”

  “Yeah, there is that, but the accident wouldn’t have happened if the kid wasn’t riding around in the dark without any lights.”

  More likely it wouldn’t have happened if Kevin hadn’t been drinking. I decided not to debate that point with him. Now wasn’t the right time. I was sure the devil had a lot to do with the accident as well, but I wasn’t about to say it aloud. I shuddered.

  "The old man was just here."

  "I know."

  His expression was grim. "You say anything to him? He was nicer than I expected. But he won't spring for a new car. This time, he says I'll have to earn it working for him during the summer.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Maybe not. He says I’ll learn responsibility and start feeling useful. How’s that for a line of propaganda?”

  “I’ve heard worse,” I assured him.

  “Yeah, you would approve.”

  “I think you’ll probably like it.”

  “He says I have to go back to prep school in Connecticut though."

  "That's probably for the best too."

  "I promised I'd work hard during school this year. He caught me at a weak moment. He insists that I'm going to college, even if he has to buy some school a new stadium. Sit beside me on the bed," he said. I did and he reached for my hand. "I am going to change. I'm going to do it for you."

  "No," I said, "do it for yourself, not for me."

  "Because you're going to be seeing the great and mighty Gar Handsome?”

  "Maybe I'll be dating him. I like him too. But I'm only fifteen. I'm just starting my life. I'm not ready for any commitments yet, not to you, not to Gar. Can't I like you both?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I won't have a car, so I guess I can't see you for a while, but I'll find a way. And I intend to phone you often. I don't give up that easily."

  "I wouldn't want you to," I told him.

  "Maybe I'll fool the old man and not go to college after all. I could join the Air Force." The old mischievous gleam was back in his dark eyes.

  "I hope you fly a plane better than you drive."

  "I'd laugh if it weren't so painful. The cops got me for DWI, so I lose my license for a while besides everything else."

  I gently hugged him. Then we kissed and said goodbye.

  I thought about what Kevin had said on the way home. I was glad he still cared about me because I still cared about him, yet I wasn't sure if those feelings would ever again be more than friendship. First loves don't have to be last loves. How I wish I could have told Lori that!

  My parents were waiting in the living room when I got home.

  "Things go all right?" my stepdad asked. I realized that his concern was genuine.

  With a spontaneous gesture, I leaned over and threw my arms around his neck. "I love you, Daddy!"

  His face flushed red. "I love you too," he finally said.

  A radiant smile lit up my mother's tired face. Her eyes were moist. "We are a family," she said.

  Later that afternoon, Gar dropped by. He looked so handsome that my heart did a somersault. He’d brought the sunshine with him.

  "Time for our tutoring session," he said.

  "Yes,” I agreed, “it’s definitely time for us."

  About the Author

  Multiple award-winning author, Jacqueline Seewald, has taught creative, expository and technical writing at Rutgers University as well as high school English. She also worked as both an academic librarian and an educational media specialist. Fifteen of her books of fiction have been published to critical praise including young adult novels STACY’S SONG, CLAIRE’S CURSE, WHERE IS ROBERT? Recently released in hardcover is her co-authored YA mystery THE THIRD EYE. Her short stories, poems, essays, reviews and articles have appeared in hundreds of diverse publications and numerous anthologies.
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  Also from Astraea Press

  Chapter One

  "Mom," I whisper softly and give her shoulders a shake. But her eyes remain closed; her lips are half-parted and turned slightly up at the corners as if she's gazing at something wonderful. Maybe she is.

  I sigh and lean in a little closer to her face. "Mom, are you just taking a nap?" I ask in a slightly louder voice and poke her cheek with my index finger. When she still doesn't move, my temper snaps. "Wake uuuuppp!" I yell right into her ear.

  There's no response.

  Great, I've lost her again. Feeling in the pit of my stomach that days of loneliness and silence are looming before me, I give up and back away from the bed.

  I try not to blame her. Shoot, if there weren't bills to pay, books to write, groceries to buy, and school to attend, I'd let myself get lost in there for a couple of days too. But somebody has to take care of things out here in the real world; somebody has to make sure we stay together.

  I tuck the embroidered sheet tighter around Mom's slender shoulders and bend to brush my lips on her forehead. Her shallow, measured breaths feel like a light wind blowing across my face. She doesn't stir at my kiss. Her head lays unmoving on the pillow, her white eyelashes fanning themselves over two porcelain cheeks and long, golden hair framing her face like a halo.

  I push myself off the bed, the soles of my sneakers making scuffling noises as I drag them across the soft, cream-colored carpet that covers the floor of Mom's bedroom. It's not as if I need to keep quiet though — a herd of wild elephants won't wake her up now, not until she decides she wants to be awake.

  And who knows how long that will be this time.

  * * * *

  I pad through the bedroom door, flicking off the lights and pulling the screen shut behind me. My heart sinks heavily in my chest as I walk into the kitchen and plop down onto one of the high stools tucked under the island in the middle of the room.

  Two days this time. My hand slams down on the marble countertop, and I lose my cool for the second time in five minutes. Only two days! Is it so awful out here with me she can't even last a week anymore? I let my head hang and rest my elbows on the counter. My eyelids flutter closed, and I take a deep breath, then another. In and out. In and out. This is what I do to calm down when life seems overwhelming.

  Life seems overwhelming a lot these days.

  It wasn't always like this, though. The three of us were a happy family once, a long time ago. But then she started leaving me to be with him. We got evicted from place after place because Mom wouldn't work. There never seemed to be enough money, even when I ran errands after school to try to make ends meet. I remember how my teeth chattered when the heat was finally turned off in our last house, and how Mom's eyes slowly became dull and haunted. The only thing I could do was watch helplessly as she fell deeper and deeper into the other world.

  There is one good thing about what we are. When we're asleep, we power down. Our physical bodies don't need food, or water, or anything except somewhere to curl up and dream. So at least I only had one mouth to feed — my own.

  A twelve-year-old girl should never have to make her own way in the world. And yet somehow, I've managed these five years since. Because unlike my mother, I choose to live my life, not dream it away.

  * * * *

  Once my pounding heart slows and I feel myself relax, I take one last breath and open my eyes. The glowing numbers on the countertop tell me I've been standing here for fifteen minutes. Too long. There are only a few minutes to spare before I miss the morning train and am late for school again. Not wasting any more time, I scoop my bag and sweatshirt off the floor and head for the front door.

  As I punch in the code to unlock the door and slide it open, I quickly scan the screen mounted on the wall of the hallway. There's a wall screen in each room of the house, and I always leave a couple of windows open so I can keep tabs on the serious stuff, like how much money is left in the bank, what bills are coming up this month, tests, homework assignments, and most importantly, when Mom's pages are due.

  Which apparently, was yesterday.

  Crap! I can't believe I missed a deadline. I'm always so careful about keeping track of the exact dates and times. A deep sigh escapes my lips as I quickly type out an apology to Evan, Mom's book editor, promising to have the pages for him by tomorrow morning. He doesn't know the books by his most famous client, Lily Dal Monte, are actually written by her seventeen-year-old daughter. I wait until I hear the deadbolts for the front door slide into place. Once they do, with two heavy, reassuring clunks, I take off down the stone steps leading from our secluded house to the street below.

  My thoughts swirl as I make my way towards the main gate, frustrated that I've forgotten the pages. I've been so excited to have Mom awake, all my other responsibilities just slipped my mind.

  But I'd rather have an angry book editor, hundreds of miles away, holed up in his little cubicle of misery, than hear one more lecture from Mr. Thorne about being late to school. And I definitely don't need to try to finagle my way out of another parent-principal conference with Thorne. He's sort of obsessed with Mom, even though he's only met her once.

  As I fly down the main road of our super-private community, I wave at the guard posted by the large metal gate that blocks my route out to the world.

  From inside his tiny hut, Gus waves back. "Don't be late again!" he calls out to me and winks. He tips his hat, a tan-colored monstrosity the neighborhood makes him wear as part of his uniform.

  "That's the plan," I yell back and imitate his gesture even though I'm not wearing a hat. It's our little morning routine. I squeeze through the small opening he's made for me in the bars, and wave as I rush off to catch the train. My sneakers slap hard against the pavement as the cold autumn wind blows right through my dark blue sweatshirt; I should have worn something warmer.

  As I race toward the train platform at the end of the street, I gaze back at the big gate and let it comfort me. No one knows this is where my famous mother lives. No one's ever been able to find her.

  And until I turn eighteen, it needs to stay that way.