by Jo Knowles
“I’m ready,” she says. She leads the way outside and down the street.
Henry and I walk side by side, letting our hands brush against each other every so often. I can barely feel the pavement under my feet. I don’t realize I’m still smiling until I look over at Henry and see him grinning like a fool.
When we get to my house, Sally pauses to take some calming breaths.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her. “My mom will be relieved you aren’t mad anymore. I promise.”
I go up the stairs first and open the door.
“Mom?” I call out.
There’s no response.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
I run inside and look around but no one is up yet. When I get to the top of the stairs, a loud noise comes from my mom’s room—a huge clunk. Then giggling.
My mom’s door is open. I hesitate, then step closer.
“I think we broke the bed!” my mom whispers loudly.
“Mom?” I say from the hallway.
“Oh, crap!”
More hysterical giggling.
“Just a sec, hon!”
Oh, lord. Did I really just catch my mom and Claire doing it?
I lean against the wall and shudder, trying to clear the image from my mind. This is going to be so hard to get used to. My mom. Having sex. There are just some things you don’t want to imagine your mom doing no matter who it’s with.
I shake my head to clear the thought.
“I’ll be downstairs,” I say loudly. “Sally and Henry are here! Everything’s cool now!”
“Okay, honey!” my mom calls. Then they both burst out laughing again.
And I can’t help it.
I shake my head again and laugh too. That’s when I notice Gus’s open door. I don’t look inside when I pass by, but I pause for just a moment.
Be good.
I can almost hear the trace of his voice. See the way he looked at me with love and concern. And I know at least that part of him was sincere. Don’t worry, Gus, I think to myself. I’ll be fine.
chapter twenty-eight
That night, in the living room, we’re all together again. Claire and my mom sit on the floor down in the front, leaning against the coffee table. My mom has her arm around Claire’s shoulder, and Claire leans her head into my mom’s neck. They seem to be a necessary part of one another, one supporting the other like that. They sit so naturally side by side, as if it’s always been that way. I don’t know if Claire and I will ever really like each other, but if she makes my mom happy, I guess I can cope.
On the coffee table sits a large metal mixing bowl half-filled with popcorn covered with sugar, melted butter, and salt.
Gus’s empty chair has been pushed to the corner and out of the way. I think I will always wonder if maybe he could have come around and accepted my mom and Claire. I know my mom’s opinion on that, but I like to imagine maybe there was a chance. Maybe he even could have been sorry.
Sally sits on the sofa right between Henry and me. We’re watching An Affair to Remember again. Claire and my mom insisted. This time, I really get it. I know why the story means so much to my mom and Claire. And, after what Henry and I have been through, to us, too. When we get to the end where Nicky and Terry are in Terry’s apartment and Nicky puts all the pieces together and runs into Terry’s bedroom and sees the portrait Nicky made of her wearing his grandmother’s shawl, I have to admit that I’m crying just a little.
I watch the back of Claire’s and my mom’s heads. Claire raises her hand to her face at the same time as my mom to wipe away Claire’s tears. Sally sighs heavily and wipes her own face with a pink tissue she’s pulled from a pocket in her dress. There is no question in my mind that this scene blows away any love scene from Days of Our Lives. I reach over and touch Sally’s leg, and she puts her puffy hand on mine, balled-up tissue and all. She gives my hand a very gentle squeeze that makes everything feel even more all right. I pretend she’s sending me a message in that squeeze. That she hasn’t given up hope. She still believes in love. All kinds. Even her own.
When the credits start to roll, Henry stands and heads toward the kitchen. I pick up my glass and drink what’s left for an excuse to follow him.
In the kitchen light, Henry’s face glistens in the summer night heat. He smiles shyly at me. When I place my empty glass on the counter, my hand is shaking.
I pull it back and hold my elbows, feeling suddenly more uncomfortable in front of Henry than I have in my entire life.
We spend what feels like ages not looking at each other. But I can feel some sort of gravitational pull forcing our eyes to find each other. And when I look into his, I suddenly feel myself being sucked into this sort of time travel. Scenes of our childhood flash through my mind like a tacky soap opera montage. I see Henry smiling at me the first day we met at the MiniMart, a box of Suzy Q’s and a copy of Soap Opera Digest tucked under each arm as he searched in his pocket for the money Sally’d given him to pay for their treats. I see him at school, looking down at his clean shoes, hurrying through the hallways, trying not to be noticed. I see him again and again, waiting for me at the MiniMart so I can buy my mom’s Snickers and coffee and he can buy Sally’s Doritos. I see him at the door as we stand outside my house, just before we learn about Gus. I see him by the river with me, brushing ashes off our legs and then tossing what we can into the hot air. I see him not laughing when everyone else did. I see his sad, understanding eyes. I see him on the boat, looking in the water for answers that aren’t there. On the couch, comforting Sally about a man she never really knew. And I see him now, looking at me. Waiting.
I have always loved Henry. From the moment we met. He’s like my brother. But he isn’t. He is my best friend. And now … now … What is he now?
I put my hand back on the counter to steady myself. I force myself not to turn away from him. And it feels as though he’s doing the same thing. Watching and waiting. Wondering.
I concentrate on my heart and the new way it’s beating—has been beating since our first kiss. The way it hurts and feels wonderful at the same time. For just a second, I let my eyes move to his chest where his heart is.
Henry pulls at his shirt self-consciously.
The music from the credits is playing in the other room. There isn’t much time.
I think of my mom in the truck with my dad and that faraway look on his face in every single sketch. How he looked gone before he even left.
I think of Henry’s dad in the picture with Sally and how he had the same expression. He was somewhere else already, too.
But here is Henry. Looking at me. Not in the faraway distance. He is right here. Just like he always has been.
I think of the photograph of my grandparents and how happy they look. How their love is so obvious and natural and real.
And I imagine me and Henry in a photo. How we might look if someone captured our faces right at this moment. I can see us. Best friends. Just the way my grandparents were. Two people who understand each other perfectly and love each other because of it.
We move closer to each other at the same time.
“Henry,” I say. The name sounds funny, as if I’ve never said it out loud. It isn’t a question. Just … Henry. Because he’s here.
“Yes,” he says. He blushes.
And then we both start to laugh. We laugh as if laughing is something we’ve never done before. And the way it fills me up, the way our laughter blends together so we sound like one person, means we don’t have to say anything at all. Because it’s a laughter filled with relief and gratitude, the friendship of a lifetime, and the hope of a future. It’s the laugh of a promise that doesn’t require words. It’s a laugh filled with love.
I reach my arms out to his shoulders to steady myself. And he does the same to me. And we keep on laughing until I have to rest my head on his chest and he has to put his arms around me and press his face into my hair, and we hold each other up and become quiet. Quiet, and happy,
and ready for the next episode in our lives.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to give a huge thanks once again to my fearless writing partners, Cindy Faughnan and Debbi Michiko Florence. I’ll meet you anywhere you want. Also thanks to Robin Wasserman, for her brilliant insight and enthusiasm, and to Andrea Beaty, for wanting the recipe. Thanks to my editor, Kate Farrell, for falling in love with a girl called Bean, and to my agent, Barry Goldblatt, for believing in her. And finally, as always, I owe my biggest thanks to my husband, Peter, for everything.
Henry Holt and Company, LLC
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Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
Text copyright © 2011 by Jo Knowles
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Knowles, Johanna (Johanna Beth).
Pearl / Jo Kowles.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: After fifteen-year-old Bean’s beloved grandfather Gus dies, she discovers uncomfortable secrets about him, her mother, and the father she has never known.
ISBN 978-0-8050-9207-3
[1. Family problems—Fiction. 2. Lesbians—Fiction. 3. Emotional problems—Fiction. 4. Best friends—Fiction. 5. Friendship—Fiction. 6. Mothers and daughters—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.K7621Pe 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010029883
First Edition—2011
eISBN 978-1-4299-7505-6
First Henry Holt eBook Edition: July 2011
