by Pat White
Catherine.
She was watching him be interrogated by the cop. Friggin’ great. Another reminder of what a loser he was.
“You’ve got my number.” As Detective Ryan walked to his car, he glanced up at Catherine’s window.
J.D. stood and narrowed his eyes.
No, she wouldn’t have. J.D. had explained the risk. If anyone found out about Dad, J.D. and Billy would be split up.
Mom would never find them.
You idiot, she’s been gone five years. She has no intention of finding you.
He had to accept the fact she didn’t care about her sons enough to save them from this hell.
Okay, so maybe she didn’t love them, but J.D. loved his brother. And he wouldn’t let anything split them up.
Or anyone.
* * *
I lay on my bed, fighting off a headache from thinking too much.
Thinking about how to stop Greg.
How to stop HULU’s.
How to help J.D.
I’d give anything to be able to communicate with him, but I don’t have his e-mail and Facebook is too dangerous. Can’t risk anyone seeing our messages.
Mom taps on my bedroom door. “Honey?”
“Yeah.”
Mom comes in, wearing a maroon dress with a grey scarf.
“Would you like to join Dad and me for dinner and a movie?”
“No, thanks. Greg might stop by later,” I lie. “Don’t worry, I won’t bring him upstairs.”
She walks over and kisses me on my forehead. “I’m not worried about that nice boy, but thank you for respecting our rules.” She walks toward the door and glances over her shoulder at me. “There’s leftover casserole and a container of berries on the top shelf of the fridge. You’ll call if you need anything?”
“Yep.”
“I found some information on the Internet about helmets for TBI victims.” She slides a few sheets of paper onto my dresser.
My heart sinks and I can feel the blood drain from my cheeks.
She hesitates. “Maybe Dad and I shouldn’t go out.”
“No, please go. Have fun.”
“But you seem a little—”
“Just go and stop treating me like a child!” But I sound like one. For sure. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand it must be frustrating for you that I hover all the time.”
“Which is why you need to go out.”
“You’ll—”
“I’ll call if I need you.”
She pulls the door closed, and cracks it open again. Force of habit. She wants to be able to hear me if I pass out and hit the floor or have a meltdown.
Which I nearly did earlier, but Mom doesn’t know that.
I couldn’t get the image of J.D. and his father out of my head. I watched from my room as Detective Ryan spoke briefly with J.D., then left without interrogating J.D.’s dad. I felt helpless all over again.
Why didn’t Detective Ryan arrest J.D.’s father? Take J.D. into protective custody? Do something?
I feel the vibration of the front door closing downstairs. I cross my room and hesitate beside the dresser, glancing at the white sheets of paper with helmet information. I’m overwhelmed with emotion right now and the helmet is a reminder of how broken I truly am. With a frustrated shake of my head, I go downstairs in search of food.
Maybe I should text Greg and ask him to come over. Mom wouldn’t mind, and it would give me peace of mind. If Greg is here he can’t be tossing bombs.
I’m not sure I have the energy to deal with him. I spent the last few hours trying to figure out how to stop Greg but came up empty, well, except for the obvious.
Do I want to intentionally dive into a Greg HULU?
No, I really, really don’t.
I’ll stick with the charm approach until I come up with a better plan.
I warm up a scoop of macaroni casserole in the microwave, grab the container of fresh berries from the fridge and head back to my room. I’m a smart girl, or at least I was. I’ll come up with a strategy to stop Greg from burning down the school. What an idiot.
I slide my dinner onto my dresser and lean against my door jam to text Greg: miss you. call me tmrw
“Don’t ever do that again.”
I shriek and instinctively toss the phone at the intruder standing in the corner of my room. With lightening quick reflexes J.D. catches it and reads the message.
“Miss him, huh?”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“That is the oldest cliché known to man.” He places the phone on my desk. “I don’t care what you do with him. Just stay out of my life.”
“Excuse me?”
“You called Detective Ryan, didn’t you?”
“So what if I did? It’s not like it helped.” I grab the phone and delete the text message as I pace away from him.
“You’re damned right it didn’t help. If the old man had been there—”
I spin around. “He wasn’t home?”
“He was out getting supplies. But it wouldn’t surprise me if Detective Ryan came back to talk to him.”
“Good, maybe he’ll lock him up so he can’t hurt you anymore.”
J.D. takes an angry step towards me. “If they lock him up me and Billy will be separated and she’ll never find us.”
“Who?”
His intense eyes soften. He shakes his head slightly and looks away. “Never mind.”
He starts for the window; I’m guessing that’s how he got in. I dart across the room and grab his arm. “I’m sorry, okay? I can’t stand seeing you hurt like that. Don’t go?”
“I have to. I saw the way you looked at me today.”
“The way I looked at you?”
“Yeah, like you were terrified.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I was coming over to give you a hard time about kissing Hoffman.”
“I wasn’t afraid of you. I was afraid for you.”
“Right.” He smirks.
“My father would have killed you. He’s got a shotgun in the hall closet and a chain saw in the garage.”
“You…weren’t afraid of me?”
“God, no. Come on, hang out for a while.”
I motion to the bed and he shifts onto the edge as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. I sit beside him and place my hand on his back. “Isn’t there anyone who can help you, I mean, with your dad?”
He shakes his head that there isn’t.
“What about your mom?”
“Gone.”
“Divorced?”
“No.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t think so.”
Which meant she’d abandoned her sons. An ache fills my chest.
“How long ago?” I ask.
“Five years.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“We’ve moved twice. I used to think that’s why she couldn’t find us.”
“You don’t think that anymore?”
He looks straight into my eyes. I’m not wearing my sunglasses, but I couldn’t break eye contact if the roof was collapsing on top of us.
“She had good reason to leave,” he says.
“Your dad?”
He nods and glances at the floor. “And me and Billy.”
“Don’t say that.”
He studies his fingers, interlaced in his lap. “When she left to run errands she made me promise…”
I felt his heavy sigh in my own chest.
“What?” I ask.
“To take care of my little brother,” he said.
A massive responsibility for a twelve-year-old boy.
“I’ll bet you do that really well,” I offer.
He shrugs.
I lay down on the bed and he glances over his shoulder at me.
“Come on, relax with me,” I offer.
He chuckles. “Being a seventeen-year-old male I hear that as a proposition. Are you flirting
with me?”
He cracks that smile again, the warm, playful one. It does things to my insides that make me want to reach for him, hold him.
“No,” I say. “Just trying to comfort you.”
“Thanks,” he glances out the window. “But no thanks.”
He’s guarded. I get that. Letting someone in is scary as hell. Yet I was able to let him in earlier this afternoon when I shared my terrifying secret and took comfort in his understanding, his touch.
“J.D. What does that stand for, anyway?”
“I don’t know you well enough to tell you.”
“Do you know me well enough to help me brainstorm ways to stop Greg?”
“I guess.”
He stretches out on my purple comforter. A thrill rushes through me at the thought of his scent lingering in my room after he leaves tonight. I position myself in the crook of his arm, cradling my body against his.
I want to stay here forever.
“How did you know it was safe to come over?” I ask.
“I’m not sure it is safe,” he teases.
“Ha, ha.”
“I saw your parents leave. I needed to come over and bust your chops for meddling.”
“Hmmm. That worked out well.” I inhale his woodsy scent and smile.
“Focus, young lady.”
Instead I find myself drifting into fantasyland, daydreaming about walking down the street holding his hand, sharing a smoothie outside Safeway, sketching side-by-side at Pine Lake Park.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he says.
“Sorry. You make a really good pillow.”
“And she’s flirting again,” he teases. “Back to Greg.”
“Ick.”
“You didn’t look ‘ick’ when you kissed him.”
“I’m trying to stay on his good side. He’s easily manipulated.”
“By your pretty face. I’ll have to remember that.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and look at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He smiles. “So, what’s your strategy, Sherlock?”
“Figure out what he’s planning and when it will happen. I’d love for the cops to catch him in the act.”
“How are you gonna manage that?”
“I’ll start with simple deduction. If he’s going to torch Cooper’s art room it would have to be when no one is at school, right? Greg doesn’t want to get caught.”
“Which leaves nights and weekends.”
“But sometimes there’s stuff going on at night and on weekends.”
“I’ll check the building schedule on the website to figure out when it’s empty,” he offers.
“In the meantime I guess I’ll keep up the charming act with Greg.”
J.D.’s face hardens. “You mean you’re going to keep kissing him?”
“If I have to.”
He looks at me like I’m out of my mind. I don’t appreciate the reminder.
“If he likes me, he’ll listen to me,” I explain. “Maybe I can charm him out of setting the school on fire.”
“What do you have to do to make him like you?”
“Just be nice, I guess. Stroke his ego.”
“What if that isn’t enough?”
“Meaning what?”
“Are you going to sleep with him?”
Nausea rumbles through my stomach. He’s accusing me of being a slut. I roll away and sit up on the other side of the bed. “Get out of my room.”
“What?” he says, sounding confused.
Of course he’s confused. It’s another bi-polar moment with Catherine Westfield. One minute I’m flirty and fun, the next I’m cold and bitchy.
“Catherine?”
I don’t answer. I just want him gone. I’m not a slut. I’m a nice girl, a nice girl who’s been fantasizing about doing more with J.D. Pratt than just kissing him.
Busted.
J.D. climbs off the bed and kneels in front of me. “What did I say?”
“That I’m a slut,” I blurt out.
“No, Catherine.” He takes my hands in his. “I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was…I couldn’t stand it if Hoffman had you like that.”
“Me neither.” I look up. “Why did you even think I’d go there?” I study his expression as he glances down at our hands. He gently strokes the back of my hand with his thumb.
“You heard about me attacking Greg in the locker room?”
“Yeah.”
“He was bragging about nailing you.”
“What!”
“Catherine—”
“I’d never do that,” I protest, searching his eyes, wanting to make sure he believes me. “I’d never give it away without a long-term commitment, and high school is too young for that kind of comm…comm…”
Light bursts flash behind my eyes. Just before I fall I make the connection that HULU’s are triggered by intense emotions: rage, frustration…
Love.
And I’m falling hard.
J.D. calls my name. His desperate voice sounds so far away. I reach out but can’t see him.
Instead, I’m in a greenbelt and a circle of fire surrounds me. J.D. lays a few feet away on the damp ground, unconscious. I scramble over to him; touch his cheek. His skin is so cold.
“J.D.!” I shake his shoulders.
The fire grows hotter. There’s no way out.
Through the flames I see her, the doe with the round, sad eyes.
The crackling snaps louder.
“Catherine!”
Chapter Twenty
“Come on, Catherine, wake up,” J.D. pleaded. She was gone, lost in her own head. He knew she hated being sucked into that terrifying place.
It was his fault. He shouldn’t have told her what Greg said about nailing her.
Her violet eyes glazed over like a zombie’s. She was in hell. She panted like a sprinter and whispered J.D.’s name over and over again.
“Catherine?” her mom called from downstairs.
J.D. snapped his head around. Her parents were home already? Footsteps creaked on the staircase. They were coming up to check on their daughter.
J.D. was a dead man.
He couldn’t abandon Catherine like this, so lost and vulnerable.
“Catherine, honey?” Her mom’s voice was getting closer.
J.D. lowered her gently on the bed and kissed her cheek. He flicked off the light, scrambled beneath the bed and pulled his knees to his chest. A position he’d perfected from childhood.
Dad would fly into a rage and everyone would scatter. Mom would tell J.D. and his brother to hide under the bed or in the closet. She’d say, “Curl up like a Roly-poly bug.”
Run and hide. Don’t make a sound.
As J.D. cowered beneath Catherine’s bed, both of them so utterly defenseless against forces beyond their control, anger made him want to hit something.
His mom should have protected her children. She should have called someone for help or divorced dad.
Instead she ran.
The bedroom door squeaked opened. “Honey?”
Catherine didn’t answer.
“Catherine?”
The light snapped on and her mom walked to the bed. J.D. eyed her fancy black shoes with a shiny bow on the top. He held his breath and willed himself invisible. At least her dad hadn’t come upstairs. Yet.
“Mom?” Catherine said in a weak voice.
He sighed with relief. She’d pulled herself out of the HULU.
“I forgot my glasses,” her mom said, “can’t read the menu without them.”
The bed shifted as Catherine put her feet on the floor. Her toes were bare and small and adorable.
“Where’s J.D.?” Catherine asked.
He held his breath.
“J.D.?” her mom repeated.
“There was fire and…” Catherine’s voice trailed off.
“Shhh. Honey, you had a nightmare.” Her mom sat on the bed next to Catherine. “That boy can’t hurt you anym
ore, I promise.”
Her mom rocked Catherine back and forth, the bed squeaking in sync with their motion. J.D. closed his eyes and exhaled.
“I’ll tell your father we should skip dinner tonight and stay home with you.”
“No!” Catherine jumped off the bed and padded across her room. “You haven’t had a night out in forever. I’m fine, just tired. Go have fun.”
“We could move you to a different room so you don’t have to see that boy’s house when you look out the window.”
“I wasn’t dreaming about him hurting me, Mom. I was dreaming that he was hurt.”
“Because of what we saw this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you hated him,” Mom said.
“Just go, okay?”
“I don’t think—”
“Stop already! I’m fine!”
The room went intensely quiet. Damn, it wasn’t going to be easy getting out of here if her parents decided to stay home.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “I really want you guys to go out and have fun.”
Catherine’s mom got up and went to hug her daughter.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” her mom asked.
“Totally.”
“Honey? What’s that?”
Great, now what? Did she spot his black Vans beneath the bed?
Her mom approached the bed near J.D. and kneeled down. He was seconds away from being caught, dragged downstairs and blown to bits by her old man’s shotgun.
Heart racing, he held his breath.
Mrs. Westfield bent down…
And picked something up off the floor with polished fingernails. She was inches from him, yet totally oblivious to anything but what she held in her hand.
She straightened and J.D. allowed himself to breathe.
“What’s your Cheer pin doing on the floor?” Her mom asked.
“Must have fallen off when I changed.”
“You need to keep this in a safe place.”
J.D. heard something click shut.
“You promise to call if—”
“Mom,” Catherine warned.
“Okay, okay, I’m going.”
A few minutes passed. J.D. focused on relaxing the muscles he’d clenched so tight that his body was trembling. He was so tired of being afraid.
“Bye, honey!” her mom called from downstairs.
“Bye!”
The front door closed.
“J.D.?” Catherine whispered.
