“So we were together just over a year. The whole thing was like a two-way addiction. We couldn’t get enough of each other. I gave her the ring on our first anniversary. I had it made with both our initials — like we’d be together forever. I thought I was in love.”
“Love?” The word drops out of my mouth like a toad. I so badly want to track Savannah Lawrence down and pull every strand of her blond hair out of her head. “So wahappened?
Ben tilts his head back and groans. “Man, I was such an idiot. Savannah broke it off the minute she found out Dad went bust. She didn’t even do it in person. There was a note and the ring waiting for me on the front porch of my house when I got home from school.”
“Oh, Ben …” Crap. What else is there to say?
“Yeah, I was a wreck. And then the next day, Mom left.”
Quelles maudite salopes. “So whydjoo keep th’ring?”
His eyes meet mine. “To remind me not to trust anyone again. Especially not another pretty girl.”
Pretty girl? My core body temperature instantly shoots up ten degrees.
“So whydjoo throw it away?”
Long pause. “I don’t need it anymore.”
My heart does a little somersault. I so badly want to say something here. Something to let him know how much I care about him. Like how speaking his name out loud makes me feel like I’m singing in a choir. Or how looking at his face gives me a glimmer of hope that I might not actually die a horrible, premature death. And how, for reasons I don’t even fully understand, thinking about him is the one and only thing that’s getting me through the long, ugly nights. Maybe even the only thing that’s been keeping me alive this long. But I can’t get a sound out. My voice is officially kaput. So I Morse-code eyelid blink him instead. You can trust me, Ben … I wouldn’t ever hurt you.
He puts his arms around me and pulls me even closer. I think I hear him whisper, “I know.” Or maybe it’s just a hallucination. A second later, his hand is on my face, brushing straggly damp strands of hair out of my eyes. “Close your eyes now, Lily. You need some rest.” I take a long, deep breath. He smells like the lake. Like our kiss. My head swims at the thought of it. I let the breath out slowly. It feels good to be here with him. So good. I’ve been spending so much time pushing people out of my life, I never imagined how nice it would feel to let someone in. Just like Aunt Su said in her note.
I think she’d be proud if she could see me now.
If people were fonts, Ben would be … Ben would be …
Ben isn’t a font.
I put my cheek on his shoulder and close my eyes. His fingers oh-so gently brush over the mess of my wet hair. For the first time in forever, I feel genuinely happy. I want to bring my face to his and kiss him until the sun comes up. But my head is too heavy to move; it feels like it weighs a bazillion pounds. I want to run my hands all over his body and learn all its measurements and angles and calculate how they’d fit with mine. But my hands are sinking in quicksand. And the rest of me is following fast. My breath is whispering in and out of me so slow … so slow … like the baby waves that inch up and down the sand at low tide.
This is it. It’s all ending here. In Ben’s arms.
Not such a bad way to go.
Funny, I thought I’d be petrified when this moment finally came. But I’m not at all. I’m totally and completely at peace. And I feel my muscles go limp. And I sense everything go dark as death comes to take me away.
See you in the Guinness book!
TWENTY-ONE
September 21st
Okay, so I’m not dead. But you probably figured that out already, didn’t you? ’Cause if I was really dead, this would be an epilogue, not a chapter, right?
Right.
So if I’m not dead, what the hell happened? I open my eyes to see the sun misting through the giant window beside me. Hey, how’d I miss the sunrise? I peer around. There’s the lake, slapping against the sand. There’s the creaky old glider swinging in the breeze on the porch. There’s Aunt Su’s tattered and woolly blanket pulled up high and flopped over my ear. And … jeepers creepers! There’s Ben beside me, head propped up on the palm of his hand, staring down at me like a Greek god. His face brightens when my eyes connect with his.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I lift my head carefully. The sheep has somehow miraculously lifted off my brain. Bits and pieces from the night before are slowly coming back to me. Emma’s house … the chase in the dark that didn’t happen … the kiss in the lake that did. That’s when I notice Ben is wearing his clothes again, although they’re still a bit damp-looking and wrinkly from our late-night swim. I glance quickly down at myself: I’m still wearing Aunt Su’s T-shirt.
“So, anyone ever tell you that you snore when you sleep?” he says.
Excuse me? I yank the blanket off my ear and sit up straight. “What did you just say?”
“I said that you snore.”
“No, the other thing. The sleeping part.”
“Yeah, right. Didn’t you say you were having problems with that?”
“I am!”
He takes my hand. His face stretches into a deliriously happy grin. Another first. “Could’ve fooled me,” he says. The dimple in his chin winks at me. I stare at him in shock. Does that mean I slept? I think it does! Oh my God! I slept! I’m not going to die a hideously premature death after all! It’s like a miracle! For Pete’s sake, I totally feel like Ebenezer Scrooge waking up on Christmas morning with a new chance at life! I fling off the blanket and leap to my feet. Energy is vibrating through my arms and legs like a symphony. My fists pump in the air and I spin around in a happy pirouette.
“I slept! Ben! Ben! I got my sleep back!!”
I lean down, throw my arms around his neck and tackle him to the floor. I haven’t felt this good in weeks. “I’m not going to die! I’m not going to die!” I say, hugging him so hard it hurts. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me get my sleep back.”
“You’re welcome — ow! — I think.” He’s pretending to be hurt but I can hear the smile in his voice. So I hug him even harder. “Oof … Isn’t it a little early in the afternoon for wrestling?”
I stop squeezing. Afternoon? Uh-oh. I look down at my bare wrist. No watch. “What time is it?”
Ben stretches out a long arm and points to the purple cuckoo clock on the wall beside the kitchen. “Just past twelve-thirty.”
I jump to my feet. “Merde!”
“What?”
“My parents! I better get home before Emma reports me AWOL!”
As if on cue, there’s a sudden pounding at the cabin door. And then a bellow so loud, it rattles the creaky old walls. “Lily MacArthur? Are you in there?”
My eyes reach for Ben. “That’s my dad. Guess I’ve been reported.”
Pound-pound-pound. The wooden door heaves like it’s going to split in half.
“LILY?”
The bellow has officially erupted into a scream. I jump to my feet and dash to the laundry room for my clothes. “Yeah, Dad. I’m here. Just gimme a sec.”
A moment later, dressed in little Swartz sister’s damp skinny jeans and T-shirt, I swing open the door. Dad glares down at me. His eyes are thunderclouds and his nostrils are flaring like an angry bull. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever seen him so mad.
“Where have you been?” he howls. The Tabasco sauce on his breath gusts into my face. He must have OD’d on it at breakfast this morning. Too much of the stuff always brings out his temper.
“Calm down, Dad …”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down, missy! Your friend Emma called and said you ran away from her house last night.” Muscling past me, he marches straight into the cabin. “We’ve been worried sick! Emma’s been crying all morning.”
“She has?” Ugh, poor Emma. She’s the first real friend I’ve ever had. Sleep-deprived paranoia or not, I shouldn’t have bailed on her like that. I make a mental note to call her later and apologize.
/>
“Yes, she has!” he yells. “And your poor mother’s a hysterical mess. She was even too upset to come out and look for you. You know, she’s positive you fell in the lake and drowned.” Dad stops in his tracks the instant he spots Ben. Ben who’s standing by the window folding up the quilt into a giant slippery square. Well, hexagon, actually.
“Who the hell are you?”
Nice, Dad! I hop over to the window and grab the quilt from Ben’s hands. Why can’t anybody with a Y chromosome fold linens neatly? “Dad. This is Ben Matthews.”
“Was this all about a boy?” His big hand flies up and slaps his forehead. “God! What’s gotten into you, Lily? I can’t believe it.” Dad’s anger is quickly dissolving into that classic look of paternal pain — you know, the one that strikes the moment fathers inevitably wake up to the realization their daughters are growing up. He clutches at his heart and staggers slightly to the left. “Is he the reason you ran away?”
“No … Well … Oh, come on, Dad! Don’t be so melodramatic!”
He jabs a sausagey finger in Ben’s direction. I swear he looks like he’s millimetres away from taking a swing at him. “What did you say your last name was, kid?”
“Matthews. Ben Matthews.”
And then the strangest thing happens. In a flash of a second, Dad’s anger seems to melt away to nothingness. It’s like magic. The lines in his forehead smooth out, his eyes soften, and his nostrils shrink back down to normal.
“Not Steven Matthews’ kid?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
His jabbing finger falls down to his side. With a nod of his head, Dad lets go of his heart, steps toward Ben, and holds out his right hand. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, son. I’ve known your father for years.”
Okay … what the hell is going on here?
“Yeah … nice to meet you too, Mr. MacArthur.”
I watch them shake hands. Dad and Ben. My father and the guy I’m crazy over the moon for. I should feel happy about this, right? So why does it feel like my stomach has swallowed every single one of my vital organs? And why do my legs suddenly feel like a pair of overcooked linguini noodles? I take a small step back and sink down onto the couch. The cushions sag heavily to the left as Dad sinks down beside me.
Maybe he senses a “MacArthur family talk” coming on, because Ben throws me a little wink and reaches his hand out in the air. “I think I should be going now, Lily. I better get home and let my dad know I’m okay. See you around.”
I jump to my feet to stop him. No, don’t leave yet! There’s so much more I want to tell you. Like how much I like you. And how much Aunt Su would have liked you. And how now I know the answer to my missing sleep was with you all this time. And how grateful I am that you helped me last night. And how desperately I want to help you now. And … and …
My mouth tumbles open but no words come out. There are way too many and they all stick in my throat. Too late anyway, because before I know it, Ben’s gone. I listen to the sound of his shoes scrunching down the driveway. When I know for sure he’s out of earshot, I plunk back down onto the sofa and swivel around to face Dad.
“Mind telling me what just happened there?”
He frowns. “Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that question?”
I poke him with my elbow. “I mean it, Dad. How do you know Ben’s father?”
Pause. Deep breath in. Long gust of Tabasco out.
“Steven Matthews is … well, was one of our biggest donors. Every year when he arrived in Big Bend for the season, he would come into my office, sit for a cup of coffee, and cut me a substantial cheque for the charity. And it wasn’t just a tax deduction for him — he honestly cared about how the money was going to be used. And who it was going to help. He’s really one of the most generous, down-to-earth people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the prickly little lump that’s suddenly stuck in the middle of my throat. “Ben told me they’re broke now. Is that true?”
Dad shakes his head slowly. “It’s true. Poor Steve definitely didn’t deserve what happened. I mean, not only did he lose everything he’d ever worked for, but then his wife left him. I think I heard she’s living out west now.”
“Vancouver, actually.”
“Okay, Vancouver.” Dad rakes a hand through his thick, black hair. “And from what I’ve heard around town, Steve’s pretty much at the end of his rope. Apparently, he’s been drinking. Rather heavily, I gather. I’ve tried dropping in to see him once or twice, but he won’t answer the door.” He takes my hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Your friend Ben must be having a really hard time right now. It’s good to know he’s got you to talk to.”
Before I can say anything, the pocket of Dad’s jeans start to ring. “Bloody hell. It’s your mother.” He pulls out his cell and brings it to his ear. “Lis? Yeah, I found her … She’s fine … I will … Okay.” He closes it with a slap and tosses it down onto the back of Aunt Su’s black rhino carving. I mean, my black rhino carving.
“She mad?” I ask, smoothing out the deep pattern of lake wrinkles still creasing my damp, borrowed clothes.
“She’ll be fine. We’ll give her a few minutes to calm down before we take you home.” He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. And that’s when he notices my soggy little wardrobe malfunction. “For Christ’s sake, whose clothes are you wearing? And why are they wet?” He leans down and gives me a sniff. “Jesus, Lily. Did you fall in the lake?”
I decide to plead the fifth on that one and change the subject. “You know, Dad, it’s getting harder all the time to deal with Mom’s shtick.”
He laughs at that. “You’re preaching to the choir, Sweetness.”
“No, really. She actually had a lock installed on my window and door. Did you know that?”
“Lily …”
“And she’s talking about having this place condemned. Did you know that?”
“Lily …”
“I can’t take it anymore. I’m serious, her control issues are taking over my life!”
“Lily …”
“You remember what it’s like to be a teenager, don’t you, Dad? ’Cause I don’t think she does at all. And I need a bit of space to make my own mistakes. It’s the only way I’m going to grow up.”
“I know that.”
“So would you tell her, please?”
“Yes, I’ll talk to her. But just keep in mind, she’s trying her best. She really is.”
I have nothing to say to that. The purple cuckoo clock ticktocks through the long, heavy silence.
After a few minutes, Dad speaks again. But this time, he definitely isn’t laughing. “I think there’s something you should know, Lily. Something about your mom. There’s actually a very good reason why she is the way she is. I know she’s never told you — she probably never will. But you really need to hear it. And this feels like the right time.”
My stomach muscles tense up into a giant fist. Oh man, not another secret! Lately, my life feels like it’s coming straight out of a paperback mystery novel. Catching Dad’s dark eyes with mine, I lean in close and whisper: “She’s not my real mother, is she?” Because that would actually explain a lot, the little Aunt Su voice in my head adds silently.
Dad’s mouth falls open in shock. “Lily Rose MacArthur! Where did that come from? Of course she’s your real mother.”
“Okay then, is she wanted by the police or something?”
He rolls his eyes just like an irritated school kid. “Oh for Christ’s sake, would you just let me tell you, already?”
“Fine, sorry. Go ahead.” Where exactly is he going with this?
“You’ve heard there was a drowning in the lake when your mother was little?”
“Yeah. That’s why she made me wear water wings until I was twelve.”
“Right. Well, what you don’t know is that it was your grandfather who drowned.”
“My grandfather? As in, Mom’s da
d?”
“That’s right. Su’s dad too, of course.”
I shake my head. “I knew he died a long time ago … but how come nobody told me he drowned in the lake?”
“It’s just not something your mother or Su liked to talk about. His death really devastated them both. In some ways, I think it changed them forever.”
“Changed them how?”
“Su was older when it happened — almost thirty. She took her father’s death as a lesson: life is short and you’d better make the most of the time you’ve got. A few days after the funeral, she quit her job at Beachside Books and started writing her first novel.”
Beachside Books? Guess that’s where she met Mr. Swartz.
“And Mom?”
“Your mother was only a little girl when her father drowned. The way she coped was to clutch on tightly to everyone else she ever loved. To keep them close and safe.” A hint of a shadow passes over Dad’s face as he speaks.
“And I’m guessing you’re speaking from personal experience?”
His answer comes out in slo-mo, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “As you can imagine, it wasn’t easy being married to someone like your mom.”
Oh, man. My poor suffocated dad.
“And Lily,” he continues after a long pause. “You must know that there’s no one in this world your mother loves more than you.”
The prickly little lump is suddenly back in my throat — bigger than a tennis ball this time. I gulp it down, along with a budding crop of hot tears. “All right, I get what you’re saying here, but she’s got to let go a bit or I’ll go insane.” Then I close my eyes and finally speak the secret wish that’s been living inside me for as long as I can remember. “Please don’t ever tell her I said this, but I always wished Aunt Su was my real mother.” It feels good to release those awful words. Even if the sound of them makes me feel truly ugly for the first time in my life.
Dad pats my hand. “This might surprise you, Sweetness, but I think your mom always secretly wanted to be more like her sister. You know, she was intensely jealous of her.”
Under the Moon Page 16
