by Krystal Wade
“Hey.” Haley clipped off the dead heads of the mums and checked over her shoulder to make sure no other mourners were within listening distance. “Dad hit me last night. Not as hard as that one time, but hard enough. Hard enough, Mom. I know I was wrong—thirty minutes late—but for once, I wish he could remember who he used to be, what he swore he’d never become. I remember you telling me about him, how adamantly he wanted to protect this family from what his dad put him through. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. He’s dead, I realized. Long dead. Much longer than the two years you’ve been in the ground.”
A middle-aged couple cut through the jagged rows of headstones, making their way toward Haley with a fresh bouquet of pink flowers. She recognized them. They loved someone next to Mom. Someone young, the years spanning her life less than a third of Haley’s. They nodded, recognition. Pain felt lonely, but no one suffers alone. People all over the world, every second of every day, feel pain.
Haley ducked, avoiding their eyes. “Chris Charming asked me out again. He won’t leave me be. He never paid any attention when I was at DA, never. I know I was with Niles, but still, Chris didn’t even look my way. Now that I’m a loser and he’s got everything I used to have, now he, like, wants to be best friends. I told him no, of course. He probably wants to embarrass me or something; I’ve heard so many rumors.”
The woman with the graying brown hair glanced Haley’s way and frowned. She looked on with pity, pity for this poor child talking to her dead mother.
Don’t want it, lady. Focus on yourself.
Zipping her lips, she dug small holes with a spade and planted tulip bulbs, beautiful things that would bloom in the spring, flowers that wouldn’t die in a day or two without water or proper refrigeration.
Why do people put dying things on the dead? Why don’t they plant living, growing, breathing things?
The middle-aged couple made their way back to their car, heads down and arms wrapped around each other. Finally alone, Haley leaned against Mom’s headstone and closed her eyes.
“You have to stir harder, sweetheart.” Mom held the plastic mixing bowl for Haley, smiling patiently. “The chocolate doesn’t blend into the dough on its own.”
“I’m trying, Mommy.” Trying, trying, trying to make her proud. “My arm hurts. Can we use the mixer?”
Mom shook her head, stray strands of hair falling from her messy ponytail. “No. The best things in life come to us through hard work. Think of how much sweeter these cookies will taste when you bite into one.”
“I’ll probably be asleep.”
Laughing, Mom placed her hand around Haley’s, supporting her. “If you needed help, all you had to do was ask.”
Haley startled out of her memory of Mom, chills racing along her arms, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She checked out the cemetery to make sure no one was watching. So many people here at this time of day. So many people whispering things, touching stones, mourning. One man looked up at Haley, then quickly bowed his head again.
She shuddered. “Time to go, Mom. Love you.”
Haley walked, walked, walked along Route 10, people laying on their horns as they passed in their cars, warnings that she was on a street without sidewalks, an unsafe place, but she didn’t care; she kept going. The trees sported bright orange and yellow leaves rustling in a gentle, warm breeze with hints of summer clinging for dear life. The grass was still emerald green here, sweeping out endlessly along rolling hills dotted with farmhouses, barns, cattle.
Upon reaching civilization again, she aimlessly walked around the Historic District of Deerfield, taking in the buildings that had withstood weather and time. She gazed at people, tourists in heavier jackets than necessary for those used to the colder climate. She inhaled the fresh smells of popcorn, of pizza, of roasting chicken, of old wood.
Sometimes, watching other people smile and go through life made Haley feel a little better.
She stopped at Richardson’s Candy Kitchen, the parking lot full of customers looking for their fill of assorted chocolates.
“Haley!” Jocelyn’s friend Amanda called, tugging her little brother Tanner along by his small hand. She wore skinny jeans and a form-hugging cream sweater, her brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail—a look she always sported when dragging her brother around.
He stared with wide, gleaming eyes at the barn-red building, biting his lower lip.
“Hey, Amanda.”
Amanda checked over her shoulder, then looked back at Haley. “You here by yourself?”
“Yep, as usual.”
“Amanda, can we go in now?” Little Tanner asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Amanda smiled, her kind brown eyes twinkling. “Want to help us pick out chocolate?”
“Sure.” Haley ran her fingers through Tanner’s shaggy brown hair. “What are you guys in the mood for?”
“Pretzels,” the boy proclaimed, jumping.
Laughing, she said, “Then pretzels we shall find.”
They pressed fingers to the glass counters of the candy shop, reading labels, taking samples, overstuffing the poor child’s round belly.
Amanda leaned closer to Haley. “So, why didn’t you go skydiving with Chris?”
A groan tumbled from her lips, startling Tanner. “How many people has she told?”
“Your secret hatred for him is safe with only me.”
“She stay with you last night?”
Amanda nodded. “Left in a hurry this morning. She was worried about you and your dad fighting.”
Haley stiffened. The memory of Dad’s palm colliding with her cheek played on a loud speaker in her mind. “Why are you so nice to me?”
Amanda glanced down at her brother, her brother not paying any attention to the conversation because he’d found exactly what he wanted and pointed and shouted, “That, that, that! I want that!”
Chocolate covered pretzels.
“Because I love my brother. I love him so much. And I hate to see you both in so much pain.”
Shame swelled in a giant, hot pool in the center of Haley’s chest. Shame she didn’t understand. What had she done wrong? “Thank you. Hopefully things will change.”
“Just talk to Joce about that night, Haley. You used to tell her everything, didn’t you? She’ll understand, whatever it is.”
Haley couldn’t. If she told Joce, she’d lose her father. She’d lose her purpose. She’d become like Haley.
Nope. Not going to say a word.
The candy shop door swung open, bringing in a gust of air and a group of laughing boys. Chris Charming one of them. He walked toward the girls, mesmerizing Haley with his piercing gaze, as if nothing else existed within the cedar walls of this store, as if he saw no one else, only him and his desire to annoy the crap out of her.
“Time to go home,” Haley said.
Amanda grabbed her arm. “Word of advice from one girl to another?”
Haley glanced at Amanda’s hand, then back at the door, panic welling inside. “Sure.”
“Maybe jumping out of a plane with him wouldn’t be such a horrible idea.”
“Haley,” Chris said, but she ran out of the store, down the street, all the way home, four miles, four long, isolated miles to get away as fast as possible.
Dad ignored her entry, several hours prior to curfew, too engrossed in his argument with the cable company and why they still couldn’t fix reception, and he continued ignoring her through dinner. Jocelyn didn’t speak much, either. Haley cleaned up the pots, pans, and plates from the meal she’d prepared and served, then ducked into her room to read a book.
Tap, tap.
Every muscle frozen, Haley glanced out the window. “Chris?”
She rushed to open it before he could make another sound and alert Dad to his presence. That would go over really well.
Chris crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you always avoid me?”
Haley just glared. How would she ever get the point acr
oss if he kept showing up? No time for boys in her life. Even if Chris could make her happy, then what? Dad would only treat her worse. He’d never let her out of the house. Hell, he’d probably murder Haley if he knew she visited her traitorous, cheating, piece of shit mom—his words, not hers. And that’s the only bit of happiness she allowed herself, a secret relationship with her dead mom.
Chris opened his mouth to say something else—something else that would lead to things Haley refused to allow anything to lead to—but she closed her window and drew the curtain.
Digging back into her covers, book in hand, chapter almost over, Haley tried to find the place she’d left off but couldn’t settle her heart rate. What was wrong with Chris?
The doorbell rang, and Haley growled, then flung her bedroom door open so hard it banged against the wall. “I’ll get the door. It’s just Chris.”
“That boy needs to stop showing up here for you or I’m going to have a chat with his parents.” Dad closed the recliner and rocked back to help get to his feet.
“That’s okay, Dad. You don’t need to get up.”
He got up anyway and spun Haley around to face him, the smell of alcohol so thick she could practically taste it. “Are you sleeping with him? Whoring around just like your mother?”
“No,” she whispered, chewing the insides of her cheek.
Closing her eyes, Haley prayed Chris didn’t hear any of the awful words Dad enjoyed spewing about her. She yanked open the door and checked back to make sure Dad returned to his seat; he drummed his fingers on the arm of his recliner. “Can I help you?”
Chris, standing tall and proud and strong—and, to be honest, sexy in his jeans and boots—handed her a small envelope, his hair still poking out from beneath the beanie. “Just wanted to personally invite you to attend Berkshires’ annual festival… with me.”
Haley almost choked. “With you?”
Richard waved at Haley and made kissy noises from Chris’s car. He tossed a nasty scowl over his shoulder, then returned his attention to Haley, Haley who could barely breathe. “Yes. With me. Two weeks from today.”
“No.” She’d love to go to the annual festival, something Mom once hosted at their old property, the big, sprawling fifty-acre farm, with anyone other than Chris. Even if he was nice, he’d run far, far away if he knew anything about Haley.
“You have a date that night or something?”
She looked at the invitation and allowed his words to sink in. Two weeks from today. The party fell on the second anniversary of Mom’s death. Haley shrugged. “Or something.”
Dad would definitely be trashed. He’d never allow Haley out that night, of all nights.
Jocelyn ran from her room, slipping on the freshly polished wood floor in her socks, and stopped herself just before flying out the screen door. “I’ll go.”
“Mind your own business much?”
“You’re all invited,” Chris said, snickering at Jocelyn and her bright red face and fuzzy pink penguin pajamas as she pulled out a pen from the entry table and wrote down details on a pad of paper.
“Two weeks from tonight. Where?”
He smiled, smug. “My family’s estate.”
Jerk.
“What time?”
“Eight.”
“Got it.” Jocelyn replaced the pen’s cap. “Attire?”
“Formal.”
“Love it. See you then!” She beamed and turned back for the den. “Daddy, the Charmings invited us to the Berkshires’ annual party. Want to be my date?”
Straining to hear his response, Haley almost missed Chris’s next announcement.
“… okay?”
She turned around. “I’m sorry?”
“If you change your mind, I promise I won’t take anyone else—even if you show up last minute.”
“Oh.” Who was this guy?
Dad made his way down the hallway, dressed in his nasty, sloppy robe and extended his hand. “Thank you. I’d love to come.”
They shook hands and chatted while Haley backed away, though Chris noticed. He met her eyes and frowned, a question in the slight tilt of his head.
Haley hated Chris in this moment. Hoped he burned in a fiery pit reserved for asshole people just like him.
Dad couldn’t attend. Jocelyn couldn’t attend. How could Chris just show up and make them forget about Mom? About her death, the accident?
October 20th continued stealing things. This year, the date would steal Dad and Jocelyn away. The last of Haley’s family. Because if Dad attended that party, he’d drink. And if he drank, he might get angry and hurt Joce. Then everyone would know there was a lot more to Dad than just his little issue.
Haley couldn’t allow this to happen.
xcitement stuffed the Tremaine household to the point of exploding, but not Haley’s excitement. Dad actually spent Sunday coherent, not drunk, not buzzed, not belligerent—okay, maybe a little belligerent, probably because he wasn’t downing a six-pack… or two. But none of that took away his bloodshot eyes or his sallow, pale skin. That would require years of sobriety.
Haley waved to Christine after school, then ventured warily into the house.
“Oh, good. You’re home.” Dad rounded the corner from the kitchen, into the dark hallway, and stopped. “Thought you were Jocey.” He stood on his tiptoes, looking behind Haley, squinting into the early afternoon sunshine pouring in behind her. “She with you?”
Cheeks flaming with heat, Haley said, “No. Shouldn’t be long, though. She and Amanda were talking on the walk home.”
“I’m here. I’m here.” Jocelyn glided inside, bumped Haley with her hip, then gave Dad a hug. “Mmm. Something smells good. Did you try to make dinner again?”
Dad’s cheeks flushed. “Tried is a very accurate description of what took place in here.”
Jocelyn stepped into the kitchen and shrieked, “Oh, Daddy. You made roast beef? What’s the occasion?”
Haley had to bite her lip and run to her room to keep from vomiting, but the thin wooden door and even thinner plaster walls didn’t keep Dad’s next words out, “Thought I’d take you out shopping for something to wear to the party.”
The party. Good God. He’d made all these changes just so he could take Joce to the party? Who was this man? This man who attempted dinner and jokes? This man who was sober. Could a party invite really be the catalyst he needed to turn his life around? Probably not, but that didn’t stop Haley’s heart from soaring.
She shook the premature elation. What if Dad embarrassed Joce at the party? What if Joce had to clean up the mess?
Haley needed to be there for her sister, but no way would she go with Chris.
“Haley?” Joce called, knocking. “We’re heading out.”
“Great. Yeah, sure. Have fun.” Haley emerged from her room as Dad and Joce climbed into his brown beater, an early nineties model Ford pickup truck with rusty, flaking paint, torn leather seats, and a ridiculously tall CB antenna situated in the center of the roof. Black smoke puffed from the exhaust, and the belts squealed as he pressed on the gas pedal. “Nice ride, Dad.”
He hated everything Mom ever did for him, ever bought for him. Such a waste of her life.
At least Joce seemed happy.
Haley scoured the three-inch thick grime from the bottom of the pans Dad used to burn a roast, then settled into her pajamas for the night. It had been a long while since she’d checked her e-mail, so she powered up her ancient laptop that she’d asked Dad for money to replace three or four times now—how did he actually expect her to accomplish school work with this thing?—waited for the processor to finish chugging out its protest, then logged into her account. One day, Haley would replace this machine on her own, but for now she had to save all her money, hide it, just in case she and Joce ever had to run away before their inheritance hit, in case Dad turned on his favorite.
“Huh. Three e-mails from Gran.” Haley opened the first:
Haley-poo,
Where are you? W
ell, that’s not quite the same on e-mail, now is it? If you were here, you’d say—
Never mind.
How are you, darling? Are you enjoying your junior year at school? Make any new friends or join any clubs recently? Somehow, I bet you’re riding high, breezing through all your assignments. With the background you have, you should be. If you’re bored, let me know, dear, and I’ll see what I can do to help your dad get you re-enrolled in Deerfield Academy. I know he said he’s saving money, but there must be enough from your mom’s insurance to cover a proper education.
Are you still on target to get into MIT? I know that school would be hard-pressed to find someone with as brilliant a mind as yours. And if your dad can’t afford it, I’ll pay for it myself!
Well, I need to go now. Got a bunch of old ladies here asking about knitting lessons. (Don’t tell anyone I give knitting lessons.)
Love you,
Gran
The second email was just the same message forwarded with an extra note: Did you get this? Darn technology.
The last one, though, the last one was more personal because it required a response, one that would be much more difficult to lie through:
All right, darling. I get it. You’re ignoring me. I thought that I was a cool Gran—cool is still a cool word, right?—and that my intelligent granddaughter actually enjoyed talking to me.
Now I know that I was hallucinating like most of the old women in my knitting club. Yes, we’ve now formed a club. Ha. Ha.
If your mother could see me now.
Speaking of your mother, next Saturday I’d like to visit, maybe go to lunch, stop by the cemetery.
Please write back.
Love,
Gran
Haley wrote back, pounding the keyboard furiously, bleary-eyed.
Gran,
I’d love to visit with you. School’s fine. Life’s ambitions are all still intact. Just been busy. Mom would like us going to lunch, especially if we pay her a visit. I’ve tended the flowers around her headstone. Installed tulips. You should see the mums we planted last summer. They’re huge.
