by Lisa Luedeke
Will persuaded me to bake some of his favorite Christmas cookies—the kind you make with cookie cutters and decorate with icing tinted with food coloring. He poked a hole in the top of each one before we baked them so we could push a slender string through after they’d cooled and hang them on the tree.
“I’ll do the Santas!” he said as we pulled a tray out of the oven.
I smiled and handed him a bowl of red icing we’d prepared. How could I be grumpy when his face lit up like that?
*
Coach Hollyhock called every week to touch base, to see how I was doing. She promised she’d send the contract for me to sign on the first Wednesday in February, the first day rules permitted it. She’d offered me enough money that, after financial aid kicked in, my mom and I wouldn’t have to pay a thing. That was a relief, a thrill—the best Christmas present I could ever have hoped for. In February, I’d have my paid ticket out of here—out of Westland, out of Deerfield High School, and away from Alec. Sometimes I didn’t think I could wait that long. Other times I couldn’t believe it would ever happen at all.
Alec had told me over the summer that he was applying to schools down south: Tulane, North Carolina, Emory.
“I plan to get as far away from this place as I can,” he’d said.
It was a distance I was counting on.
*
Before Christmas a letter arrived at Cassie’s house with the news—no surprise to me—that she’d gotten into Brown, early decision. Friday night, after school closed for winter break, her family threw their annual Christmas party, but with a twist. Though Cassie didn’t know it, it was also a celebration of her good news.
The McPhersons’ house glowed in the twilight. A single, perfect white light shone in each window. Fresh evergreen wreaths hung on the doors, decorated with deep red velvet bows. Matt and I left our boots at the door and stepped inside the warm house, which was already full of people. The wood floors gleamed, reflecting the fire that roared in the hearth. In the corner of the living room, a Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights and more red bows towered over the guests. From the ceiling draped a banner: CONGRATULATIONS, CASSIE! BROWN, HERE SHE COMES!
Cassie moved around the room, glowing, accepting congratulations, talking about how excited she was about Brown. Her cheeks were on fire. All the attention embarrassed her, but she couldn’t hide how happy she was. I watched her talk to one grown-up after another, so at ease with everyone, and I wished I could feel like that. Cassie always seemed to know how to act in any situation.
“I never know what to say to people,” I said, gazing across the room. “Cassie’s so good at that.”
“Just ask people questions,” Matt said. “That’s what I do. Everybody likes to talk about themselves.”
“I’d rather sit in the corner and eat cookies.”
Matt smiled. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Want anything else?” I asked him.
“Cookies,” he said, and I walked back toward the food table.
Across the room, Cassie’s father stood beside her now, his arm draped over her shoulders. He squeezed her and she looked up at him, beaming. They weren’t just a normal family, the McPhersons, they were a supernormal family—like an ancient TV sitcom except her mother was the doctor in the family. Did they ever fight? Ever screw up? They’d welcomed me into their home, always, but I felt like an alien here. Cassie and I were from two different worlds.
At the buffet, my eyes scanned the food but lingered on the tall bottles of wine at the end of the table, one a dark burgundy, the other a pale white gold. Some wine—any color wine, it didn’t matter—that’s what I wanted, what I craved. For a moment I could taste it—the warmth of the red; the cool, sharp white. I could feel the wine flowing through my veins, the heat spreading through my limbs and reaching every part of me, soothing my mind. Then I would think of something to say to people. Then I would feel halfway normal. But how could I get any of that here?
“Can’t decide?” an older man asked me cheerfully.
“What?” My face colored. He’d meant the food, of course. “Oh, it all looks so good,” I said, and tried to smile. Reaching out for some cookies, I moved quickly back to where Matt was sitting.
Before we left, Cassie pulled me aside and handed me a tiny wrapped box. Inside was a necklace with a little charm—two crossed sterling silver field hockey sticks on a delicate silver chain.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “Thank you.” And it was: perfect, just like Cassie.
We put on our jackets and boots while Cassie chattered about England. Her whole family was leaving the next day, going to visit the aunt Cassie had stayed with over the summer. They’d be gone for the whole winter break plus an extra week. Cassie glowed; she couldn’t wait to see Simon.
“When’s he coming over here so we can meet him, Cass?”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “Approval is still pending.”
“He’s not kidding, you know,” I said.
Cassie gave Matt a hug at the door. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “Keep an eye on our girl while I’m gone.” She glanced at me.
“I don’t need anybody keeping tabs on me,” I said sharply, and all three of us, even me, were surprised at what had just flown out of my mouth.
“I know,” Cassie said, but her eyes were hurt. “I was just kidding.”
Matt pursed his lips and looked away.
Cassie looked at me, waiting, but something inside me had snapped, like a dead branch in the forest.
“Have a great trip” was all I said, and I was out the door.
*
My mother took three days in a row off at Christmas. Away more than ever now between shifts, she practically lived at her boyfriend’s place in Portland. They’d been together five or six months, the longest I could remember her ever being with one guy. Maybe it is serious, I thought.
As we sat in front of the warm woodstove opening gifts on Christmas Day, I let myself hope for a fleeting moment that we could be a family again. Maybe if things worked out with this guy Ken, he’d come live with us here. Maybe my mother would take a job closer to home and she’d be here every night when we got home from school, maybe Will would stop spending four or five nights a week at Ben’s house, maybe …
“When are we going to meet Ken, Mom?” Will asked.
She looked away and passed Will a wrapped box. “Soon,” she said. “I promise.”
“That’s what you said last time I asked,” Will said quietly. “And the time before that …”
A rush of anger swept through me. It was okay for me to be disappointed; I could handle it. But not Will. He was barely twelve—and still so little.
“Why aren’t you bringing him home, Mom?” I asked her later, when we were alone in the kitchen. “Can’t you see Will’s disappointed? It’s not fair to him.”
She opened a cupboard, hiding her face from view. “I’ll bring him home when I’m ready,” she said, and took out a coffee mug. “Now mind your business.”
“I think it is my business when he’s the reason you’re never here anymore.”
She looked at me sharply. “I’m not here because I’m making a living for this family.”
“You’re not here because you’ve moved in with your boyfriend, Mom—or you might as well have. Why can’t you just admit it?” I strode out of the kitchen.
I walked past Will, who was on the floor, fiddling with a new gadget, a handheld game of some kind that he’d gotten from Ben’s family. The snowboard my mother and I had bought for him leaned against a wall nearby. Did she really think she was fooling us with all her excuses about being too tired to drive home from work? She’d rather be with Ken than with us. That was the truth.
“Merry Christmas,” I called out to the empty hallway, and headed for my room.
Later she came up and rapped on my bedroom door. She poked her head in when I didn’t respond, waiting for me to look at her. Tucked under the covers in my pajamas, headphones on, I kept
my eyes on the book in my lap, but she didn’t leave. She just stood there.
I sighed and pulled off the headphones. “What?” I said.
“I haven’t brought Ken home to meet you because he wants to wait until his divorce is final,” she said, like this explained everything. “It’s important to him,” she added.
“Whatever,” I said, and picked up my headphones. What about what’s important to us? I thought. What about your own kids?
“You know, Katie, I think you’re old enough to understand this now. Ken is important to me. I wish you could be happy for me.”
She waited for me to say something.
“You know,” she said again, her voice rising now, “I think I deserve a little happiness.”
I put my book down on my bedside table and put on my headphones.
“Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”
Music blaring in my ears, I reached over and shut off the light.
*
Winter break dragged along. Cassie was in England. Matt and I took Will and Ben snowboarding at the local ski area. Some days I’d spend the whole day in bed rereading Twilight or a fat Stephen King novel I’d borrowed from Matt.
Near the end of the week, New Year’s Eve loomed. Like his first party of the year in September, Stan’s New Year’s Eve bash was a tradition. Cassie and I should have been going together like in other years. But Cassie wasn’t here. I knew I could stay in with Matt, watch the ball drop in Times Square, but no matter how much I loved Matt, staying in on New Year’s was a depressing thought.
Megan had called a couple times, trying to persuade me to go with her and Cheryl. Hockey was over; why not go out? she wanted to know. But she wasn’t someone I could talk to about Alec, about not wanting to see him. Nobody was.
A couple of days after Christmas, Stan himself called.
“You’re not going to blow off my party, are you, sweetheart?” he said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“I bet you’re calling all the girls saying that, Stan,” I said.
“Only my best girls …”
“You sure know how to make us all feel special, Stan.”
He chuckled. “It’s a date, then? I’ll see you Friday?”
I paused.
“I’m not hanging up till you promise you’ll be here.”
Oh hell, I thought. Maybe it would be fun. It had to be better than watching the ball drop on TV.
“Okay, Stan, I’ll see you then.”
39
It started to snow around nine o’clock, and by the time Megan pulled out of my driveway it was coming down fast. She’d offered me a ride to Stan’s, and I was grateful. I still avoided driving, especially at night, especially by myself. And there was no way I was showing up at this party alone.
Once we were on our way, though, I knew I’d made a mistake. Megan’s headlights sliced through the dark, while thousands of tiny white snowflakes raced at us like stars in outer space, rapidly hitting the windshield and making me dizzy. It was like being on the Starship Enterprise—except there were things to crash into on either side of us that we couldn’t see. It didn’t appear to bother Megan that the road was covered and the lines marking both the middle and the edge of the road had disappeared under a slippery thin sheet of snow. She sipped the beer she held between her knees and drove fast.
Seat belt on, shoulders tense, I gripped the handle of the door with one hand, the seat with the other. I wanted out of this car. My heart banged in my chest, panic rising. I’d never told anyone how I felt in cars since the accident. No. Instead, for almost five months now, I’d done everything I could to hide it, to act like my old self, to pretend that nothing had changed. It was as if admitting the accident had hurt me would be admitting that it had happened. And that meant admitting it had hurt someone else, too.
But Megan was at the wheel now. I had no control over anything.
Cheryl lit up a bone in the backseat and passed it to me. I inhaled deeply and held. It would calm my nerves. It had to. I took another long hit and handed it back to her, but she passed it up to Megan. How drunk, how high would Megan be after midnight, when she was driving us home? I reached down and tugged at my seat belt, checking that it was there, holding fast. Then I reached for a beer, closed my eyes, and chugged it.
*
Stan lived in a grand old Federal-style house in a historic part of Deerfield, an area of five beautiful antique homes separated by acres of what used to be farmland.
“Have I ever shown you the whole house?” Stan asked after we’d arrived.
I brushed the snow off my parka and stepped inside the kitchen. “You sure haven’t,” I said.
“You already know the barn,” he said, and waved toward a dark gray building, windows lit up. They’d insulated the barn years ago when Stan’s older brothers and sisters needed a place to hang out with their friends. There, a massive stone fireplace generated enough heat to keep the whole space warm, even in the dead of winter. A small bathroom in a nearby shed kept nearly everyone out of the main house. Stan only had parties when his parents were away, and only out in the barn. We could go into the kitchen, but the rest of the house was supposed to be off-limits.
Downstairs, Stan took me through a living room, a family room, and a formal dining room furnished with antiques that had come down through both sides of the family. A center chimney meant fireplaces in nearly every room. The wide wood floorboards creaked and gleamed, and everything was in its place.
“It didn’t look like this when I was little, when all six of us were here,” Stan said. “I think my mom couldn’t believe it when it started to stay neater and neater as each kid left. Now she’s kind of compulsive about it. Making up for lost time, I guess.”
“I can see why she doesn’t want any of us in here.”
Upstairs were four bedrooms. “The boys had one room, the girls had the other, and the oldest kid got his own—which meant I never did until Dave graduated six years ago.” Stan laughed. “I know a few girls sneak over here when the line in the shed bathroom is long and use this one.” He pointed to a door down the hallway. “I don’t mind as long as they don’t wander around the house. It’s been okay so far.”
“I have to admit, I’ve used it before.”
“Listen, you’re free to use it anytime, sweetheart. Just don’t tell too many people. What I hate,” he said, “is a few times I’ve found couples in the bedrooms—once even in my parents’ room. No respect, you know?”
When we got back downstairs, the barn was full of people. Kids were crowded around the roaring fireplace at one end; at the other, a beer pong tournament was in full swing.
Scott slammed the tiny white ball. It landed in the mug on Marcy’s side.
“Drink!” Megan hollered. If the ball hit the mug, you took a sip. If the ball landed in the mug, you chugged the whole thing. Marcy flung her head back and drank the entire beer.
“Damn, he’s good,” Marcy said, pointing at Scott. “Who’s next?” she shouted, her words slurring. “Hey Meg, can I have a ride home? I forgot to ask you.”
“Sure,” Megan said. “I’m up!” Megan took the paddle from Marcy’s hand.
“Bitch,” Marcy said under her breath, and walked past me like I wasn’t there.
Great, I thought. Megan’s already shit-faced and Marcy’s riding with us. Marcy hadn’t looked me in the eye since the state championship game. When Cassie and I were together, she’d talk to Cassie and look through me like I wasn’t there.
“I’ll take you home.” Stan appeared next to me and put his arm over my shoulders.
“You just read my mind. How’d you do that?”
“State secret, sweetheart. When do you have to be home?”
I smiled. I knew he’d be sober enough. Stan drank, but slowly, and not much. I’d never seen him drunk. His brother Dave, who was twenty-three, got Stan whatever we wanted: kegs, top shelf, special requests. But Stan always played the gracious host, caring for girls who had t
oo much and threw up, taking car keys away from drunk drivers. Anyone who wanted to could crash in the barn, where there were plenty of old couches and blankets.
“Whenever,” I said to Stan. “Whenever is good for you.” Across the room, Alec had Sue Tapley against the wall, making out with her. Get a room, I thought, then turned back to Stan. “As soon after midnight as you can manage would be good.”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
If I wanted to drink, I could do that at home. I was beginning to wonder why I came at all.
*
At eleven thirty, the line for the bathroom in the barn was five deep—all girls—which meant the wait would be forever. I left the barn without my coat, shivering as I ran across the yard, my shoes sinking into the new snow. Inside the main house, the kitchen was empty. I ran up the stairs toward the bathroom, but the secret was clearly out: Four girls stood waiting there, too. The guys must just pee outside, I thought, and considered doing that myself. Midnight was only thirty minutes away; I wanted to be back downstairs for it. And squeezing my legs together was not helping my urge to go. I had a better idea. Down at the far end of the hall, a door led into Stan’s parents’ bedroom. Earlier, when Stan had given me the tour, I’d noticed they had a private bath off their room.
I knocked once quietly, then again, remembering what Stan had said about couples sneaking up here. Back in the hall, there were now five girls in line. I waited until no one was looking, then slipped into the empty bedroom. Stan would not want half the school traipsing through his parents’ private space. Quietly, I closed the door behind me.
Framed photographs of Stan and his older siblings covered his mother’s bureau. I picked up one of Stan and studied it, then walked past the bed and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
*
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I jumped, jerking back. I hadn’t heard a sound, but someone was there, waiting.
It was Alec, sitting on the edge of Stan’s parents’ bed, unfazed by my appearance. Had he followed me here?
