“You haven’t been home in a long time. I’d like to have time to enjoy your presence.”
“I wouldn’t have been home all summer anyway, if I’d gotten married in June.” It wasn’t a jab. Just a dose of reality.
“Hm. Another thing I’d like to talk about with you.”
Not now, not now. “What if it’s what I need, though, Mom? Like Busia said. I need to figure things out—figure myself out.”
Shoes squeaked in the hallway outside her room. A dark blur marred the strip of yellow light under her door. Was someone standing there?
“And you think Peru is the best place for that. Thousands of miles from your family.”
Kasia pressed her fingertips into the wall until they turned white, tried to sound sensible. “Mama, you wanted to be a missionary for years. Why are you against this?”
“I’m not against it, kochanie. I am for you. We haven’t spoken often recently, so I can’t pretend to know what you need, but I’d rather deal with all of this face to face.”
“I’ve already verbally committed. Can you at least consider giving me your blessing?” Her heart sounded like a wild drum solo. She might be pushing it here.
“Your dad’s been counting the days until his Curly-Q gets home, but I’ll ask him to hear you out. In person. Best I can do.”
She’d have to settle for that. “Thanks, Mamusiu.”
“I miss your voice, Kasiu. I can’t wait to share a pot of tea and hear how you’re truly doing. I imagine it’s tough, since Blake is around and you share the same friends. Has there—”
“Oh! I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone to study, and they’re here.” A scuffle in the hall concerned her. There was definitely someone out there—but the shadow had disappeared.
“All right, then.” She heard the smile in Mama’s voice. “Have a good study session. Kocham cię.”
“Love you too. Bye.” Kasia ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed. The prospect of candor with her mom made her clammy. She didn’t know how she was “truly doing,” and her “trite answers and lies” tank was running on empty.
She opened her door and peered into the hallway. Deserted. As the door shut, an envelope caught her eye.
She bent and picked it up. The graceful, slanted address said it was meant for her, but the unfamiliar script made her stomach tighten. Who’d been out there?
Kasia opened the letter and pulled out simple white stationery. Something slipped out onto the floor. An old admission bracelet from…the Haven? She picked it up and stared, emotions warring in her head.
Blake. Her bracelet was still in her guitar case. Had he been the one in the hall? Did he hear her say she was starting over?
The smooth plastic between her fingers reminded her how easy everything had been that first summer. He’d surprised her with an invitation to his parents’ home near Stone Mountain for a three-day concert event. Some of her favorite indie artists were on the program—people she’d hoped would become colleagues and friends.
Because of the chance to network, Tatuś relented. She’d seen the discomfort in his gentle eyes when he’d nodded yes. But it had been so worth the compromise.
Parts of the weekend she didn’t remember well. She had her first drink that last night, at his parents’ big dinner party. At least the buzz helped her not feel so…foreign…so out of place. But the concerts had been super. That’s what she wanted to remember. Regret clogged her throat as she opened the letter, swallowed.
I’m sorry I made you hate me somehow. I don’t want to make you run. I only want to talk. Please call me. It’s the last time I’ll ask.
Blake
She didn’t hate him. Still, she wouldn’t call. Odds were she’d say something stupid again. Or confuse the issue. She needed to avoid him for sure.
Decision gave her the necessary momentum. She dropped the envelope on the bed and grabbed her clothes. Blake always seemed to intrude when she most needed freedom. She couldn’t let him make her feel caged anymore. Within ten minutes, she was dressed and ready.
Kasia locked her window and bathroom before she left to meet A.J.
She turned back to deadbolt her door. Every little bit helped. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was locking out of her life, but she knew one thing.
She needed to feel safe.
~*~
Zan threw his sketchpad and charcoals onto his passenger seat, cranked up, spun his tires, and peeled out, away from school. He needed to touch base with his father after his chat with Coach, but that was dead last on his to-do list.
All the list said was Get Out.
Westminster, Seneca, Walhalla—the whole Golden Corner hemmed him in. He headed north, craving mountains. Half an hour later, he ended up in Downtown Huntington, pulled to a stop in front of the Warehouse—one of Bailey’s favorite coffee spots. He strode in and ordered the tallest, sweetest drink they offered.
“I’m not looking at Alexander Maddox all the way up here in Huntington, am I?”
Zan spun in the direction of the voice, and a wide grin commandeered his face. “Yes, sir!” Coach Markman was exactly the medicine for his particular ill tonight. Zan gripped the extended hand.
“Sit down and catch me up.”
Zan took a seat next to the window, pulled off his cap. His hair probably stood stick straight, but who the heck cared? “Seems like more than a couple years, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.” Markman took a swig of his iced tea. “I saw you on TV yesterday.”
“That’s a pretty mess, isn’t it?”
Markman laughed. “I meant the game, but I saw that too. Report only showed y’all being pulled off each other. Did you clock him?”
Zan allowed himself a wry smile. “No such luck.”
“How is your sister?”
See, this was why he loved Coach Markman. He hadn’t just coached the high-school team. He knew his boys, cared about what they were into. What went on at home. “She’s out of there—permanently, I think. Staying with some church people.”
Markman’s brow lifted.
Exactly. “So, what are you doing these days?” Zan asked.
“Got a few offers from minor-league teams, but I decided to stick with coaching.”
“Looking anywhere in particular?”
“Just signed a contract with Oconee State University, actually.” Markman glanced over at the door as a group of laughing women walked in.
Zan thought he caught a flash of auburn and turned in his chair. He didn’t recognize any of them. Disappointment punched him. But as he swung back around, his gaze did land on Kasia—climbing out of her car on the far side of the street. What were the odds? Would she come into the Warehouse?
“Know her?” Markman’s voice startled him. Had he been staring that hard?
Zan lifted a shoulder. “Changed a flat for her once, but she played it cool.”
Markman smiled. “Gimme a minute?” He pointed toward the restrooms.
Zan nodded.
Kasia stood on the opposite curb, waiting for a chance to cross. Her thick, penny-colored braid hung over her shoulder as her eyes scanned the street. He remembered that braid—and all the spunk that went with it.
“Bernolak!”
Was this joker yelling at Kasia? Right in front of the window, some lanky guy had stopped. Waved to her. So her last name was Bernolak.
If this was Nail-in-the-Tire, Zan would love to reach out and set him straight about a few things.
She jogged across the street and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Kept her distance though. Zan smiled.
He turned his body away from the open window and pulled out his sketchpad. He should at least appear to be otherwise occupied. No sense in looking like a creeper, even if he was listening in.
“I’m just on my way out,” the guy said, “but I could come in and hang for a while…if you don’t—”
“I’m meeting somebody.” Kasia cut him off. “Probably in there already.”
&nbs
p; Poor guy.
Zan reached into his pack and picked up a soft lead pencil. It felt sturdy in his hand. He drew a careful line, the shape of her face as he remembered it.
“Cool,” the guy said. “I just wanted to say we miss having you around. Not like we did a lot when you and Blake were together anyway…whenever we saw you.”
The dude was tripping all over his words. But Zan caught the past tense. She wasn’t with Blake, whoever he was. Nail-in-the-Tire maybe? Good for her.
“No, I didn’t see you a whole lot, did I? Once you introduced me to Blake, you pretty much ditched me.” Ouch.
“Is that what you think? That we all just took off?”
“Didn’t you?” A question in the tone of her voice made Zan turn. Yeah, her expression seemed genuinely confused. He turned back around, antsy. Last thing he needed was for her to catch him staring.
“Blake said—” It got quiet outside the window.
Zan sketched her eyes. Shaded with the flat of the pencil. Erased. Couldn’t do her justice.
“Never mind what Blake said,” the guy went on. “I just wanted to tell you I miss you. And I’m sorry everything changed. Sorry Blake ever showed up.”
Zan waited for Kasia to say something.
“Forget it.” Dude was done trying.
“No, wait,” she said. “I’m sorry. I miss…a lot. Everything used to be better.”
The guy had apparently decided to keep quiet. And Coach Markman was headed back. Zan shut his sketchpad and slouched a little, tried to appear relaxed. The metal chair bit into his back.
Markman stopped at the counter and pulled out his wallet.
“—best if we don’t hang out,” Kasia said. “I won’t ask you to choose between friends. And—I really need a blank slate. New everything.”
“I get it,” the guy said. “I’ll try to run interference.”
She coughed—probably fake. “I’m going in, Trav. Tell everybody I’m sorry, will you?”
“You want some dessert, Zan?” Markman slid into his chair with one of those strawberry shortcakes. “Or are you filling up on the conversation outside?”
Zan’s cheeks caught fire. Both? “I’m good. Thanks.”
“So tell me. How much trouble are you in because of the throwdown with Bailey’s husband?”
“There’s a hearing on Tuesday.” Zan needed to see if Kasia Bernolak had come inside, and if the guy she was meeting was here yet. Maybe he could snag a minute to say hi.
“Don’t let this throw you, Zan. Explain the history—you’ll probably need to get some documentation, maybe incident reports from the police. I know your parents must have a pile of stuff from early on. Be the respectful, standup guy you’ve always been. Give it your best.”
He nodded.
“I’m not going to lie though. It’d be nice to build a team around some of my old boys.” He winked. “Wouldn’t be legal for me to lure you away from your athletic program.”
“Sometimes I wish I were anywhere else. It’s not just this probation thing. There’s—”
“Firelli.”
Man, he missed Markman.
“If you get kicked out or something, I’ll see what I can swing.”
~*~
As Kasia turned toward the door of the Warehouse, her gaze ran across a black Jeep and her breath caught. It had to be the same one—older, bigger, more off-road-worthy than the average. Forearms was nearby. In the Warehouse?
Her heart somersaulted. He might ask her to join him, and if he smiled at her with those dimples, she didn’t know if she could refuse.
A pair of sandals slapped hurriedly down the sidewalk. A.J. dropped her keys into a handmade bag. “I thought you’d wait inside! Get us a table.”
“I ran into an old friend. But let’s go. I haven’t had good food all day.”
Inside, they placed their orders and Kasia peeked around to find Forearms. Didn’t see him. She exhaled equal parts relief and disappointment and picked up her sweet tea and chef salad.
“I love that skirt, A.J. Where did you find it?”
A.J. led the way to the only sunny spot in the restaurant. “I cut up some of my old clothes and made it. New life, new look.”
Kasia took the seat against the wall and slung her messenger bag over the chair.
And spotted Forearms grinning at her from the table behind the door.
If it wouldn’t have been the most obvious ploy ever, she’d have switched sides with A.J. Instead, she smiled at him and looked away, determined to ignore how his ball cap rested on his knee and that one piece of gold hair fell into his eyes.
“So you ran into somebody?”
Kasia sat. “One of my—one of Blake’s friends. They grew up together.”
Her stomach tightened at an unbidden memory. The one time she’d met Travis to study for an exam over coffee, Blake had knocked Trav’s cup off the table and splattered the contents all over the wall. And they’d left him there to clean it up.
She’d never apologized to Travis.
“What’s up?” A.J. tugged on her long, straight ponytail.
Kasia sipped her drink to wash down the knot in her throat. “It’s easier to start over.”
“I hear that. It can be daunting, but you look tough enough.” A.J. bit into her meatball sandwich.
“Nice to know someone understands. Why did—”
“Hey, I meant to ask.” A.J. swallowed quickly and cut her off. “Did you find something for this summer?” Her bright blue eyes were expectant. “What will you do?”
“Um, Peru. I’m going to teach English in Peru.” Maybe she’d get to hear A.J.’s story later. “Tell me more about small group.”
Forearms had his back to her now, so she could watch him as he set his hat on the table and ambled up to the counter. His T-shirt fit tight across his shoulder blades, and he wore cargo shorts and leather flops. Looked like he preferred the beach to the mountains. Maybe it was his surfer hair. Even relaxed, though, everything about him shouted strength.
“…think you’ll like everybody. We all take turns leading the study.”
Kasia turned back to A.J. “Can I bring something for everyone to snack on?”
“Definitely. You’ll be Jayce’s new favorite.”
“It’s the Polish in me.” She shrugged. “We never show up at someone’s house without a gift. I like to bring food.”
Forearms, a plate piled high with whipped cream and strawberries in his hand, slid back into his seat. He raised his glass of sweet tea to her and winked.
She stabbed a piece of chicken, but the corner of her mouth lifted. “How long have you and Jayce been together?” Something in her needed to know good relationships still existed—for more than just her parents and grandparents. For people her age.
Of course, that could make her feel more like a failure.
“Since the middle of our freshman year.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “He came into my Uncle Frankie’s body shop to get some detailing done. That’s my gig.” She popped a kettle chip into her mouth and shrugged, but the glow gave her away.
Before Kasia finished her salad, Forearms and the man with him stood and left their tips on the table. He nodded in her direction and walked out the door.
And Kasia didn’t know how to feel about it.
9
Kasia was desperate for a new beginning…or seven.
On the way to Kyle’s for Monday night small group, Lenka kept firing questions. Kasia turned up the music.
“What do you think about—”
Kasia reached for the knob again.
“Jejku. I get it. Conversation’s not your thing.” Silence reigned for a few beats.
As she pulled into the neighborhood, Kasia glanced over at Blake’s building. She parked near the mailboxes again.
She hip-checked the car door and headed down the sidewalk, armed with a tray full of appetizers. Around the corner but still in sight, a hundred yards away, Blake’s black sports car gleamed i
n the corner spot as always, where he could guard it from his bedroom window.
She and Lenka climbed the steps to Kyle’s second-floor apartment. At the top, Kasia rested the tray on the railing and scanned the lot.
“Are you all right, Kosh?” Lenka asked.
“Dobrze. I’m fine. This is the right address?”
Lenka checked her scrap of paper. “1207 Finley. This is right. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” What if Blake spotted her?
Lenka pursed her lips. “Whatever. Let’s just knock on the door.”
So stubbornness wasn’t her premier quality.
A.J. greeted them, and Kasia hustled in. With the door closed behind them, Blake and everything to do with him sealed outside, Kasia breathed easier.
A.J. took the tray. “Smells delish.”
“Southwestern chicken melts.” Lenka cast a suspicious glance at her sister.
Kasia wiped her forehead, tried on a smile. “Thanks again for inviting us.”
“Of course.” A.J. sauntered into the kitchen and set down the tray. “You can get a drink if you want, or just follow me and I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
“Go ahead.” Kasia pointed to the big pitcher of tea. She’d opt to avoid the center-of-attention scenario. “You thirsty, Lenka?”
“No thanks.” Lenka followed A.J. into the other room, and the introductions started up.
She’d just filled her cup when an empty one appeared next to it. Jayce’s tattoo gave him away. “Ya mind fillin’ me up?”
“Not a bit. Hey, what’s your tat about?”
“Justice.”
She squinted. “It’s Greek?”
His head jerked up in a Southie yes. “My ma’s Greek.”
“I thought Southie was mostly Irish…Catholic at least.”
“It’s a mix-up these days. But they didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon for her. There’s still a thing with anybody who’s not good and Catholic.”
Lenka nudged her. “Come meet some of the girls.”
Kasia spotted Kyle by the hallway. Hands in pockets, he smiled in her direction. “Hey, Jayce,” he called. “I’m gonna get ready to start playing, all right?”
Jayce nodded. “Yeah, just a sec. I’m all over these melt things.”
Strains of Silence Page 7
