by CJ Daly
“I want you to prepare yourself—just in case.”
His pity face flared my skin into further irritation. “I ain’t gonna stand by
and watch while your thievin’ superiors snatch my brother away!”
“Kate . . .” he started then screwed his mouth shut for a moment. “You
need to stay out of it—for your sake. And Mikey’s.”
A sinking feeling, like my stomach just got coated in cast iron, nearly took
me down, but I put steely resolve in my voice. “I think you should prepare
yourself—I’ll take the boys and run if I have to.”
“You need to give up, Kate.” He took hold of my hand again, squeezed.
“Please.”
“If you think I’m just gonna give up, then you don’t know me at all, Pete
Davenport!” Sadness, madness, and fear were all clashing up against each
other producing tears—a weakness I didn’t want him to see. I averted my
gaze.He grasped my jaw, lifting my face to his. “That’s where you’re dead
wrong, Kate Connelly—I know you’re strong-willed but sweet natured, fiercely
loyal, and smarter than is for your own good. I also know you appreciate
Impressionist art, and play soccer better than half the girls’ Olympic team.”
A few tears escaped, but he didn’t let me go. “And I know, for a double-throw-
down fact, that you’re way, way too good for Ronald Tillman!”
My mouth flew open. “I—” was speechless. And no longer able to work
up the energy to be mad at him after his little speech. To tell you the truth,
I was more than a little touched but couldn’t afford to get mired-up in
sentimentality. “Well then, you should know that I’m not givin’ up! I’m sorry
• 359 •
if you’re gonna get in trouble over it . . . more than you know. But I just can’t let them get their claws on my brother!”
He sighed and dropped my hand. “I actually think—knowing everything
I do—that the best-case scenario, for everyone involved, would be if Andrew
does go to The Academy next year.”
I gasped and retreated back a couple of paces.
“You have to trust me on that one, Kate . . . and I don’t give a damn about
me getting into trouble.” Pete gave me a meaningful look.
A sliver of fear paused me. Is he trying to scare me? That was one tactic they hadn’t explored much. But what might’ve been more worrisome was that I felt
like he was just strictly worrying about me .
“I think I’m beginnin’ to understand the ruthless lengths y’all will go to
get what you want, Pete. But since bribery didn’t work, what makes you think
scare tactics will?”
Pete didn’t get a chance to respond because Daddy’s Bronco came roaring
up the road like some kind of smoke monster, billowing up clouds of dust.
“Looks like the only thing worse than his parenting skills is his timing,” he
said, reluctantly stepping away from me to go greet my father.
I knew he’d be early today.
• 360 •
32
PETE WHAT’S-HIS-NAME?
We both missed homecoming. Pete didn’t return all week. Nor
did he make an appearance the following Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday, or Thursday. It had been more than a full week
now without a word, other than the registered letter, delivering two first-class
tickets to San Francisco—for my father and his prodigy.
Finally, final y everyone at school stopped pestering me with questions
about his whereabouts, finally believing me when I said I didn’t know
anything. It seemed Pete had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as
he’d arrived. And after the hysterical mourning abated, everyone went back
to normal. Almost. Ashley-Leigh and the no-longer-bolstered-motley-crew-
P.E.-class being the most obvious exceptions. I didn’t count, because I knew
I’d never go back to normal (not that I ever was).
It was a benign Friday morning, and I was slumped over in Pre-Cal, trying
and failing to look alive, when a knock on the door caused me to bolt upright.
Almost as if someone had called my name. Hmmmm. Why am I so fascinated
by the office-aid handing over a note? Boredom. I was getting ready to settle back into my slump when my name was called.
My heart gave a jolt. And next thing you know, I was standing in front
of the class with my hand out. I almost tripped over a couple of backpacks in
my rush back to tear into the note. It said: Your father cal ed. You don’t need
to pick up Andrew from school this afternoon. That’s it? He couldn’t’ve said
anything else? The lack of information was galling.
Better not get my hopes up. Most likely Daddy was going to take Andrew
clothes shopping after school for the big bad trip to San Francisco on Monday.
But I couldn’t help feel a niggle of hope nudge into my chest . . . only to be
crushed each time Pete’s golden presence failed to manifest throughout the
• 361 •
day. I kept visualizing him, as though I could will him into the empty desk behind me in Spanish, or on the dismal-feeling soccer field. By the end of the
day, I’d given up, dejectedly picking up Mikey from preschool before heading
straight home for a predictable round of chores. Or so I thought . . .
The last thing I remembered, as we headed into lonely pasture, was
thinking I hadn’t seen Pete’s glistening eyes for more than a week. But they
were the first thing I saw when my eyes fluttered open . . . sometime later. I
found myself being brought round from blissful, cave-like oblivion by sure
hands methodically probing my body. I closed my eyes, groaning against the
blinding light.
“Andrew, get my first-aid kit from the truck,” a familiar voice ordered in
an urgent, clipped tone.
Ow. I wanted to protest the probing going on around my head, but only a
groan came out until he found the cartoon-like knot protruding from the back
of my skull. And then I gasped in agony. So that’s why my neck was angled so
oddly. Oh, please, please don’t do that again! I heard the heavy clunk of metal dumped on the ground. Urgent rummaging was going on, along with some
kind of wailing noise that made me want to cry.
“Kadeeee!” crested over the sound of sobs. “I didn’t m-m-make her
m-move!” More sobs followed this bizarre announcement that nobody
replied to.
Maybe I’m hal ucinating? Ow. Something tight and unyielding clamped around my throat. Is he going to strangle me? That’s okay—I sought the
darkness now, not fighting it. It closed over me again, blissfully catching my
fall with waiting, tar-like wings.
“Kate?” Tense arm stroke. “Can you hear me?”
Quit screaming in my ear, so I can go back to sleep.
“Andrew, go back to the truck and get my phone . . . I better call 911.”
911? No! He can’t do that! We have no insurance. I groaned again, trying
to fight my way out of sticky tar to find the words that were sloshing around
my brain. Pete. Thought I formed sound, but it seemed like no one could hear me through the wailing. Mikey. Those cries were coming from Mikey. Why is nobody comforting him? Oh. Because of me . . . How hurt am I? I couldn’t move my head; it felt bowling ball heavy on my neck. I tried moving my mouth
instead.
“Pete!” I cried so forcefully I almost fell back to the dark si
de.
“Kate! God, Kate! Can you hear me?”
“No.” I vaguely realized I made no sense because I just answered him
back—I was referring to the 911 call.
• 362 •
“Bring my jacket out of the back while you’re at it,” he called out.
I remembered where I was now. The cold was a reminder. And the wet.
The water tank. I’d finally fixed the problem. Apparently, a rat had crawled
into the pump rod, blocking the flow of water. I distinctly remembered seeing
the windmill in the distance, churning like a giant mechanical sunflower. I
remembered attaching a wire hanger to a fishing line then dropping it into
the pipe again and again, until it finally caught on something fleshy. And
pulling with all of my might until— Thock! —a rat spit out. Then realizing,
a second too late, the release of pressure would gush the water out. And it
did, like a fireman’s wrench discharging a line. I wasn’t prepared for the sheer
force of it. It knocked me over in an instant. And it didn’t feel like a feather,
I can tell you that.
That’s all I remembered: a torrent of water hurtling into me, filling my
nose, mouth, and throat. I couldn’t breathe. When I came up for air, all I
could think was . . .
“Mikey!” I cried out in panic, struggling to sit up. He was standing right
next to me during the surge. How could I have been so careless?
“Kadeeee!” he cried in return.
“Careful, buddy. Don’t bump into her.”
“I won’t.” I felt Mikey’s warming presence kneeling beside me, stroking
my arm.
“Shhhh. It’s okay, Kate. He’s okay. Not a scratch on him . . . can’t say the
same for you though. You don’t appear to have any broken bones, but I’m
concerned about your neck and head.”
“I got it!” The swishing of dry pasture could be heard as Andrew ran. And
panic, the same trembling timbre to his voice as when Mama died.
“She’s awake now,” Pete informed, “but I’m still calling 911.”
“No!” I insisted more fervently now.
“Lie still, Kate. Your neck.”
“Doesn’t hurt. Just my head.” I focused hard on prying my eyes open.
“Please don’t call an ambulance . . . we don’t have any insurance,” I pleaded,
finding Pete’s eyes just long enough to see him purse his lips—the pain and
the light were blinding in their intensity.
“Hand me the jacket,” Pete said, then I felt him burrito-wrap me up and
instantly felt a little better. I recalled him pouring cool water on the back of
my neck when I was faint, how I’d also felt instantly better then, too.
Why’s he always being so nice to me? I didn’t deserve it. I’d only been surly and ungrateful to him. Oh right—because he’s the enemy. But I didn’t want
• 363 •
him to be. And then I started crying for some inexplicable reason and felt more than one pair of concerned hands stroking my limbs.
“Kadee, I’m sowry. I didn’t make you move, and you got hurted!”
“It’s okay, buddy. Nobody blames you,” soothed Pete.
I could’ve kissed him for it, except now I felt like throwing up. The
crying hurt my head even more. Like tiny jackhammers drilling the inside of
my skull to get out. And there was a distinct ringing in my ears, but I didn’t
complain in case Pete decided to make that call. I screwed my eyes shut,
willing the peaceful blackness back.
“Kate . . .” Pete stroked my face. I pried my eyes back open and was
rewarded with dark angel eyes looking down on me in a way that stirred my
chest. “Honey, I at least have to drive you to the hospital. I’m not sure how
long you were out. You definitely have a concussion. You could have a skull
fracture, bleeding in your brain . . . a broken neck. You need a CAT scan to
tell for sure.”
Does he have an MD? Somehow nothing seemed impossible where Pete
was concerned. He was like the gift that kept on giving, a boundless well of
surprises.
“I’m fine, Pete. Just a King-Kong sized headache.”
“Kate, I’m afraid you lack the clear judgment needed to make an informed
decision right now . . . not that you make clear judgments and informed
decisions anyway,” he muttered under his breath.
“I heard that,” I mumbled, snuggling into his warm body. My teeth were
beginning to chatter.
I felt as much as heard him chuckle. “And you may be going into shock.”
I couldn’t focus on answering; I was going back to sleep now.
“Come on, baby . . . I need you to try and stay awake for me.”
“Hmmm?” Where am I again? I was so tired I couldn’t remember.
Next thing I knew, I felt the ground leave my body as Pete scooped me
up, cradling me against his chest as he carried me. I must’ve drifted off again
because the next time I came to, I found myself in a mechanized vehicle.
Moving rapidly over rugged terrain and jostling around too much for my
delicate state. I groaned in protest.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I know it hurts. We’re almost to the road . . . just
hang on.”
Oh God. A wave of sick overcame me—the momentum of the powerful
machine, the bumping around, the pain. “Pete!” I breathed sharply through
my nose. “Pull over!”
He must’ve been prepared for the possibility I might hurl all over his plush
• 364 •
leather seats, because his emptied-backpack was handed over in the nick of time. The pressure in my head, the throbbing, the sickness—I was in too
much pain to even feel embarrassed.
“Oh God!” I wailed when I was able to speak. I buried my face in my
hands, groaning.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
I wasn’t. I wasn’t worrying about anything except the possibility of the
pain getting worse. My eyes closed again, despite Pete urging me to keep them
open. I heard him toss something in the back.
“I guess you better call your father.” He allowed the disrespectful edge.
Oh Gah! Just when I didn’t think I could feel any worse! I groaned again.
“I know,” he commiserated. “I’m sorry. We have to—technically you’re
still a minor. There will be forms to fill out.”
“He’ll be furious,” I whispered.
“He won’t be the only one.”
I faded out. Next thing I knew, I was floating through emergency doors and
into a waiting room with lights so bright they should be illegal.
“She has a concussion.” I heard him say. “Blunt force trauma to the right
parietal.”
“Are you her boyfriend?” An unfamiliar voice.
“Friend of the family.”
“How did this happen?” The voice turned suspicious.
“I’m not exactly sure. I found her lying on the ground in the pasture,
soaking wet, with her brother crying nearby.”
I kept my eyes resolutely shut, but felt like I should speak up. “Cows
couldn’t get water. Thought somethin’ stuck in pipe . . . used fishin’ wire . . .
worked—pulled dead rat out—except water knocked me back. Hit tank . . .
‘sall I ‘member.” I felt like I jumbled it all up even though I was trying to
speak clearly.
“Alrighty then,” the myste
ry medical lady said as if this made perfect
sense. Only in a farming community would this scenario be plausible I
thought. And then wished I didn’t, because it hurt to even think of my own
name, which was exactly the next question on the line-up.
“Kadee Connelly,” a desperate boy pitched in from below.
“The nurse is asking her, you idiot,” hissed an anxious-ridden Andrew.
“You must be the little brother.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mikey responded with a colossal attempt not to cry that
about tore my heart out. The nurse asked the boys to wait out in the waiting
• 365 •
room. “Is my sistuh gonna be alwight?” Mikey uttered in a voice, even smaller than his age. I reached down to squeeze his hand; I couldn’t find it in me to
speak.
“She’s gonna be back to bossin’ you around in no time,” declared the nurse
in a voice that instilled confidence.
Now I wanted to kiss her. I pried my lids up to see a wide smile and kind
eyes set in a dark, no-nonsense face.
“Howdy. My name is Gloria.”
I felt rude, unable to partake in pleasantries right now. She shined a tiny
flashlight into my pupils. Frowned.
“Her pupils always appear dilated,” Pete disclosed before stepping away,
so I could focus my eyes on the line of her finger.
“Okay, Miss Connelly, can you tell me the name of the young man
standin’ beside you right now?”
Couldn’t help it—a stupid smile spread my lips despite the throbbing of
my head, and the wretched nausea roiling my stomach, and the annoying
ringing in my ears. I would’ve known who was standing next to me in a pitch-
black cave, after being blindfolded and spun around.
“Pete.” The word was loaded with meaning. He grinned at me, and I did
my best to imitate the movement.
“Hmm-hmmm.” Nurse Gloria, clearly not satisfied with my answer.
What else did she need? Standing there, looking down at me with the
brightest dark eyes I’d ever seen, he was purely Pete—nothing else to know.
“Okay, let’s try again using his first and last name.”
Seemed silly. Piece of cake. I knew exactly who he was. “Pete . . .” I
floundered for a second. Of course, I knew this. Just couldn’t seem to conjure
it up straight away. Frustrating. I looked up for reassurance from the one I knew so well. He smiled down at me encouragingly, and my heart surged with
