‘Am I really why you came back?’ I say. ‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly.’
‘Completely?’ There’s a sliver of a pause in his response, a hole just big enough for me to fill with my doubts. ‘You forget, Hale: I know you. I know how you think. And I know you’re not here because of me.’ No matter how much that hurts, it’s the truth. No matter how much he paints himself as my hero, Hale didn’t come back to Eden to save me. He didn’t even know I was going to be here.
‘You’re serious?’ he asks. ‘Carrie, I –’
‘Here’s the way I see it,’ I say, cutting him off before I lose my nerve; it needs to be said, but I don’t think either one of us is going to enjoy it. ‘You spent your whole life being beaten down – by Scanlon, by your dad, by everyone who took one look at you and decided that a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks was never going to make anything of himself. That you’d be lucky not to be in prison by the time you hit eighteen, let alone a success. And it would have been real easy to believe them, for most people – to check out, forget the responsibilities, give up the struggle – but you didn’t listen. You worked your ass off and you managed to get out, and when you got to New York and things started going well for you… well, my guess is that you couldn’t quite believe it. That little voice was still in your head, wasn’t it? The one that kept calling you a failure. All those people who told you that you couldn’t do anything with your life, that you didn’t deserve your success.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this shit,’ he says, trying to push his way past me – but I’m standing firm, my tiny frame blocking the doorway. With nothing to do except physically shove me out of the way, he folds. He’ll listen, because he needs to hear it – because I need him to hear it.
‘Yes, you do, Hale,’ I say. ‘Yes, you goddamn do. Because you couldn’t unhear those voices, could you? And if you messed up your big shot, your grand tour, maybe that meant they were right all along. Maybe you weren’t worth it. Maybe you really were everything they said you were – and you’ve been running away from that your entire life. I think it would just about have killed you, in the end. I think you could have handled pretty much anything except that. That’s why you decided to sabotage it.’
‘Sabotage it?’ he grunts. ‘You really think that’s why I came here? To ruin my life?’
‘No. Not to ruin it. To spoil it on your terms, just enough so you could convince yourself it was your decision all along. But it’s not. Everything you do is because you’re running away from your past, from the man you’re trying so desperately not to be. You’re not him, Hale. You’re a good man. You just didn’t come here for me. Don’t try and persuade me otherwise.’
‘If I can’t persuade you of that,’ he says, ‘then what’s the point of all this? What’s the point of any of it?’
I wish I had an answer for him, but I don’t.
‘It doesn’t change anything, does it?’ he says slowly. ‘Knowing why I left.’
I shake my head. ‘No, Hale.’
‘You’re still not going to come with me?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I told you why. Mom, and the diner. Everything.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘More than anything.’
‘But you won’t.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’
‘That’s all just an excuse, Carrie,’ he says. ‘You know that, right? You’re just choosing to stay stuck in a rut.’
‘I’ve got responsibilities here.’
‘And what about your responsibility to yourself?’ he asks. ‘What about looking after Carrie Walker for once? What about putting yourself first?’ He pauses, and for a moment I expect him to pull me close and wrap his arms around me, but I think we’re past that now. ‘I’ve seen what this town does to people,’ he says. ‘It sucks them in and it never lets them go. I didn’t expect you to still be here. I needed you to be gone, and when you weren’t I couldn’t believe it. You were supposed to do something, Carrie. To be someone. And don’t pretend that you’re happy like this, because I don’t buy it. That goddamn diner is killing you, one early bird special at a time.’
‘That goddamn diner belonged to my father.’
‘And so let it be his!’ he yells. ‘Let it be his, and your mother’s. But don’t pretend it’s your dream. You staying here isn’t some sort of virtue. It’s because you’re scared of what comes next. You’re scared of the big, wide world. You tell me I’m scared of my future? For God’s sake, Carrie… look in the mirror sometime before you start throwing stones. For your own sake, if no one else’s. You deserve better than this.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my life,’ I say. ‘Don’t you get that? Sure, maybe it’s not as exciting as yours – but it’s mine. It’s all mine, and it’s the only one I’ve got.’
‘Yeah,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Yeah, it is. Good luck with everything. I hope you wind up happy in the end, I really do.’
I don’t stop him this time; he slips past me and out into the yard of the trailer, his jacket pulled up tight against the heavy rain and his keys already in his hand.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask.
‘I’m running away,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘Apparently. I guess you were right about me all along.’
So this is how it ends, I think: with a snarky joke, and him driving away for good. Away from me. Away from Eden, with no reason to ever come back. No matter what has happened in the last week, no part of me saw this coming. Then again, even if I had predicted it… would I even have admitted it to myself?
He was always destined to go. Somehow, that knowledge doesn’t make things any easier. It doesn’t stop my tears mingling with the storm. It doesn’t cool the anger I feel burning away inside me.
Well, fuck it. I’m not him. I’m not waiting ten years to say my piece. All we ever did was wait.
‘You want to run?’ I say, yelling against the sound of the rain on the trailer’s roof. ‘Fine then. You run away, Hale Fischer. You can pretend you’re doing it for noble reasons, but don’t think even for a second that I believe that. It’s just you being scared to stick around – and if that’s all you’ve got, then you should run. Hop on your stupid bike and run as far and as fast as you can, and hope that sometime in the future you decide you’ve found something worth taking a risk on – because until you do, you’re going to lead a real lonely life, Hale.’
He stops for a moment, and despite the white-hot rage that’s bubbling away in my stomach, all I want is for him to stay. I want him close to me. I want to work this out, somehow. I want to find a way. I want that something to be me.
Stay, I think. Please. Please.
He swings one leg over his bike, and turns on the engine.
And then, for the first time in his stupid life, he does exactly as he’s told.
2006
It’s been so long since I last heard the sound of gravel against glass that it takes me a couple of seconds to realise what’s going on, but when I do I can’t help but smile.
It’s Hale. He’s here.
He’s been pretty respectful of my folks and their no-sneaking-out rule over the last few months – mostly, at least – and that’s basically meant him helping me resist the temptation as far as possible by not showing up at my window and not getting the hell kicked out of him by gangs of assholes who should know better. I’m not saying I don’t miss it, especially with him being at work all day (and the hours I have to spend helping Mom and Dad in the diner, now that school’s out), but the extra money has been nice. It’s meant that the time we do get to spend together can be spent doing actual couple things, like normal teenagers: movies at the theatre downtown, fries and shakes at Castle Burger out in Hogarth. We might not have a lot of spare minutes, but pretty much every single one is spent together.
Bliss. I couldn’t ask for more.
Unfortunately,
none of that time has been in the past three days, and the absence of time with Hale has started to make me jittery. It’s ridiculous how quickly I find myself missing him when he’s not around, and how that manifests itself. I can feel myself getting cranky without him, snapping at the slightest thing. When he’s around, that charm seems to rub off on me. It’s a lot easier to take things slow then, to let things develop as they might. He doesn’t always manage it for himself – there’s a part of him always on edge, I know that – but he brings it out of me like a sculptor. When Hale is near, I’m at my best.
When he’s gone, though…
But that doesn’t matter now. He’s here in the night, my gentleman caller, waiting for me.
I head to the window and pull open the shades. ‘What time do you call this?’ I start to say, but when I look out it’s at nothing in particular – nothing and no one. The midnight streetlights cast their beams downwards, but nothing stirs.
Maybe I dreamt it, I think. Maybe I just wanted Hale to be here so bad that I –
And then I see it. Under the tree down at the corner of my yard, there’s a shadowy figure, tall and thin and shrouded head to toe in darkness, so I can’t see make out anything above his shoulders.
‘Hale?’ I ask into the darkness, but I know it’s him. Even if his build wasn’t unmistakeable to me – really, I’ve spent so long lying with my head on those shoulders that I’d recognise them anywhere, with or without the benefit of his face – the jacket is a dead giveaway. Even though it’s just an indistinct shape in the dark, I know every crack and wrinkle and patch. It’s Hale. No doubt.
’Is that you?’ I ask anyway.
The Shadow-Man doesn’t answer. At first, he doesn’t even move, content to loom sort of menacingly in the dark, but then he raises an arm and beckons me downstairs.
I’m pretty sure I saw this episode of Buffy, I think. Teenage girl gets lured out into the darkness by some demon she thinks is her boyfriend, and that’s it. The next time we see her, she’s just a disembodied foot and the boyfriend-lookalike is wiping his lips with a napkin. Tale as old as time.
But that’s ridiculous, of course. It’s easy to get spooked after midnight, when you’re on your own. It’s easy to leap to stupid conclusions – but this is Hale we’re talking about. He’s nothing to be afraid of.
Hale is my safe space, my harbour.
I won’t go anywhere with him, I tell myself. I’ll stay within view of the house at all times. That way Mom and Dad can’t pitch a fit. I’m pretty sure it’s not an argument that’ll convince them, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Perhaps a note would help. I hastily scrawl something down on a bit of scrap paper – JUST OUTSIDE, HAVEN’T BEEN KIDNAPPED, EVERYTHING IS FINE, LOOK OUT THE WINDOW IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME. CARRIE X – and lay it down on my pillow where it couldn’t possibly be missed… at least, if anyone decided to come into my room looking for me. I can be back before anyone does.
Well, hopefully.
He’s never bothered to hide before, I think as I work my way down the stairs, as silently as possible. Not even at the start, when we were a secret. He’d always be right there in the middle of the street, in the light, waiting for me with that smile on his face. He never cared who saw him then.
So what changed?
It doesn’t take long after I turn the corner for me to realise exactly what it is. My relief at seeing him gives way to panic as I see him. God, he looks like a real mess. His nose is bloody, plugged with two bits of cotton gauze – no, not gauze; the material is too dark for that, and it’s a perfect match for the corner of his tattered right sleeve. He stopped the bleeding with a strip of material from his shirt.
Desperate times.
But it’s not just the tear that has ruined the shirt, far from it. It too is splashed with blood, inky-black under the streetlight. Normally I’d run to him and kiss him and pull him close, but not now. Now, I can’t bring myself to do it.
‘It’s not mine,’ he says when he sees the panic on my face. ‘I mean, some of it is. But not all of it. I’m fine. I promise.’
Fine doesn’t usually come with that much blood attached to it – and if Hale is fine, that means that someone else probably isn’t.
‘Then whose is it?’ I ask. ‘Was it Scanlon again? Did you –’
Did you kill him?
I hate myself for thinking it, but there’s a brief instant of fear that this is the moment that everything I thought I knew about Hale gets thrown up in the air: that every shitty comment I heard about him being destined to be a criminal and a thug is proved right. What if Scanlon attacked him again? What if he just… snapped? I don’t think he would have done it on purpose, but I’ve seen what Hale is like when he’s trapped – he’s like a wild animal. Dangerous.
‘It was my dad,’ he says slowly. ‘We got in a fight. A big one.’
Well, I can tell that much, if nothing else. It’s not just the bloody nose or the scraped knuckles or the way he seems to be breathing shallowly, as though his ribs might be cracked and even the pressure of getting oxygen is causing him pain. It’s the blankness in his eyes. When I went to look after him after Scanlon and his boys kicked the hell out of him, he looked angry, enraged – those big blue eyes of his were dancing with a quick, cold fury that told me everything was OK, that he’d be back on his feet in no time. Now, though, he looks… empty. Beaten. Broken, at least.
What did he do to you, Hale? What he do to you this time that’s so much worse than anything he did before?
‘Hale, what happened?’ I ask.
He shakes his head; it’s not important, not to him. There’s something else on his mind, and it’s something big. Something terminal.
‘We need to talk,’ he says.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The night that follows is long and lonely. Every time I turn over in bed, I expect to find the warmth of Hale’s body next to me, but the sheets are untouched. It’s just me. It’s bizarre how quickly I got used to having him sharing my space, how comfortable I was waking up next to him – and yet it’s been, what, two nights? Three?
And now it’s over. That stings. My God, does that sting.
Around eight o’clock, long after the sun has risen and begun peeking its way around the drapes, I decide I can’t deal with it anymore and head to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I can see the angry scrape from the rock that Scanlon threw at me screaming full-volume at the side of my forehead, red and puffy and sore. I should have paid more attention to it last night, when I was busy tending to Hale’s cuts and scrapes – but of course, isn’t that always the way? Have I not always been the kind of person who’d put everyone else first, rather than looking after myself?
And look at where it got you, the little voice in my head says with a bite. How did that work out in the end, Carrie? How’s your Happy Ever After looking now?
I find an old bottle of iodine in my medicine cabinet and dab it on the cut, wincing as I do. It’s not much, but with any luck it will do the trick. The scratch is small but looks fierce; I hope against hope that it heals up neatly, without leaving a scar. The last thing I need is a permanent reminder of last night whenever I look in the mirror.
Last night.
Is that really all it was? Just a few short hours ago? I know it’s the truth, but it’s still almost impossible to believe. I’ve played that final scene out in my mind so many times since then, it feels like I have thousands of hours of watching Hale drive away from me etched into my memory. I remember when I as a kid, I had Beauty and the Beast on a VHS that my Mom and Dad bought for me one Christmas. I used to play the ballroom scene over and over again, watching and rewinding and watching and rewinding until the tape warped and buckled. By the time it came off the spool entirely, the picture was pretty much unwatchable – but this is different. No matter how many times I replay that image of Hale, I get the feeling it’ll be crystal clear.
Every time I close my eyes, there it i
s. Every time I find a moment of silence, I hear his voice echoing in my head: Come back to New York with me. For good. Move in with me. Get out of here at last. Start living your own life.
What if I had? What if I’d gone along with it, taken him up on his offer? I’d be there with him now, on the road to a new life. Eden would be a speck in my rear view mirror, and in front of me… well, who could know? It’s not as though I hadn’t been longing for something like that. I had wanted it. Hale had offered it to me on a plate, and I had said no. I had been too scared – or maybe too sensible, too burdened with responsibility.
But the decision has been made, now. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. Better luck next time, Carrie, I think. Try again later. If you’re lucky.
I’m not sure how long I stay there, my eyes scrunched tightly closed, trying to convince myself that if I focus hard enough, maybe – just maybe – I can convince the universe to let me have a do-over of the last twenty-four hours, but it comes to a halt with the buzzing of the doorbell.
Hale.
My heart leaps into my chest for an instant, the way a lottery winner must feel in the moment they realise that they have the winning ticket right there in their hands. Am I that lucky? Has he really come back?
Thank you, Universe, I think as I run to the door. Come on, come on, come on…
‘Hello?’
It can’t be. Surely not.
Could it?
‘Caroline?’ a voice says.
… and there I am, right back to earth where I belong.
‘Hello, Mom.’
‘Well?’ she says. ‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’
Reckless: A Bad Boy Musicians Romance Page 24
