What She Left Behind (9 page)

“Reading the back cover isn’t cheating.”

“Sure it is. I never read the synopsis. I like to be surprised. Really surprised.”

“So how do you pick a book?”

“I read the first page. If I like it—” He pauses and gives me this goofy grin. “I keep reading.” I have the feeling he isn’t talking about books anymore.

“Want some ice cream?” Alex asks.

“Not today. Thanks.” I’m feeling hopeful. I’m sure my mom will arrive any minute, she’ll explain everything, and we’ll be on our way to our new life. I wonder where we’re going. Colorado, maybe? Or Florida? I’m excited. Then I look over at Alex. Damn. Why can’t this be as easy as it was two nights ago? Then there’s Zach. How can I just leave him? And Lauren—now I’ll never have a chance to make things right with her.

At least I won’t miss the house. It’ll be good to be away from all
the memories that live inside. I don’t think I’ll miss my dad, either. Because the Dad that I want to remember died when we moved from Philly.

“So, do you have any ideas for the history project?”

Project?
“Huh?”

“I’ve always been fascinated by the Dirty War in Argentina.”

I have no idea what Alex is talking about.

“You know, Argentina during the late seventies, early eighties. When the government kidnapped its own citizens and they were never heard from again? We learned about it in Spanish class. They were called los Deseparecidos—the Disappeared.”

The Disappeared. How ironic. My mother disappeared. Soon I’ll disappear. Only not like the Disappeared, I hope. I feel a little sick inside. Alex looks at me with his head tilted to one side. He’s waiting for my answer. “Sorry. Maybe we can try a different topic?”

“Yeah, no problem. You wanna give me your phone number?”

I must look surprised because Alex adds, “So we can work on the project.” But the way he almost laughs when he says the word “project” lets me know that’s not why he’s asking.

I raise my eyebrows. “Right. For the
project
.” I tell him my number.

“Want mine?” he asks with a wicked grin.

“Sure.” I pull out my phone and start typing.

Zach appears in the distance with a paper bag in his hand and the sun on his shoulders. I try to wave at him as if today is just another day at the Dairy Dream.

“I can’t believe it—all this time you’ve been crying over Zach?” Alex sounds disappointed.

“No, not exactly.”
But you’ll be safer if you believe that than if you know the truth.

“Hey, buddy,” Zach greets me. He’s adopted Matt’s pet name for me. “Got you some tacos.” He plops the bag down and slides onto the picnic table across from me, then nods politely at Alex. “Two soft, one hard, beef with cheese and tomatoes. None of that wilted bleach lettuce and no onions. And a root beer.” Zach knows about the root beer
whoosh
thing.

“You’re adorable,” I say to Zach. I lean across the table, hug him, and give him a kiss on the cheek. I take him in, blond hair going every which way, the soft curve of his chin, the sparkling blue eyes, the smile that lets you know he cares. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.

I think Alex must have seen the look that passed between us, that look that says, “Everything is okay now that you’re here.” I can’t help it, because it’s true.

“Hey, good game last week,” Zach says. “Good luck this Friday.”

“Thanks, man. You gonna be there?” says Alex.

“No, can’t make it this week. It’s my mom’s birthday and we’re going to some sort of play. She’s kind of like Sara, here. Not really a sports fan.”

“Yeah, Sara mentioned that she isn’t exactly looking forward to having to play in the band at the game.”

Zach snorts. “That’s a bit of an understatement. Did she mention what she does to pass the time between songs?”

Alex shakes his head. “No, do tell.”

“Zach—” I lean across the table and try to cover his mouth with my hand but he squirms away. “She reads
Soap Opera Digest
in the stands.”

“Really now? No Stephen King?” Alex raises his eyebrows.

“A book would be too thick to fit under my uniform.”

“You know, I’m actually kind of surprised that she takes magazines to games. She’s so particular about keeping them in pristine condition. Once I spilled a tiny bit of pop on one of them and she didn’t talk to me for a month,” says Zach.

“It was only a week,” I say. “And it was the
Winds of Change
tenth anniversary issue.”

“Need I say more?” says Zach. “Except to mention that she has every magazine from the past twenty years in her room. It’s a miracle she even has room to sleep.”

“It’s the past
five
years. And they have a very discreet presence in my room. Plus, they’re neatly organized.” That part is true. Because if they weren’t, Dad would have tossed them all in an instant. Too bad I can’t take them with me.
At least Mom and I will still be able to watch
The Winds of Change
together.

“Well, this has all been very enlightening,” Alex says, laughing, “but I guess I’ll be heading back to class. Algebra test, you know, Sara.”

I give him a little shove to get him to stop laughing. It doesn’t work. “No, I didn’t. You study?”

“Nah.” He attempts to stop laughing. “Well, I’ll see you Saturday night. Around eight? Pick you up?”

“Sure,” I say, feeling my heart break because I know I won’t be there when he shows up.

“Actually, I suppose I’ll see you in history tomorrow first. And Friday.”

“I suppose you will.”
Not.

Alex saunters off to school, hands in the pockets of his jeans, backpack slung over one arm. I want to call him back, tell him to stay a while longer. Say good-bye for real.
God, I never even got to kiss him yet.

“What was that about?” Zach asks in a teasing voice. He takes his last bite of taco.

I shrug. “Some party he invited me to.”

“You two dating? Since when?”

“Since never,” I say. “I was pretty messed up yesterday. I think he asked me out of pity.”

“That wasn’t pity.” He tips his cup back, tapping it to loosen the ice.

“It doesn’t matter anyhow. I’m not going to any party with Alex, because I’m not going to be here. My mom and I are getting out of here. We’re leaving Dad.”

Zach let the ice fall back in the cup. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Zach knows what’s been going on at home. Well, some of it at least. I leave out the worst parts when we talk.

I nod.

“When?”

“Any minute. My mom’s picking me up from here. Or at least I hope she is. She was supposed to get me yesterday, but something must have come up.”

“What do you mean? What came up?” Zach asks sharply.

“I don’t know. She didn’t come home last night.”

Zach looks as scared as I feel. “So what makes you think that she’s coming today?”

“She has to, Zach.” My eyes fill with tears.

Zach moves to my side of the picnic table, puts his arms around me, and holds me tight. “It’s going to be all right.” The smell of his aftershave comforts me and makes me feel like it’s both Zach’s and Matt’s arms around me. It’s like watching Zach play soccer. If I squint my eyes, the blond blur can pass for Matt, for a few seconds at least. In those seconds my heart is full.

But once I shouted, “Way to go, Matt!” after Zach made a goal. He looked up at me in the stands and I saw the sadness on his face. Then someone tried to pass him the ball. It bounced off his knee and the other team snatched it away.

We sit at the picnic table, not feeling the need for small talk. After a few minutes I leave to go to the bank to clear out my savings account, while Zach keeps an eye out for my mom.

When I get back from the bank, I decide to show Zach my hideout behind the dentist office. We certainly can’t stay at the Dairy Dream. Mrs. Hamilton, who is scooping ice cream again today, doesn’t limit herself to snooping in her own daughter’s life. Besides, she’s glaring at me. I think Jessica must have mentioned the whole nosebleed incident.

Zach takes out his iPod and hands me one of his earbuds. Taylor Swift is playing. Zach isn’t crazy about country music, but he keeps it on his iPod for me.

“So what are you writing about this month?” I ask him. Zach writes for the school paper, the
Scottsfield Sentinel
.

“Just an article on the new English teacher and a movie review. The one about the FBI agent.”

“Oh, too bad I’ll miss seeing the movie with you. At least, I
hope I’ll miss seeing it with you. Send me a copy of the article?” Of course there is no way I’m going to be able to give him our new address, but I feel better pretending.

“Sure thing.”

My cell phone dings. I have a text message from Alex. WHAT DO U THINK OF MISERY?

I text back, NO CHANCE TO READ IN HOUR SINCE LAST SAW U.

I’m also not sure I have the stomach to read horror anymore.

“Who’s that?” Zach points at my phone.

“No one, really.” It feels like a lie, because already I find myself thinking of Alex way more than I’ve thought about any guy in a long while. But, it’s not like I’m going to be anyone special to Alex after tomorrow, except “that girl who skipped town with his copy of
Misery
.” If he calls me tomorrow, Keith Urban will be singing from the bottom of some river, maybe the Au Sable, because that’s where I’ll have to throw my phone so my dad can’t trace it.

When I look up, Zach is taking a picture of me with his phone. Zach is always taking pictures.

“Mark my words. Someday you’re going to have a picture in
Time
magazine alongside some prizewinning article that you’ve written.”

“Yeah, right. Make that
Country Time
,” he says.

Zach hates that magazine. It’s a local one about life in the country.

“Well at least they print gorgeous pictures,” I say.

“I have a picture of Alex, too,” he says all innocent-like, “that
I took while you two were busy staring at each other. Want me to send it to you?”

I shrug my shoulders like it doesn’t matter. “Sure, go ahead.”

I bring up the picture on my phone and try not to stare. As usual, Zach snapped it at just the right moment. It captured both the smile on Alex’s face and the laughter in his eyes. Maybe I won’t be throwing my phone into the Au Sable River after all.

“Thanks,” I say, putting my phone away.

My mom still hasn’t arrived by the time school lets out, so Zach and I walk back to catch the bus.

“Maybe we should go to the police,” says Zach.

“Are you out of your mind? Jack?” I shiver. “He’s my dad’s best friend.”

I wave to Zach from my seat in the bus and put in my earbuds. Then I open my backpack and look for the Stephen King book Alex loaned me.

Instead I find the crumpled-up piece of paper from history class. I don’t need to open it to remember what I wrote.

Don’t listen to your heart.

Can’t trust Dad.

Must not tell.

I try to block out the fourth line from my mind. The line I didn’t write. The one I refuse to believe:

Mom is dead.

T
he bus drops me off at three thirty. That gives me almost two hours before my dad will be home. I unlock the front door.

“Hello? Mom?”

But there is no answer.

I grab some Ritz Bits from the pantry and a carrot from the fridge. Then I go to see Chester, the neighbor’s horse. He’s waiting for me.

“Sorry about yesterday, little fellow.” I rub the white diamond-shaped spot on his nose and hold the carrot out flat on my hand. “I’m not supposed to be here today either.” I love the echoing, snapping sound of the carrot as he crunches it. “I wish I could stay and chat,” I say, “but there’s someone I’ve got to find.” Chester tosses his head upward, sort of like a nod in reverse, then he takes off for the center of the pasture.

He seems to be limping. My heart skips a beat.

“You okay there, Chester?”

He stands there, flicking his tail.

It’s probably nothing. No doubt he’ll be fine by tomorrow.

Back inside the house, I unload the dishwasher and wash everything. I even dry the dishes and put them away, so it’s done when Dad gets home. I keep a clean glass out for myself and press it against the lever for the refrigerator’s ice maker. Ice thunders into the glass. I fill my glass from the tap—the water button on the fridge is too slow and I don’t mind the taste of unfiltered well water. In fact, what I can’t stand is city water. The chlorine smell always makes me feel like I’m trapped in gym class at the indoor pool. I turn the stereo on full blast because the house is too quiet. Then I go into my parents’ bedroom.