A Time to Die (6 page)

Howie made a face. “Bummer.”

“It’s not so bad. I don’t have to take phys ed, so I’ve got the time for extra English.”

Eric thought,
You could use phys ed, buddy
.

“So, how’re things going for you?” Howie asked. “You know—the hospital and all.”

“I’m on what I call ‘leave.’ I never count myself as totally out,” Vince said, and turned toward Eric. “I know the others here, but you’re new to me.”

Eric grunted his name and added, “I just transferred from Houston this year.”

“I think we have a mutual friend—Kara Fischer.”

Eric shook Vince’s extended hand. “Right. I know Kara,” Eric said, suddenly uncomfortable under Vince’s piercing gaze.

“Kara’s told me about you,” Vince offered.

Eric shrugged. “I don’t know her too well.”

“I do,” Vince stated. “She’s one of my best friends.”

When Eric looked into Vince’s eyes, he thought
he saw some kind of a challenge. He bristled. Was this lightweight telling him that Kara was his territory? “I have lots of friends,” Eric said carefully. “It’s a big school.”

Sheila leaned over and said, “I’ll be your friend, Eric.”

The others laughed, and Eric smiled good-naturedly. “I always have time for a pretty girl.”

Vince met Eric’s gaze steadily. “Time’s a funny thing. Sometimes it runs out on you.”

In a sudden flash of understanding, Eric realized that Vince had CF, too. The discussion about the hospital had been a clue, and his thin body and clubbed fingers were obvious signs. Eric felt ashamed of coming on so tough, but didn’t know how to back down. Howie relieved the tension. “Hey, guys, can we get on with this play? We’re getting dirty looks from you know who already.”

Eric quickly picked up his book. He didn’t want to memorize a scene from some tragedy about life and death. He wanted to leave the room, go outside into the sunshine, and blow off some steam. He wanted to forget about Vince and Kara and their being sick. Life sure could be unfair.

After school, Eric hurried through the halls, trying to avoid people. He rounded a corner and stopped abruptly. Kara was standing in front of a bank of lockers, talking to Vince. She was looking up at him while he leaned down protectively over her. As she laughed, Eric heard the distant sound of her voice.

Eric wondered what Vince was saying that she
found so funny. She had laughed that way for him the day he’d driven her home. Of course, then he hadn’t known that she was sick. And now that he did—well, he wished he felt different about it, but he didn’t. Yet, it definitely bothered him to see her and Vince together.

He flung open his locker. The metal door hit the wall with a bang. If he didn’t care, why was it bugging him? He couldn’t understand his reaction. He couldn’t understand a lot of things lately. Like why it had mattered to him when Vince had told him that Kara was so close, they were best friends. He marched out to the parking lot, jumped into his car, turned his radio up full blast, and drove out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

    The Saturday before Halloween, Elyse came over to Kara’s house. “I’m not sure what to wear to the carnival while I paint faces,” Kara told her.

“I’m going as Little Bo Peep,” Elyse said, flopping onto Kara’s bed. “I’m supposed to guide groups of kids through the haunted house—the really young ones. The teacher in charge thought it would seem less scary if the guides dressed like friendly types from Mother Goose. I’d prefer to go as a vampire or something sexy or elegant. I’m fed up with this plain Jane me.”

Kara held up a black body stocking. “I had Mom buy this for me. I thought I’d go as a black cat. But now I’m not sure I should wear it.”

“Why not? Let me see.”

Kara pulled on the body suit she’d transformed into her costume. There was a black hood on which she’d sewn pointed ears, and on the back, she’d attached a long tail she’d made out of black velvet. “I thought I could paint whiskers on my face, do my eyes dark and dramatic, and decorate the backs of my hands with tufts of velvet and black nail polish.”

“Wow, you look terrific,” Elyse exclaimed.

“Do you think so?” Kara studied herself in the mirror hanging on the inside of her closet door. The body suit clung tight, making her look sleek and taut. She put her hand near her face, cupped like a cat’s paw, and purred, then burst out laughing.

“I sure do,” Elyse declared. “One ounce of fat, and you couldn’t wear that thing.”

“Fat’s not a problem.”

“Are you going to Howie’s party afterward?”

“Yes. Vince wants to take me. I guess you’re still grounded. I wish your parents would let you go.”

“I’m grounded like a pumpkin in a pumpkin patch. I even cried, but Mom wouldn’t budge. She said I should be glad I can be Little Bo Peep.” She picked at the bedspread. “You’re sure seeing a lot of Vince. Are you guys getting serious?”

“You know we’re just friends.”

“Maybe—just
maybe
—Vince doesn’t think so.”

“I like Vince a lot, but only as a friend. And he likes me as a friend, too. He’s just fixated on me right now because he’s been in the hospital and I
understand about CF. There’s no one else except his family who understands.”

Elyse looked ashamed. “I should have visited him in the hospital. I meant to. He’s a really nice guy.”

Kara almost told her that good intentions didn’t count for much when a person was lying alone and forgotten in the hospital. She said nothing, knowing it would only make Elyse feel worse and put a damper on the afternoon.

Elyse picked up Kara’s sketch pad and started flipping through it. “Hey, these are good. I recognize none other than Eric Lawrence.”

Feeling her cheeks color, Kara crossed the room and tugged the pad from Elyse’s hands. “It’s just old stuff,” she said. “He’s got an interesting face—plenty of planes and angles. I thought I’d try and draw his face from memory. It’s good practice.”

Elyse turned a few pages of the pad. “Well, you’ve done a great job. It really looks like him. I guess you would have told me if he’d given you another ride home?”

“Yes, I would have, but he hasn’t.” Kara stared down at the various pencil drawings of Eric’s brooding good looks. She knew that the drawings were good. She’d been working on capturing her friends—she wished she didn’t feel so connected to a guy who didn’t care. She’d captured something she’d felt when she’d been with him—something he’d tried to hide—his vulnerability. She slapped the pad shut and shoved it in a drawer. “You know I sketch people all the time.
Anyway, the only thing Christy’s ever said is that Eric’s busy with school.”

“What do you think about Eric and Vince’s having a class together?”

The news surprised her. “I think Vince may have mentioned that,” she said without meeting Elyse’s eyes. She knew he hadn’t, and the fact that he hadn’t bothered her. Why wouldn’t he have said something?

“I hear girls talking about Eric,” Elyse added. “The story is he’s really good-looking, but fickle. He dates someone a few times, then drops her, without giving her a clue as to why.”

“What are you—a field reporter for
The Nashville Banner?”

“I was just telling you what I’ve heard,” Elyse answered. “I just thought you’d like to know.”

“Well, I don’t. What Eric Lawrence does and who he sees isn’t the least bit interesting to me.” But even as she said the words, Kara knew she was lying. It
did
matter to her what Eric did. It mattered a whole lot. Even though she wished with all her heart that it didn’t.

“D
O YOU THINK
you should go?”

Kara heard the anxious tone of her mother’s question and purposely ignored it. “Of course. I’ve been planning for this, and besides, everybody’s counting on me.”

“But your cough—”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m not coughing now at all.” Kara knew her mother was right. She shouldn’t go, but she refused to give in. She’d taken medicine and plenty of cough syrup with codeine all afternoon. Her chest felt tight, and it was hard to catch her breath as she dressed, but she was determined not to stay home.
Please, God, don’t let me get sick tonight
, she prayed silently. More than anything, she wanted to go to the carnival and the party.

“You’ll have Vince bring you home if you feel worse, won’t you?” her mother insisted.

“You know I will.” The doorbell rang. “That’s Vince now. Bring him back here so I can start on his makeup.”

“Kara, I—”

“Mom, please …” She turned pleading eyes toward her mother. “It’s just one night. One time for fun. Don’t I deserve one normal night? I’ll be all right.”

Her mother left and returned with Vince, smiling and asking him questions. Kara felt a flood of gratitude toward her mother for acting as if everything were normal. Once he was seated at Kara’s vanity, she left them alone.

“Are you wearing your bathrobe to the carnival?” Vince teased.

“There’s a cat suit under it,” she said. “Do you like my makeup?”

“It looks great.” He leaned closer. “I like your whiskers and your button nose.”

“Sit still or I’ll draw your eyebrows on crooked.”

He caught her wrist and searched her face with his gaze. “You’re not well, are you? I can hear it.”

She saw no reason to lie to Vince. “I started running a tiny fever this morning, and I’m coughing. But I’ve been pumping cough syrup with codeine, and I feel pretty good right now.”

“I’ll bet,” Vince said dryly. “You know we don’t have to go. I don’t mind staying here with you.”

“I’m not staying home,” she said stubbornly.

“Listen, I want to take you to that party as much as you want to go.”

“But you’ll understand if I have to leave early?”

“Just say the word, and I’ll have you out of there faster than a bat out of—”

She put her fingers against his lips. “Don’t say it.”

He grinned, then grew serious and stroked the side of her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll take care of you, Kara. For just as long as you need me, I’ll take care of you.”

The school halls were swarming with kids of all sizes in every manner of costume by the time Kara and Vince arrived. Smells of chalk and library paste had been replaced by scents of popcorn, caramel apples, and cotton candy. The gym had been turned into a haunted house, where screams and bloodcurdling cackles rose from audio tapes as well as from people touring.

As Vince and Kara approached the darkened room, small children moved aside, eyes growing wide at the sight of Vince’s sweeping black cape and vampire teeth. He hissed at one small boy, who ducked behind an older one. Kara whispered, “Sorry I made us late.”

“No problem. Where’re you headed?”

“My booth’s set up in the cafeteria.”

“Do you want a tour of the haunted house before you go?”

“No, thanks. I never did like the dark.”

He took her hand. “I’ll come get you as soon as
we close up shop here, then we’ll go to the party if you’re up to it.”

“I’ll be up to it.” She was feeling better. A bit numb and lightheaded, but at least she didn’t have a constant urge to cough. “See you,” she told him, and walked to the cafeteria, touching the wall for support because her knees felt rubbery.

Once inside, she wove through droves of children and stalls, games and vendors until she found the art booth. “It’s about time,” one of the senior girls snapped. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“Sorry. My date had car trouble.” She didn’t like lying, but she couldn’t say she was sick, either.

“Well, get busy,” the girl ordered. “There’s a line a mile long.”

Kara set to work at once on a small girl dressed as a fairy princess who wanted a butterfly on her cheek. Kara’s hands trembled when she picked up a paintbrush. She fought to control them.
You can do this
, she told herself, and before long, Kara settled into a rhythm. Soon she lost count of all the faces she painted. And even though her back and arms ached, she was having a good time.

“Can you paint dragons?” a male voice asked.

Kara paused from cleaning her brush and stared up at Eric Lawrence. A flood of emotions swept through her. She wanted to act cool and distant toward him. She wanted to smile and flirt with him. “If that’s what you want,” she ended up saying, rather stiffly, “a dragon you’ll get.”

He sat in the metal chair in front of her. His
shoulders were broad, his chest wide, making her feel small, like a bedraggled kitten. His brown hair swept over his forehead, and his eyelashes, long and thick, intensified the aqua blue of his eyes. He regarded her through half-closed lids.

She dabbed her brush into a pot of green paint. “You want a cartoon dragon or the real thing?”

“The real thing, of course.”

She began to create a dragon’s face with the brush and saw him smile. “What’s wrong?”

“It tickles.”

“It won’t take long.”

“Don’t hurry.”

She felt her heart hammer against her rib cage and wondered if it was the effects of her medications or his nearness. “Do you want the dragon breathing fire?”

“What do you think?”

“I would guess you do.” She swirled red-yellow flames from the dragon’s mouth. She was so close to him that she caught the scent of his breath—cool and minty. When she finished, she backed away and surveyed her handiwork. She thought it pretty good. “All done,” she told Eric, as businesslike as possible.