Harder (Caroline & West #2)(39)

All I had to do was follow the flame.


Halfway through the next week, I stand outside the art building before class.

I lean against the windows, listening to the smokers talking, joking around. I chew gum to keep my mouth busy, shove my fists in my pockets so I won’t bum a smoke off anyone.

Half the class is out here.

There’s a guy named Raffe, short for Rafael. He’s got dark skin and wild black hair like an afro except it comes to all these points, and he wears a motorcycle jacket but he doesn’t seem like a poser.

He and this blond girl named Annie smoke and argue about art.

Surrealism. Dadaism. Warhol. Avedon. Turner. People I’ve never heard of.

I listen to them talking about some exhibit in Chicago, realize they actually drove all the way to the city, six hours in the car so they could see this exhibit at a gallery, six hours back, and they’re still f*cking arguing about it.

Off across the quad, I see Caroline coming. She angles my direction and fetches up in front of me as though the wind just blew her here by accident.

She’s picked my sister up twice already since the last time I talked to her.

I’ve talked myself out of buying cigarettes six times.

“What do you think about art?” I ask.

“I don’t think that’s a question I can answer in one sentence.”

“You ever been to Chicago?”

“Sure. Lots of times.”

“Maybe I’ll take Frankie sometime. Show her that bean. Go to a baseball game in the spring, or take her by the Art Institute to look at the paintings. She’s never seen anything like that.”

Caroline’s gaze sharpens. “Have you?”

“No.” I’m embarrassed to admit it.

“You should go, then,” she says.

Raffe and Annie are looking at us. I glance down and realize Caroline’s standing close. We’re talking low. She’s rubbing her hands over her arms in her sweater. It’s long and bulky, tied at the waist. It looks warm, but obviously it’s not warm enough for the chill.

“You should get going,” I tell her.

She looks at her watch. “I should. See you.”

She waves goodbye to Raffe and Annie. Calls them by name. Caroline knows all kinds of people. Everybody likes her.

I watch her cross the quad. The wind blows her hair around and catches the panels of her sweater, whipping it open with every stride.

If I ever learned to paint, I’d paint her just like that.


Halloween’s on Friday. When I get home from work, Caroline’s in my kitchen, asleep at my table at three in the morning.

Next to her elbow is a case of Monster energy drinks like the ones she used to bring me at the bakery.

“Rise and shine,” I say.

When she lifts her head, she smiles. All the way, like the sun coming up. Rise and shine.

Then her elbow bumps the Monsters, and a cloud drifts over her expression.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Unless you destroyed some other property of mine?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Yeah. I was feeling bad about that.”

“Really?”

“Well, the money part. Krish told me how much a carton of cigarettes costs. I brought you these to make up for it. I figured if you’re going to get addicted to a stimulant because you’re running yourself ragged, energy drinks are a better choice.”

“Thanks.”

She gets to her feet. I don’t want her to leave. “What’d you and Franks do today?”

“I took her to the Student Senate meeting.”

“You on the senate now?”

“Yeah.”

“How is it?”

“Scintillating.”

She tosses her hair behind her shoulder. It’s a lot longer than it was last year, almost halfway down her back. I want to gather it up in my hands and feel if it’s heavier. Feel if it’s different.

She’s too skinny, I know that much. And in this light, the circles under her eyes are obvious.

When she was with me, I’d help her get back to sleep if she woke in the night.

“You talk to her yet?” she asks.

“Who, Franks?”

“About the bus.”

“No.”

I need to. It’s not just Caroline saying so—I get these emails from the counselor at Frankie’s school, who’s got her coming in to his office once a week so he can make sure she’s “settling in.” He keeps suggesting we get together for a little chat, but I can’t imagine anything good coming out of that.

Bottom line, I go in to see him, he’ll find out something I don’t want him to know. Something about murder and mayhem, something about my work schedule leaving Frankie alone for hours on end, something about me being twenty-one years old, too young to have complete responsibility for a ten-year-old kid.

I read his emails, then delete them.

Caroline’s frowning. “She’s having a hard time at school.”

“Everybody has a hard time at school.”

That makes the little V-shape between her eyebrows deepen. “No, this is worse than that. Something shitty happened today. She was crying in my car after I picked her up.”

“What about?”