The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(65)

The thing was, I had really wanted to go to the dance.

“Why couldn’t he just be on time?” I asked Sundog. “Is that really a lot to ask?”

“That all depends on the person. What’s simple to one person might be inherently challenging to someone else.”

“Are you saying it’s just too much for some people to be punctual? So, what, they just get a free pass?”

“It’s not the lack of punctuality that weighs on you; it’s what it means.”

I decided I’d gotten enough advice from Sundog for the day. I didn’t need him to remind me that Enzo was late because I wasn’t a person worth being on time for.

“At least I have you,” I told Timothy Leary, who was sleeping in my lap. “You’re always here for me.”

Sundog sighed. “Oh, Hawthorn.”

I looked at him, bracing myself for more bad news.

“The weather’s turning,” Sundog said. “We’ll be moving on soon.”

Of course they would be. If I’d taken time to think about it, I’d have realized it was getting too cold for them to sleep outside. But I’d gotten so used to having them in my backyard during the past two months, part of me felt like they were going to be there forever.

“Where will you go?”

“West. Nevada maybe. We haven’t been there for a while.”

“Nevada? What’s there besides casinos?” I asked.

“The Mojave Desert. You owe it to yourself to see it one day,” Sundog said.

I imagined Sundog sleeping in a teepee and skinning rattlesnakes and cracking open cacti for a few precious drops of water. I’d never been to the desert, but from what I’d seen in movies, it was a bleak, unforgiving place. It seemed too harsh for CJ, with his free association exercises, or Marigold, who offered light healing sessions in exchange for donations. The Mojave would suck the life from them. They’d wither in the desert, same as I’d wither in the Ohio snow.

“You’re, like, the only person I have to talk to anymore,” I told Sundog.

“You have yourself. You look to me for guidance when you already have the answers.”

“Well, I’m not going to sit here and talk to myself.”

“Don’t talk then. Paint. Dance. Write. Just don’t hold your feelings inside. The longer we let pain hide in our hearts, the more it turns to poison.”

In the time I’d known him, Sundog had never really made sense. But I was still going to miss him. He’d become a friend. Another friend who was ditching me.

I knew life was full of people coming and going. It was sad, but you dealt with it. You made new friends and moved on. Except for me. I only excelled at the part where you lost people.

? ? ?

The days after the dance were filled with awkward encounters.

I ran into Emily on the way to third period.

“Hey, I didn’t see you at the dance. Did you have a good time?”

“Actually, I didn’t end up going,” I said, feeling my face heat up.

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “It’s just not really my thing. I thought I’d give it a shot but decided it was kind of a waste of time.”

I could tell from Emily’s expression that she didn’t believe me, not even a little bit.

Connor picked up Rush for some concert, and before they left, he asked me how I was doing and if the situation with Enzo had worked out OK. Like he thought I was super pathetic and would be all broken up about missing the dance. Which I wasn’t. Mostly. I tried laughing so he could see how trivial it was to be left sitting on the porch, how little I cared about homecoming or Enzo or any of it. It wasn’t Connor’s business anyway. Or Emily’s. Or anyone’s.

The other awkward thing had to do with the phone ringing. A lot.

Enzo kept calling, and I kept ignoring him. He left messages, and I deleted them.

I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I didn’t want to think about Enzo at all. But to stop thinking about him, I had to stop thinking about Lizzie. So for the first time in months, I had nothing to think about at all.

The truth was, I couldn’t completely push Lizzie from my mind. One night when I was taking out the trash, I thought I heard a wolf howl, and my whole body tensed. I stood there—the lid to the trash can in one hand, the trash bag in the other.

I froze and listened, straining to hear. I shut my eyes to try to make my ears work better. The sound came again. Definitely a howl. Long and low and melancholy. It could have been dog, but it was different—more primal—than a dog’s howl. And there are no wolves in Ohio. It was Lizzie.

My heart pounded. My mouth went dry. I felt a shiver of excitement wind down my spine. In that moment, I was transported back to the abandoned house. Back to Enzo holding my hand and looking into my eyes while the world around us was super still and time sped up. When everything felt like magic.

I stood outside for a while, waiting to see if I would hear it again, but the night went back to making its normal sounds. Crickets chirped, and wind rustled dry leaves, and a voice drifted from my backyard where the hippies were gathered around their fire.

I threw away the trash bag and closed the lid, making sure it was shut tightly so the raccoons couldn’t get it. As I trudged back into the house, the world around me brightened. I looked up at the sky and saw that the moon had emerged from behind clouds.