The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(82)

Christa talked about Lizzie a lot, and I listened but didn’t give much of a response. I’d already caused enough trouble by making speculations about Lizzie’s life. One night, when Christa was saying how she just couldn’t believe Lizzie was dead, how she never figured Lizzie was the kind of girl who’d kill herself, Vernon looked up and said, “Doncha know Lizzie’s a woof?”

I was startled and almost started to cry. Vernon had been paying attention to me after all. Even though it seemed like a silly thing to get so emotional about, I was grateful. “No, Vernon. I only thought she was. Thanks for listening though.”

I watched the door a lot during my shifts. Part of me thought it would swing open, and the little bell would jingle, and Enzo would be standing there in his leather jacket, asking me what time I got off work, if I could leave early. But he never showed up. I knew I needed to stop waiting for him. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Enzo wasn’t my prince. It was time for me to get it together. I had to deal with it and get a grip. So I tried to keep my heart from racing when I heard the bell ring. I tried to pretend I was just another waitress doing her job.

? ? ?

It was a Tuesday in the middle of November when I pulled into my driveway after school and saw that the caravan was on the move. Tents were wrapped up and being carried from the backyard. One of the more capable hippie guys was checking the oil in the cars.

I walked up to Sundog, who was supervising.

“You’re leaving,” I said.

“There’s snow predicted this weekend.”

“But…” I didn’t have any way to finish the thought. There were no buts. Their camping gear wasn’t meant for the cold. So instead, I settled for the truth. “I don’t want you to go.”

Sundog smiled. “Young Hawthorn, when we first pulled into town, the only thing you wanted was for us to leave.”

“Things change.”

“I know. I hope that’s a lesson to you.”

“Can I talk to you alone?” I asked, suddenly feeling exposed on the front lawn, the rest of the caravan milling around us.

We went around the side of the house where it was quieter and no one was watching us.

“Give me a name,” I said.

“A name?”

“A spirit name. Like you gave my mom when she was my age.”

Sundog laughed, and that dark twisting started in my gut again.

“What’s so funny?” I asked. “I’m not as special as one of the members of your commune?”

“Hawthorn, you already have your name. You got your spirit name at birth. Most people aren’t so lucky.”

“So Hawthorn is my spirit name,” I said flatly. “After a tree my parents had sex under.”

“Do you know about the hawthorn tree? They’re tough, sturdy. They can outlast storms. Hawthorn trees provide food and shelter for animals and insects. They nourish the world around them. It’s a name anyone would be honored to have.”

“Take me with you,” I said suddenly. “Please.”

If Sundog was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he seemed to consider it seriously. I wanted him to say yes. I wanted him to take me to the desert, where the sun would dry my tears. I wanted him to whisk me away to some magical land where we would travel and have adventures, and everything would be OK.

But of course, it didn’t happen like that. Fairy tales aren’t real.

“Hawthorn, running from your demons only gives them more power.”

“Yeah,” I said and sighed. “Got it.”

I started to walk toward the back door, but he put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Your werewolf girl—she ran. You’re meant for more than that.”

I turned away so he wouldn’t see my eyes fill with tears. I’d never believed in the mystical healing stuff the hippies went on about, but I did know Sundog had the power to make me feel good about myself. I knew how lonely I’d be with him gone.

Back in the front yard, I found Timothy Leary sitting patiently near a stack of luggage, as if she knew it was time to leave. I picked her up and nuzzled her. I thought about asking if I could keep her, but Sundog would probably say something about how animals couldn’t be kept.

I helped the hippies load up the last of their belongings, then hugged Journey and Calliope and CJ good-bye. When Sundog bowed to me, I bowed back.

Then my mom and I stood on the lawn and watched the caravan pull away from the curb. My mom waved to them. I wiped at my eyes and hoped she didn’t notice. Before rounding the corner and leaving my life, Sundog honked the horn of the big old bus.

I sniffed. Mom put her arm around me and said, “I’m going to miss them too.”

When the last car in the caravan was out of sight, I walked around the house to the backyard. The grass was trampled flat where the tents had been set up. The remains of the last bonfire were still there, cold now. A long scarf lay forgotten on the ground. The yard looked lonely.

I lay down on the cold, matted grass and closed my eyes. I was surprised how quickly endings came. One day, the yard is filled with talking and laughter; the next, it’s abandoned. One day, a young girl is full of life; the next, she’s dead.

Why did Lizzie want to die? That’s what I didn’t get. How could someone like Lizzie, someone who had all the best things in life handed to her, want to kill herself? And if Lizzie Lovett couldn’t find a reason why life was worth living, what hope did the rest of us have? What hope did I have?