Everything We Didn't Say(84)

He wheels away from me and is swallowed up by the darkness. Almost as soon as I can’t see him anymore, the first big firework explodes above me. It’s brilliant, enormous, a crimson bloom that fizzles to gold as it streaks across the sky. When I was little, fireworks always made me cry. They were loud and terrifying. Clearly dangerous. I couldn’t understand why everyone smiled and laughed while the world was ending around us.

They keep coming, an onslaught of light and sound accompanied by the suggestion of gun smoke and sulfur. Of course, I can’t smell the fireworks from where I’m standing, but over the years I’ve held the punk and lit enough cherry bombs, bottle rockets, and fountains to know exactly how they sting at the back of your throat. Fireworks engage every sense, and for a few minutes at least, it seems the whole earth is entranced, faces turned heavenward.

Suddenly, I know what I have to do.

But as I hurry off toward my car, someone calls my name. I spin without thinking, and her blow catches me completely off guard. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m on my hands and knees in the grass, left cheek flaming and eyes watering so hard tears drip onto my knuckles. I’ve never been slapped before.

“You bitch,” she spits. I can hardly recognize Ashley’s voice, but her sandals are familiar and so is her sparkly purple toenail polish. I bought it for her. “How could you?”

I could tell her that Sullivan had explained over and over again that it would never work between them. I could confess that it was an accident, that I never meant to fall for him. I could throw myself on her good graces, whisper that I had fallen in love. That this thing between Sullivan and me is real. But I know her well enough to know that her fury is all-consuming as a house fire. There is nothing for me to do but watch it burn.

Ashley stands over me for a few ragged breaths, and I worry the whole time that she will kick me while I’m down. But she doesn’t.

So I sit back on my haunches and scrub at the tears with the heels of my hands. I dare to say, “I’m sorry,” and she laughs.

“You’re dead to me,” Ashley says, which seems both ridiculously melodramatic and perfectly apt, and suddenly I’m just as angry as I am sad. I push myself up to face her, but Ashley is already walking away, leaving me behind as if we were never anything at all.

“He didn’t want you,” I call after her, my voice fracturing over the words. “He never did.”

Ashley pauses just a moment, a stutter in her step, as a firework rips apart the black sky. It’s red and fierce, the mouth of a dragon, and I’m reminded that there is much more at play tonight than the annihilation of our friendship. Because it is over. I’ve cemented it. She’ll hate me forever, but I’m crushed, too, winded by not just her palm against my cheek, but the fact that she can simply walk away. If she ever loved me at all…

But I don’t have time to cry over Ashley Patterson tonight.

I turn my tearstained face away from the place where she’s fading into the shadows and take off in the other direction at a sprint. Maybe I’m not too late.





CHAPTER 21


WINTER TODAY



“Barry’s car again?” Willa asked, hopping into the passenger seat. She waved goodbye to Zoe through the windshield as she clicked on her seat belt. The girl was almost chipper, clearly invigorated by the excitement of the day and Jonathan’s unexpected awakening. In some ways it was as if he’d come back to life.

“Yup,” Juniper said automatically. She was really in no condition to deal with a hyper teen.

“How’s Uncle Jonathan?”

“Awake.”

“I mean, did he ask about me? Can I go see him? When can I see him?”

Juniper paused in the blue light of the dashboard and regarded Willa. She looked much younger than her thirteen years in the pale glow, her lips parted in expectation and the forward slant of her shoulders pitched with hope. She was so pretty Juniper couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Soon,” she forced herself to say. “You’ll get to see Jonathan very soon. He misses you.” Whether it was true or not didn’t matter right now.

As Juniper navigated the dark streets toward the bungalow, she felt drunk with the bitter elixir of all she had missed. She wanted to stop in the driveway and tell Willa everything there was to know. About who her father was and how they had once been so in love. About what had happened the night that everything changed, and the role that her mother had played in it.

But the game wasn’t over yet, and as much as she wanted to leave the past behind and move on, seeing Jonathan with his eyes vacant and his body dependent on machines only underlined the fact that nothing had changed. Not yet. Jonathan was still the most likely suspect; Willa, the Butcher’s Girl. Juniper bore the weight of her flight and her exile, the abandonment of her daughter, who was nobody’s baby—not really—because teenage June didn’t have the courage to tell the truth back then. Did she now? Juniper snuck a sideways glance at Willa as she drove down the dark streets toward home. The girl was nibbling on the tip of one fingernail, brow furrowed as she studied the windshield. She looked small and uncertain and lonely.

I do, Juniper thought. I’m brave enough.

“Willa, I’m so sorry, but there’s someone I need to talk to.”

“Is it about Jonathan?”