The House in the Pines(35)

All Maya knew about Ruby was that she’d once professed her love for Frank in Sharpie on a mix CD. Maya had been jealous at the time, but never found out who Ruby was, and four days later Aubrey was dead. Maya had forgotten all about Ruby then, but now she remembered the mix CD—Songs for when we can’t be together—and wondered if Ruby had loved Frank enough to know his secret.

The battery on Maya’s phone was low, so she knelt to plug it in, and as she did, she caught her reflection in the window. She hadn’t realized she was grinding her teeth. Her lips were pale, eye sockets like caves, and the backyard bled through her reflection in such a way that the lawn lay across her chest while the trees beyond ran through her head.





NINETEEN




The thought of Frank with someone else takes her hunger away.

She doesn’t taste the basil from the garden she helped her mom plant when she was little, or the lemonade. She doesn’t feel the breeze through the open kitchen door or hear the familiar wind chimes on the stoop because all throughout dinner, Maya thinks of Ruby. She’s thought of little else for the past few hours, ever since she saw the mix CD. She thinks she knows now why Frank didn’t kiss her.

“Sheila asked if there’s anything you need for your dorm,” her mom says. Sheila is a friend of hers who lives down the street.

“Not that I can think of.”

“Really? Do you want one of those shower things? A caddy?”

Maya shakes her head.

Her mom frowns. “I thought you’d be more excited about this. Living in the dorms, taking writing workshops. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“Yeah . . .” Maya says. She takes a bite of her spaghetti and pesto.

Her mom peers at her from across the table. “I was thinking,” she says, “that it would be nice to have Frank over for dinner. I’d like to meet him.”

“I don’t know . . .” Maya swirls and unswirls her spaghetti.

“Is everything all right?”

“Not really.”

Her mom waits.

“I think he might have a girlfriend back in Hood River.”

“A girlfriend?”

“Either that or . . . he’s just not into me.”

“So you’re . . . just friends?”

Maya nods, and her mom’s confusion gives way to relief. She doesn’t like the idea of her daughter spending all that time with a stranger but sees how stricken Maya looks. “Aw, Muffin,” she says. “Being friends is better anyway. Friendships never have to end.”

Maya sighs.

“Just think—less than two weeks until you’re at BU. You worked so hard for this.”

Her mom is trying to help, Maya knows, but she doesn’t want to think about the move. She’s been looking forward to it for so long, dreaming of her future at college, but lately she’s begun to dread it.

“You’re going to meet so many new people,” her mom says. “You’ll forget all about him.”



* * *



— So when do I get to meet this mystery man? Aubrey had asked Maya on the phone the night before Frank took her boating. She and Aubrey were supposed to hang out that night, but Maya had canceled, which was unusual for her. She’s usually the dependable one—but Frank had surprised her with movie tickets, and she couldn’t turn him down.

So when did Aubrey get to meet him? The question gave Maya pause. Her impression is Frank prefers to spend time with her alone, though he’s never actually said this. It was only then, with Aubrey waiting for her to say something, that Maya recognized her own reluctance to introduce the two of them. She hated to admit, even to herself, that it was because when Aubrey walks into a room, heads turn her way like flowers to the sun, and Maya realized that maybe she was the one—not Frank—who preferred spending time one-on-one.

Hello? Aubrey had said.

Now Maya tells herself she can’t be late tonight. She hasn’t been a good friend lately. She feels bad about this, but not as bad as she feels about Ruby. It will be good to talk to Aubrey: Aubrey’s good at figuring people out. If anyone can interpret his mixed signs—the gifts, the romantic yet weirdly platonic outings, the mix CD—it’s her.

At eight, Maya’s mom leaves for an overnight shift. Her schedule is complicated, cycling through days of concentrated work followed by days of rest. She usually winds up with one overnight shift a week, and on those nights, Maya sleeps at Aubrey’s house. She does this not because she’s afraid to be alone—she isn’t—or because it puts her mom at ease—though it does—but because she loves lounging with Aubrey in her room, talking and listening to music or watching movies, smoking pot when they have it, sneaking beers from her stepdad. As Maya packs up her toothbrush, an overnight shirt, and clean underwear, it occurs to her that tonight could be the last time she does this before moving to Boston.

She told Aubrey she’d be at her house at nine, but her mom left a little early, so Maya decides to bike over at eight. She straps on her helmet and is about to leave the house when a knock comes at the door. It’s after dark, so she stands on her tiptoes, peers through the peephole. A smile washes through her. A jolt of electricity. It’s him.

Frank smiles back as if he can see her, looking right into the fish-eye lens.