Girls of Brackenhill(32)

Julia waved wildly as the big Buick rolled back down the driveway, Trina’s hand thrust out the window in an uncharacteristic burst of emotion. Aunt Fae and Uncle Stuart waved back from the driveway, stoic and reserved, before disappearing back inside. Julia squealed, up on her tiptoes, hands clapping silently, and she took Hannah’s hands in her own and danced them in a little circle.

“This is going to be the best year yet,” she gushed, her cheeks pinked and eyes gleaming. Later, she pulled Hannah to the shed and extracted the bikes.

Already? thought Hannah. It was fine; her heart skipped at the thought of Wyatt. She wanted to make up for that awful, awful night in Plymouth. Her thighs quivered (she hated that word, but that was what they did) at the thought.

She was fifteen now. Old enough for them to come out with their relationship. She had to convince him. She knew he couldn’t wait to see her again. He had sent her endless emails over the winter, and she had written back. Were they boyfriend and girlfriend? They hadn’t said so. Hannah didn’t think Tracy and Beth even believed he existed. She still hadn’t said a word to Julia. She just couldn’t.

Why all the secrecy? she’d asked Wyatt time and time again, and he’d replied, You’re fourteen. Could a seventeen-year-old get in trouble for dating a fourteen-year-old, even if there wasn’t sex (there hadn’t been sex, not yet, just almost sex that one awful night)? She didn’t know. Had no one to ask.

But now she was back. She was fifteen. She’d thought about that Plymouth night countless times, the feel of him under her palm, his sharp intake of breath, the knowledge that she’d done that. Made him hard. She could hardly even think the word, much less say it out loud.

She followed Julia down the path, shouting to Aunt Fae and Uncle Stuart that they’d be back by dinnertime. Julia’s long curls trailed behind her; her windbreaker, tied to her waist, flapped in the wind.

They paid their entrance fee at the pool, and Hannah broke from Julia almost immediately. She didn’t care what her sister thought, if she saw them or not; she just ran right for the concession window.

There he was, his red hair curled against his forehead, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something a girl at the window said. Hannah felt a brief stab of jealousy, but then he met her gaze, and his whole face changed. She could see him go from shock to happiness. Delight. He closed his eyes, smiled, like she was a dream standing before him.

He put a finger to his lips. She shook her head playfully. She was tired of being quiet. Tired of being told to sit still, just wait, be patient. Tired of being too much for her mother, too loud for her stepfather, too wild for Julia, too, too, too. She wanted to burst wide open at the seams—to be allowed to simply let herself spill out would be the greatest gift.

He held up his index finger and then cocked his head to the back of the building, splaying all five fingers. Meet me in five.

It felt like an hour before he burst out of the back door and crushed her against the concrete. His mouth on her mouth, stealing her breath, making her gasp.

“I missed you,” he growled into her neck.

“I’m sure you had other girls to keep you company,” Hannah demurred, then hated that her first words to him were jealous, petty.

“Not like you.” He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her nose. “I don’t drive three hours for anyone.”

“This is going to be the best summer,” Hannah breathed, her legs shaking and her hands shaking and her heart pounding so wildly she was sure he could feel it. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist and he twirled her around and kissed her hair and his hands gripped her waist and they both talked at the same time and it was everything Hannah had hoped their reunion would be.

Later, she tried to talk to him about telling the others. He was adamant. “No one will understand. One more year, okay? I’ll be nineteen; you’ll be sixteen. That’s fine. Maybe by the end of summer. Please?” He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip, sending a thousand volts of electricity right down the middle of her body. So they stayed silent.

They met up with Julia and Dana and Yolanda and Reggie, with his movie-star good looks, tan like a lifeguard, skin smooth and glistening. He smiled at her, and she felt the small hitch in her breathing. Knew he did, too, gave her a sly smile like a cat with a bird trapped in its paws. She looked away.

“I didn’t know the girls from Brackenhill were such little hotties.” He guffawed at his own cleverness, and Dana and Yolanda and Julia giggled behind their palms.

“Shut up, man.” Wyatt punched him in the stomach, playful, but he laughed too. The whole scene made Hannah’s insides flip, her legs clench. Wyatt stayed on the other side of the group, his eyes following her every move. He winked at her every few minutes. And when no one was looking, his fingertips tickled the back of her neck, once cupped her ass.

She was his. Even if no one knew it. He was her sun, shining bright, blinding, in the center of her universe.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Now

The small stone church in Rockwell held around thirty people by the time Pastor Jim was ready to start his eulogy for Aunt Fae. Hannah wondered who everyone was as she slid into place next to Alice, who greeted Hannah and Huck with a single stern nod. Huck made a face at Hannah, his chin pulled back into his chest and his mouth stretching out: Eesh, what’s gotten into her? Hannah covered her mouth with a palm and hoped people thought she was muffling a sob. Huck elbowed her, a teasing admonishment.