Broken (19 page)

Daniel said that s
o many times hearing it again is
lik
e a punch in the chest. I huff a
breath and
stare
wide-eyed
at the back of his hood.
He pays for
our order
,
hands me the wax-paper wrapped cookies and
leads my away from the counter. Instinct screams to say something, to not stand in front of Alex and stare like a goober, but my brain feels like it’s swimming in toxic waste. Any though
t
big enough to grab, stings.

“You okay?” He asks,
eyebrows sinking toward the bend in his nose.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Heard one’s more like it.
“I’m fine,” I lie.

“So,” Alex says, and pushes the doors open. “Where’s home?”

Oh, a couple blocks past the Memorial Gardens Cemetery where I used
to
lean against the fence and wish someone was buried there.

“On Seventh Street.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice takes an odd, hesitant tone. “
I know the neighborhood.”

“Really?”

The scraped-raw expression returns to his face. Even his lips twitch and turn down. “My mom’s buried in Memorial Gardens. I visit there every now and then.”

Oh God. With my black luck, his mother is interred in the mausoleum where Daniel and I used to loiter, cracking jokes and drinking filched whiskey. A chill slides through me.

“My condolences,
”
I say.

“Thanks.” He elbows through the main door and out into the late afternoon shadows. “She’s been gone since I was little. I hardly knew her.”

He’s quiet for a few blocks, sipping his coffee and
sneaking peeks at me
. I catch him looking and smile. The hush stalks between us and I don’t prod it with any personal questions. I know I’m lucky to have my both my parents, still together after twenty years. I
won’t ask
him about his mother, but I can ask him other questions.

“So…what brought you to Shelley High? I know it
i
sn’t the high level of education you’re used to.”

“It wasn’t the school…” He holds my eyes, a long searching glance that seems to dig into him and me with equal bite. “When I woke up, I just knew I
couldn’t
go to Sadony anymore. After fighting with my
dad, threatening to grow my hair, quit school
and join the hippy commune up in Bliss, he let me win.”

“Quite persuasive of you.
”

“Dad can be a jerk sometimes, but I know how to manipulate him.”

“Is that what happened with your ex
-
girlfriend, too?”

“Not quite.” He
s
hrugs deeper into his coat. “Hailey’s really tenacious, and took more convincing.”

“
Is
tenacious?” I ask. Jealousy is ugly, but I flirt with it anyway. “
That’s present tense.
I thought you said she was an
ex
,
as in past te
ns
e
.
”

“She is.” His hard tone says he doesn’t want to discuss her anymore. And neither do I.
Thinking about Alex with any other girl abrades new
,
tender nerves. I’ve drgged my past around, nursing my loss
a
nd
m
ourni
n
g Daniel, and that hasn’t turned out so well.

I take another sip of my
coffee
, lose track of what my feet are doing and nearly trip over the fire hydrant on the corner of Seventh and Sycamore.
Alex catches my elbow
before the ground can catch my face.

“Careful,” he cautions before releasing me.

I heave a sigh and smooth my hair.
“Mom
says I’m clumsy
.
Dad says I have decreased situational awareness.”

“Neither sound very nice.”

“The truth isn’t always pretty,” I say. He snorts a short laugh, and nods. Lifting my immobilized right hand
,
I point at our gray two-story with black trim, missing the jack-o’-lanterns but with the same white, slinky cat body stretched in the front window. “There’s home.”

“Nice house,” he says. “Think we can sit on the porch and dunk the biscotti? This walk got over awfully fast.”

“Dunking biscotti with Alex Franks on my front steps,” I say. “Sounds
kinda naughty
.”

I’m as shocked I said it as Alex seems to be. He
chokes on his
b
reve
. Funny, I’ve only known him a week and I can recognize the angle of his jaw in a smile. Color seeps into his pale cheeks.
A cough unsettles the fluid in his throat, then he swallows noisily.

Touché,
I think.
Touch my zipper and I’ll make you choke on your coffee
.

We sit side by side on the bottom step, where no one will see us from inside unless they actively look. Knowing Mom, the active looking will come soon
enough
. Alex pries
the lids off
our coffe
es, then we dunk and mu
n
ch in companionable silence for a while.
He leans back ag
a
inst the second step,
nods his head back and says, “Cat lover, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Renfield and I have a love/hate relationship.”

“Renfield?” His eyebrows arch, and his full lips pucker like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah.
” I give him an eye roll. “
I love Bram Stoker’s Dracula.”

“Me, too. We should do a movie night.”

Did he just suggest a date? Like a
‘
him and me and no one else
’
kind of date?

“Sounds good,” I say.
“I
meant the book, though. I can’t
stand Keanu Reeves as John Harker.”

“It’s a date,” he pronounces.

I’m about to tease him, ask him if it’s a reading party date, or a movie date, when my cell phone comes to life in my backpack, the annoying
buzz-buzz-buzz
I have set to
Mom’s cell phone number
.

“Mom,” I groan quietly.
Alex put
s down the empty cup
and unzips the front pocket for
me. I fish the pink thing out and the display screen confirms my suspicion. I tilt toward Alex. “See?”

“Better answer it then,” he advises and slouches as low against the stairs as possible. I don’t want to tell him that the angle would give anyone looking out the window a perfect view of his long legs and the fly of his jeans. I wrench my eyes away from what I don’t want my Mom to see outside her door, and slide open the phone.

Where are you?
Standard Mom message when she has expectations I’m not meeting.

Close to home.
I type back.

Alex nods and mouths, “Very close.”

Her reply is
m
y last sip of b
reve away.
You’re late, Emma Jane.

Great. She’s slinging my middle name. She’s mad.

I know,
I type.
I g
ot caught up talking. I’ll be there
in a minute.

Alex and I both count while we wait for her response.
“One…two…three…four…”

Buzz-buzz-buzz
!

If you’re going to be talking with someone, I’d prefer you just do it here.

Alex lets out a snort. I’m sure Mom has no idea we’re on the front steps. If she had even a ghost of that thought she’d be out here with a broom to bat Alex away. However, I can almost hear the tone she typed it in, and it isn’t pretty.

“I have to go in,” I say
, ceding defeat
. “You want to meet my mom?”

“Test of manhood,” he says.

“It might be more tha
n that.” I stand and stack our coffee
cups. “Last chance. You want to run
,
I won’t blame you.”

“Nope,” he says, slides his hood off and stands. “If I plan on seeing you with any frequency, I need to weather this storm sooner or later.”

“Seeing me?” Why do I sound shocked? If I’m honest with the feelings building inside, I want to see him more.

“You’re the only one here besides me,” he casts a glance at the white face floating in the shadows above the sofa. “
And seeing of any serious sort can’t happen without parental approval
.”

“Baton down the hatches,” I use his sea-going metaphor.

“Aye. Avast!”

Just before I open the door, he
brushes his fingertips through my hair, pushing it aside to whisper, “I’d weather any storm to be with you.”

Is that what he meant by
it doesn’t beat for me
?

Chapter Sixteen

Renfield beats Mom to the door, and winds around my ankles. She’s standing there, a few feet back, arms crossed, foot tapping, and white frilly apron detracting from her Mean Mom appearance. I give her a pleading please-be-nice look and bend to scoop up the cat.
Renfield
twists like living, clawed silk in my arms and pins me with an indignant look before settling into the crook of my arm.

“Come in,” I tell Alex, then step to the side, closer to the sofa, leaving room for him
to make an escape if things turn ugly. Which, knowing my Mom, they probably will.

“So you were texting me from
the porch
?” she asks.

At this rate
,
ugly is going to happen before the dinner I smell in
the
kitchen.

“Yes,” I say. I have a flimsy excuse brewing, but don’t give it. Alex reaches a hand forward and says, “Hi, Mrs. Gentry. I’m Alex Franks. I walked Emma home and she was just thanking me before coming in.”

Smooth
, I think.
I could learn to like this guy
. He tries to get me out of trouble and
is
not afraid to stretch the truth to my mom to do it.

Mom eyes his hand like she’d just as soon push it away than shake it. Tension bu
ilds, the energy of a storm blow
ing off Lake Michigan. Then, she takes it, and give him one swift shake.

“Nice to meet
you
,” Alex tells her.

“Mm-hmm.” She says. “You, too.”

Her expression sours, but he remains close to me, an easy smile firmly in place on his lips. Knowing Alex like I
’m
beginning to, I don
’
t think she could claw it off. As it to prove he could fit in here, Alex lifts his hand higher to pet Renfield, who
’
d been watching the icy exchange between him and Mom with feline disinterest.

“Watch out
,
” I warn. “He hates everybody but me.”

That’s not true, though. Renfield always loved Daniel. He should’ve. Daniel brought him to me as a kitten. We’d watched Bram Stoker’s Dracula that night and named him after the poor crazed man under Doctor Jack’s care.

Renfield lies in my arms now, eyeing Alex’s approaching fingers and all I can think of is,
Great. My cat’s going to give him more scars.
Mom watches with cool interest, too. She knows how awful the cat can be—his passionate dislike of pretty much every other human is legendary. Maybe she’s hoping he’ll roust Alex out for her. Instead, the cat bonks his head against Alex’s fingers, then lets Alex pet hi
m
. A rare purr rumbles in the feline.

“Making a liar out
of me?” I ask the cat in a whisper.

He blinks, white eyelashes stroking over
the bla
ck freckle in
his
iris.

“Alex Franks,” Mom says slowly.
I look up and see a horrible light dawning in her eyes.
“The doctor’s son?”

He stiffens slightly. “Yes
,
ma’am.”

“And you’re the boy” her gaze narrows, “who dropped Emma off at the clinic, filthy and needing a new brace because of helping you?”

“I am.”

If anything, instead of shrinking under her scathing gaze and uncompromising questions, he stands taller and moves closer to me. Dad appears in the dining room door, chipped coff
ee mug in hand. His eyes skim
over me, and land on Alex. Dad
dust
s
sawdust from
his salt-and-pepper hair, and peers through his glasses. “Emma, who’s your friend?”