Endless (6 page)

“Was it … threatening? Or scary?” Tiffany asked.

Jenny thought back to the darkness, to the feeling of not wanting to leave, of needing the message, which didn’t make sense since she didn’t know what the message was.

“No,” she said. “And actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I wanted to leave. It was like I wanted—needed—the message, whatever it was.” She laughed nervously, starting a pot of decaf. “Anyway, like I said, it was just a game.”

Tiffany didn’t say anything, and a few seconds later Jenny looked over at her, still wiping the same spot on the counters.

“Tiff?”

She looked up. “Yeah?”

“It was just a game.”

Tiffany nodded. “Right. I know that, Jen.”

“Good.”

Jenny went back to work, trying to ignore the voice that told her it was a lie. That the feeling she’d had when they used the Ouija board hadn’t been a game at all. That it had been just the beginning of something she couldn’t yet understand.

*

The signing was packed. Jenny and Tiffany worked nonstop for two hours, filling orders for coffee, tea, and the occasional muffin or pastry brought in from Bianca’s Bakery down the road. Jenny was grateful they didn’t have time to talk more about the Ouija board. Thinking about it just made it seem weirder than it already was.

Tiffany offered to go with Jenny to the gallery in Acton when their shift ended. They took Jenny’s car, stopping at her house to load up the paintings. Jenny was glad she’d wrapped them in the thick brown paper during her stop at home before work. She wasn’t ready to explain the newly added figure, and if there was one person who would notice the addition, it was Tiffany.

They listened to music, talking about the show and their plans for summer, on the way. Jenny told Tiffany about the Daulton house, leaving out any mention of Ben. By the time they got to the gallery, several other students were unloading their artwork. Jenny hadn’t liked the idea that the gallery owner planned to handle the installations himself, but now she was glad. She and Tiffany left her paintings, still wrapped, against the wall in a section marked with her name. They would be on the walls when she came to the showing tomorrow night.

By the time they got back to the parking lot at Books it was after eight o’clock. Jenny pulled up alongside Tiffany’s car and smiled at her friend.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“No problem,” Tiffany said. “It was cool, and it’s going to be awesome to see your paintings on the wall of a real art gallery.”

“Wait a minute.” Jenny did a double take. “You’re coming to the show?”

Tiffany laughed. “Well, duh!”

“You don’t have to,” Jenny said. “I mean, it’s probably going to be boring.”

Tiffany shook her head. “You’re my best friend, Jen. This is a big deal. I want to be there!”

The admission touched Jenny. “Thanks. I’d love to have you there.”

“What about your dad?” Tiffany asked. “Is he coming?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll make him nervous, but he’ll be supportive and everything.”

Tiffany nodded. She hesitated before speaking again. “You know, I meant what I said.”

“Which part?”

“Well, all of it, but I’m talking about the best friend thing. I just want you to know that I’m here. You know, if you want to talk or anything.”

Jenny looked down at the steering wheel. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told Tiffany about her visions. About the weird ability she’d had since she was a kid. Scratch that. She
did
know why. Because it was weird. Because it made her weird. It had set her apart from everyone from the beginning, even though no one but Jenny knew why.

Now, there was one person who didn’t make her feel like a freak, which was one more person than she’d had before. She wasn’t willing to risk it just to bare her soul.

She looked over at Tiffany and smiled. “Thanks, Tiff. I’m okay. I know I’m … weird and—”

“Stop saying that!” Tiffany said. “You’re not weird. I mean, okay, you’re weird sometimes, but no more than the rest of us.”

Jenny laughed. “Right. It’s just … it’s me. I can’t always say the things I want to say.”

Tiffany nodded. “That’s okay. I just want you to know you can trust me. You know, if you ever want to.”

“Thanks,” Jenny said softly.

Tiffany reached for the door handle. “So I’ll see you at the gallery tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Jenny waited for Tiffany to start her car before heading home. She thought about what Tiffany said. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to open up, take a chance that someone might accept her, weirdness and all. The idea made her stomach knot with anxiety. What if she was wrong?

But Jenny already knew the answer. If she told Tiffany everything and Tiffany thought she was crazy, Jenny would be right back where she started. Alone.

The graveyard was quiet. There was no wind, and the air held the heavy heat of Connecticut in summer. Jenny ran a hand across her brow, setting down the paper and pencil and stretching her fingers.

“How many more are there?” She turned her eyes to the dark-haired woman kneeling at a gravestone one row over.

The woman rocked back on her heels, gazing across the cemetery like she was calculating when Jenny knew that it wasn’t necessary. Morgan Frazier kept count of every tombstone and every mausoleum in the old graveyard. She could have recited the numbers by heart.

She turned her green eyes on Jenny. “Four hundred and sixty-three.”

“But who’s counting, right?” Jenny laughed.

Morgan grinned. “Right.”

It might have been wrong to feel closer to Morgan than she did to her own father, but Jenny couldn’t help it. Morgan had been her mother’s best friend, and the older woman seemed to understand Jenny in ways her dad just couldn’t. Morgan accepted her without getting freaked out when Jenny felt herself slipping toward the darkness that always seemed to lurk at the edges of her consciousness. Helping in the cemetery was a bonus. Guaranteed time to think in silence or talk about her art while they worked their way through the tombstones, rubbing the epitaphs so that Morgan could add them to her study of the strange runes and markings that appeared on some of them.

“I heard your dad has a new project,” Morgan said.

Jenny picked up the pencil and paper, rubbing the marker in front of her to get an impression of the stylized “3” with swirled ends etched into the gravestone’s surface.

“Yeah. An old farmhouse outside of town.”

“You going to help?”

Jenny couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped her mouth. “Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

Jenny sighed. “If I make a big deal out of it we’ll just end up arguing about the same things all over again. He’ll tell me there’s no future in art, I’ll tell him it doesn’t matter, since it’s my future anyway, and he’ll end up worried and unhappy which will just make me worried and unhappy, too.”

“Right.” Morgan didn’t look up from her work. “But you still have a choice, and choosing what you want isn’t always easy.”

“I guess.”

Jenny had moved onto the next stone when Morgan spoke again. “I heard the client has a son your age.”

From the teasing tone in the older woman’s voice, Jenny knew right where this was going. She shook her head. “Uh-uh. Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“Don’t try to act innocent!” Jenny said. “I know what you’re thinking!”

Morgan stood, picking up her stuff and moving on to the next gravestone. “What am I thinking?”

“That Dad’s client has a son who’s a potential boyfriend for me.”

Morgan shrugged, glancing over at Jenny. “So?”

“So, you’re way off base. I’ve met the guy and trust me, there is no possibility whatsoever.”

Jenny had a flash of the boy named Nikolai, his lips full and sensual as he’d gazed at the painting over her shoulder in the big fancy room. She had a reckless desire to tell Morgan about him instead of Ben. To tell Morgan how he’d made her feel, even in her dream.

“Why not?” Morgan asked, pulling Jenny back to the conversation. “You don’t think he’s cute?”

Jenny thought of Ben Daulton. “Sure, he’s cute. Until he opens his mouth.”

“Ah!” Morgan laughed out loud. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse!” Jenny was getting mad all over again just thinking about it.

“Is he a brainless twit like half of those other guys you go to school with?”

“Not exactly. I mean … I guess I don’t know. We didn’t talk for very long.”

“Then how do you know you don’t like him?”

“Because! He’s rude! He has the manners of a gorilla!” Jenny sputtered.

Nodding, Morgan appraised Jenny with fresh interest and a sly smile. “I see.”

Jenny sighed, shaking her head. “No, you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t.”

Morgan turned back to her work. “If you say so.”

They worked in silence for another half hour before Jenny realized the time. She stood up, stretching. “I have to get ready for the show. Need me to do anything else before I go?”

Morgan shook her head, standing to say goodbye. “I’m good. You didn’t have to come at all. This is a big day!”

“It’s just a local show,” Jenny said, embarrassed.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Jenny. Didn’t you say they only accepted twenty-five artists in the whole county?”

“Well, yeah … ”

“Then give yourself a little credit, will you?” Morgan stepped toward Jenny, taking her hand. “I’m proud of you. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Your mom would be proud, too.”

“She would?” Jenny asked.

Morgan nodded, smiling. “She would.”

*

Morgan, beaming like a proud mother, was already at the gallery when Jenny arrived with her dad later that night. The show was in full swing, a long table at the back of the room covered with fancy finger food and punch.

Jenny was engulfed in a patchouli-scented cloud as Morgan hugged her. “Yours are upstairs. I checked it out before you got here.” Morgan started for the stairs. “Let’s go take a look.”

“I thought you said you already checked it out,” Jenny said weakly. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to see her art hanging on the walls. It was too personal.

“I did,” Morgan said, “but I want to see them with you.”

“Okay.” Jenny felt sick. She was surprised to feel her dad take her hand. He squeezed it reassuringly.

Jenny was careful as they ascended the stairs to the second-floor exhibit space. She wasn’t used to wearing heels, but she’d wanted to look nice for the show, so she’d worn gold sandals with the simple black shift dress that Morgan had bought her for her last birthday. The shoes only had a kitten heel, but it would be just like her to trip and fall in front of everyone at her first gallery showing. She didn’t take her hand off of the banister until they reached the landing.

They made their way down the second-floor hallway, passing four rooms with pure white walls punctuated only by art. It was easy to tell which of the teenagers at the gallery were part of the show. They were the ones hovering around the pieces, paying too close attention to the words of the people around them.

They were almost to the end of the hallway when Morgan turned in to the second-to-last room. Jenny followed, her breath catching in her throat as her work came into view.

Morgan stepped forward, turning to face Jenny and her dad, “Well, what do you think, Daniel? Aren’t they amazing?”

Jenny watched her dad’s face as he looked at the wall of paintings. He was almost immobile for what seemed like a long time, his face impassive. Then he turned to Jenny with a smile.

“They’re beautiful, Jenny. Just beautiful.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’m so proud of you.”

Jenny smiled into his jacket. “Really? You like them?”

He stepped back, looking into her eyes. “Of course I do.”

Just then a familiar voice sounded from the doorway. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know I’m late.”

Tiffany burst into the room wearing flared jeans that made her legs look a mile long and a boyfriend sweater over a white T-shirt.

Jenny hugged her. “Don’t even worry about it. I hope you didn’t drive too fast to get here. There’s no rush. It goes until nine.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Tiffany joked. “Now let me look at these paintings.”

“I’m going to go grab a glass of wine,” Jenny’s dad said. “Can I get you girls some punch?”

“Sure! Thanks, Mr. Kramer.”

“I’ll help your dad, Jenny,” Morgan said. “Then I want to take a closer look and talk to you about these pieces.”

They left the room, and Tiffany turned to Jenny. “I’m so freaking excited for you, Jen.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but it’s no big deal.”

“What are you talking about? You could become some big-shot famous artist someday, in which case you’ll look back on this as the moment everything began.”

Jenny laughed. “Yeah, okay, Tiff. Whatever you say.”

Tiffany punched her playfully on the arm. “Don’t patronize me. God!”

She stepped forward, looking more closely at one of the paintings, the one of the old train depot, the hulking black locomotive, steam coming out its top in a big, gray cloud, sitting on the tracks in the background.