Some Kind of Happiness (33 page)

“Finley?”

I stop, wiping hair from my eyes.

Jack slams into me, wrapping me in a rain-soaked hug. He says nothing; he is breathless from running. His fingers dig into my shoulders. His body is bony and strong.

“What are you doing out here?” He steps away, yelling over the rain. “Everyone's out looking for you.”

It takes me a minute to understand what he's saying. “What?”

“It's been hours. It's almost seven. People are freaking out! God, Fin, where have you been?”

I point down the tracks. “I'm leaving, like we talked about.”

“Why? Are you nuts? We were just
talking
.”

“I don't want to be with my family anymore.”

“But you love your family!”

“My grandparents hate me.”

“No way. It's impossible to hate you.”

“They are concerned about me.”

“Why? There's nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes, there is.”

“But—”

I whirl to face him. “You don't know me, Jack. You have no idea about anything.”

A crash of thunder makes us both jump. Without saying a word, we head for the Bone House, walking back along the tracks side by side, our heads down in the wind. The wet field grass clings to our legs. Once we're inside the Bone House, Jack gets us blankets from the living room. We huddle inside them under the card table. The closed kitchen door rattles in the wind.

Jack's hair lies flat against his head in dark pieces. This might be the cleanest I have ever seen him.

“Look,” he says, “I didn't mean to make you mad out there. It's just, I think you're great. Anyone who says there's something wrong with you, they're the wrong ones.”

More thunder; the house groans and shakes. How am I supposed to explain to him what I mean? I cannot scare him away and lose him, not again.

“My parents are getting a divorce,” I tell him, because though it is awful, it is the easiest thing to say. “They told me on Sunday.”

“Aw, Fin.” Jack shakes his head. “I'm sorry. That really sucks.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You okay?”

“No. But that's not the worst part.”

“There's worse?”

I tell him what his dad told me—about my family and the Travers fire. He looks as shocked as I felt.

“But . . . why would they do that?” he asks. “You don't think they did it on purpose, do you?”

“I don't know what I think. But I don't want to go back. If it's true, then what does that mean? Can I still love them? I don't know if I can.”

Jack is quiet for a long time. “I still love my dad, and he's done bad stuff.”

“How do you keep loving him, then?”

“Because he's my dad. He has his bad days, but most of the time he's all right. He does his best. And we're family, you know? It isn't perfect, but it's ours. If I did something bad, I think he'd still love me.”

Every time there is a flash of lightning, I can see the mural across the kitchen from us. “You painted me, huh?”

Jack taps the card table's leg with his shoe. “I know it isn't good. Cole could've done better.”

“It is good, though, because you did it.”

“Yeah?”

“Honestly.”

Jack presses his shoe against mine. They are both covered in mud. “We should go back. I know you're mad at them, but . . . don't you want to know the truth? You can ask them all your questions.”

When I imagine asking my grandparents and my aunts about the fire, I feel sick to my stomach. “I guess . . .”

“And hey, you can always come stay at our place. It's dirty and kind of smells, but we have cookies.”

I laugh. “You and Gretchen are both obsessed with cookies.”

“Who wouldn't be?” Jack crawls out from under the table and sweeps his blanket majestically around his shoulders. “My queen?” he asks, in a royal-sounding voice.

I take his hand. “Okay. Let's go.”

Let's go find the whole truth.

A
S WE MAKE OUR WAY
back through the Everwood, the storm knocks branches from trees and whips wet leaves into our faces.

I try not to feel guilty about everyone searching for me. In fact I hope Grandma and Grandpa are worried sick. I hope they are blaming themselves, looking back on their lives trying to figure out where they went wrong.

(I have an idea.)

Ducking under a branch heavy with rain, I hear a scream buried in the wind.

“Did you hear that?” I ask Jack.

“Hear what?”

There it is again—and it sounds familiar.

The world slows down. I feel every drop of rain on my skin.

I know that scream. How many times have I heard her, racing through the house?

It comes from the direction of the First Bridge.

Ruth.

I run toward the sound, leaving Jack behind. Mud sucks at my feet; the ground cannot hold any more water.

At the riverbank I look down and nearly fall.

This is not my river. The water is rushing, roaring, cascading. I see rapids, debris carried away in the current.

I see Dex and Ruth.

Dex, on this side of the river, faceup in the water, his shirt snagged on a branch.

Ruth, kneeling on the shore beside him, screaming at the top of her lungs. She pulls on his shirt, but he won't budge.

They must have crossed the Bridge, and then—

“Ruth!” I slide down the muddy riverbank.

At the bottom Ruth throws her arms around me, wet hair in her eyes.

“He fell!” I can barely hear her over the howling wind. “Finley, get him up! Get him up!”

“Stay here. Sit right here and don't move.”

I head for the water. With a crack a large branch breaks from its tree and drops into the river. A second later it is swept away.

The branch holding Dex's shirt shifts. The water pulls and pulls at him.

Ruth screams.

Jack slides down beside me. “I'll go.”

Jack makes his way down the slippery slope, but I cannot let him go alone. I tell Ruth to stay where she is, and I follow him. The ground flattens, and Jack almost falls, but I catch his hand and hold on tight. He stumbles, almost drags us both down into the water, but I cannot let go. I cannot buckle.

I am a queen. Queens do not fall.

Between the two of us we get Dex out of the water and back to solid ground. He is a pile of wet clothes and cold skin.

Jack suddenly looks lost. “I don't know, I don't know. What do we do, Fin?”

Ruth runs over, wails, shakes me.

We do not have time for this.

I press my hands to Dex's chest. We did this at school last year. We practiced on dummies. Rhonda thought it was stupid, that the dummies smelled like feet and we should not be required to touch them.

I liked it. As we practiced on the dummies, I imagined what it would feel like to save a person.

I thought that if I saved a person, I would no longer feel my sadness. How could you, after such a thing?

But doing this in real life is different.

This is no dummy; this is our Dex.

I press and press until my fingers are sore. Coach Williams said giving mouth-to-mouth is not as helpful as pumping the chest, but I do it anyway, because I am panicking, because I am desperate, because I would give Dex all my air, if I could.

When he starts gasping and choking, spitting up river water, I sit back hard in the mud.

“He's okay?” Ruth clutches his arm. “Is he?”

Dex groans, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“Dex? Dex!”

I hold Ruth still. “Something's wrong.”

Jack gently pushes Dex's hair aside—a gash, on his forehead. A mark red with blood. “Oh no.”

Ruth struggles in my arms. “We didn't mean to!”

“Ruth, stop it. Listen to me—”

“We just wanted to find you!”

I catch her hands. “What do you mean?”

“You were missing. Everyone's looking for you, but they were looking all wrong. We knew where you were, but—”

My heart sinks. “So you went to find me.”

“We thought if we found you, we could be knights.” Ruth's face is a mess of rain and mud. “We wanted to save the queen.”

“We shouldn't move him,” Jack says. “I'll stay here. You go get help.”

But I am frozen to the ground.

This is my fault.

Maybe if I'd never told them about the Everwood—

Maybe if I'd never brought them here—

Jack grabs my hand. “I won't let anything happen to them, okay? Go get your grandpa. Go!”

My fault, my fault, my fault.

“Finley!” Ruth screams.

I take one last look at Dex and climb up the riverbank.

I know I must cross the Bridge. There, through the trees—those flickers of lights. Amber, red, blue. Hart House. Police cars, I assume, looking for me.

(My fault. Dex, Dex, Dex.)

The Dark Ones stood tall on the queen's back, stomping, kicking, grinding her into the ground.

“Sad, sad orphan girl with a sad, sad curse,” they cried. “She takes everything happy and makes it worse.”

No. Enough.

“Be quiet.” I clench my fists. “Stop it. Stop, right now.”

The Dark Ones shrank back and fell silent.

(Think, Finley.)

I must cross the Bridge, but it is long, narrow, slick with rain.

I look down. Bad idea.

The river is wild, swift, dark.

I step back, breathing hard, the storm pounding in my ears—along with my heart, along with the rushing water.

I cannot cross the river. My legs won't move that way.

Cupping my muddy hands, I scream toward Hart House, but the storm swallows my voice.

No one can hear me—but I know where I can go for help.

Past the Post Office, up the hill, pulling myself up by the roots—

(I am a queen.)

Across the yard, through the maze of old lawn chairs and half-filled trash cans—

(I am not afraid.)

I fling open the screen door and pound on the door behind it.

Please. Please. Please.

The door opens.

“Mr. Bailey,” I gasp, “I'm sorry for bothering you. I know you don't like me. But please, can I use your phone? My cousin Dex. He's hurt—the river's flooding—Jack's with him—please—”

I break down, the pieces of me collapsing inward until I am the smallest I have ever been.

Mr. Bailey leads me inside. “Okay, now. It's okay.”

He sits me down in a chair. Cole and Bennett run in from the other room.

“What happened?” asks Cole. “Where's Jack?”

Mr. Bailey picks up an old wall phone and dials.

“Mr. Hart?” He rubs his face. “It's Geoffrey Bailey. Listen, your granddaughter's here. Finley. She's okay. But she says her cousin Dex is down by the river and needs help. . . . Yeah, I've been watching the police come and go from over here. . . . Yeah, okay. I'll tell her. Thanks.”

I feel like the chair has disappeared from underneath me.

I have done my part. Dex will be okay now. He has to be okay.

Mr. Bailey hangs up and sits down beside me.

“Someone's coming to get you,” he says. He seems a bit shaky. I wonder what he is thinking.

A few minutes later the door flies open. Avery and Gretchen burst in, drenched and pale. Behind them Stick calls out my name.

My cousins launch themselves at me. It is the warmest hug I have ever felt.

T
HE PARAMEDICS SAID
D
EX WILL
be okay, but it is hard to believe them. When they carried him off on the stretcher, he looked too small and pale to be alive. Like a soaked baby bird.

Aunt Bridget and Ruth went with him.

When I stepped inside Hart House in my wet shoes, the first person I saw was Aunt Bridget, and I thought she would yell at me, but she didn't. She hugged me close and squeezed.

(
You,
pounded her heart.)