Still Waters (3 page)

The house—they could run away together, go up to the house. That’s where they could be alone. Oh my God! She stood perfectly still, her eyes wide as the ideas ran through her mind. They could go as their last fling before he left for Pratt—if they left tomorrow, they’d have the whole weekend before his flight on Monday. It could be a surprise. She wouldn’t tell him where they were going, just that they were running away together. Hannah bit back a squeal and stood on her tiptoes to shove the last of the mugs into the cabinet. She could go over to Colin’s house. Just take a quick peek at the file with the map, to figure out how to get up there. She didn’t have to work for another hour. Colin’s mom and dad would both be gone, and Colin was at a meeting for his college orientation. He was going to pick
her up afterward and drop her at the hospital with Laurie.

Hannah laced a pair of worn sneakers onto her bare feet. Her stomach had that quivery, half-giggly feeling, as if she were on a roller coaster slowly climbing toward the drop. Automatically, she looked in the hall mirror and tucked a few stray strands of hair into her ponytail. Her face stared back at her, the green eyes wide-open with excitement. A spot of red burned high on each cheekbone.

Outside, the day hung hot and humid. The maple trees lining the sidewalk brushed their leaves against Hannah’s face, exhaling green, moist air. It was a fast walk to Colin’s—past the elementary school, then across Springfield Pike, and then up the hill two blocks. Within ten minutes, she could see the cream clapboard and slate roof at the end of the street.

Hannah’s palms grew sweaty as she approached the house. No cars in the driveway, window blinds lowered.
Okay, so far so good.
Her feet sounded unnaturally loud as she mounted the porch steps.
Calm down, it’s not like you’re breaking and entering
. Her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, she pressed the doorbell and listened to the familiar chimes. No answer.
Maybe someone just didn’t hear it, like last night
. Hannah pictured Colin’s mother’s surprised face when she saw her son’s girlfriend breaking into their house. The urge to run away welled up in her stomach, but she had to get the map. The idea of escaping with Colin was too tempting, like a bag of candy held in front of her face.

Hannah crossed the porch, and as casually as she could, extracted the key from under the pansies. She resisted the urge
to look left and right. She might be feeding the Byrds’ cat for all the neighbors knew.

The key chattered against the lock until Hannah controlled the shake in her hand. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the dim foyer. The door clicked shut behind her. “Hello?” Hannah called. The silence hung in the still air. “Anyone home?” she called again. She stepped forward and tripped. A shriek bubbled to her lips. She looked down. A pair of flip-flops sat in front of the door.

Breathing a little fast, Hannah set the sandals against the wall and moved toward the staircase, treading as if about to defuse a bomb. Upstairs, Colin’s parents’ room was a sea of clothes and tumbled bedcovers. Colin’s door was tightly shut. Hannah paused. “Hello?” she said softly. She tapped the door with her fingers, and then with one swift movement, twisted the knob.

The room was empty—just his narrow bed, made up with military neatness, and his cameras on the desk. Hannah withdrew, her face flaming, and continued down the hall.

The attic stairs creaked under her feet. The rooms at the top looked different during the day with the sunlight filtering through the dusty windows. Every scar and hole in the walls was visible. Hannah crossed to the file cabinet, keeping her eyes straight ahead, and tugged open the top drawer.

The file was right where she’d left it. Hannah felt her pulse speed up at the sight of it. She pulled it out and went down on her knees in front of the cabinet. Slowly, she opened the folder. The
map was lying on top, the outline of the photo visible beneath it.

She spread the map out on the floor and flattened the creases, only vaguely aware that grit from the floor was pressing into her knees. A trickle of sweat ran down her forehead. She swiped it away impatiently and traced her finger along the map’s spidery black lines. It shouldn’t be too hard to find their way up there. Hannah picked up the photo from yesterday and brought it close to her eyes, but the light was dim. She gathered the map into the file and carried it across the room to the window with the trick glass. She held the picture up to the window. The dusty sunlight threw the image into sharp detail. The house wasn’t new in the picture, as she’d thought yesterday. Little signs of age were scattered throughout: a railing on the porch was broken off in one corner. The screen door was torn, as if someone had put his hand through it and ripped straight down. Hannah turned the photo slowly left and right. She wished she had a magnifying glass.

Then a scratching sound came from behind her. Her heart thudded and she whirled around, the photo clutched tight in her hand. Her breath shuddered in her throat. The scratching came again. All of a sudden, she knew—
knew
—someone was hiding in the little closet across the room. She stared at the dirty little white door. A minute ticked by.

Outside, a police siren wailed up the street. Hannah jumped as if she’d been shaken. She ran from the room, clutching the file to her chest, and clattered down the stairs, leaving the heavy stillness of the attic behind her.

Her feet flew across the upstairs hallway, but a faint glassy
chink
from the floor below brought her up short. She froze, the file squeezed in her hand, her heart thudding. Someone
was
home. The cleaning lady? Some unseen repairman? Hannah slid her feet silently across the carpet toward the front stairs. Another
chink
. This time she could place the noise—an ice cube against the side of a glass. Probably not a repairman. It was coming from the kitchen, at the rear of the house. If she could just get down the stairs undetected, she could still slip out the front door without whomever it was seeing her.

Hannah crept silently down the top flight to the landing and then to the bottom flight. Her hand, greasy with sweat, slid along the banister as if oiled. She only faintly registered that her breath was coming in short, quick puffs.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed quickly to the door. Her hand was on the knob when someone behind her said, “Hello, Hannah.”

Hannah whirled around. Mrs. Byrd stood in the doorway from the living room, her hair mussed, and a glass in her hand, mostly full of a clear liquid. She wore a charcoal gray suit, as if she’d been going to work, but the jacket was unbuttoned and her silk blouse hung untucked. Her feet were bare.

Hannah shoved the file behind her back, aware of how guilty she must look. But Mrs. Byrd didn’t seem to notice, nor did she ask what Hannah was doing creeping around the house in the middle of the day. She focused somewhere over Hannah’s shoulder. “How are you, dear? Come talk to me a bit. Would you like some iced tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and
walked back through the living room, disappearing through the opposite doorway leading to the kitchen.

For a moment, Hannah didn’t move from her position by the door. Then she bent and carefully slid the file under an oriental-patterned throw rug at her feet before following Mrs. Byrd.

Colin’s mother sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of vodka beside her, along with a jar of olives. She didn’t look up at Hannah standing uneasily in the doorway and instead, stared ahead of her at the massive stainless-steel refrigerator, moodily sipping from her glass.

The kitchen clock ticked off a minute, then another. Hannah waited. She wondered how long it would be before Mrs. Byrd asked her why she was sneaking around in the house. Finally she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. She cleared her throat. “Um, I was just picking up Colin’s camera for him—”

“The camera!” Mrs. Byrd’s voice was harsh. “Spends more time hiding behind it than talking to his own mother.”

Hannah stepped back warily. Mrs. Byrd still didn’t look at her. Hannah wondered if she even realized whom she was talking to.

“Cold. He’s a cold, cold boy,” Colin’s mother said to the refrigerator. Her words were slurred slightly. “We’ve always tried to protect him, you know that? It’s been so hard. Jack’s been gone seven years. Such a bad world. Tried to protect him, and this is how he repays us.” She gulped at her glass.

Hannah’s hand trembled on the door frame. Mrs.
Byrd was drunk, that was obvious. Maybe Hannah could just slip away. Mrs. Byrd might not even notice. Hannah quietly eased toward the door.

Mrs. Byrd’s stalk-like neck swung around abruptly. She focused on Hannah. “You’re a good girl, though.” Her lips stretched back over her teeth. “Good for him. You make him happy, even I can see that. Even his crazy drunk of a mother can see that.” Her barked laughter lingered in the air like smoke. She fell silent, staring back into the oily depths of her glass.

Hannah took one step backward, then another. She had to get out of here. Her stomach felt sick and her armpits were clammy and damp. “Um, yeah, well, thanks, Mrs. Byrd,” she babbled. “I’m late so—” She spun around and ran through the living room and into the foyer, pausing only to grab the file from under the rug. She yanked open the front door and shoved the key back under the pansies before fleeing.

A block away, she slowed to a fast walk. The street seemed unusually bright and busy after the grim chill of Colin’s kitchen. The sunlight danced on the sidewalk and finches flitted from branch to branch overhead.

What if Colin’s mother had seen the file?
Hannah thought suddenly, pressing her hand over her heart and feeling the thumps.
She hadn’t. She was totally out of it.
There was some weird tension between Colin and his parents, for sure. Colin was really upset last night. Maybe this trip could be a break from his parents too. Hannah held the precious documents inside her shirt like a criminal.
Stealing, that’s what you did,
a voice in her head said.
Not stealing,
she argued silently. She was just borrowing. Borrowing something no one wanted—except her.

Safe back in her own bedroom, Hannah closed the door behind her and rested against it for a second, trying to slow her panting. The file burned against her chest. She moved it out from under her shirt and laid it carefully in her desk drawer, gazing at it before sliding the drawer shut. A smile curled the edges of her mouth. It would be like living together—even sleeping in the same bed all night. She and Colin hadn’t actually had sex—she wanted to wait until college and Colin had always been okay with that. But this would be much better than making out in his room and then driving herself home with her hair all messed up and her lips chafed. At the lake house, she wouldn’t have to leave.

Hannah barely had time to splash some water on her face and exchange her shorts for jeans before Colin’s horn sounded outside. She ran downstairs and grabbed her bag before climbing into the familiar front seat of his pickup.

“Morning.” Colin smiled at her from behind his aviator
sunglasses. He pulled her toward him as she banged the door shut, and kissed her on the lips. His eyebrows jumped. “What have you been doing?” he asked.

She could feel the blood drain from her face. “Nothing. Why?” She glanced down at herself. Could he tell? Some stray dust smear? She noticed deep pink welts on her knees from kneeling on the gritty attic floor. Quietly, she rested her hands over them.

Colin craned his neck to reverse down the driveway, his arm along the back of the seat. “You’re all sweaty. Did you go running or something?”

Hannah exhaled and willed the blood to stop pounding in her ears. “Oh. Yeah. Just a couple miles. Sorry—I didn’t have time for a shower. Gross, right?” She could taste the lie on her lips along with the salty sweat.

Colin grinned as he accelerated down the street. “I like you all dirty.” He leaned over and mock-bit her on the neck.

Hannah squealed automatically and pushed him away. “Watch out! Don’t crash us on my first day of work.” The playful words sounded hollow. She thought of Colin’s empty bedroom. Her hand on the door of the attic only an hour ago. She’d stolen from his house, and he had no idea. She’d never hidden anything from him before.

Colin turned onto a busy boulevard thick with early morning traffic. He accelerated past a tire shop and a real-estate office and negotiated the truck around a road crew digging something up in the middle of the street.

“Thanks for driving me, by the way,” Hannah said. “I would have been okay with the bus.”

“I know,” Colin said a little too quickly.

There was a tiny, faintly awkward pause as Hannah looked out the window and Colin focused on the road. They usually didn’t run into the whole money thing too often but Hannah still felt a little pang of embarrassment whenever it came up. And for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, the fact that Colin always seemed embarrassed too made it worse.

“Hey!” Colin braked suddenly and turned the car into a tiny parking lot squeezed between a dry cleaners and the back of an elementary school. A wooden sign above a sagging brick building read
FRIDA’S
in curling script letters. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

“I’m totally late already!”

Colin glanced at the dashboard clock. “You don’t have to be there until ten, right? So, we have twelve minutes. Besides, we have to celebrate your first day at work.”

Hannah grinned. “Celebrate my first day hauling around boxes with Laurie?” She could already smell the delicious scent of burnt sugar in the air when she opened the car door.

“Yeah.” Colin looped his arm around her neck and matched his strides to hers as they walked toward the entrance. “Or celebrate the fact that I’m about to eat six doughnuts in a row.”

“Remember when we used to come here all the time last fall?” Hannah pushed the door open. The burnt-sugar scent was even stronger inside the warm, high-ceilinged room. Commuters stood crowding the counter, jockeying for prime positions to grab
raspberry-cheese cups and lattes. Students with messenger bags strapped to their chests and headphones snaking from their ears, hustled past them out the door, clutching the familiar white, waxy bags already spotted with translucent grease.