Unmaking Hunter Kennedy (23 page)

“Stop it! Don’t even start. Just keep that voice under wraps, along with all the other amazing
assets
—okay?” She slowly removed her hand.

He leaned forward and whispered, “You keep mentioning the assets,
fangirl
. I think you find me amazingly attractive and it’s killing you.”

She shoved his shoulder as they started down the boardwalk. “A corpse would find you attractive and you know it! It’s natural human selection. We’re both of the same species. I’m bound to react to what biology set up so very well for you. Stop fishing for more compliments off me. I’m not going to even throw you one. People who look how you look,” she paused and considered him.

“Yes?” He bit his smile back into a composed expression.

“Well—you all must be ruined from gaping at your own beauty in the mirror every morning. Aren’t you? That’s what I would do if I had your face.”

“You’re calling me beautiful now? Throwing out more compliments, just when you swore you’d never. Do you want me to become permanently stuck up?””

“I’m not. These are personal facts, as you said. Part of your marketing package. And you forgot to lower your voice again,” she hissed.

He chuckled, taking in the lay of the little tourist trap. The town boasted the following disgustingly quaint shops: Soda Shop, Toy Shop, Book Shop, Antique Shop, Wood Shop, the Taffy Store, Wild West Saloon and a Museum.

He tried to remain calm as families and even a bunch of teenage girls passed him by.

Vere wasn’t doing as well.

He could swear she was actually holding her breath until the girls turned the corner, which took a very long time.

“I feel like we’re cast in a spy movie,” he whispered.

“Yeah, right?” She gasped, pulling in some deep breaths.

“Thanks for braving the test run with me. Where first?” he whispered extra quietly so he could move a little closer to her.

“I don’t know. Antique shop? It’s right here.” She jerked her head toward the window. “And it’s the only one with a wide door in case you draw a crowd. It’s got a straight line to my car.”

“Wow. You have excellent paparazzi skills. Before we go in, I’m going to test something. Watch.” Dustin boldly stared at the next teenage girl that walked by with her family.

Vere tugged at his arm. “Don’t. Don’t do that. I’m not ready. You aren’t ready. Abort the test. Abort the test. Please!” She sounded so panicked he allowed her to drag him into the dark, cool, entry of the antique shop.

He pulled off his glasses so he could get a better look at her face. She was breathing like she’d just run two miles, and looked so stressed he had the urge to wrap her in his arms; but instead he settled for picking up one of her hands.

Shit. She’s really shaking. Shouldn’t I be the one shaking?

“Vere. It’s cool. The disguise works. It’s all good. I’m okay.”

She squeezed his hand back, hard. “I know. I know. But what if—what if someone—does—recognize you?” She continued to whisper, “How will we ever pull this off at school? This is going to be impossible.”

Hunter shrugged. “I have to pull it off, not you. And I was just fine out there. My cover is bound to crumble eventually.”

“I hope not.” She frowned. “We’ve worked so hard.”

He let go of her hand. “I’ll stick it for as long as it holds, I guess. After that, who knows what will happen to me.”

“I don’t want to find out. I hope it works for a really long time. I already don’t want you to go back home.” Her hand drifted gracefully up to check her bun. Color pooled in her cheeks while she bit her lip to hide her worry.

He gazed down at her, soaking up her elfin, heart-shaped face—memorizing the way one curve of her lip twisted slightly down when she was sad and up all other times.

But only on the one side. Cute. Very cute.

He had to force his fingers not to reach out and touch that spot. Force his hands not to grab her and try to kiss the sad twist back in the other direction.

But, he knew that would completely freak her out.

Damn my crush. It would completely freak me out.

She thinks we’re both of the same species, but vultures don’t make friends with hummingbirds.

“I’ll keep in touch after. You could visit, with Charlie and Nan. If I’m not too busy.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.

He knew it would be impossible to keep in touch with her after he went home. It was for the best. He didn’t want anyone from here to see his other life.

She flushed bright red under his scrutiny, but seemed to recover a bit because she tossed him a little eye roll. It was as if she knew he’d been lying. “Of course we’ll keep in touch. I know it’s only been three days, but you probably already wonder how you survived seventeen years without me. Am I right?”

Her tone had been so self-deprecating, he answered without thinking, “Yep. I almost didn’t make it before I met you.” He pulled at his sleeves and quickly folded his arms, turning his wrists under his oddly aching heart. 

“Can I help you?” An older, grey-haired lady came out of the antique shop’s back room.

“Is it okay if we look in back? I wanted to show my friend something,” Vere asked.

The lady smiled. “Sure honey. Just ring the bell if you need me.” She disappeared into the back room again.

Vere led him past some old tricycles and single wooden school desks, and around a towering high section of books on creaky, wafer thin shelves.

As they passed a fan, Dustin was hit with a warm wave of her clean, lavender-sage smell. It mixed with the dust from this place plus the mint gum she’d been nervously chomping since they parked the car.

He breathed her in like she was water and he’d been in some sort of long, terrible drought.

“Look.” She pointed to a far wall. “On the hook, high up.”

His eyes scanned through the chaotic mess. “It’s an old guitar,” he said, placing his glasses in his front shirt pocket. His fingers curled in anticipation as he stepped forward to pull the guitar off the wall and examine the neck.

He let out a long, appreciative breath. “A Strat. Beat up and battered, but not one bit warped. No strings...but, damn. She’s a beauty.”

She moved in close behind him. “Is that a good guitar? You’re smiling like it’s good.”

He flipped it over and tossed her a grin. “Yeah it’s awesome. Old Strats are some of the best guitars in the world!” He laughed and flicked her another glance, wondering if she’d noticed he’d suddenly sounded all giddy and goofy like she did. But this was no delicious, cold water bottle. It was a Strat!

He watched her eyes taking in the guitar.

“Pretty mother of pearl inlay on the twisty things.”

“They’re called tuners. And these are deluxe. The wood looks like Poplar. Neck is made out of Rosewood.” He felt her staring at his hands as he ran it over the back and the sides of the guitar’s curves. “Some harsh scratches but not one crack! Amazing. Just needs strings and an amp. How long has this thing been back here?”

She shrugged. “As long as I can remember. I could buy it for you? Do you want it? Like will it help you?”

His throat closed up, and he felt his knees start to shake. “Help me with what?”

“Help you not seem so sad? You explained some of your stress yesterday. All that you left behind. I think there’s more. Like...how can you just leave behind your guitars? You said before you came here you worked 80 hours a week on stuff. But how can you do that without a guitar? Aren’t you freaking out?”

He blinked, stunned. Amazed that she’d seemed to memorize everything he’d said. More stunned that she’d been so perceptive about all he hadn’t said.

He pulled a fake smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m touched you care. But I promised not to go near any guitars while I’m here. I’ve already crossed the line messing with this old thing. I can’t draw any attention to myself. If we strung this baby up, well I’d be tempted to—” He glanced at her lips. “Tempted to go all-out and lose control. I’d play it from the rooftops, and I’d never put it down.”

“That’s why you should have it.”

His heart twisted with longing as he stared at her face. “If that happens, little
bestie
, it would not be good for either of us. You just told me you wanted me to stay here awhile. And believe it or not, I’m curious as hell to try your high school after hanging with you. That means, in disguise, and in control. This guitar would blow us both out of the water. Got it?” he whispered.

She flung her purple-sleeved arms wide. “Yeah, but promises are made to be broken!”

“Are they?” He frowned, considering the huge promise between him and Charlie. “I disagree. I’m all about being honorable. My mom and my band mates are really pissed at me. I need to prove to them that I’m sorry. It’s partly why I’m here. I’ve got to stick with the plan they’ve laid out. At least for awhile. I made the promise, I’m keeping it.”

“But what if the promise means life and death? What about bliss? Saving your soul? If all that is at stake, then promises need to be broken.”

“Vere. Nothing’s at stake. Not on that level.”

She pushed closer. He could read the excitement in her eyes. “You should see how you look holding that thing. Like it’s already yours.” She glanced around. “There’s no mirror here for you to see yourself, but I swear, that guitar looks perfect when you hold it in your hands. Like somehow you know every bit of it, even how it’s going to sound.”

“Yeah, well I’ve picked up thousands of guitars, so that’s easy.”

“No. I swear. This guitar wants to belong to you—even now—how you hold it in front of you. It’s like you two are dancing!” She grinned. “Don’t you think that’s worth breaking a promise over?”

“Um...I’m not one to put feelings and emotions onto an inanimate object. It’s weird.”

She stomped her foot. “Well I am. Other examples, then.” She breathed up, puffing the escaped curls off her forehead.

“Do we have to?” he grimaced, wishing she would stop.

“Right now you look how I feel when I get a new book. Or, when it’s opening night of a play and they’ve just turned down the lights. Your eyes look like they’ve snapped into that perfect
moment.
That breathless second when the first page is turned, or when the audience in the theater gets all quiet and the curtain hasn’t opened yet. Your face, while holding that guitar, is a beam of total, blissful anticipation. There’s no more perfect thing than that.”

“To you, Vere. Not to me. I’m not like you.”

“I can see that you are,” she insisted, still defending him even though he was deliberately misunderstanding her.

“If you, touching an old guitar, gets the expression I’m seeing now to hit your face, I can only imagine how you’ll look playing it. Don’t you get it? You’re the luckiest person in the whole world to have already figured out what you love. And you’ll be, quite possibly, the stupidest person in the world—if you don’t hold on to it.”

“You’re insane,” he breathed, pretending her words hadn’t made perfect sense. Hadn’t moved him. Hadn’t made his hands tighten desperately on the neck of the guitar as though it were a life-raft and he might be drowning.

“I’m not.” A small, stubborn grimace set her chin completely straight, and she flushed bright red. The first time she’d done so since yesterday. “I can tell the guitar makes your heart sing, and that playing it will make you happy. Don’t you want that? I bet if your mom or your agent saw you holding this Strat, they’d take back the stupid promise they forced you to make. They would let you break the promise and—”

“No. Stop!” Bringing up his mom and Martin gave him the reality check he needed.

He loosened his grip to flip the guitar one more time. “Maybe you’re right about how much I want this old thing. But stop pestering me. I can’t have it.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Both. Vere!
Dammit.
Just back off! You don’t understand.”

She winced.

He felt really bad, because he thought she might cry or something. In a softer voice he said, “I’m here in Colorado to get clear. To live a different life. To think things over.
Hell
—I don’t know, actually. But I do know I’m supposed to be hiding and doing exactly what my mom and agent have sent me here to do. I’ve become someone else for awhile. Inside and out, just like you helped me to be. And I think I might like it.”

“Yeah but—”

He shook his head, stopping her. “I’m worried there’s a possibility I’ll lose who I’m trying to become if I start playing the guitar. Any guitar.”

“Well I’m worried you’ll lose yourself if you don’t.”

“My choice to make, Vere. Let’s stick to the plan. Dustin McHugh doesn’t know how to play the guitar. Okay?” He hung the Strat back on the hooks, trying not to care that his tone had pulled the light of her eyes.

She shook her head, clearly still not agreeing.

He glared at her.

Afraid she’d start up again he added, “Not. One. Note.”

21: awkward topics: a++

VERE

“Anyone else want to ride down with Nan and me?” Vere’s dad came out onto the porch followed by Nan. Her standard, tight, grey and white curls were slightly rumpled. She looked years younger without her glasses on.

Vere greeted her with a smile, as she tried to stifle a long yawn.

“Anyone?” her dad tried again.

No one responded.

Vere had sprawled next to Charlie and Dustin in one of the six Adirondack chairs on the double-wide enclosed sun porch. It was everyone’s favorite morning gathering place at the cabin. This morning was no exception.

“I can’t believe we have to shut this place down in two weeks. How could Labor Day sneak up on us so fast? It’s so sad.” Vere sat up.

“What’s sad is the Colorado Public Schools make us start in the middle of August. That’s what’s sad,” Charlie muttered.

“What is wrong with you three?” Nan glanced at Charlie’s and Dustin’s prone forms.

Dustin pulled off his glasses and placed them in his front pocket as he rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Mrs. Roth forced us to eat second helpings of bacon quiche and strawberry muffins. I’m not digesting anymore, I’ve died.”

“Ah. Well. That explains it. Your mother just attacked us with the last of the French toast on the way out here. From the look of you three, I’m thinking you should take one more hike before you head out.”

“Good idea. Who’s in?” Vere struggled out of her seat and stood.