How It Ends Page 12

  All right.

  Writing the truth is hard.

  I sit at my desk every day, force myself to place my fingers on our old computer’s keyboard, and order myself to start.

  The words don’t come.

  Not like the memories do.

  They break in waves, in waking nightmares, and often I push away from the desk and pace the house, telling myself I have to begin but not doing it. Instead, I fret and walk, holding on to the backs of chairs, door frames and countertops as I go because my legs have become untrustworthy and I don’t want to fall again.

  At one point I decide I will never be able to write the truth and, maybe, if Hanna will come and sit still long enough I could speak it to her, but when I call she’s out, and the relief is so intense it makes me weak.

  I will write it. I will tell her all I’ve been ashamed of and all I’ve lied about but I have to do it in a way that she will listen to without prejudice. I couldn’t stand seeing her get up and walk out before I finished explaining.

  So I make myself begin and write every day I am able, shaking, weeping, raging, and missing Hanna, but at the same time glad she isn’t visiting as often or staying as long because the stress of confessing has accelerated my illness.

  I am disintegrating, losing control, and there is no hiding it anymore.

  Hanna doesn’t know I am dying, but that, I think, will be the least of the revelations.

  Chapter 20

  Hanna

  I got into a wicked fight with my parents and now I’m grounded.

  Seems my father ended up behind Crystal’s brother in 7-Eleven yesterday, and of course Crystal’s brother had been drinking, so he smelled like it, and then he was dumb enough to say something to the counter guy about throwing one more kegger in the woods before it got too cold, so my father came home and started questioning me about what type of behavior went on at Crystal’s house, anyway.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Me and Crystal have our own stuff to do.”

  Then he said, “Well, I don’t want you going down there for a while. If you want to see Crystal, you two can hang around here.”

  And I should have let it go, because it probably would have slipped his mind, but like a jerk I didn’t. “I don’t want to hang out here. There’s nothing to do.”

  “You can do the same things here that you do there,” my father said, and now he was starting to sound testy because it was suppertime and he was hungry and tired from work and, I don’t know, maybe he just expected me to fold and turn into some meek kid, but that’s not how I felt.

  “Why are you punishing me? I didn’t do anything wrong! God, what am I supposed to do, just die here alone? ”

  “Hanna,” he said in a warning tone.

  I glanced at my mom and she gave me a look that said, Be quiet, but I couldn’t. “It’s not fair! You guys already chose your life, and now what, I’m not allowed to go out and find mine? I don’t want to get stuck here doing stupid boring things! I want to go out!”

  “I know you do,” my mother said. “We understand, Hanna. We were young once, too.”

  I hate when adults say that. I do. They always say it when they’re trying to shut down your life and stop you from having fun. I mean, if they know what I want, then why do they keep getting in the way?

  I could be so much worse, and it’s like they don’t even know it. They get so surprised whenever they realize that I might not be exactly who they think I am, that there are parts of my life that are mine, my secret hopes and dreams and hurts and tragedies, things that, if the robber guy had killed me that day, they would never have known because I’ve never even said them out loud, or that there’s stuff about me that only Crystal and Sammi know, or experiences I’ve had that only Jesse or Seth know about.

  They only know the Hanna I want them to know; they’re only allowed to see what I show them, and all the life-changing stuff—except for being robbed—is my own personal business.

  I’m not a little girl anymore.

  I want my own life and yeah, I’m probably going to make mistakes, but they’re my mistakes. I don’t try to hurt anybody or lie or anything, but sometimes I have to just to get what I need.

  And if they really remembered what sixteen was like, they’d remember that, too.

  Anyway, the argument got stupider and I got more frustrated and really mouthy and my father got really mad and grounded me for a week.

  Joy.

  I’m still grounded but I’m allowed to go over to Gran’s to help feed the animals, so today I did because I ran out of stuff to read and figured I’d see if she had anything good, because she belongs to like five book clubs and gets books in the mail almost every day.

  Well, I found out she had to quit all of them because she doesn’t have the money thanks to crappy insurance and her medication being so expensive, which really sucks because now all she’s reading are Parkinson’s real-life stories and back-to-the-land biographies written by people who ditched civilization and were apparently supremely happy living independently in the country.

  I already live in the country and right now I’m not very happy, so I borrowed a couple of old murder mysteries from the bookcase instead.

  When we wandered outside, Serepta came, too, although she gave me a puzzled look like she’d never seen me before and crept under a shrub.

  “She’s getting old,” Gran said, holding on to the porch railing and gingerly lowering herself to the step. Her knees crinkled and crunched and her hand was making this unnerving rolling motion that I was trying to pretend I didn’t notice until she noticed me not noticing her.

  “Horrible, isn’t it?” she said, holding up the hand and watching it quiver. “I hate it.”

  “Does it hurt?” I said cautiously.

  “What doesn’t?” she said and shrugged.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just leaned against the railing and gazed out at the pond. “Look, the does are back there.”

  “They don’t even know how little time they have left.” She scratched her knee. “Do you think it’s worse to know it’s coming even though then you have time to make arrangements and say good-bye, or is it worse to die quick and unexpected?”

  “Quick and unexpected,” I said without hesitation, adding silently, And in a greasy Olympia’s Sub Shop apron. “I would rather have time to say good-bye.”

  “I guess so,” she said and, sighing, glanced at the hunting cabin next door. “I hate knowing there’s nothing I can do to save them, not even for an hour, not even for a day.”

  “At least they’re safe here,” I said and then finally remembered to tell her about feeding the deer hay instead of corn in winter. She didn’t get as upset as I thought she would, only nodded and so we hung out a little longer, but we were both in quiet moods, so I left soon after that and followed the path through the break in the woods separating our back acres from theirs.

  There was no wind and I could hear my footsteps. I could hear each falling leaf touch down. I could hear the wasps buzzing as I passed the dilapidated old wood barn. The sunlight was thin and the air still, the trees still, and I got the oddest thought—It’s a helluva thing—but I didn’t know what that meant, only that it felt like the land was waiting. Just waiting, like it knew everything was changing, and that was a dumb thought because of course it did, the birds knew, the animals knew, and so did the plants and trees, because it was autumn for God’s sake, and soon it would be winter…but still.

  By the time I made it up our back steps and into the house, I’d started feeling like I was waiting on the change of season, too.

  Last day of grounding, so I took the books back to Gran. It was chillier today, there was a wind, and the wasps were gone. I passed her garden and scared up a flock of finches who must have been feasting on all the flowers and weeds and old tomatoes gone to seed.

  This was the first time I can remember that Gran didn’t open her door wide and automatically invite me in. She was in sweats and slippers
and she looked like she’d been crying, which freaked me out because I’m so used to her being strong that I didn’t know what to say.

  It didn’t really matter, though, because she took the books—she was shaking bad—and said she hoped I didn’t mind but she wasn’t feeling up to company. So of course I was like, No, no problem, and on my way back I walked up on a doe standing motionless in the tree line without even seeing her until she broke and ran, with her big white, fluffy tail waving to signal danger. I wanted to tell her, No, stop, I’m not one of the dangerous ones, but she didn’t give me the chance.

  It’s a weird time. Or maybe it’s just me.

  I sliced a chunk of skin off my shin this morning shaving my legs. It bled and hurt so bad that I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have a razor-tipped arrow slice right into your guts.

  I hate bow-hunting season and I hate waking up in the dark. I hate walking down the driveway and the wooded parts of the road to the bus stop in my stupid pink hat, afraid that someone just a little sleepy or nearsighted might mistake my hair for a deer and draw a bead on my spine. (Because for some reason, that’s always how I think of it, as an arrow shattering my spine.)

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  I don’t know why I’m thinking of the robbery again now, too, when the mornings are so cold and dark, and triumphant hunters drive by the bus stop hauling bloody carcasses with lolling heads in the beds of their pickup trucks.

  Grim.

  Chapter 21

  Hanna

  I think Seth might finally like me again.

  He had a free period, so he stopped by my locker, and I cut class, so we ended up hanging out in the upstairs hall, leaning against the window ledge next to each other. The whole time I was absorbing his details, the shape of his hands, his fingertips callused from playing the guitar, the way the bottom of his wavy hair was summer-sun blond, mingling threads and fading up to a darker winter blond, his eyes, not a clear blue but a smudgy one, and how, even sitting, my shoulder was inches below his, perfect for resting my head against if the opportunity ever came up.

  A lot of kids passed by on the way to the staircase, gave us interested looks, and said hi, which was kind of funny after a while because we both know so many people that we started making bets on who the next one would be, one of mine, one of his, or an unclaimed neutral.

  “So what do I get if I win?” he said, giving me a dangerous smile.

  “Ummm…a hearty handshake?” I said brightly.

  “Get the hell out of here,” he said, laughing.

  “Okay,” I said, pushing off the windowsill like I was leaving.

  “Get back here,” he said, catching hold of my wrist. “Am I gonna have to hold on to you just to keep you from running out on me?”

  “I don’t know. Let me go and let’s find out,” I said, cocking my head and giving him a sparkling look from under my lashes.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, sliding his fingers through mine and holding my hand. He caught sight of a couple of guys heading toward us, and grinning, he raised our linked hands and said, “How you doing?”

  “What’s up, Seth?” they said, giving him these really cheesy guy-congratulatory grins.

  “Three more for me,” he said smugly when they passed.

  “Maybe, but you’re starting a rumor,” I said, giving our hands a pointed look.

  “So?” he said, glancing at me. “Do you care?”

  And what I wanted to do was shout, Make it more than a rumor!

  Make it a reality! But what I actually did was shrug and say, “Hey, if you don’t care, I don’t care.”

  “Okay, then,” he said and waved our linked hands at kids four more times, which put me three kids behind him, and the bell rang before I could recoup my losses.

  “Woman, you are now my love slave,” he said, rising and releasing me.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, fluffing my hair and tucking it back behind my ears. “What’s the job description?”

  He laughed and fell into step beside me. “You do whatever I want you to do.”

  “Hmm. So far, no good. Pay?”

  “None.”

  I snorted. “No wonder you’re having trouble filling the position. What about benefits?”

  “You want benefits, too?” he said, grinning.

  “Well, yeah, because so far, I don’t get anything at all,” I said.

  “You get me,” he said, nudging my arm.

  My heart skipped and I caught my breath and, for a second, all sound stopped and the air shimmered and I almost said, okay, I almost showed my whole hand and I would have if some dippy sophomore in blue eye shadow hadn’t bumped into me hard and knocked me right out of the moment.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, ducking and slipping past.

  “Nothing like watching where you’re going.” Shaking my head, I crossed the hall to my locker and got my history book. “Well…”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “You’re not getting away that easy. Come on, I’ll walk you to class.”

  So he did and even though I didn’t see him again for the rest of the day, the last thing he said was, “You know I won fair and square. That should get me something.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will,” I said. “I just don’t know what yet.”

  “I do,” he said with a slow, sexy smile.

  “Bye,” I said, laughing and heading into class.

  I can’t even believe it.

  All I have to do to get him is pretend that I don’t want him.

  Seth was stoned in school today and Connor told me he had to go sit out in Phil’s car just so he wouldn’t get snagged and suspended. Then he told me that Seth was having a hard time at home and his parents were thinking about taking him out of St. Ignatz and sending him to public school instead.

  “Wow, that would suck,” I said.

  Connor looked at me hard, like he was trying to gage something. “You should go out and see him,” he said finally.

  “Me?” I said, surprised. “Why?”

  “Do me a favor and just go,” he said. “I think he needs a friend right about now.”

  A friend.

  Great.

  But I went, of course.

  Seth was lying down in the back of Phil’s car, so I climbed into the shotgun seat.

  “Hey,” he said, not even bothering to sit up. “Where you been hiding?”

  “Oh, I’ve been around,” I said, more than a little freaked at how out of it he was. “What’s going on with you?”

  He grunted and closed his eyes. “Too…much…shit.”

  “Do you maybe want to talk about it?” I said, leaning over the seat and nudging him into opening his eyes. “I’m a decent listener.” And a fool because, yes, I still wanted him.

  “You’re a decent everything,” he said and then shook his head and gazed up at the ceiling. “I’m pretty fucked up.” He laughed without humor. “It runs in the family.”

  “Mm?” I said, settling my chin on the back of the seat and watching him.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said and then was quiet for a while. When he finally spoke, he didn’t look at me. “I don’t get you.”

  “What’s not to get?” I said lightly.

  He snorted and this time he did smile, still without looking at me. “Forget it.”

  “No, really, what?” I said, leaning over and poking him. “Tell me.”

  He caught hold of my arm and then slid his hand down to cover mine. Gazed at our hands as if debating, then ran his thumb gently across my knuckles. “You’re nice.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” I said, watching him.

  “You always look happy,” he said, frowning.

  “And…?” I said.

  “You are definitely not who I thought you were.”

  “So is that good or bad?” I said and waited, heart thumping, to discover my fate.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  I must have made a little noise as th
e blade sank into my heart, because he blinked and glanced at me, saw my face, and said, “No, I don’t mean that in a bad way, not to you. I mean it to me.” He shook his head. “Shit, I really didn’t want to…look, it’s not you.”

  “Okay, I get it.” My voice was rusty. “You don’t have to say anymore. Just forget it.”

  “No, you’re thinking wrong, I can see it. You’re nice, Hanna.” He stopped and seemed to struggle with something. “I’m not, okay?”

  “What, nice?” I said, surprised. “Yes, you are.”

  He shook his head, refusing to meet my gaze. “Every time I go to ask you out, I think, Yeah, okay, she’s a major flirt, she knows what’s up, she knows how to play the game, and then you give me that big smile or you say something that totally throws me a curve, and then I’m like, Shit, maybe not, and…” He cleared his throat.

  “So you’re saying I’m too nice,” I said flatly.

  “No,” he said, looking at me now. “I’m saying you’re nice and I don’t want to fuck that up, okay? And if we go out, I will, because I always do.” He looked away again and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Then why did Connor even send me out here?” I said.

  He was silent for a long moment. “I told him to.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “I almost didn’t,” he said in a low voice.

  “But you did,” I said, laying my hand on his arm and smiling when he finally looked at me, because there was something there, I could feel it, and if it took all I had, I wasn’t going to let it go. “So why?”

  His smoky blue eyes grew shiny and he muttered, “Oh, Christ,” and looked away, but he was laughing a little when he did it, like he was embarrassed and then he swallowed hard, I saw his Adam’s apple bob, and he said, “You sure you want to do this?” and I said, “Do what?” and then he laughed to himself again like he couldn’t believe he was going to do this, and my heart started pounding so loud I could hardly hear him when he looked at me and, with a crooked, bittersweet smile, said, “So do you want to go out with me, Hanna?”