*
Sydney kissed Henry again before he went to bed. His internal clock always slowed his steps around eight o’clock every night, as if he were a wind-up toy losing speed. If he stayed up too late, Sydney would sometimes find him standing on the staircase, halfway upstairs, his hand on the railing, fast asleep with dust settling on his sharp cheekbones.
Henry smiled, sleepy and satisfied, as he walked to their bedroom. He had lines around his eyes from years of squinting against the sun. The sun. That’s exactly what he felt like to her, giving her light and nourishment, always there, predictable. He rode out her restlessness and went wild with her when she needed it, but he always got up the next day the same man, the same heart, the same light.
Sydney waited up for Bay, not knowing quite what to do with herself. She finally put on her kimono, twisted up her hair with her unused chopsticks from dinner, then watched Molly Ringwald movies from the eighties on her laptop, the movies where the odd girl always got the happy ending.
When she heard a car come up the driveway, she slapped her laptop closed. Bay was right on time. Sydney had never had to give her a curfew before, so she’d made it ridiculously early, but Bay hadn’t batted an eyelash. Grandmother Mary had never given Sydney a curfew, though there were times Sydney now wished she had. More often than not, she’d let Sydney sleep over at her friends’ houses, where she’d always felt free to sneak out and meet her boyfriend at all hours of the night.
She got up quickly, thinking she should turn off the living room light so Bay wouldn’t know she was waiting up for her. When she heard the car stop in front of the house, she realized it was too late for that. Maybe she should run to the kitchen and make hot chocolate so they could sit and talk about the night. No, Bay would hate that.
She hadn’t heard a car door close yet, so she sidled up to the living room window, leaned her back against the wall, and lifted the curtain slightly. It took her a moment to make out the car, a dark Audi. Not Phin’s mother’s Chevy. Who was that at this hour? The car seemed familiar, and she knew why when the passenger side door finally opened and the interior light came on. There was her daughter, getting out of a car driven by Josh Matteson.
Sydney’s cell phone suddenly rang, and she jumped in surprise. She grabbed it off the coffee table and answered.
“Hello?”
“Sydney? This is Tallulah Young, Phin’s mom. I’m sitting in front of the gym at school with Phin. Bay’s not here. He said she already got a ride home. Did you know about that?”
“No,” Sydney said as the front door opened, “but she just got here.”
“Is she all right? Phin said there was a fight at the dance.”
Sydney’s heart kicked in her chest when she set eyes on her daughter. Her dress was smeared in blood.
“It’s fake,” Bay said quickly. “Fake blood. From a costume.”
“She’s fine,” Sydney said to Phin’s mom, not taking her eyes off Bay. “Is Phineus all right?”
“He’s fine. He ruined my best sheets, though. It’s coming out of his allowance.”
“Geez, Mom, I said I was sorry,” Phin said before his mother hung up.
Youngs may be the strongest men in town, but you should see their mothers.
“I can’t believe you waited up for me,” Bay said, taking the defensive before Sydney even said a word, which was Sydney’s first clue that she was hiding something. When Sydney didn’t say anything, Bay plucked at the dress. “It’s fake. It even smells like corn syrup. Smell.”
“I don’t want to smell it. I want to know how it got on you,” Sydney said.
“I helped someone who had fallen down. He was wearing a zombie costume. That’s all.”
“That’s all? You got that much of his costume on you from just helping him up?”
“Yes! I wasn’t making out with him, if that’s what you think! I didn’t do anything wrong. I just helped someone who had gotten into a fight.”
“Josh,” Sydney said flatly. “You helped Josh Matteson.”
The look on Bay’s face was priceless. “How did you know? Did Phin say something to his mom?”
“No,” Sydney said. “I just saw Josh drop you off.”
“You were watching?” Bay demanded. Sydney played the silent card again. “He offered me a ride home. Completely platonic. He drove the speed limit. We wore our seat belts. He barely said two words to me.”
“Josh Matteson.”
“Yes, Mom, Josh Matteson.”
Sydney felt a sinking sensation as she remembered something Claire had said. She’s mentioned a boy once or twice. “Oh, Bay, he’s not the one, is he?”
“The one what?”
“Your aunt Claire said you liked a boy. It’s not Josh, is it?”
Bay looked affronted. “So what if it is? What’s wrong with Josh Matteson?”
Sydney bit her lip, not knowing where to begin.
“How can you expect me to tell you anything when you never tell me anything,” Bay said, walking past her and up the stairs. Sydney followed her.
Bay’s room was the first one at the top of the staircase. It was painted a dove gray that turned peacock blue after dark, as if the room absorbed the warmth of daylight and radiated with it at night. Bay didn’t turn on her light. She stepped over shoes and books in the darkness, ripping all the wilted flowers out of her hair and tossing them onto her paisley-print rug.
Bay took off Grandmother Mary’s dress and looked at it forlornly.
Sydney held out her hand and Bay walked over and gave it to her.
Bay kicked off her ankle boots, then crawled into bed, still in the long johns she’d worn under the light dress to keep warm.
Sydney stood silently in the doorway. “Are you dating him?” she finally asked.
“No. He doesn’t like me.” Bay turned on her side, away from Sydney. “He doesn’t even know me,” she whispered, and Sydney realized her daughter was crying.