His bike.
It was sitting out front right now, and I bet it was a Harley. The same bike I had seen in the photograph on the wall of Lena's room. John Breed had picked up Lena from Lake Moultrie. And before he said another word, I knew John Breed wasn't about to disappear. He'd be waiting on the corner the next time Lena needed a ride.
I stood up. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but Link was. He slid out of the booth and shoved me toward the door. “Let's get outta here, man.”
Ridley called after us. “I really did miss you, Shrinky Dink.” She tried to make it sound sarcastic, like one of her jokes. But the sarcasm stuck in her throat, and it came out sounding more like the truth. I slammed my palm against the door, sending it flying open.
But before it swung shut, I heard John's voice. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. Say hi to Lena for me.” My hands were shaking, and I heard Ridley laugh. She didn't have to lie to hurt me today. She had the truth.
We didn't talk on the way to Ravenwood. Neither one of us knew what to say. Girls can do that to you, especially Caster girls. When we reached the top of the long drive leading to Ravenwood Manor, the gates were closed, something I'd never seen before. The ivy had grown over the twisting metal, as if it had always been there. I got out of the car and shook the gate to see if it would swing open, knowing it wouldn't. I looked up at the house behind it. The windows were dark, and the sky over the house looked even darker.
What had happened? I could've handled Lena's freak-out at the lake and feeling like she had to take off. But why him? Why the Caster boy with the Harley? How long had she been hanging out with him without telling me? And what did Ridley have to do with it?
I had never been this mad at her before. It was one thing to be attacked by someone you hated, but this was something else. This was the kind of hurt that could only be inflicted by someone you loved, who you thought loved you. It was sort of like being stabbed from the inside out.
“You okay, man?” Link slammed the driver's side door.
“No.” I looked down the long driveway ahead of us.
“Me neither.” Link tossed the key through the Fastback's open window, and we headed down the hill.
We hitched back to town, Link turning every few minutes to check the stretch of road behind us for a Harley. But I didn't think we'd see it. That particular Harley wouldn't be headed into town. For all I knew, it could be inside those gates already.
I didn't come down for dinner, which was my first mistake. My second was opening the black Converse shoe box. I shook it open, the contents spilling across my bed. A note Lena had written me on the back of a wrinkled Snickers wrapper, a ticket stub from the movie we saw on our first date, a faded receipt from the Dar-ee Keen, and a highlighted page ripped out of a book that had reminded me of her. It was the box where I stashed all our memories — my version of Lena's necklace. It didn't seem like the kind of thing a guy should do, so I didn't let on that I did it, not even to her.
I picked up the crumpled photo from the winter formal, taken the second before we were doused with liquid snow by my so-called friends. The picture was blurry, but we were captured in a kiss, so happy it was hard to look at now. Remembering that night, even though I knew the next moment was going to be awful, it felt like part of me was still back there kissing her.
“Ethan Wate, is that you?”
I tried to shove everything back into the box when I heard my door opening, and the box fell, scattering everything onto the floor.
“You feelin’ all right?” Amma came into my room and sat at the foot of my bed. She hadn't done that since I'd had stomach flu in sixth grade. Not that she didn't love me. We just had things worked out in a way that didn't include sitting on beds.
“I'm tired, that's all.”
She looked at the mess on the floor. “You look lower than a catfish at the bottom a the river. And a perfectly good pork chop's lookin’ as sorry as you are, down in my kitchen. That's two kinds a sorry.” She leaned forward and brushed my brown hair out of my eyes. She was always after me to cut my hair.
“I know, I know. The eyes are the window to the soul, and I need a haircut.”
“You need a good sight more than a haircut.” She looked sad and grabbed my chin as if she could lift me up by it. Given the right circumstances, I bet she could. “You're not right.”
“I'm not?”
“You're not, and you're my boy, and it's my fault.”
“What do you mean?” I didn't understand and she didn't elaborate, which was generally how our conversations went.
“She's not right either, you know.” Amma spoke softly, looking out my window. “Not bein’ right isn't always somebody's fault. Sometimes it's just a fact, like the cards you pull.” With Amma, everything came down to fate, the cards in her tarot deck, the bones in the graveyard, the universe she could read.