“You look smug,” Mel said. The noise on Fourteenth Street was outrageous. We shouted to one another.
“Well, I’m going to see Hannah. Going to fix everything. And it feels good to be alive. Pass me my duffel bag, will you?” I pointed to the bag at the foot of the passenger seat.
Mel wedged it out the window. I slung the strap over my shoulder.
“You’re going,” she said.
“We’re just a few blocks from here. I thought I’d walk.”
Melanie nodded and fluffed her hair. “Fine, get going.”
“Mel, it’s been real.” I held on to the edge of the window. “Look at me.”
She glared at me with bleary eyes. “It’s been surreal, Matt.”
I unzipped my bag and pulled out my notebook. I tossed it into the car.
“My next book,” I said. “It’s not complete, but you can review it for your blog, huh? Or put it all over the Internet, right? Mail it back to me.”
I couldn’t get a smile out of Mel. She hugged the notebook and drove away with big tears slipping down her cheeks. I turned and headed up Fourteenth Street. The crowd seemed to be moving against me, which made me laugh. People smiled as I passed. Everyone was in a great mood because it was spring and tomorrow was still the weekend.
Now and then, I heard my names in the crowd. Matthew Sky. M. Pierce.
I let the people get a good look at my face, which is just another mask for the heart.
I remembered what I said to Mel when we shared a smoke in her car.
That’s how it goes, right? You are who people decide you are.
So let them talk. Let the rumors fly.
Around four, I reached our street and jogged toward the condo. I felt good—hopeful, warmed by the April sun—and I knew I shouldn’t feel so good. Not an hour ago, I was sick with worry. Dangerous … these changeable moods.
As I bounded up the complex steps and let myself into our condo, I remembered Mom and Dad again, and I remembered Nate inspecting my hand, and the day felt full of consequence and significance. I dropped my duffel in the doorway. I scanned the kitchen and living room. Silence. No sign of Hannah.
Unease prickled through my blood.
Without checking the other rooms, I suddenly knew she was gone. I saw signs of a hasty departure: The cupboard hanging open, Laurence’s hay dish newly filled, an uncapped pen on the counter. And a note.
I walked into the kitchen and read the note.
I reached the last line—P.S. I slept with Seth—and nodded slowly, my hand rising to my mouth. Of course. Seth and Hannah. Of course.
She wanted me to know that we were really over.
She told me the truth to help me let go.
It was a kindness, really.
And tomorrow, and the next day, there would be time for me to be strong. Time for me to handle this like an adult.
But for now—I sat on the kitchen floor and cried like a child.
Chapter 37
HANNAH
“Yeah, the three cheese.” My sister squinted, chewing her gum with a loud snapping sound. “And pepperoni, sausage, um … onions?” She gave me a thumbs-up. I gave her a thumbs-down. “Nix that, no onions.”
Chrissy went on talking into her cell, and I turned my attention to the TV.
My head felt stuffed with cotton. Too many gin and tonics.
On the screen, a couple kissed and music swelled. Roaming hands. Grasping and grinding. I changed the channel.
“Misery food successfully ordered,” Chrissy announced. “What are we watching?”
“Nothing.” I shut off the TV. “But you know—” My voice slurred. “Thank God for hotels. Even cheap hotels.” I waved the remote like a wand. “Just the necessities, right? You’ve got your … scoliosis-inducing bed.” I slapped the mattress. “TV. Crappy coffeemaker. And let’s not forget…” I groped at the bedside table drawer. “The good old Book of Mormon.”