When I woke, the first thing I noticed was it was much darker. The sun had obviously set. The second thing I noticed was the sound of my phone ringing in my backpack. I got to my phone just in time to see I’d missed a call from my mom. Her phone call meant she wasn’t home, so I listened to the quiet house to see if I could hear my dad, but there was nothing. A ping from my phone told me I had a text.
**Hey sweetie, I need a favor. I thought I would be home by now, but I’m still stuck at work. There’s a casserole in the fridge for Chelsea. Can you take it over, put it in her oven for 20 minutes at 350, then just sit with her until I can get home? How was your first day back at school?**
I replied immediately, even though my stomach plummeted at the thought of being at the Wallace household.
**Sure, no problem. School sucked. Everyone whispered about me as I walked past them and looked at me like… well… like my boyfriend had died.**
**I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to go through any of this.**
**I’ll make it. You’ll come over when you’re off?**
**Yeah. Shouldn’t be too long now.**
**Okay, see you there.**
When I arrived at the Wallace house I knocked gently. I’d quit knocking on their door when I was eleven years old and Cory’s mom had told me that if I knocked on their door again, she’d tan my hide. She was kidding, of course, but I got the message. From that day forward I walked right into their house. Suddenly, though, it felt wrong to just go in. Not only had my link to that household been taken from me, Mrs. Wallace was in a delicate position, and walking into her house felt a lot like barging into her sadness.
When no one answered my soft knocking, I gently turned the doorknob, not surprised to find it unlocked. I inched the door open and quietly called out, “Mrs. Wallace? Are you awake?” I figured she wouldn’t be, and even if she were awake, I doubted she would answer me. I knew she’d just lie in her bed, staring out the window, just as she’d been doing since the day Cory and Mr. Wallace had been killed.
I moved right into the kitchen and turned the oven on, then started peeling the foil off the casserole.
There were quite a few people who had come together to help Mrs. Wallace out in the last three weeks. There was a calendar hanging on the wall and every day had a name on it of a person who had committed to providing dinner for Hayes and his mother. My mom’s name was listed two or three times a week, and she still didn’t think it was enough. My mom had been over every day, trying to do anything she could to help her best friend. I was proud of her for it, but I knew it took a toll on my mother as well. Not just physically, burning the candle at both ends, but also emotionally. She wanted so badly to help her best friend, but the longer Mrs. Wallace stayed in her bedroom, the more worried my mother became.
The casserole was halfway done when the front door opened and Hayes walked through.
“McKenzie,” he said as he closed the door.
“It’s my mom’s night to provide dinner and she was running late. I just came over to heat up the casserole.”
He came toward the kitchen, stopping at the table and placing his brown leather bag atop it. It was a grown-up bag, not something a college student would normally use, I thought. It was a step up from a backpack and a step down from a briefcase. It looked somewhat expensive. I knew the leather would feel buttery and soft if I ran my hand over it.
“You don’t need an excuse to be here,” he said softly, his eyes asking me for something, I just couldn’t figure out what. “I was just surprised to see you.” He ran his hand straight through his hair which was, once again, down and loose, framing his face and hiding so much.
“You put your hair back today.” The words toppled from my mouth. “At school, I mean.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I thought it looked more professional.” He ran his hand through it again, unconsciously, then continued. “I’m thinking of cutting it.”
“Don’t,” I blurted, immediately mortified as a blush heated my face. “I mean, I don’t think you have to. You’ve already got the job, ya know? Why cut it now?”
“I guess you’re right,” he replied quietly, with almost a sad tone to his voice. “Listen, about the job, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to upset you or cause you any more stress, and then there you were….” His voice trailed away and I was left with just his eyes peering at me from the other side of the table. While everyone else that day had looked at me with pity, Hayes had something else in his eyes.
“It’s okay, you don’t owe me an explanation.”