She throws herself back into the swing, making it rock violently. “I am never leaving you alone again.”
I think of Declan, how he seemed almost affronted that I was afraid of him. Heat returns to my cheeks. “He was . . . okay.”
“I’m glad you’re here to talk about it instead of lying in a ditch on the side of the road.” She turns toward the street and makes a face. “Look. There’s his weird friend.”
I follow her gaze, and there’s Rev Fletcher, pushing a pink-and-white baby stroller down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He’s back in a hoodie, leaving his face in shadow, but out in the sunlight, there’s no disguising his height or the breadth of his shoulders. It’s a shame he spends so much time hiding, because he’s built like a quarterback, and when you actually get a look at his face, he’s not too hard on the eyes.
I remember what Declan said about the photograph. “He’s not weird,” I say under my breath.
“What?” says Rowan.
“I said, he’s not weird. He’s actually a pretty nice guy.” While Rowan starts scraping her jaw off the floor, I raise my hand and call out to him. “Hi, Rev!”
He looks up in surprise and almost seems to shrink into himself until he locates me waving at him. His whole frame relaxes, and he changes course to push the stroller across the street and up Rowan’s driveway.
“Hey,” he says.
The baby in the stroller squeals and swings her legs. She’s got a cookie in one hand, but she’s gummed it to where bits of shortbread cling to her chubby fingers.
“Are you babysitting?” I ask him. It’s somehow both unexpected yet unsurprising.
“Sort of. Mom had a client call and Babydoll wouldn’t nap, so I figured I could get her out of the house for a half hour.”
“Her name is . . . Babydoll?” says Rowan.
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s nothing.
Her eyebrows go up, but she doesn’t say anything further. My eyes flick between Rev and the dark-skinned baby. “This is your . . . sister?”
He smiles. “Not exactly. She’s a foster kid.”
“And your mom had a client?” Rowan says. Her tone makes it sound like his mother is doing something unsavory, and I think of what Declan said about how some people seem to be fair game for hostility.
Rev blinks at her. “Yeah. My mom’s an accountant.”
“Oh.” Rowan seems thrown by that.
I want to elbow her to stop being so rude. Is this how I came across a week ago?
“Can I hold her?” I say to Rev.
“Of course.” His movements are quick and efficient, and he hoists the baby from the stroller in a practiced motion. She’s wriggly at first, but my shirt collar seems to fascinate her. She rolls the fabric between the fingers of her free hand, mouthing the cookie in the other. Her eyes are large and dark and guileless.
“She’s so cute,” I say.
“She likes you,” he says.
“She doesn’t know me.”
“She’s a good judge of character.” Rev pauses, then says, “How’s your car?”
Declan must have told him. “It’s okay. My dad let me trade yard work for new tires and a battery.”
His eyebrows go up. “Your dad sounds like a nice guy.”
He is, I realize. Maybe it’s been buried for a few months, but at his core, Dad is thoughtful. Compassionate. Somehow I’d forgotten.
“I’m glad I saw you,” I say. Beside me, Rowan is silent but fidgety.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wanted to tell you . . .” I hesitate, but Rev is patient. There’s nothing hurried about his expression. I shrug a little. “I’ll delete that picture on Monday. The one I took at the Fall Festival.”
His expression takes on a sudden stillness, which I only partially understand. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Could you tell Declan?” I say quickly. “I know it was important to him.”
He nods—but then he hesitates. “I don’t think he really cares that much. You don’t have to delete it.”
“I don’t?”
“No. It’s . . . okay.”
The baby must feel the tension in the air, because she begins to fuss. I bounce her a little and she settles. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He reaches out to take Babydoll from me. “I should probably keep her walking. I don’t want her to lose it.”
I watch him buckle her back into the stroller. She doesn’t protest one bit. In fact, I think he must be making faces at her, because she giggles a little.
“You’re really good with babies,” I say.
Rev smiles, but his expression is a little hollow, like he’s still trapped in our exchange from thirty seconds ago. “I get a lot of practice.”
“Seriously,” says Rowan. “What’s with you and the hoodies?”
He straightens. “What?”
“Are you trying to make a statement?”
I can’t figure out her tone. It’s not bitchy—she sounds genuinely curious. I am, too, really.
“Yeah. A statement that it’s cold.” Rev starts pushing the stroller down the walkway. After a moment, he looks back. “I’m glad you got your car taken care of. Dec said it was in pretty bad shape.”
“It was.” I hesitate. “Tell him thanks. If you see him. You know. No one else stopped.”
Some of the tension leaks out of his expression. He nods once. “I will.”
Then he doesn’t say anything else—and I’m not sure what to say, either. We both have a secret tragedy in our pasts, and not for the first time, The Dark and Rev occupy the same space in my thoughts.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I say.
“You didn’t.” But he hesitates, like he wants to say more.
“Come on, Jules,” says Rowan. “We need to go inside for dinner.”
“One sec,” I say.
But when I look back, Rev is on the sidewalk, moving away, heading toward home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
From: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]>
To: The Dark <[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, October 6 11:22:03 AM
Subject: The guy who stopped
So . . . remember how I told you about the guy who gave me a hard time at the dance? The one who was such a jerk that I left?