She scrubbed at her cheek.
“Here.” He reached out and wiped the place where her eyebrow met her temple, showing her the smudge of black on his thumb. She thanked him and pushed her bike to the front door as he got in the car. She turned and waved as he backed down the driveway, watching the headlight beams cut through the dark. She watched until the taillights disappeared at the end of the street.
Inside, though it was only nine, her mother was dozing on the couch. She sat up fast, blinking, when Jess nudged her shoulder.
“You’re home,” she said. “How’d it go? Did you finish your paper?”
“Done.”
“Good. Was it fun? How was dinner? How was everything there?”
Jess opened her mouth to tell her, to let loose the effervescence building in her as the idea reverberated—I have a friend—when she saw a stiffness in her mother’s smile. Jess knew that stiffness: They’re not better than us, J-bird. They just have more money. A queasy sense of guilt turned her stomach, still full of three slices of pepperoni pizza and a scoop of mint chip.
So she didn’t tell her mother about the makeup that had caked her cheeks and swooped across her eyes. She didn’t tell her that when she saw herself in the mirror, dark-eyed and glamorous, she’d thought, I look pretty. Exactly like my mother. She didn’t tell her how hard she’d laughed when Dani messed up her eye makeup, deliberately blinking until the black smeared her cheeks and eyebrows. She didn’t tell about the starfish soap or plush pink towels. She didn’t tell about the microscope, or the dead toad, or the bright-white kitchen with its cherry towels, or the big dining table she’d had the urge to slide across. She didn’t tell about New York. She didn’t tell about the painting studio, she didn’t tell about missing Dad. She didn’t tell her Dani’s father had driven her home. She didn’t tell her how he had wiped at a smudge on her temple. She certainly didn’t tell her that the moment he had, she’d felt a low fire somewhere in her, like the namesake of her hometown rising from the ashes, a shiver on her arms as if he were a poem, the word crested on her tongue. Something strange and uneasy, something she couldn’t tell herself yet.
All this she did not tell, holding it in her throat until it hummed, its own kind of burn.
Skates
Angie says it won’t be much longer on your car. About ten minutes. Can I get you anything? Water? I don’t work here, but I’m filling in till Beto gets back from lunch. Hope he hurries. I took a day off to take my mom to the doctor and deal with errands, and I still have to get to the grocery store. They never have enough lanes open during the week, do they? I always think it will be better with students gone for the summer. With work, I can’t ever get there more than once a week, so I end up with a total mess. Half of it’s not even food. Our daughter’s in this phase where she won’t eat anything but cheese slices and cereal without milk. My mom likes those stupid Hungry Jacks. When my dad died, she swore she would never cook again. Stood by it, too. Lets me do it now, ha. Within a year she retired, sold the house, and moved into the garage apartment we’d renovated. The three of us and now my mom, my sister sometimes, two dogs, a cat, and a turtle named Slow Poke. A regular zoo over at our house.
I’m sorry, but haven’t I seen you out walking? You’re the one who found the body, right? Not to get in your business, but people talk, you know. Oh my gosh, I couldn’t believe it when I saw the paper. You must’ve been freaked out, huh? I guess you don’t know the whole history. Everybody around here knows the story, has a theory about what happened. The cops never did figure it out. There were all these rumors about something going on with her best friend’s father and maybe he had her killed, stuff like that. I don’t know. Most people think she ran away. A lot of kids want to run away from here. But with the body being so close by, I don’t know now. Maybe they’ll be able to tell how she died. If it’s her. She was a year older than me. She came into the Patty Melt a few times when I was working. The last night anyone saw her, in fact. I served her fries and a Coke. Lots of ketchup. Kids tell ghost stories about her. Jess Winters is coming to get you. Isn’t that terrible?
You teach at the Syc, right? Thought so. It’s a good school. I went for a semester, but long story short, I had Hazel. Couldn’t keep up. I might go back, though. California—really? If I were from California, I’d never leave. I lived in Phoenix for a couple years, but that was a total disaster, so I ended up back here. I went to California senior year of high school for the class trip to Disneyland, though. Took a bus over at the crack of dawn, rode the rides till midnight, and then hopped on the bus home. We’re always talking about taking a beach vacation, but you know how those things go. I’ve always wanted to go to New York, too. Lots of places. Angie feels pretty bad about it, wants us to be able to go. With running the shop and helping at the motel, and now with my mom at home, seems like we can’t ever get ahead, you know? I guess that’s the way it goes sometimes. And we’re going to get married now, and so we have to save up for it. Boston or Connecticut, probably, or Vermont if it passes. Thanks. It is.
Listen to me! Going on. You have kids? Lucky you. Just kidding. I love my daughter. When she’s not working my last nerve. Cheese slices and cereal. Hazel, yes. She’s fifteen, almost sixteen. When did that happen? She wants to practice driving every second, says she’ll get her license the second she turns sixteen. Seems like it was yesterday she was wearing shoes with skates in them. God help us.
You know, I just remembered, my mom went to New York once, when my dad was in the army, before my sister and I came along. I forgot that. There’s a picture of them by the skating rink, the famous one? Rockefeller Center, right. They look cold in that picture, but happy too. So young. It’s hard to see them as your parents when they look like that.