After a tragedy, you’re expected to go back to normal life. I found that out pretty fast after Lizzie’s funeral. Everyone went from treating me really carefully to not being so patient. It was apparently time for me to move on. To get over it. To let it go. So I pretended to.
I thought my first day back to school would be pretty bad, what with everyone talking about Lizzie. But no one was. I was surprised, and then I remembered I’d been out sick for almost a week. The other kids had already talked about it. They had already moved on.
No one was awful to me, which was somewhat surprising. No one made jokes or said anything about how there were no werewolves after all. The only comment anyone made was when Mychelle Adler turned around in first period and asked, “How’s your boyfriend taking Lizzie’s death?”
I ignored her.
“I noticed you weren’t with him at the funeral. Is he sick of you already?”
I pretended that I couldn’t hear her. I pretended she was speaking some foreign language that I couldn’t understand. I pretended that I didn’t care what she was saying.
“Maybe he decided being alone was better than being with you.”
Maybe he had.
I sat on the back steps during lunch but didn’t eat. Food wasn’t really interesting anymore, not even junk food. My mom kept telling me I was so skinny, I couldn’t afford to lose weight. But I sort of liked that idea. Maybe I would waste away a little more every day until I disappeared entirely.
When the gym door opened and Emily stepped out, I didn’t react. My senses were dulled. I felt medicated.
“Hey,” Emily said.
“Hi.”
She sat down in her old place, like we’d gone back in time.
“How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I know it must have been a shock to you.”
“One I deserved, right? I spent months running around and talking about werewolves while Lizzie was rotting in the woods.”
“You didn’t know,” Emily said.
“But I should have taken it more seriously. I should have known that someone going missing isn’t a game. That’s how I treated it. You know, like Lizzie went missing just for my amusement.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Emily said quietly.
I shrugged.
“Look, Hawthorn. I know things have been a little off between us. But we’ve been friends our whole lives. A couple weeks of not hanging out doesn’t change that. If you want to talk, I’m here for you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Maybe we could still hang out. We could go to a movie. Or maybe watch them light the town Christmas tree in a couple weeks. Remember how we used to do that?”
“Maybe.”
“Think about it at least.”
I told her I would. But I didn’t want to think about anything.
? ? ?
My parents didn’t want me to work at the Sunshine Café anymore, but I wasn’t ready to quit. I couldn’t sever that connection with Lizzie quite yet.
Christa talked about Lizzie a lot, and I listened but didn’t give much of a response. I’d already caused enough trouble by making speculations about Lizzie’s life. One night, when Christa was saying how she just couldn’t believe Lizzie was dead, how she never figured Lizzie was the kind of girl who’d kill herself, Vernon looked up and said, “Doncha know Lizzie’s a woof?”
I was startled and almost started to cry. Vernon had been paying attention to me after all. Even though it seemed like a silly thing to get so emotional about, I was grateful. “No, Vernon. I only thought she was. Thanks for listening though.”
I watched the door a lot during my shifts. Part of me thought it would swing open, and the little bell would jingle, and Enzo would be standing there in his leather jacket, asking me what time I got off work, if I could leave early. But he never showed up. I knew I needed to stop waiting for him. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Enzo wasn’t my prince. It was time for me to get it together. I had to deal with it and get a grip. So I tried to keep my heart from racing when I heard the bell ring. I tried to pretend I was just another waitress doing her job.
? ? ?
It was a Tuesday in the middle of November when I pulled into my driveway after school and saw that the caravan was on the move. Tents were wrapped up and being carried from the backyard. One of the more capable hippie guys was checking the oil in the cars.
I walked up to Sundog, who was supervising.
“You’re leaving,” I said.
“There’s snow predicted this weekend.”
“But…” I didn’t have any way to finish the thought. There were no buts. Their camping gear wasn’t meant for the cold. So instead, I settled for the truth. “I don’t want you to go.”
Sundog smiled. “Young Hawthorn, when we first pulled into town, the only thing you wanted was for us to leave.”
“Things change.”
“I know. I hope that’s a lesson to you.”
“Can I talk to you alone?” I asked, suddenly feeling exposed on the front lawn, the rest of the caravan milling around us.
We went around the side of the house where it was quieter and no one was watching us.
“Give me a name,” I said.
“A name?”
“A spirit name. Like you gave my mom when she was my age.”
Sundog laughed, and that dark twisting started in my gut again.