I try not to think about the fact that I’m going to be digging through my dad’s underwear drawer as I sneak back into Mom’s room, but I’m in luck. There’s a brand-new, unopened package of boxer briefs that she must have bought for him before—well, before. I grab one of Dad’s old belts, then tiptoe back to my room.
Ripping open the package, I hurl the underwear and belt at Henry, describing how the underwear goes on just like pants and the belt threads through the loops around his hips, and then I dial Meredith’s number.
She picks up on the first ring. “Winter? Where are you?”
“Sorry, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I had to—”
“These are amazing,” Henry says to my back. “How is it the fabric can stretch so without breaking?” I hear a snap that I can only assume is the underwear band smacking his flesh.
I take another step away from him and bury my head in the corner. “I’m, um, picking up a family friend. His parents are in town on a, uh, business trip, and he had nothing to do, so I invited him. I mean, who wants to be alone on a Friday night, right?” There’s that nervous laugh. I really need to get that under control.
“Okay, I guess I’ll see—wait. Did you say ‘he’?”
Of course that would be the part Mer would get hung up on. “Um, yeah?”
“You dog!”
“It’s not like that—”
“You just take your time,” she says, her voice dripping with suggestion. “I’m busy stalking Johnny anyway. I think he might actually ask me out tonight.”
“Johnny Fletcher? The tailback?”
“No, Johnny Carmichael. The wide receiver.”
“What happened to the tailback?”
“One date, last week. I told you, remember? He was the one who licked my face like a dog bowl? I told him to lose my number? None of this ringing a bell?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Actually it’s not, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d tuned out her boy rants. “I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay?”
“Take your time, honey. Take. Your. Time.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t tell Trevor you’re actually interested in this guy. It’s good to keep your options open. Besides, he might ask you out sooner if he thinks someone’s moving in on his territory.”
“Which ‘he’?”
“Does it matter?”
“Whatever. See you soon.”
I hang up, turn around, and practically smack into Henry’s chest.
“Does this look better?” he asks.
It does. The jeans still hang low on his hips, but only about a quarter of an inch of black underwear is peeking out of the top now that the belt has secured them to his hips. I don’t think I’d be able to steal a pair of Dad’s old shoes without Mom noticing, but Henry’s shoes look expensive anyway, all soft leather and silver buckles. Someone will probably think they’re haute couture, snatched off a runway in Milan or something. With his shoulder-length blond hair and chiseled features, he looks like he stepped out of a perfume ad holding a bottle of Eau de Prince Charming.
Suddenly, an image pops into my head, of the girls from my school with fake orange tans and dragon nails fawning all over him, and a stab of jealousy pricks my stomach. Which is ridiculous. What do I have to be jealous about? So what if other girls find him attractive? It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s going to date them or anything. Soon he’ll be back home in the eighteenth century, hopefully with his parents alive and well by his side, and then he can be hounded by girls from his own time.
Which is so not any better.
“Very nice,” I tell him, though the words are hard to get out now that my throat’s as dry as the Sahara. “I guess there’s nothing to do now but … leave.”
As if that’s going to be easy.
I tug on a pair of flat leather boots as Henry buckles his own shoes. Mom must be really upset, because the vacuum’s rolling across the hardwood in the family room now—I can hear the suction of the hose attachment inhaling the dust on the baseboards. She only cleans when she wants to take her mind off something. I must be in the running for the Worst Daughter Ever Award tonight. First, I make her cry, and now I’m sneaking a boy out of my room. A boy I brought home from the wood like some kind of lost puppy. A boy who slept on my floor last night. A boy who I skipped school to be with today.
Wait, that isn’t right. I didn’t skip school today to be with him. I skipped school on official guardian business, which is really very admirable of me. The fact that I had to lie about it and act sick is irrelevant, as is the fact that I spent approximately half the time checking Henry out when he wasn’t looking.
I tiptoe to the door and open it slowly so it won’t creak. I glance back at Henry. “Follow me, and don’t make any noise. Step where I step and stop where I stop. Got it?”
He nods.
I exhale. “Here goes nothing.”
XXIII
The vacuum covers our footsteps as we creep down the staircase at half-past ten and into the kitchen. I press myself against the wall and motion for Henry to do the same, then peer around the corner of the doorway into the living room. Mom’s back is to us. I motion Henry to move first. He slides past the door like a shadow, sneaking into the mudroom.
I take a step forward just as the vacuum cuts off.
“You’re heading out?”
I’ve never understood the expression “my heart stopped” before. I understand the one about feeling like someone’s punched you in the gut—that’s how I felt when Uncle Joe told me Dad was gone. All the air flew out of my lungs and my stomach contracted in on itself and I thought I would never breathe again. My heart kept beating, and it felt like a traitor.
But my heart stops now. It comes to a grinding, painful halt as I freeze midstep. For the briefest and scariest of seconds, I wonder if it will start back up again, or if this is how I’ll go. Literally dying of fright because my mom caught me sneaking a boy out of the house. But then my heart flips, like a pancake, and kicks itself back into rhythm.
I put my foot down and meet her gaze. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she’s trying hard to look like she hasn’t been crying. “Yeah,” I say. “But I’ll be right next door, so just text me if you need anything.”
She gives me a soft laugh. “You sound like the parent.”
I swallow. “Mom, I’m really sorry—”
She holds up her hand, cutting me off. “It’s all right. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I feel awful leaving her like this, but I don’t have much of a choice. “Okay. I guess I’ll be going then.”
“Have fun.” Mom wraps me in a hug and she’s practically in the kitchen. She has to see Henry there. I’m screwed, screwed, screwed.
“Tell Meredith I said hi.” She pats my cheek and turns to the dining table, scraping crumbs into her hand.
“O-okay.”
I head into the mudroom, but Henry isn’t there. I pivot on my heel, hissing his name.
“Winter?” Mom calls. “Did you say something?”
I wince. “I said, ‘See you later.’”
“See you.”
I glance out the window in the door just as Henry peers around a tree off the back porch. I exhale.
This boy is going to be the death of me.