After Dark by M. Pierce
For Anna, always
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost.
SARA TEASDALE, “Barter”
Chapter 1
HANNAH
This is my favorite part. The beginning.
The crowd continues to clap and Gail Weider beams at us.
I pull Matt several feet onto the stage and he stops. He stands there woodenly, his expression blank, and then darts a look backstage. “I was contemplating running,” he told me later.
Gail’s smile falters.
My boyfriend and I are live on Denver Buzz, the biggest morning talk show in the city, and this is our chance to spin his fake death in our favor. A reclusive artist driven into hiding. A sensitive personality reacting to harmful circumstances. Stuff like that.
“Welcome,” says Gail. She gestures to the couch. I know where we are supposed to sit, and I have been coached on good posture, eye contact, and affirmative answers. So has Matt.
But Matt is gone. The camera focuses on his stunned face. The applause dwindles.
“Come on,” I whisper, coaxing him forward.
Abruptly, Gail crosses the stage and we flank Matt. The scene becomes comical. She grips his shoulder, I hold his hand, and we maneuver him toward the couch.
“Don’t be shy, Mr. Sky. We’re so excited to have you.” Gail plows off-script like a pro, her confidence undiminished. She exudes authority, and Matt and I look like children on her stage. At last, we get Matt seated. His hand is glued to mine.
This awkwardness is all my fault.
“Marry me,” I’d whispered to Matt just moments before we stepped onstage. Had I sabotaged our TV appearance? The possibility never crossed my mind. In fact, the proposal didn’t cross my mind until it rolled off my tongue. Oops …
“Matthew, Hannah.” Gail nods at us.
“We’re so happy to be here,” I say. I pat Matt’s knee. He remains comatose, and Gail launches into a spiel about how glad she is to see Matt safe, and yet how stunned she and the nation felt after the news of his death in December. She recounts the story. Her eyes sweep from the teleprompters to the crowd and back to us.
A silence follows, during which Matt is supposed to speak.
Even I know his lines.
I’m glad you brought this up, Gail. I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity to explain what happened, and why. First, I need to say that …
Matt glowers at the camera.
“We’re getting married,” he announces.
Dear God, he looks adorable. His bewilderment turns to anger. He glares a challenge at everyone, as if we are already at the altar and someone might object to our union.
The audience gives a collective gasp.
“Wow!” says Gail. A blissful smile breaks out on my face and Matt and I hug. Everyone claps. People get on their feet.
It’s soap opera season finale meets touchdown in the studio. And the crowd goes wild …
*
I paused the video—Denver Buzz, May 14, 2014—and closed my laptop. The bedroom was dark. I padded to the window and watched a thick white cord of lightning reach down from the sky. Thunder followed in a long bass rumble.
I opened the window and tropically warm wind rushed over me. Our curtains streamed through the room. Finally—a storm to break the dry heat of June.
As I waited for the rain, my mind traveled back to that day, almost a month ago, when Matt and I appeared on TV and he announced to the nation that we were getting married.