“No. Real moms do it. Kat’s mom took her to family planning and got her on the pill when she turned thirteen.”
“Ha. That’s because she knew if she didn’t she’d be raising another pair of bouncing baby hellions on top of the ones she’s already got. You remember a time when Kat’s mom didn’t have gray hair?” I shake my head. “Exactly.” We sit there awhile. She looks at the buttercups. “Pretty.” I nod. “Listen. I’m not trying to boss you here, but . . . on the Fourth, when you and Shea . . . were you safe?”
I lower my eyelids, turning the bridge lights into fuzzy bursts of red, then darkness, then red. You could see the fireworks from the quarry that night. That’s what it was like, colored bursts in the sky and bonfire smoke, the sound of people laughing from the other side of the pit. Him kissing me in the dark and me letting him, my back pressed against a tree, then the two of us going down into the grass together. “You don’t have to worry.”
She nods. The silence stretches out, awkward because I won’t say more. “Night, then.”
She climbs back into her bedroom. I hear the sound of her mattress creaking, then the rush as she turns the box fan on. I’m so tired I feel drugged, and I actually slip under for a few minutes before I jerk awake on the roof, tingling with the knowledge of how close the edge is, that I could’ve gone over.
I tiptoe through Mags’s dark room, into the hallway of our sleeping house. In my room, I tie the buttercups to the crystal hanging in the window. That’s when the headlights come on.
The car’s parked maybe forty yards down from our house. They must’ve been sitting there for a long time; nobody turned down our road while we were on the roof. They idle for a minute or two, then pull into the road and drive slowly past our house.
I wait for the sound of the engine to fade away, but instead, it comes back. They must’ve turned around on the old logging road a quarter mile down from our house. They tap their brakes at the stop sign where Old County Road meets 15, and like that, they’re gone.
EIGHT
THE NEXT DAY, fog rolls off the river, spreading white fingers as far inland as the barrens. It’s the coolest day we’ve had so far, but everybody’s sticky with humidity and hoping we’ll get rained out. Can’t rake berries in a downpour.
We’ve cleared the whole south field, so we spread out over the rise. I end up a few rows away from Shea. I catch myself trying to match his pace, raking so fast I’m breathless.
Shea’s flying. How did I miss this last summer? One minute he’s at the start of a new row, and the next he’s halfway down, doing these loose jabs like he’s shoveling snow. Leaves and sticks are scattering everywhere. He’s filled another three boxes when I finally can’t keep my mouth shut anymore.
“You clearing those bushes?” My voice is low.
At first, it seems like he’s going to ignore me. Then: “You quality control?”
“You’re fast, that’s all.”
“Didn’t think you liked it any other way.”
A muscle jumps in my jaw, but that’s it. “Bob gets a look at the leaves and crap in your boxes, you’re gonna get busted.”
“Worried about me?” He turns, taking me in. His voice is different, stiff, when he asks, “That’s really all you’ve got to say?”
I keep my eyes on my work, my skin burning, praying he’ll let the moment pass. He snorts, and says something under his breath that I don’t quite catch.
We both get back to it. I rake so hard that my arms feel like they want to come off at the shoulders, and when everybody breaks for lunch, I’m only two boxes behind him.
Around a mouthful I say, “This is amazing.”
Nell nods, picking her sandwich apart into small pieces. “I made the bread.”
“Holy crap, really? It’s awesome.”
Mags brushes off her hands. “Beats the stuff Mom buys.”
“Hell yeah.” I drink some water, catching a glint of silver at Nell’s collar. Christ. She’s wearing the necklace again. She’s tucked it into her shirt, but I can see the bump of the little comedy and tragedy masks underneath. It’s a pin, really—everybody who was in the one-act play two years ago got one—but she threaded an old chain through it like it’s special, like it was given just to her. I told her last summer that if I ever caught her wearing it again, I’d rip it off her neck, and now she knows I’ve seen it. She flinches and looks down.
Then Jesse’s between us, close enough that our arms touch.
He nods at Mags and Nell. “Ladies.” His shirt’s open.
Mags scoots over. “Hello.” I wish she wouldn’t sound so bitchy.
He plucks a piece of grass and rolls it between his palms, blowing through a gap to make a buzzing sound like a kazoo. “Gross day, huh. Ten bucks they call it by two o’clock.”
Nell’s staring at his hands. “How’d you do that?”
“This?” He makes the sound again, then flicks the blade away. “Whistle grass.”
Nell looks like somebody just told her that down is up and the stars are alien lightbulbs, sort of in on the joke but wanting to believe anyway. “He’s messing with you,” Mags says shortly. “There’s no such thing as whistle grass.”
“Sure there is.” Jesse smiles at Nell, and I can see the exact moment when he charms her. So much for Jesse Bouchard not being good enough. The girl needs sandbags tied around her waist to keep her from getting swept away by the slightest breeze. “Got to have a sharp eye to see it, though. Maybe every sixteenth piece of grass, you’ll find some.”
She leans down, smiling. “Where? They all look the same.”
“It’s a real dark green. Like that.” Nell picks it, rolls it between her hands, and blows. No sound. “Shoot. Well, keep hunting. They’re out there.” He finally looks at me. “You gonna be around this weekend?”
“Around where?”
“You know. Quarry. Drive-in. Kat’s house.”
I feel warm all over, but Mags’s stare reminds me not to act the fool, either. “Could be.” I don’t say anything else, and he starts to get up. “Best way to make sure of that would be to bring me yourself.” I lean back on my elbows. “Just saying.”
Tires crunch on gravel, and we look up to see a Sasanoa police cruiser coming up the road. Jesse’s grin fades.
Everybody watches the car park and the officers’ fresh-shined shoes touch gravel. Hard to believe that it was this time last year that I was sitting in a chair down at the station, staring back at an officer named Edgecombe as he asked, You a part of what went on out there last night? No, I said. But you have been in the past. Not telling, I thought. What happened to Rhiannon? Why ask me? I said.