Текст книги "The Watcher"
Автор книги: Lisa Voisin
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
It was dinner. That was all. What was the big deal in that? Sure, Michael had warned me, but how bad could it be? Standing there in jeans and a T-shirt, Damiel looked dangerous all right, but in a different kind of way—a good way. Definitely not the Ugly.
“You still want to come, don’t you?” he asked. “It’ll cheer you up.” When I nodded my assent, his smile grew even bigger and he went back to his desk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw disappointment on Michael’s face as he sat in the row adjacent to mine. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I also hadn’t agreed to anything. I’d been warned, though, whatever that meant. But why had it been so hard to say no to Damiel in the first place? Michael had said it would be. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t bring myself to look at either of them for the rest of the class.
***
As soon as I got home from school, I sent Bill an e-mail asking him if he could look up Damiel online to see what he could find out. If he had a criminal record or a dangerous past, surely there would be some clues out there. I gave Bill all the information I had on Damiel: his approximate age, a physical description, and the fact that he had recently enrolled at Westmont High. I wasn’t surprised to find Bill online. He messaged me immediately, asking Who is this guy? and Is he a new boyfriend?
Recalling how he’d offered to “take care of” any guy who hurt me, I reassured him not to worry, that this was just someone at school. He didn’t need to know I had an actual date, but I wanted to find out what I could. Damiel seemed so open, and yet his side of the story was so different from Michael’s. Could he have been lying, as Michael had said?
My online chat with Bill took longer than I expected, so I had to rush to get ready for the movie. Mom and I had such opposite schedules lately that we had taken to leaving each other notes on the fridge. I quickly wrote her one. If she was worried, she could always text me.
Since I was planning to have a lot of popcorn, I had only a snack for dinner: a couple of slices of cheese and an apple. Deciding to dress up, I wore a skirt and tights and kept my hair down. On a whim, I put on the necklace. If it was from Damiel, I would give it back to him the next night. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t wear it first.
Farouk picked me up at six, and I was surprised to see that he’d dressed up too. It made him look a lot more grown-up than usual. I also liked how at ease he was. All the weirdness from earlier was gone. We were just friends, hanging out.
The movie theater was noisy and dimly lit, with bright flashing lights around the concession stand. The line-up wasn’t long, but the short, freckled girl working there had trouble with our three separate orders. She jumbled them up and got flustered. As the line grew quickly behind us, she got even more nervous.
While Farouk helped her figure out the change, Michael walked into the theater. At first I was so captivated by him that I didn't notice he was with someone: a tall, gorgeous girl with honey-colored hair. She seemed strangely familiar. A sharp pain seized my chest. This had to be Michael’s girlfriend.
“Mia?” Farouk asked.
Realizing I’d been staring, I spun back to face him.
I’m pretty sure my emotions were clearly visible on my face, because he stiffened and muttered something in Farsi under his breath; I don’t think it was complimentary. “We should go find Heather,” he suggested.
I nodded and was about to leave, but it was too late.
“Mia,” Michael said, approaching us. When he smiled at me, his entire face lit up. You’d never know we’d had an almost argument earlier that morning, or that I’d disappointed him by not breaking off my date with Damiel.
“You know Farouk,” I said, afraid my sadness over his being there with his girlfriend might show.
Michael gave him a nod. “I do. Hi.”
Farouk held up the bags of popcorn he was carrying and said flatly, “I’d shake your hand, but…”
“Quite a lot of popcorn,” he said. If he noticed Farouk’s snub, he was ignoring it.
“We’re here with the rest of the gang,” I said, raising my drinks awkwardly.
The girl Michael was with gave me a beautiful, warm smile, and I realized where I’d seen her before. She was the girl I’d talked to at the café that day I’d gone there with Bill.
“That’s a pretty necklace,” she said.
“Thanks.” I touched it self-consciously, not wanting her calling too much attention to it. The fact it probably came from Damiel would only cause another argument between Michael and me.
“Yeah.” Michael leaned in to take a closer look. “It looks Turkish.”
“It’s Persian,” Farouk said, edging closer, until he practically stood between us. “My sister Fatima gave it to her.”
“Fatima?” I asked. When he nodded, I tried to hide my sudden relief.
“Well, it’s very nice,” the girl said, then turned to Michael. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
I wasn’t sure if I should say anything about how we’d sort of met before when she spoke to me in the café. Obviously she didn’t recognize me. Why should she? She was the one who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model. People probably noticed her all the time.
“Of course,” Michael said. A flattering shade of pink touched his cheeks as he turned to me. “Mia, this is Arielle, and Arielle, this is Mia and Farouk.”
We exchanged polite hellos. Then Arielle said to me, “Michael’s told me about you.”
I instantly tensed, almost spilling the drinks I was carrying. Surely he hadn’t told her about the ridiculous crush I had on him, or that I was going on a date with his arch-enemy. Michael kept his relaxed smile, his face unreadable.
“Oh,” I said.
“Yeah, he mentioned you’d had a nasty fall in the woods, I guess it was a few weeks ago now,” she said. “How are you healing up?”
“Quickly,” I replied, relieved he hadn’t mentioned anything else, then added as if I was his PR person, “Michael was really helpful. I don’t know how I would have gotten out of that creek without him.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “That’s our Michael.”
Was it me, or was he uncomfortable receiving the praise? He crossed his arms over his chest, looking positively gorgeous. “You would have done the same thing,” he said to her.
“We should probably get inside,” I suggested to Farouk, “before the movie starts.”
We exchanged polite goodbyes and went off to find our seats. Heather waved when she saw us, happy that her night out was going so well—considering. Even Dean, playing a pre-movie trivia game with Jesse, seemed cheerful. As for me, I had a 400-pound sumo wrestler sitting on my chest. It wasn’t until after the opening credits, when we were well into the movie’s first scene, that I let myself cry. Fortunately, the movie grabbed everyone’s attention and whisked them away, so I had time to pull myself together before they noticed.
On the ride home, Farouk played the movie highlights over in conversation, and I was grateful for the recap. I hadn’t been paying attention. Neither of us mentioned Michael, or Fiona for that matter.
When we pulled up in front of my house, Farouk said, “I’m glad you wore the necklace. It suits you.”
“It’s beautiful! I love it,” I exclaimed. “It’s really sweet that she thought of me.”
“It’s a Hamsa—a ward against the evil eye.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a type of protection from people sending you bad thoughts. You know, when people are jealous or wish you harm.”
“I could sure use that,” I said, thinking first of Elaine, then Fiona. Had someone been sending her bad vibes?
“We sell them at my father’s store. They’ve even been blessed by an imam—a Muslim priest.” He gave me a shy grin. “I guess that must sound odd to you.”
I shook my head. Who was I to judge his beliefs?
“You know how I told you about her gift the other day?”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering how he thought I was seeing things. I still didn’t want to talk about it.
“She thinks that someone means to harm you, and that wearing the necklace will protect you.”
Invisible, icy cold fingers danced up my spine. “Oh.”
“I hope it brings you luck.”
Chapter Eleven
In my dream, Michael and I walked hand in hand up an arid, grassy hill. Sheep grazed in the meadows, and gardens stretched out like patchwork blankets below. Heat waves shimmered in the air around us, and the sky shone a crystalline shade of blue. Halfway up the hill, Michael stopped. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me close until our bodies grazed each other’s—not quite touching. I pressed myself into him. At first his kiss was gentle. Then those kisses became hungry, intense.
A voice in my dream said: Open your eyes.
When I did, I was surrounded by darkness, and I wasn’t with Michael anymore. I was with Damiel. Startled, I tried to back away, but he was so strong I couldn’t move. His smile sharpened, the corners of his mouth pulling fiendishly tight, and his brown eyes glowed red. I got the sense his hunger had nothing to do with kissing. He put his hand over my heart and it lurched, as though it would rip out of my chest. I gasped, pushing away from him with all my strength, but I was starting to weaken…
***
As she pulled her mom’s minivan into Fiona’s driveway, Heather cleared her throat so loud it made me jump. I’d spaced out.
Fiona lived with her mom and dad in a big, modern house with huge windows overlooking Puget Sound, and the view from their living room was incredible, especially today. The sun peeked through the clouds and beamed rays of light onto the water below like something from an inspirational greeting card. Fiona sat on her bed, fully dressed, reading a horror novel. A large gauze bandage was taped to her left wrist; she must have gotten stitches.
When she saw us, she sprang off the bed, her arms outstretched to hug both of us at once.
“So good to see you guys!” Fiona said.
“You too.” I hugged her.
Heather backed away first. “I’m so sorry,” she said. I wondered where she was going with this. “You’re my friend. I should have—”
Fiona cut her off. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to put everyone through this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…” She sat back down on the bed. When she looked up at us, her eyes were shining and wet. “Don’t know what happened. I really don’t.”
Heather sat on the bed and put an arm around Fiona. I grabbed the chair near the vanity table. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re going to get through this together.”
Fiona shook her off. “You don’t get it. I’ve been sad in my life, sure, but I’ve never been depressed. Over the last few days, I’ve been examined by doctors, psychiatrists, psycho-everything and all they could say is I didn’t fit the profile for a suicide attempt. My mom was ready to think I did it for attention.” She choked out a sob. “But I didn’t.”
I’d never seen Fiona so emotional before, and it worried me. Was she denying what happened? “Hey,” I said. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. We can just hang out.”
“No, I want you guys to believe me. Nobody believes me! I’m not crazy, okay? I know it sounds nuts, but when I was in the changing room… You know me—I’m afraid of kitchen knives. I don’t even know where it came from. It may have been my hand holding the knife, but it wasn’t me in there.” She took in a deep breath and let it out, shaking her head. “Then, as soon as I…cut myself…it’s like I came around. I tried to stop the bleeding and couldn’t. I called out and Ms. Callou came to help.”
“Dissociation,” Heather muttered under her breath.
“Heather,” I said. “Now isn’t the time for psychoanalysis!”
My mind flashed back to that morning when Damiel spoke to Fiona in the hall. He was so intense, and she didn’t seem herself.
“I believe you,” I said to Fiona. “I saw you that morning. You looked sad.”
“I was sad that morning. All I could think was what a loser I am, and how no guy could ever want me. Not Dean. Not anyone.”
“You’re a total babe, Fi! Don’t you ever forget it.” Heather put an arm around Fiona’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Have you talked to Dean?”
“Yeah. We’re good, I think,” she said. Grinning, she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “He’s coming over later.”
I couldn’t shake the image of Damiel whispering in Fiona’s ear. I wasn’t sure if now was the right time to bring it up but I had to know. “Did Damiel say something to you?”
“Damiel? No. He’s never really spoken to me other than to say hi.” Fiona leaned forward tapping her foot. “Why? Did he say something?”
“No. Not at all.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Hadn’t she seen him?
Heather cut in. “Mia’s got a date with him tonight.”
“Oh my God! Really? You lucky—”
“About that…” I began. I couldn’t go out with Damiel, not if he’d said something that hurt my friend. But if he did, she didn’t seem to remember it. While I thought I saw him talking to her, I could be wrong. Maybe it was just my imagination. Was I the one going insane?
“Don’t you dare cancel that date,” Fiona said. “I want to hear all about it.”
While the idea of going out with Damiel felt far from right, I agreed to go. My gut was telling me there had to be some kind of link between Fiona’s suicide attempt and what I saw that day. Even if he hadn’t been in the hallway talking to her, I must have seen something. Farouk had said his sister had visions of future events. Maybe I was having them, too. What if he was going to talk to her later and that was what I saw? Some possible future event. It was almost too strange to consider. The only way to know for sure was to ask Damiel. He had answers, and I wanted to know what they were.
If he was as dangerous as Michael said, I needed some kind of backup plan, someone who could come and help if I needed it.
“Can I ask you a favor?” I said to Heather when we were on the ride home.
She turned down the car stereo and checked the rear-view mirror. “You know you can.”
“Can you call me tonight at eight, just to check in?” I asked. I didn’t want to worry Heather with the reason why, not without proof, but I figured if she called me I could make up an excuse to get out of there.
“You mean a bail-out call?” she said, her attention focused on the road. “I doubt you’ll be bored.”
“Probably not,” I said. Being bored was the least of my worries. “You will call, though? At exactly eight o’clock.”
“Of course.”
After she dropped me off at home and I was alone, I tried to convince myself that the sweaty palms and tightness in my chest were just nerves, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something about going out with Damiel, alone, seemed really wrong. It was misleading, and I didn’t want to do that. What I wanted were answers, but I didn’t know how else to get them.
To bolster myself, I decided to wear the temporary tattoo Heather had given me. I’d been saving it for a special occasion, and for some reason tonight felt like I needed to have wings. Wearing my hair up would even show them off. I was so curious about how they’d look, I applied them right away. It took a little while to center them between my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck, but when I was done, they looked amazing.
I put on a little black dress. It was cut low in the front and back, so you could see the tattoo, but not too low. Soft and comfortable, it hugged my curves without being too clingy and looked good with my high black boots. My hair was tied up, and I was putting on eye shadow when the doorbell rang. Startled, I checked my watch; it was only 6:55. Was Damiel early? I double-checked myself in the mirror. I still needed mascara at the very least. He would simply have to wait on the sofa while I finished.
The knock on the door came again. Determined to not let the idea of seeing Damiel intimidate me, I flung the door open.
“Michael.” I almost fell back on my heels. “What are you doing here?”
He scanned my outfit with a quiet intensity that made the skin on my neck flush. Catching himself, he focused on my boots and let out his breath. “I’ve been sent.”
“What do you mean you’ve been sent?” I demanded. “Who sent you?”
He raised his hands as though I held him at gunpoint. “I’ve come to talk. May I come in?”
I’d forgotten how tall he was. He towered over me, and I couldn’t help but notice how clear his eyes were, how even the dim porch light played off his skin, making it glow. His hair shone almost black.
“I’m still getting ready,” I said, moving out of the doorway and leaving him to close the door while I put on a light.
He cleared his throat. “Nice tattoo.”
“It’s not real,” I said, turning back to face him. “I can’t get a real one ’til I’m eighteen.”
“Wings, huh?”
“Yeah. I had this dream about them once. It meant a lot to me.” It seemed natural to tell him, as though he’d understand. But when he looked away with a wry grin, I regretted saying anything. “Why are you here?”
“Look, I know Damiel will be here soon…” He ran his hand through his hair. “But—”
“I know. I know,” I cut him off. “You don’t want me to go out with him. He’s dangerous.”
If he was upset, he didn’t show it. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he gave me a shrug that said he didn’t care either way. “Why are you going?”
“Because.” I sighed. His lack of reaction made me feel all the more foolish. “I need to know what’s going on.”
“You think he’s gonna tell you?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Here I was about to go all Nancy Drew on Damiel’s ass, and my big plan was to lay my cards on the table and ask him what he’d said to Fiona. Maybe I’d dance around it a bit, but I was relying on him to tell me. Michael had all but called him a liar the day before. Why would Damiel say anything resembling the truth?
“Okay,” Michael continued. “Say he did tell you. What then?”
“I’ve got a safety plan,” I said defiantly, trying to hide how foolish I felt. “Heather’s going to check in, come get me if necessary. I won’t be alone.” I wasn’t sure about the Heather coming to get me part, but I figured she would. I would do the same for her.
“He’s a predator, Mia. He could hurt both of you.”
The word predator caught me off guard. I remembered my dream that morning where Damiel kissed me and it felt like he was draining me dry. I wanted to argue, but I knew deep down that Michael was telling the truth. I’d never wanted to go out with Damiel. I’d been pulled into it right from the beginning, like watching a train wreck. Only the train wreck was me.
Michael took a step closer until I had to crane my neck to see his face. “Tell him you don’t want to go.”
His eyes met mine and they were filled with genuine concern, same as that day I’d fallen in the woods. I wanted him to come even closer.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got to give me some answers, though.”
Clearly amused, he raised his eyebrows and said, “I don’t have to, but I will—once he leaves.”
“Once he leaves?” I confirmed, before he could change his mind. “You promise?”
He tensed, as though a jolt of electricity had shot through him, and spun around to face the door. “He’s here.”
Chapter Twelve
The sound of the doorbell should not have startled me but it did. Michael’s presence on the sofa was reassuring, but only to a point. What was I going to say? Swallowing my fright, I opened the door.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Damiel said, unabashedly checking me out. His black leather jacket and crisp white shirt accentuated the hard and soft elements of his face: angular nose and cheekbones and plump, full lips. For the first time, I noticed a shiny haze around him—shadows so black they glistened and shone in the porch light.
Heat rose to my cheeks and a queasy sensation wrestled with my stomach. He seemed creepy to me now. How could I have even thought about going out with him?
“I was going to call you earlier,” I said, “but realized I don’t have your number…”
There was a sudden pulsing at my throat that made me jump. Thinking a fly had landed on me, I raised my hand to feel what it was. The necklace from Fatima had started to vibrate.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, reaching for my hand. “Your skin is like ice.” The shadows around him darkened as his hand clasped mine. I’d never seen them so clearly before—maybe that was the necklace too, protecting me. A tingle of heat shivered the length of my arm, and then a wave of dizziness came over me as the strange haze that surrounded Damiel flowed toward me.
“I’m sorry.” My eyes started to burn. I scrunched them, trying to concentrate. “I can’t go to dinner with you tonight.”
The angles of his face hardened and his eyes turned as cold and black as a crow’s. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
The gleaming haze around him grew, getting darker and fuller. I couldn’t find my voice to speak.
“She’s double-booked. Sorry,” Michael said. His hand on my shoulder steadied me, as a warm golden glow surrounded us. The blackness dissipated the way shadows escape the morning light.
“Well, well. Michael.” Damiel released my hand. “Should’ve known you’d go for the girl…given your history.” He turned his attention to me, smiling menacingly. “Mia, you’re making the wrong choice. Michael will only hurt you.” A dark wave came at me again, in ripples this time like tattered black streamers.
Michael flanked my left side, tense as a bow ready to spring. “Leave her out of it,” he said. “It’s me you want.”
In that moment I knew he might have to fight to protect me, and if he did he would think nothing of it—even if he got hurt. And as much as I was scared for him, I was twice as grateful he was there.
Light grew around Michael as darkness built around Damiel, and the energy between them pulsed and throbbed as though the two forces had a life of their own. The dark smoke reached toward the light and then pulled back, reverberating—gaining in mass—until it arced back and slammed into the light with all the violence of waves against rock. While the rock would hold, with enough time and pressure it could also be eroded. Could darkness erode light?
“It’s her that I want,” Damiel said, and his eyes flashed a terrifying shade of red, the same as in my dream. I inhaled sharply and the red was gone. His tone changed to one of mocking. “Besides, how can I leave her out of it when you can’t? She’s always been a part of it—thanks to you.”
Before I could ask what Damiel meant, who Michael might be to me, the dark smoke drew closer, swirling around me, forming spikes like an iron maiden. The scents of creosote and sulfur filled my nose.
I coughed. “Michael, what’s happening?”
Damiel’s smile broadened, chilling me. “See? You can’t stop me. She’s a weakness to you now as she’s always been. She’ll take you down again, Michael.”
Again?
The darkness encased me. Spiraling tendrils drilled the light around us and inched toward my skin, piercing and burning with a mixture of pleasure and pain—both captivating and revolting. The evil eye necklace quickened at my throat.
Michael whispered in my ear, his voice taking on that musical quality I’d heard before. “Trust me. It’s okay. Don’t worry.” His fingers against my collarbone sent a rush of light and heat through me like sunlight, reminding me how cold I was. I leaned into him as though I were drowning and he was dry land.
“You have no idea what he’s capable of,” Damiel said. “The things he’s done.” There was a force behind his words that made the necklace thrum like a tiny, terrified heartbeat. Darkness amassed behind him, and the light from Michael faded.
I needed to do something.
“Leave, Damiel,” I said. “Leave now!”
A jolt of energy pulsed through me, thrusting against the darkness. Damiel staggered from the force of it. Anger and revulsion crossed his face.
“Good,” Michael said. “Use your free will.”
“I think it’s time you remembered,” Damiel said. With one hand he covered my face, and the force of blackness around him enveloped me again. Before I could blink, a flurry of images poured into my mind—senseless scenes of darkness and fear.
“Don’t touch her!” Michael erupted and charged Damiel, heaving him down the front steps. Damiel laughed as he regained his balance with an unnatural grace, and his features creased and darkened, making him look more monster than human. With a snap of his fingers, the streetlights extinguished and blackness enveloped the area. All that remained was a dim porch light. He swung wildly at Michael.
As Michael dodged and parried his blows, the light around him grew. It glowed brighter and stronger, until a transparent blue shimmer formed like gossamer behind him into an outline of wings.
Damiel noticed it too and it seemed to compound his fury. Quickening his attack, he landed a fist on Michael’s temple and Michael staggered, blinking sweat from his eyes. Damiel lunged at him again but Michael recovered quickly, leaping up onto Damiel’s black Maserati, his boots denting the hood.
Pulling a weapon from behind his back, Michael swung a sword around himself that flamed a brilliant blue. Damiel ducked and backed away, but the sword made contact, slicing his cheek. I gasped. Although it visibly weakened him, it didn’t leave a mark.
I saw Michael in that other time and place as if it were a dream. He was still beautiful, but more severe, pained, like he lived his life in shadows. In the background stood someone equally beautiful: Damiel. How was it possible? Could all three of us have existed both then and now?
“See the way she’s looking at you?” Back in the present, Damiel goaded Michael. “It’s just a matter of time before she knows what you are—Brother.” His words had the same effect as Michael’s sword, cutting him down without leaving a mark. He stepped in, grabbing Michael’s arm above the wrist, trying to take his weapon. “That is, if she doesn’t go insane first.”
The images flooded in faster than I could make sense of them, leaving me dizzy and sick from the recollection. I leaned into the doorway for support.
A cold rage came over Michael. With his left hand he threw a solid jab that connected with Damiel’s chin, throwing him backward and downing him. Raising his sword, Michael stood over him, ready to strike. He looked at me briefly and there was a note of sadness between us as he drove the sword right through Damiel’s heart. Damiel let out an inhuman shriek and the black mass that hovered around his body disappeared, as though the air around him had just opened and swallowed it up.
A scream caught in my chest, unable to escape. I could hardly breathe. The necklace, which had vibrated since Damiel’s arrival, stilled.
Crouching beside the limp body, Michael placed his hands over its heart and pressed his lips to its forehead. The boy opened his eyes.
“W–where am I?” the boy stammered, sitting up. His voice, smooth and pleasant, held traces of an Italian accent. Even his features were different from Damiel’s now: coarser, more masculine, less otherworldly in their beauty—more human.
“What’s your name?” Michael asked, offering him his hand. “Can you stand up?”
The boy accepted and stood groggily. “Giulio.”
“You should go home. Your family’s been worried about you.” Michael placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Do you know where you live?”
Giulio nodded and Michael helped him into his car.
After Giulio left, Michael turned back to me and let out his breath. The fight with Damiel had popped a few buttons on his shirt. It gaped open, exposing a tightly muscled chest. The flashes of memory I’d seen in that other reality were fading as disbelief took hold of my thoughts. Even this battle with Damiel seemed unreal.
But what did seem inescapably real was Mom’s Toyota pulling up the road and Michael quickly zipping up his sweatshirt to cover his torn shirt. In all the evening’s tension, I’d forgotten she would be home so soon. It was barely seven-thirty. How had so much transpired in so little time? As Mom’s car pulled into the driveway, Michael strode up the drive.
“He’ll be back. That boy Giulio has no defenses against him,” he said. “If not him, he’ll find someone else to possess.”
My knees slackened. Luckily I was still leaning against the doorjamb for support. I really needed to sit down. “He was possessed?”
“It’s what demons do.”
What? Surely I’d heard him wrong. “You mean Damiel is a…”
In the doorway, Michael stood so close that the heat of his body sheltered me from the cold night air. All I could think about was the dream I’d had the night before, the good part where he’d kissed me. I wished it were real.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said quietly and stepped inside.
Mom eased out of her car as though tired from a long day at the hospital. When she came in, I greeted her with a hug, glad for the sense of normality her presence brought. I tried not to think about what had just happened so the shock and horror of it wouldn’t show on my face. But I could already see her curious expression when she registered my behavior, my new outfit, and then Michael standing by the sofa. We looked more like we were going on a date than friends hanging out, which was the story I’d told her last night.
“Mom, this is my friend Michael,” I said, introducing him.
Mom smiled, her eyes sparkling. God, please don’t let her say anything embarrassing. “Hi, Michael,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Crawford,” he responded, shaking her hand. He was so steady, as though this was normal for him. Did he battle demons all the time?
“Shelly, please,” my mother corrected. “Mrs. Crawford is my ex-husband’s mother.”
I tried not to gawk. None of my friends ever called her by her first name.
She turned to me. “What’s the scoop? I thought you said you were going out with your friends.”
I didn’t know what to say. So much had happened tonight I was afraid to speak for fear that everything I’d seen and heard would pour out of me in one big purge.
“There was a change of plans,” Michael chimed in. “We’re going to hang out a bit, maybe get something to eat.”
Mom looked at me to verify he was telling the truth. I nodded dumbly, grateful for his quick thinking. He hadn’t even lied.
“I’m going to take a long, hot bath.” She fussed with my jacket collar and smoothed a lock of my hair back into place. “The living room’s all yours if you want it.”
“Thanks.”
“I should…” She motioned to her room and grinned. Then she whispered in my ear encouragingly, “He’s cute.”
