What Comes Next Page 6

  Near the bottom of the pile, my hand hesitated over an opened envelope. Nothing was in it, but in the upper left corner was a Virginia address belonging to a Mr. Robert Winston.

  I sat up a little straighter as a burst of adrenaline chased off my fatigue.

  “Jeffrey Winston Maxwell,” I muttered to myself. My brother’s full name. My mother had named him after our father. It made sense now. I had found him.

  I glanced at the postmark, noting the date stamped there. Twelve years ago. The letter was long gone, but I had his address. I tore off the corner of the envelope containing the address, and stuffed the paper into my pocket.

  Whether he was still there or not was the question. I knew what I had to do to find out.

  I was in my room, going through one of Pop’s giant AtlasBooks, trying to map out the best route to the address in my pocket, when Ben’s red truck turned into the driveway and pulled up beside the barn. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was already after three in the afternoon.

  He’d come to work on the roof, apparently. His appearance took me by surprise, because he hadn’t done any work after school for weeks. But seeing him gather his supplies from the back of the truck wasn’t nearly as odd as it was to see Jen hop out of the passenger side door.

  I strode to the window, and peered down as she waved a good-bye to Ben and approached the house. Moments later, Ma escorted her into my room.

  The pout on her face said it all. She knew about my mama.

  “I’m sorry,” she gushed as she tackle-hugged me. Over her shoulder, I watched Ma back out of the room with a small smile and close the door. “Ben told me about your mama. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “He told you?”

  She stepped back with a sniffle, and nodded. “He thought you might like some company. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ll leave—”

  “No.” I hadn’t realized it until now, but I did want the company. I needed a friend. “I’d like you to stay.”

  Her face lit up, and she made herself comfortable in my room. For the next two hours, she distracted me with meaningless chatter about everything I’d missed at school the past two days. I couldn’t have been more grateful for the brief escape from reality. I told her so when she eventually told me she had to leave.

  She gave me a quick squeeze. “I’ll be at the funeral tomorrow, if you want to talk.”

  I nodded, and gave her my best attempt at a smile. “I’ll find you.”

  “Good.” She nodded her head over my shoulder, toward the window. “Do me a favor, and let him know you’re okay. I think he’s worried about you.”

  I didn’t need to look to know she was talking about Ben. “Why do you say that?”

  “We don’t exactly run in the same circles,” she explained to me, like this was something I should already know. “He nearly gave me, and everyone else in the cafeteria, an aneurysm when he sat down beside me at lunch to offer me a ride here after school.”

  “Okay . . .” I didn’t get the significance.

  “Trust me.” Jen laid a hand on my arm. “He’s worried, so just . . . let him know you’re okay.”

  After she left, I sat in my room for a few minutes, listening to Ben’s hammer strike its target from the roof of the barn. The steady rhythm at which he worked was almost soothing. Therapeutic, even, and I craved more of it.

  I’d considered taking my new fishing pole down to the creek, to test out Ben’s theory about fishing the grief away, but suddenly I had a better idea. One that would take care of two objectives at once.

  I marched outside, avoiding Ben’s curious eyes as I approached the barn with steady, purposeful strides. I pushed through the side door, swiped a hammer from Pop’s work bench, and headed for the ladder. From his position above me, Ben had no way of knowing what I was planning until I pushed off the last rung and climbed onto the roof a few feet away from where he worked. From his perplexed expression, I suspected he still hadn’t put it together.

  Without a word, I picked up a new board, a handful of nails, and went to work. It wasn’t difficult to figure out, when I had Ben’s newly laid boards all around me to compare to. I placed my nails exactly where he had placed his. I had to take more swings than he did, and he finished laying down three boards for each one I placed, but it felt good.

  I had my therapy, and, in a roundabout way, I let him know I was okay. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to talk. Without having to tell him so, he understood that.

  I wondered if he would understand if I told him I still hadn’t cried for my mama yet. I wondered if he would tell me not to do what I planned to do the day after her funeral. I wondered if he would even care.

  On some small, deep level, I suspected he would, so I kept my mouth shut, and focused on hammering my worries away.

  I predicted my therapy session was coming to an end after Ben glanced up at the darkening sky for the third time. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he thought it was time to wrap it up. I kept my head down as I worked on a nail I’d unintentionally driven in crooked, avoiding the glance he shot in my direction.

  Once I had the nail straight and hammered down, I pushed myself to a wobbly stand. Spending the past hour on my knees had turned my legs to jelly. The steep slope of the roof certainly didn’t help. I waved my arms frantically in an attempt to catch my balance, but it was a losing battle. My feet propelled me backwards, toward the edge of the roof.

  One second, Ben was nailing a board into place a few feet away. The next, his hand was clasped around mine. With a grunt, he jerked me forward. I stumbled into him, knocking both of us over on the uneven roof. My elbow cracked something hard, but I didn’t really care because it wasn’t my head hitting the faraway ground.

  I groaned out a relieved sigh as I rolled onto my back, untangling my feet from Ben’s. He mirrored my move, and collapsed onto his back beside me.

  “That was close,” he sighed.

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pushed up onto his elbows to peer down at me like he wasn’t sure he believed me. I lay perfectly still, watching him as his eyes raked over me from head to toe. He didn’t do it in a creepy way, not like some boys tended to do. It was purely platonic in nature, but something felt incredibly intimate about having his eyes on me in such a critical way for so long. Enough to cause my breath to catch.

  Ben’s eyes snapped to mine, and his throat jumped. “Your elbow is bleeding.”

  “Hmm?” How had I never noticed the subtle swirls of green in his otherwise brown eyes? Because seriously . . . wow.

  “Your elbow.” His chin dipped, effectively severing the trance I was in.

  Maybe I had hit my head, because I swore I was just staring into his eyes like a lovesick puppy. I sat up to inspect the cut he indicated. “It’s nothing.” I shrugged dismissively.

  He stared at the star-speckled sky with a nod. “Think you can manage to get down?”

  “Yeah.” I moved my legs to test their strength. “I can move my legs now, so . . .”

  He rolled his head toward me with a grin. “I should have warned you that might happen.”

  “No big deal.” It could have been a big deal, but wasn’t, thanks to him.

  I pushed to a slow stand, adjusting my balance to the slope of the roof. When I attempted to help Ben gather the tools, he pushed my hand away with a no-nonsense, “I got it.”

  He also insisted on climbing down the ladder first, with all the tools. “Just in case you fall again,” he explained with a chuckle.

  Despite not being able to see where I was putting my feet, I made it down the ladder without another fall. Once safely on the ground, I spun toward Ben with a look of smug satisfaction, only to find him already three steps away.

  “I’ve got to get going,” he called over his shoulder. “You okay to make it into the house on your own?”

  “I think I can manage that,” I grumbled.

  I knew I wasn
’t mistaking his sudden coolness, but I didn’t understand what had brought it on. While he put his stuff away in the truck, I edged toward the house in bewilderment. I’d nearly made it to the door before I realized I’d never thanked him.

  “Hey, Ben!”

  The truck’s interior light flicked on when he opened the door, and illuminated his face enough for me to see his questioning expression.

  “Thank you,” I told him. For everything, I wanted to add, but I suspected he got the message from the tone of my voice.

  “No problem.” He nodded once before climbing into the truck.

  As I watched him go, it dawned on me just how much good he’d done for me. Sure, he potentially saved my life, but it was more than that. His mere presence had chased the grief away, if only for a brief time. In his absence, I wallowed in it once again.

  I remembered withholding a lot of eye-rolling at the stupid things people said when my dad died. They’re in a better place. Please. My father was rotting in hell, where he belonged. At least they’re no longer suffering. Nice try, but no. They’re looking down on you now with a smile. That was always the line that got me moving on quickly to the next person with some meaningless words of idiocy.

  Now, I watched Ana make her rounds around the house, accepting condolences from people she didn’t know for nearly half an hour. The grimace on her face suggested that this was the last place she wanted to be. She made that obvious the moment she skipped upstairs at the first opportunity she had to escape her mother’s wake.

  Not that anyone else noticed. Only I noticed because I’d been watching her. I felt the need to say something—anything—but I didn’t know what. No way was I going to feed her some corny, overused line she wouldn’t care to hear right now. I had no idea what I would say when I followed her upstairs.

  I hesitated outside her closed door. At least, it was the one she had when we were kids, and I assumed it was the same one.

  With a deep breath, I swung the door open. I quietly stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind me. She jumped at the sound of the soft click, and spun around, clutching a pair of denim pants to her chest. Her mouth worked, but I got my question out first.

  “What are you doing?”

  She shoved the pants into a navy blue overnight bag, and turned to jerk open a dresser drawer with a huff.

  Obviously she wasn’t planning to answer me, so I ventured farther into the room to find the answer for myself. Scattered on the bed, beside her bag, were a few pictures. I snatched one of them up before she could stop me. Holding it out of her reach as she lunged for it, I studied the faces in the photograph.

  The woman was definitely her mother. Ana had her hair and facial features. The man . . .

  I glanced down at Ana, into her furious eyes. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed the trace of ocean blue mixed in with the green—and that blue intensified when she was angry—but it was the first time I’d realized just how stunning it made her eyes look.

  I glanced back at the photo, and immediately noticed the resemblance. “Who’s the guy?”

  She swatted at my arm. “Give. That. Back!”

  “Is this him?” I asked, holding the picture just out of her reach until she answered me. “Is this your father?”

  “Yes!” She sprung for the photo with a roar, and I let her have it. She pressed it to her chest as she backed away, eyeing me cautiously.

  My gaze dragged over the items spread out on her bed, and my throat tightened. “Where are you going, Ana?”

  Her head shook rapidly. “I don’t have to tell you.”

  “No, you don’t have to. I already know.” Next to the photos was a small piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. “Looks like you’re going to”—I leaned closer to read the name of the city—“Richmond?”

  She tossed the small paper into the bag without a response. Considering I had just seen Marly downstairs, and she hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to Richmond, I suspected I knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway.

  “How do you plan to get there?” The shrug of her shoulders was the only indication she gave that she heard me. “Ana, please tell me you’re not stupid enough to do what I think you’re planning to do.”

  Her eyes met mine defiantly. “Richmond isn’t that far.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s a nice, scenic drive. There’s some nice swampy, secluded spots along the way. Perfect for hiding a body.”

  Her eyes narrowed on me. “What?”

  “Tell me you’re not considering hitchhiking,” I pleaded.

  Her mouth dropped open, then quickly closed without a response.

  “No way, Ana. Not going to happen.” I moved around the bed swiftly, snatching her bag before she knew what I was doing.

  “Ben!” She lunged for the bag, and I easily held it out of her reach. “I have to do this. You don’t understand. This is something—”

  “You don’t have to hitchhike!”

  She straightened, and blinked up at me with wide eyes—more blue than green. “Ma and Pop won’t take me. They don’t—”

  “Don’t understand? Don’t want to take you? Or don’t know what you’re planning?” I didn’t wait for her to respond; I already knew the answer. I dangled the bag just out of her reach. “If you want this back, if you want to go to Richmond, then you let someone take you. You’re not hitchhiking.”

  She huffed, giving up on the bag. Her eyes flashed a dark shade of blue. “Right, and who do you suggest I ask to take me?”

  I shrugged. “Me.”

  Her chin lowered. “You?”

  “Better than your other, insanely stupid option,” I muttered. “When were you leaving?”

  “I didn’t . . . I don’t . . .” She looked at the floor with a sigh. “Tonight?”

  That wouldn’t be easy for me to pull off. The engine in the truck didn’t just turn over when I started it up—it roared to life. Getting out without waking Mama—or Marly and Joe when I picked her up—wouldn’t happen.

  “Just before dawn tomorrow,” I countered, and hoped she would accept . . . and not run off on her own before then. “I’ll meet you on the road. Not here.”

  She stayed silent, head down, as I waited for her to agree. Finally, she looked up with a nod. “Fine.”

  “Okay.” I handed her the bag before starting for the door. Stopping there with my hand on the knob, I added, “Don’t sneak off, Ana. I’ll take you.”

  Only God knew why I offered. Other than preventing her from becoming fodder for some sociopath on the highway, I didn’t exactly want to drive her to Richmond. But the soft “thank you” that followed me out the door as I left made it all a little more worthwhile.

  Barely a hint of pink lit the eastern sky by the time Ana crawled into the truck the next morning. We were well on our way, heading north on the interstate, before the sun chased away the lingering darkness in the cab. Nervousness and hunger creeped in with the light.

  “You hungry?” I asked, hopeful. In an effort to sneak off early without waking Mama, I’d forgone breakfast. My stomach was already protesting.

  “A little.” Her voice cracked, and I shot her a sideways glance.

  My gaze drifted to the bag at her feet. Yesterday, I’d witnessed her place several articles of clothing in it. Several days’ worth. A little late to ask questions, but there was one thing bothering me.

  “You’re not, uh—” I shook my head at the pitiful sound of my voice, cleared my throat, and tried again. “Were you planning on staying? With your dad, I mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She turned to face out the window, so I dropped the line of questions I had stacked up. Most of them revolved around whether or not she would make the trip home with me, or if I would return alone. The others involved her plan once we arrived in Richmond.

  We had three and a half hours to figure it out—four hours, counting the quick stop we made at a roadside diner for break
fast. Back on the road with full stomachs, between small talk about baseball season, the upcoming spring dance, and some of the more interestingly decorated vehicles we saw on the road, she informed me how she had found her father’s address in Joe’s office desk.

  “Twelve years? What are the chances he’s still there?” I asked.

  “He has to be there,” she returned immediately.

  “But what if he’s not?” I didn’t wait for her to come up with a reply before I asked another question. “And, more importantly, what if he is?”

  “I don’t know,” she muttered at her feet. “I just want to know why. Why he left. Why he never came back. Does he ever wonder about me, about Jeffrey? Or Mama? Did he know she was sick? Does he care that she’s gone?”

  “So you’re not planning to stay with him?” When she glanced at me, I nodded pointedly at the bag at her feet. “You have enough clothes for a few days there.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know how long it would take me to get there. Before you . . .” She shook her head rapidly. “No, I’m not planning to stay.”

  I hid my sigh of relief by focusing on the road. Thank God. I certainly didn’t want to have to explain this to Marly when I returned this afternoon without her granddaughter. Ana’s reassurance immediately lifted some of the weight off my shoulders, and I found myself grinning.

  “You might change your mind if he ends up being some rich lawyer living in a fancy mansion,” I teased.

  She offered a faint smiled, and I had to force my eyes back to the road before I hit something. Something about those almost-smiles on that girl . . .

  I desperately wanted to force a real one out of her.

  “With a butler to carry my bags,” she added in a fake snooty voice, a giggle nearing the surface.

  “And a pool boy to rub lotion on your shoulders,” I jumped in.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh . . . no thanks.”

  “What? Not a fan of pool boys, huh?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. What about cowboys? Stetson hats and spurred boots. I hear girls love them.”