Nocturnal Read online

  Jamie's absent, which isn't like him. I text him, asking where he is, but don't get anything back. I have a feeling it has to do with Cassie. I really need to have a chat with him about that, but I've been so busy with my own stuff. It's horribly selfish, and I feel more horrible about it as the day goes on so I call him after school, but he doesn't pick up. I leave a message, telling him I missed him today and want to know if he needs anything. That's the best I can do.

  ***

  My mother is folding laundry when I get home. She must have bribed Dad to let her do it, because neither of us has been letting her lift a finger. Other than packing the car after the camping trip.

  “Ava-Claire, time to learn how to fold a fitted sheet!” she calls from the laundry room. I roll my eyes to no one in particular and go on back. This is one of those things that seems easy when someone else does it. I have to compose myself for a second, or else I'll say things I don't mean. Like that folding a fitted sheet is stupid, and I don't want to learn how to do it, because I always want her to be there to do it for me. I bite back the ugly feelings that tug at my mind and paste on my winning smile.

  She's got her wig on again, the one that reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. It doesn't really work with her coloring and eyes, but I'd never tell her that.

  “Okay, so first you want to find your corners,” she says, holding the sheet up so I can watch. They're still warm from the dryer and smell like fabric softener. I can't help but laugh as I get my arms all twisted up. Somehow, being with her and the warm sheets loosens a little bit of the knot inside me.

  “So,” she says as I help her fold the rest of the laundry, “what's new with you?” We both know who him is.

  “Nothing.” I roll my eyes.

  “Come on, I need some gossip. How are Tex and Jamie?”

  “Complicated.” I toss a pair of socks into the basket.

  “All relationships are complicated.”

  “They're just... I don't know. I want to talk to them... but I'm scared.”

  “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

  “Roosevelt? Really?” She leans against a pile of towels. “I really don't think that's relevant in this situation.”

  “Roosevelt is always relevant.” Her wig slides to the side, making her look lopsided.

  “Walk softly and carry a big stick,” I say.

  “Don't alienate your friends, baby. You're going to be glad you have them.” As always, she leaves the rest off. The part about how I'm going to need friends to put me back together after I break.

  Unlike Dad, she accepts that grief will consume us. I picture it like a fire, spreading through me. I'm so afraid it's going to destroy me. That there will be nothing left to salvage. I don't know if Tex or Jamie are going to be able to get me back together after that. Could anyone?

  Dad helps me make lasagna for dinner while my mother makes a salad. The camping trip didn't thaw our relationship much, so we're still tiptoeing around one another. Sooner or later, one of us is going to talk to the other, but I'm not going to be the first one.

  “How was school?” It's like he doesn't know how to start, so he goes with something lame. Like Mom wrote him a list and he's reading from it. For all I know, she did.

  “Fine,” I lie. I'm getting real good at it.

  “Learn anything interesting?”

  “The one millionth digit of pi is one.” I bump into him as I reach for a spoon to stir the ricotta cheese, egg and spinach mixture.

  “Really?” He looks up at me, surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  “How's it coming?” My mother leans around the doorway. As always, she's not talking about the lasagna.

  “We're almost ready to assemble,” Dad says, brandishing the sauce spoon.

  “Need any help?” She grabs him around the middle.

  “No, I think we're good,” I say. The laundry was enough for one day.

  “I've got a really bad ice cream craving. I'm going to run down to the store and grab some neopolitan. Do you need anything else?”

  “Are you sure?” Dad and I say at the same time. She laughs at us.

  “Yeah, I'll be right back.”

  The door shuts behind her and it's the first time I've been alone with Dad since our little altercation.

  “Ava, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. For what I said and the way I said it.”

  “It's okay.” Of course it isn't, but these are the things I have to say to keep peace in the house.

  “Good.” And that's it. That makes it all better, as far as he's concerned. We have a little more conversation before she gets back. We're even laughing, thinking about an old Seinfeld episode, but I haven't forgotten that moment when he wouldn't let me see her. And the look on his face. Something tells me I'm going to see it again.

  We all pig out on the lasagna and salad and ice cream and crash on the couch, flipping through the channels to find something we can all deal with. Dad's stroking Mom's hair and she's braiding and unbraiding mine. That's another thing on her list. I have to learn how to french braid my own hair. It seems impossible, but she's determined to have me learn. So I will.

  I doze off with her hands in my hair and wake up in the middle of the night, tucked into bed. Dad must have brought me up. A pang goes through me as I remember what it was like when I was little and I'd fall asleep on the couch and wake up in bed. I believed it was a fairy until once I woke up and Dad was carrying me. It was kind of like finding out the Easter bunny wasn't real.

  Something digs at me, something left undone, but I know what it is. I get up and slide some jeans and a sweatshirt on. I've taken to leaving my keys in the pocket, so I always have them. I hate to think of how my behavior mimics that of an addict, so I don't.

  He's waiting for me by the stone angels. I walk loudly, so he knows it's me. Startling him seems like a bad idea for me. I don't trust some of his instincts.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Noctalis Things

  “What's it like to die?” I say as it sit down beside one of the angels. I drape my keys in her hand.

  “I don't remember.” His voice is hollow.

  “Nothing? No tunnel of light or anything?” It's like I have to make everything into a joke.

  “I had hypothermia. All I felt was cold.” I laugh, surprised again. We stare at the stars for a few minutes. I put a blanket in the back of my car last time, and I spread it out at the angel's feet. He's still standing, which isn't unusual.

  “I don't think I'll be able to come and meet with you anymore,” he says, and my head snaps toward him. He isn't looking at me.

  “Why?”

  “There are things I need to do. Things that you can't be a part of.” He stands as if he's going to leave. What the hell? I reach out like I'm going to yank him down on the blanket. But that would never happen. He's way too strong.

  “Noctalis things?” It hurts my neck looking up at him.

  “Yes.” Of course.

  “When do you think you will be done with those things?” I sound like an idiot.

  “I don't know.” Great answer.

  “Oh.” I feel stupid. It reminds me how much older he is than I am. And I don't like that.

  “Goodbye, Ava.” He leaves as smoothly as a ribbon sliding through my fingers. I didn't know what to say, and he's gone before I can form the words. Just like that. I want to yell at him to come back. I want to run to him and hold onto him. Something smashes and I realize that he means more to me than I ever thought. A lot more.

  I try to be quiet as I close the front door, but as soon as it clicks, a lamp flicks on in the living room, making me jump.

  “I'm not sure how I feel about you going out in the middle of the night, Ava-Claire.” My mother is on the recliner, legs crossed, her slippered foot tapping a cup of tea and a seed catalog on the table. She's been waiting for me.

  “I'm sorry.” We're both whispering, even though Dad's snores are audible.

  “What were you doing?
”

  “Taking a walk.” It's the best answer I can come up with.

  “I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say quickly. I'm still waiting for the yelling and the grounding. But she smiles instead.

  “You know what I was thinking about?”

  “What?” I'm still wary.

  “Angels. Heaven. The garden of Eden.” I give her a look. I hope this isn't a prelude to punishment.

  “Things from The Bible?”

  “Other things too. Fairies and elves and unicorns.” Her voice is dreamy. I'm caught off guard. My mother isn't a dreamy person. She never read me princess stories. I'd gotten them from the library and taught myself to read them. With her I got Dr. Seuss and any book that had a garden in it. Lots of non-fiction about biology and animals and flowers. Practical stuff.

  “God, what has this done to me?” She brushes her hands over her eyes and rolls them at me. As if she's embarrassed. “Here I am, talking about unicorns. But I think I'd like to live in a world where unicorns existed. I never understood why you always loved those books when you were little. I was always trying to get you to read my field guides, but you just went for anything fantastical or magical. It drove me insane.” She smiles and puts her hand over her face. I had no idea. I also have no idea why she isn't yelling at me for going out in the middle of the night, but I'm not going to argue.

  “I didn't know.”

  “Of course you didn't. I never told you. I would never tell you what to read and I would never not let you read a book. I was just worried we wouldn't have anything in common. You're afraid of things like that when you're a parent. You'll learn about that someday.”

  Her talking like this makes me uneasy. It was like she tried to pack a bit of wisdom, something she wanted me not to forget, in everything she said. Like I should be writing these things down.

  “I think I'm going to bed,” I say. I'm not tired, but I want to go be alone to think. Or not think. It doesn't look as if she's going to ground me, so I'd just as soon forget about it.

  “Goodnight, ma fleur.”

  “Aren't you going to bed?”

  “Soon.” She stares at a photograph of a bouquet of tulips in a rusty jug on the wall next to the window. I'd gotten it for her several birthdays ago. I can't remember which one. I go back upstairs, leaving her alone in the dark.

  ***

  Ivan found me in the woods a few miles from Ava's home after they'd left for their trip. I was running in the woods, and then he was there. I stopped and we regarded one another. I waited for him to speak.

  Ivan always wanted something. He still blamed me for something that happened nearly ninety years ago. But that's what happens when you live forever. You hold grudges.

  He told me that I smelled strongly of someone. He didn't ask me why and I didn't explain. With Ivan, less is more. He didn't need to know about Ava. I won't tell him unless I have to. I hoped it never got to that point. If there was one thing Ivan wanted, it was revenge, and he would do anything to exact it. And I owed him.

  I changed the subject and watched his eyes glint as we talked about the best hunting places.

  I pictured her face, those green eyes wide with terror as Ivan squeezed the life out of her. No, I won't let him do it. I knew I would have to stay away from her while he was around. Perhaps forever.

  We ran up near the Canadian border. Where the trees were so thick you have to change course to not smash into them. We passed logging trucks and abandoned snowmobile camps. There was still snow in some places. I enjoyed the squish of it under my feet as we ran. I'd missed snow.

  Ivan fed, but I didn't. He didn't bother asking if I want to share. We spend the next few days going along the border with the United States.

  We barely spoke to one another, but kept the purity of silence.

  I made one trip back to tell her I would be gone. Smelled her one last time before I ran back to Ivan.

  I thought about her. She stalked my every step. Those eyes. The sharpness that simmered under the fragile surface.

  It took being away from her to realize it. I hadn't thought about her that way. Now I couldn't get it out of my head. I hated it, but couldn't stop it. I told her she had power, but she didn't believe me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  All That Glitters

  “We should go, it's almost ten forty five.” Tex puts the last few touches on her costume. While the theme is White Trash, she can't resist covering herself in glitter, and she's covered me as well. I caved to her begging. Lack of sleep makes me such mush, I would have worn whatever she wanted me to.

  I pull down my gold tube dress, wishing it covered more, and hoping that my underwear doesn't show. She's completely comfortable in her mini-skirt, fishnets and torn-up, stained tank top. Trailer Chic.

  While she's busy with a last minute primp, I text Peter. I don't even know if he's going to answer. I haven't talked to him at all in several days. True to his word, he's been MIA. I've texted him here and there, but gotten nothing back. Part of me worries that it's something I've done, but then I want to smack myself because it's so self-centered to think I could drive him away or do something that would make him that uncomfortable around me. Besides, he said it was a noctalis thing. Maybe he's a noctalis king or something.

  Peter?

  Yes. Oh, I hate how much my heart thumps and my hands tingle because of that one word. It's the first hint I've gotten that he's still breathing. Or whatever.

  Im going 2 a party.

  Oh.

  I kno ur busy, but do u want to come? I send it before I can second guess myself. I look at Tex, who is trying to get her skirt to cover her butt and failing because it's too short. My hands shake a little bit as I wait for a response. I've already gotten bits of glitter in between the keys. Damn you, Tex.

  Where? I fight a smile that might crack my face open.

  I give him directions without hesitation, snapping my phone shut and pulling my dress down for the millionth time. God, I am reckless.

  “Hey, do you mind if I invite Peter?” I look at Tex, primping her hair. She's used enough hairspray to put a decent-sized hole in the ozone layer. Hello, global warming.

  “Who's Peter?”

  “That guy... You know...”

  She looks at me blankly. “Oh yeah,” she says as she slide a lip gloss wand over her lips. “I was waiting for you to bring him up.”

  “I should probably warn you he's kinda weird.”

  “Like Dungeons and Dragons weird or I-watch-you-when-you-sleep weird?” I have no idea if he watches me sleep.

  “Neither. He's more like awkward weird.” I don't know how else to explain him. I fiddle with the strap o the tiny purse I borrowed from Tex to match my dress.

  “I'll be the judge of that. If he's hot, the weirdness won't even matter.” She puckers once more, checking her teeth for lipgloss.

  “Okay.”

  Somehow we get into the car without any major wardrobe malfunctions. My hands keep sweating and I keep wiping them on my dress. I've been going through Peter withdrawal all week. Which is nuts because I've only known him a few weeks. But somehow the cemetery isn't the same without him, so I haven't been back.

  Tex starts the car and I tense up immediately. My heart pounds the whole way to the party.

  ***

  I have never seen so many cars crammed on one lawn before. I wonder what Chuck's parents will think when they come home. Would he tell them that some crazy hooligans had trashed the lawn doing donuts while he sat at home doing his homework like a good little boy?

  Probably.

  “So where is this guy?” Tex says after she's extricated herself from the driver's seat with minimal underwear showage.

  “I'm not sure. Hold on.” My phone slips in the combination of glitter and sweat from my palms. Gross. I wipe my hands on my dress. The dress and glitter are both gold, so it doesn't show.

  Where r u?

  Here. I look around, squinti
ng in the dark and cursing my feeble human vision.

  And there he is, wearing the same dirty clothes and no shoes. That might be a problem. My eyes make their way back up to his face. Disappointed, I see his hair is back in his eyes. But he's here. That's what counts. I'm ridiculously happy to see him. I kinda want to hug him, but would cut my arms off before I did. I don't have to know anything about him to know he's not a hugger.

  “Hello,” he says.

  “Hey, Peter.” The words feel awkward in my mouth. This isn't going to work. Tex pinches my shoulder, a subtle sign for an introduction.

  “Peter, this is my friend Texas. Tex, this is Peter.” No turning back now.

  “It is nice to meet you, Texas.” She looks a little stunned. I wish I could be a fly in the corner of her mind to see how she had pictured him. Obviously different than the reality. I'll have to pick her brain later to find out how different.

  “It's Tex. Nice to meet you, too.” She wraps her arms around herself instead of shaking his hand. Which is kind of good, because he wouldn't have shaken her hand anyway. On the other hand, she's acting un-Tex like, looking oddly serious.

  “I'm freezing, so I'm going in. You coming?” She's being exceptionally rude.

  “Be there in a sec,” I say, looking at Peter. I feel like there's something else going on here than just Tex snubbing him.

  “Okay.” She gives Peter a look like he's going to lunge at her, and then dashes into the pulsing house, nearly tripping in her heels.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Her reaction is normal. She senses what I am.” Of course he isn't offended. Or at least he knows how to hide it.