Here on Earth
Page 59
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“Finally,” both Chris and Lori shout when Gwen comes into the kitchen, where Chris’s mom is mixing up a punch recipe which includes orange soda and grapefruit juice. The girls are all in black—everyone is supposed to be dressed accordingly for this event—and Chris sports a black witch’s wig over her blond hair.
“You look fabulous,” Lori tells Gwen.
“You think so?” Gwen says uncertainly. She has to learn to take a compliment. She has to stop being so uptight.
Chris’s mom finishes the refreshments, then retires to the den, since she’s promised to give them “space” for this party. As soon as she’s gone, the guy Lori’s started dating, Alex Mahoney, takes out a fifth of vodka and doctors the punch. Everyone’s laughing about how plastered they plan to get, except for Gwen, who’s too busy watching Hank come in through the back door. His face is flushed from the raw weather and there are leaves in his pale hair. He’s wearing a threadbare black overcoat—one of Hollis’s castoffs, no doubt—jeans, and a clean white shirt. Gwen knows him—he ironed the shirt himself; he was careful and thorough and that’s why he’s late. Standing here, in this crowded kitchen, she could not love him more.
“Here you go, old boy,” Alex greets Hank. handing over a glass of the punch. “This should do the trick.”
Hank grins, but he puts the glass on the table, and heads straight for Gwen. He bends down so he can whisper.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Gwen says. She actually does it. She accepts a compliment. If she can do that, anything can happen. Tonight feels like the night of her dreams. She wraps her arms around Hank and knows that he’s the one. She cannot remember being happier than when she is dancing with him, or when she perches on the arm of a couch to watch him play darts. By midnight, Gwen is ready to leave, so they can go up to Olive Tree Lake and be alone. Anyway, the group who’ve gotten plastered from the spiked punch are getting somewhat obnoxious. It’s definitely time to leave.
“You know what we should do next?” Lori’s new boyfriend, Alex, is saying. “Go down to the Marshes.”
“Oooooh.”
Someone is making spooky noises. A girl laughs, but it’s a short, trumpeting sound.
“Seriously,” Alex says. “We’ll bring a few cherry bombs.”
“Smoke out the Coward?” another boy guesses.
“Oh, yeah. Like you’d have the guts,” Chris teases.
Several people laugh now.
“Let sleeping cowards lie,” one of them suggests.
Gwen is listening to all this, disgusted, but when she turns to Hank to discuss how sophomoric these guys are, he’s gone. She looks in the kitchen and in the hall. Nothing.
“Have you seen Hank?” she asks Lori, and anyone else she recognizes, but the answer is always no. Gwen has a panicked feeling. It’s as if, while she wasn’t looking, everything’s gone wrong. She grabs her coat and heads outside. What would it mean if he left her at the party and took off? How could it be that he’s already halfway down the block, black coat flapping out behind him?
Gwen runs after Hank, and when she catches up to him she hits him in the back, right between the shoulder blades.
“How could you do that to me?” she cries when he spins to face her. Gwen should be embarrassed, there are tears in her eyes, but she’s not. “Is that how you treat someone you care about? You go and leave them?”
Hank’s face is pale, and it’s not easy to read his expression on this dark street, but all at once, Gwen realizes she’s not the only one who’s crying.
“What is it?” Gwen says. “What’s wrong?”
“The Coward,” Hank says. “The guy in the Marshes they wanted to smoke out? That’s my father.”
They walk through town in silence. There are a few stray trick-or-treaters ringing doorbells, but most have gone home to bed. A quarter-moon has risen, but the night is unusually dark. Hank keeps his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, and he walks fast, so that Gwen has to trot to keep up with him. Forsaking their original plans, they do not go to Olive Tree Lake—where many of the couples from the party have already trekked, looking for privacy and romance. Instead, they start for the hill.
“It’s not your fault that Alan is your father,” Gwen says.
Hank smiles, but he doesn’t look happy. “Yeah? Then why do I feel like it is?”
“Maybe he’s not as bad as everybody says.”
“You look fabulous,” Lori tells Gwen.
“You think so?” Gwen says uncertainly. She has to learn to take a compliment. She has to stop being so uptight.
Chris’s mom finishes the refreshments, then retires to the den, since she’s promised to give them “space” for this party. As soon as she’s gone, the guy Lori’s started dating, Alex Mahoney, takes out a fifth of vodka and doctors the punch. Everyone’s laughing about how plastered they plan to get, except for Gwen, who’s too busy watching Hank come in through the back door. His face is flushed from the raw weather and there are leaves in his pale hair. He’s wearing a threadbare black overcoat—one of Hollis’s castoffs, no doubt—jeans, and a clean white shirt. Gwen knows him—he ironed the shirt himself; he was careful and thorough and that’s why he’s late. Standing here, in this crowded kitchen, she could not love him more.
“Here you go, old boy,” Alex greets Hank. handing over a glass of the punch. “This should do the trick.”
Hank grins, but he puts the glass on the table, and heads straight for Gwen. He bends down so he can whisper.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Gwen says. She actually does it. She accepts a compliment. If she can do that, anything can happen. Tonight feels like the night of her dreams. She wraps her arms around Hank and knows that he’s the one. She cannot remember being happier than when she is dancing with him, or when she perches on the arm of a couch to watch him play darts. By midnight, Gwen is ready to leave, so they can go up to Olive Tree Lake and be alone. Anyway, the group who’ve gotten plastered from the spiked punch are getting somewhat obnoxious. It’s definitely time to leave.
“You know what we should do next?” Lori’s new boyfriend, Alex, is saying. “Go down to the Marshes.”
“Oooooh.”
Someone is making spooky noises. A girl laughs, but it’s a short, trumpeting sound.
“Seriously,” Alex says. “We’ll bring a few cherry bombs.”
“Smoke out the Coward?” another boy guesses.
“Oh, yeah. Like you’d have the guts,” Chris teases.
Several people laugh now.
“Let sleeping cowards lie,” one of them suggests.
Gwen is listening to all this, disgusted, but when she turns to Hank to discuss how sophomoric these guys are, he’s gone. She looks in the kitchen and in the hall. Nothing.
“Have you seen Hank?” she asks Lori, and anyone else she recognizes, but the answer is always no. Gwen has a panicked feeling. It’s as if, while she wasn’t looking, everything’s gone wrong. She grabs her coat and heads outside. What would it mean if he left her at the party and took off? How could it be that he’s already halfway down the block, black coat flapping out behind him?
Gwen runs after Hank, and when she catches up to him she hits him in the back, right between the shoulder blades.
“How could you do that to me?” she cries when he spins to face her. Gwen should be embarrassed, there are tears in her eyes, but she’s not. “Is that how you treat someone you care about? You go and leave them?”
Hank’s face is pale, and it’s not easy to read his expression on this dark street, but all at once, Gwen realizes she’s not the only one who’s crying.
“What is it?” Gwen says. “What’s wrong?”
“The Coward,” Hank says. “The guy in the Marshes they wanted to smoke out? That’s my father.”
They walk through town in silence. There are a few stray trick-or-treaters ringing doorbells, but most have gone home to bed. A quarter-moon has risen, but the night is unusually dark. Hank keeps his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, and he walks fast, so that Gwen has to trot to keep up with him. Forsaking their original plans, they do not go to Olive Tree Lake—where many of the couples from the party have already trekked, looking for privacy and romance. Instead, they start for the hill.
“It’s not your fault that Alan is your father,” Gwen says.
Hank smiles, but he doesn’t look happy. “Yeah? Then why do I feel like it is?”
“Maybe he’s not as bad as everybody says.”
