Hush, Hush
Page 11

Patch’s voice still echoed in my head. My heart pumped faster, but if anything, my blood ran colder.
Had he talked directly to my thoughts? Was there some inexplicable link between us that allowed it to happen? Or was I losing my mind?
Elliot didn’t look fully convinced. “You sure nothing’s going on between the two of you? I don’t want to chase after an unavailable girl.”
“Nothing.” Nothing I was going to allow, anyway.
Wait. What did Elliot say?
“Sorry? ” I said.
He smiled. “Delphic Seaport reopens Saturday night, and Jules and I are thinking about driving out.
Weather’s not supposed to be too bad. Maybe you and Vee want to come?”
I took a moment to think over his offer. I was pretty sure that if I turned Elliot down, Vee would kill me.
Besides, going out with Elliot seemed like a good way to escape my uncomfortable attraction to Patch.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
CHAPTER 7
IT WAS SATURDAY NIGHT, AND DOROTHEA AND I WERE IN the kitchen. She had just popped a casserole into the oven and was sizing up a list of tasks my mom had hanging from a magnet on the fridge.
“Your mother called. She won’t arrive home until late Sunday night,” Dorothea said as she scrubbed Ajax into our kitchen sink with a vigor that made my own elbow ache. “She left a message on the machine. She wants you to give her a call. You’ve been calling every night before bed?”
I sat on a stool, eating a buttered bagel. I’d just taken a huge bite, and now Dorothea was looking at me like she wanted an answer. “Mm­hmm,” I said, nodding.
“A letter from school came today.” She flicked her chin at the stack of mail on the counter. “Maybe you know why?”
I gave my best innocent shrug and said, “No clue.” But I had a pretty good idea what this was about.
Twelve months ago I’d opened the front door to find the police on the doorstep. We have some bad news, they said. My dad’s funeral was a week later. Every Monday afternoon since then, I’d shown up at my scheduled time slot with Dr. Hendrickson, school psychologist. I’d missed the last two sessions, and if I didn’t make amends this week, I was going to get in trouble. Most likely the letter was a warning.
“You have plans tonight? You and Vee have something up your sleeves? Maybe a movie here at the house?”
“Maybe. Honestly, Dorth, I can clean the sink later. Come sit and … have the other half of my bagel.”
Dorothea’s gray bun was coming undone as she scrubbed. “I am going to a conference tomorrow,” she said. “In Portland. Dr. Melissa Sanchez will speak. She says you think your way to a sexier you.
Hormones are powerful drugs. Unless we tell them what we want, they backfire. They work against us.”
Dorothea turned, pointing the Ajax can at me for emphasis. “Now I wake in the morning and take red lipstick to my mirror. ‘I am sexy,’ I write. ‘Men want me. Sixty­five is the new twenty­five.’“
“Do you think it’s working?” I asked, trying very hard not to smile.
“It’s working,” Dorothea said soberly.
I licked butter off my fingers, stalling for a suitable response. “So you’re going to spend the weekend reinventing your sexy side.”
“Every woman needs to reinvent her sexy side—I like that. My daughter got implants. She said she did it for herself, but what woman gets boobs for herself? They are a burden. She got the boobs for a man. I hope you do not do stupid things for a boy, Nora.” She shook her finger at me.
“Trust me, Dorth, there are no boys in my life.” Okay, maybe there were two lurking on the fringe, circling from afar, but since I didn’t know either very well, and one outright frightened me, it felt safer to close my eyes and pretend they weren’t there.
“This is a good thing, and a bad thing,” Dorothea said scold­ingly. “You find the wrong boy, you ask for trouble. You find the right boy, you find love.” Her voice softened reminiscently. “When I was a little girl in Germany, I had to choose between two boys. One was a very wicked boy. The other was my Henry. We are happily married for forty­one years.”
It was time to change the subject. “How’s, um, your godson … Lionel?”
Her eyes stretched. “You have a thing for little Lionel?”
“Noooo.”
“I can work something out—”
“No, Dorothea, really. Thank you, but—I’m really concentrating on my grades right now. I want to get into a top­tier college.”
“If in the future—”
“I’ll let you know.”
I finished my bagel to the sounds of Dorothea’s monotone chatter, interjecting a few nods or “uh­huh’s”
whenever she stopped talking long enough to wait for my response. I was preoccupied debating whether or not I really wanted to meet Elliot tonight. At first, meeting up had seemed like a great idea. But the more I thought about it, the more doubt crept in. I’d only known Elliot a couple of days, for one. And I wasn’t sure how my mom would feel about the arrangement, for another. It was getting late, and Delphic was at least a half­hour drive. More to the point, on weekends Delphic had a reputation for being wild.
The phone rang, and Vee’s number showed on the caller ID.
“Are we doing anything tonight?” she wanted to know.
I opened my mouth, weighing my answer carefully. Once I told Vee about Elliot’s offer, there was no turning back.
Vee shrieked. “Oh, man! Oh­man­oh­man­oh­man. I just spilled nail polish on the sofa. Hang on, I’m going to get some paper towels. Is nail polish water­soluble?” A moment later she returned. “I think I ruined the sofa. We have to go out tonight. I don’t want to be here when my latest work of accidental art is discovered.”
Dorothea had moved down the hall to the powder room. I had no desire to spend the whole night listening to her grunt over the bathroom fixtures as she cleaned, so I made my decision. “How about Delphic Seaport? Elliot and Jules are going. They want to meet up.”
“You buried the lead! Vital information here, Nora. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.” I was left listening to the dial tone.
I went upstairs and pulled on a snug white cashmere sweater, dark jeans, and navy blue driving moccasins. I shaped the hair framing my face around my finger, the way I’d learned to manage my natural curls, and … voilà! Half­decent spirals. I stepped back from the mirror for a twice­over and called myself a cross between carefree and almost sexy.
Fifteen minutes later to the dot, Vee bounced the Neon up the driveway and beeped the horn staccatostyle. It took me ten minutes to make the drive between our houses, but I usually paid attention to the speed limit. Vee understood the word speed, but limit wasn’t part of her vocabulary.
“I’m going to Delphic Seaport with Vee,” I called to Dorothea. “If my mom calls, would you mind relaying the message?”
Dorothea waddled out of the powder room. “All the way to Delphic? This late?”
“Have fun at your conference!” I said, escaping out the door before she could protest or get my mom on the phone.
Vee’s blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, big fat curls spilling down. Gold hoops dangled from her ears. Cherry red lipstick. Black, lengthening mascara.
“How do you do it?” I asked. “You had five minutes to get ready.”
“Always prepared.” Vee shot me a grin. “I’m a Boy Scout’s dream.”
She gave me a critical once­over.
“What?” I said.
“We’re meeting up with boys tonight.”
“Last I checked, yes.”
“Boys like girls who look like … girls.”
I arched my eyebrows. “And what do I look like?”
“Like you stepped out of the shower and decided that alone was enough to pass as presentable. Don’t get me wrong. The clothes are good, the hair is okay, but the rest … Here.” She reached inside her purse. “Being the friend that I am, I’ll loan you my lipstick. And my mascara, but only if you swear you don’t have a contagious eye disease.”
“I do not have an eye disease!”
“Just covering my bases.”
“I’ll pass.”
Vee’s mouth dropped, half­playful, half­serious. “You’ll feel naked without it!”
“Sounds like just the kind of look you’d go for,” I said.
In all honesty, I had mixed feelings about going makeup free. Not because I did feel a little bit naked, but because Patch had put the no­makeup suggestion in my mind. In an effort to make myself feel better, I told myself my dignity wasn’t at stake. Neither was my pride. I’d been given a suggestion, and I was open­minded enough to try it. What I didn’t want to acknowledge was I’d specifically chosen a night I knew I wouldn’t see Patch to test it out.
A half hour later Vee drove under the gates to Delphic Seaport. We were forced to park at the farthest end of the lot, due to heavy opening­weekend traffic. Nestled right on the coast, Delphic is not known for its mild weather. A low wind had picked up, sweeping popcorn bags and candy wrappers around our ankles as Vee and I walked toward the ticket counter. The trees had long since lost their leaves, and the branches loomed over us like disjointed fingers. Delphic Seaport boomed all summer long with an amusement park, masquerades, fortune­telling booths, gypsy musicians, and a freak show. I could never be sure if the human deformities were real or an illusion.
“One adult, please,” I told the woman at the ticket counter. She took my money and slid a wristband under the window. Then she smiled, exposing white plastic vampire teeth, smudged red with lipstick.
“Have a good time,” she said in a breathless voice. “And don’t forget to try our newly remodeled ride.”
She tapped her side of the glass, pointing to a stack of park maps and a flier.
I grabbed one of each on my way through the revolving gates. The flier read: DELPHIC AMUSEMENT PARK’S
NEWEST SENSATION!
THE ARCHANGEL
REMODELED AND RENOVATED!
FALL FROM GRACE ON THIS
ONE­HUNDRED­FOOT VERTICAL DROP.
Vee read the flier over my shoulder. Her nails threatened to puncture the skin on my arm. “We have to do it!” she squealed.
“Last,” I promised, hoping if we did all the other rides first, she’d forget about this one. I hadn’t been afraid of heights for years, probably because I had conveniently avoided them. I wasn’t sure I was ready just yet to find out if time had faded my fear of them.
After we hit the Ferris wheel, the bumper cars, the Magic Carpet ride, and a few of the game booths, Vee and I decided it was time to look for Elliot and Jules.
“Hmm,” said Vee, looking both ways down the path looping the park. We shared a thoughtful silence.
“The arcade,” I said at last.
“Good call.”
We had just walked through the doors to the arcade when I saw him. Not Elliot. Not Jules.