Chapter 5
five
Ash
Exhaustion weighs me down as I shut the front door behind me.
It’s been a few weeks now since classes started, and while I’ve settled into my new routine, that hasn’t made the experience any more enjoyable.
School’s just one more bit of tedium I need to endure until graduation.
There’s nothing for me there except entirely too many people I wish I could avoid.
Well…except for one. And since our run-in outside the science labs, Dylan’s been content to avoid me all on his own.
Not that I blame him after I’d pretty much shouted at him to do exactly that.
I don’t know why I even care. I barely know the guy, and it’s better for both of us if it stays that way.
The last thing I need is a repeat of Harvey, blowing up my life over a cute boy with shaggy hair, hand-me-down clothes, and kind eyes.
I start down the hall toward the living room, making a beeline for my room and blessed solitude, when I hear my aunt calling from the kitchen.
“Dylan? Is that you?”
Muffling a sigh, I swerve to find her sitting at the small table. She must’ve been waiting for me because she already has two steaming cups of tea set out, along with a tray of her favorite shortbread cookies.
“How was your day?” she asks as I reluctantly slide into the open seat across from her.
I cup my hands around the mug. “Fine.”
“Anything exciting happen?”
I fix her with an incredulous look, and she snorts.
“Fair. I never liked school either. Why waste all that time learning useless crap I won’t need in the real world?”
It’s not so much the lessons as it is the other people that annoy me, but I don’t bother correcting her.
She grabs a cookie and dips it in her tea. Once it’s good and mushy, she chomps into it. I glance down, staring into the steam rising from my cup and letting it wash over my face. The soothing scent of mint fills my nostrils.
I’m about to rise and make my escape when she asks, “And the other students? Have you made any friends?”
An image of Dylan grinning down at me in that shadowed alcove hovers before my eyes. I shove it away. “Sure.”
“Anyone giving you trouble? I remember how cruel teenagers can be.”
This time, I think of Greta. My lips twitch. If overeager friendliness is the worst I have to face, I’m probably doing pretty good. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
My aunt smirks at that. “I’m not surprised. The moment I saw you on my doorstep, I could tell you have an independent streak to rival your mama’s.”
Tightness clenches my chest. I force my face into a stoic mask, determined not to let my roiling emotions show. Thinking of Mom is more a dull ache than a sharp pain at this point, its bite lessened after all these years. But some wounds never fully heal—especially when they’re self-inflicted.
Despite my best efforts, Aunt Claudette must sense the shift in my mood because her expression firms. After one last sip of tea, she sets her cup aside and leans over the table toward me. Her necklaces shift and jangle.
“I know you’re holding back from me, Ash.
That’s fine. I didn’t expect this to be an easy transition for you, and I don’t pretend to understand what you’re going through.
But I want you to know that I’m here if you ever need to talk.
Even if it’s about Hannah.” Pinpricks of moisture shimmer in her eyes.
“I hope you know I loved her dearly, despite our occasional disagreements.”
Hearing Mom’s name flashes me back, and for a terrible moment, I’m thirteen again sitting rigidly in a folding chair at the funeral home listening to people I barely know talk about what a loving, wonderful person she’d been.
As if I hadn’t just gone through the same pointless ritual a couple months earlier for Dad.
As if the cause of my mom’s too-soon demise wasn’t sitting in the front row, struggling to hold himself together while his remaining world crumbled.
My hands tighten around the porcelain until I’m afraid it might shatter in my grip. If you loved her so much, why didn’t you say a eulogy for her? I suddenly want to scream. Why didn’t you give a shit about her only child and take care of him instead of ignoring him for half a decade?
“Thanks for the tea,” I manage. My voice sounds cold and lifeless to my ears as I rise stiffly. “I’m going to go for a walk before it gets dark.”
“Don’t forget a jacket!” Aunt Claudette shouts after me as I dart out of the kitchen. “It’s supposed to drop to the fifties tonight, and the forecast is calling for rain!”
I pretend not to hear, shutting the front door and letting my head thunk back against the wood. I take a moment to gather myself, closing my eyes as I inhale.
Everything is fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. I’m fine.
Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I’ll actually believe it.
Opening my eyes, I start walking. I don’t have a clear destination in mind, but I’ve barely left the house except to go to school, so I soon find myself retracing that familiar path.
It’s still pretty early in the afternoon, and I pass the occasional pedestrian, including a few kids I recognize from class. I give them all a wide berth, shoving my hands in my jean pockets and staring determinedly at the ground ahead of me.
My mind feels like a black hole, devouring every thought and emotion. Which is for the best, really. It keeps them from overwhelming or consuming me. Sometimes, dreams can be far more dangerous than waking life.
I reach Banton High and hesitate. Too many people around. Instead of cutting toward downtown, I follow the road as it winds its way out of Banton, aging buildings giving way to open fields and scattered trees. It might’ve been peaceful if I wasn’t trapped out here with myself.
The sky darkens quicker than I expect. I realize why when a crack of thunder heralds a deluge of pouring rain. Awesome. A shiver racks me, and I wrap my bare arms tight against my torso, trying to rub some warmth back into them. Guess I should’ve listened and grabbed that jacket after all.
Taking the storm as my cue, I turn back.
Icy rain whips around me. The wind picks up, and I quicken my pace to match.
Soon enough, I pass the high school (no students lingering outside now) and am about to turn toward my aunt’s house when I catch a faint squeaking noise almost lost beneath the wind. A sign creaking on its post perhaps?
I ignore the sound and continue on, then freeze when it comes again, a bit louder this time. What the hell?
Squinting to see through the downpour, I peer around.
It’s not until I stoop to check under a car parked along the street that I finally find the sound’s source.
A bedraggled cat—well, more a kitten really—huddles in the narrow space.
Its big blue eyes stare at me unblinking for a long moment.
Then, it lets out the most pitiable meow I’ve ever heard.
It’s like what I would sound like if I were a cat.
The incongruous thought hits me out of nowhere, and I stifle a hysterical laugh. Maybe the cold is getting to me more than I realized.
Another mournful meow snaps me out of it. “All right, buddy,” I say, gesturing at the kitten. “Come on out of there.”
The kitten remains huddled right where it is. Its blue eyes drill into my soul, wide and begging. Oh, for the love of God. Sighing, I drop to my knees, ignoring the frigid water soaking my jeans as I stretch out my arms.
My fingers touch matted fur. To my relief, the kitten doesn’t try to bite me or wriggle out of my grip as I carefully extricate it from its hiding place.
It’s even smaller than I’d thought—definitely less than a year old.
Its fur is absolutely soaked, and the poor thing is shivering even worse than I am.
At first, I think a dark spot on its side is just caked dirt. But as I cradle the kitten in my hands, I notice the way it feebly jerks one of its back legs away from me. I examine the leg more closely and realize what I’d taken for dirt is actually dried blood, tacky from the rain.
“What the hell happened to you?” I murmur. “Did you get into a fight?”
The only response I receive is a sad meow. Then, as if that had exhausted the last of its energy, the kitten slumps in my arms and closes its eyes.
Shit. Oh, shit!
Tucking the kitten against my chest doesn’t seem like enough, so I tug off my shirt and wrap it around the kitten like a cocoon. I’m not sure how much that’ll help given how soaked my shirt is, but it’s got to be better than nothing.
I cradle my precious bundle to my chest and search for an awning I can duck under to check my phone. Cold raindrops race down my bare skin as I pull up directions to the nearest vet. Thankfully, there’s one right here in town.
“Let’s see if we can get you fixed up, good and new,” I say. Rescued charge in tow, I set off at a jog through the rain and pray I’m not too late.