Chapter 13

Kennedy

 

When I arrive home, Mom’s in the kitchen, and Dad’s sitting in his chair in the living room. Grace is on the couch.

“Hi, honey,” Mom says. “How was your day?”

I blink back my thoughts.

Blink. Where have you been?

Blink. Why didn’t you contact me?

Blink. What’s going on?

“It was good. We had an afternoon rush for a couple of hours, but for the most part things went smoothly.” I don’t mention having come home on my lunch hour to see if they’d returned or how I lied to Jackson and several others about their whereabouts.

Mom nods, whisking the contents of a roasting pan as a pot roast rests on a cutting board. The rich aromas have my stomach growling. “I saw you made chocolate cake.”

I nod. “It’s Violet’s favorite.” And I needed to distract myself when I came home and realized they were still gone.

“Have you heard from her? Do you know what time she’s supposed to be here?”

“Soon,” I tell her. “How was everything here?” I glance toward the living room again as Grace stands and walks toward the kitchen, her attention focused on me.

My heart races and my palms itch with sweat, forgetting that I’ve asked my mom a question as she placates me with a simple response.

Grace stops beside the fridge and pulls open the door, retrieving a large dish. “We made cherry Jell-O with pretzels and chocolate chips—your favorite.”

I think this is an apology. A white flag. But accepting it feels like I’m giving in—giving up.

Grace smiles, and instinctually, I return the gesture. All day I’ve been fearing the worst. Waiting for my sister’s wrath or to discover she’s been admitted into a hospital, and now she’s offering me one of my favorite childhood dishes and smiling at me like yesterday never happened.

I don’t doubt that I’ll regret it later, but I take it. I grab the white flag and turn to the kitchen sink to wash my hands and tell my sister and Mom about the envelope of dreams I discovered today.

Grace is still laughing over the contents of the envelope when I tell them I need to go change the sheets on my bed for Violet, and the mood remains light, their laughter continuing as I drift down the hall.

My phone chirps as I grab clean sheets.

Joey: I liked the braid.

Me: Careful. You’re broaching that friendship line again, and your nice is showing ;)

I’m grateful for the task at hand to distract me from waiting for him to reply. I finish folding a corner of the bed sheet under the mattress and then lay my floral comforter over the top. I gather the sheets Mom put on my bed yesterday before learning Vi was coming so I can put them on the air mattress. Yesterday, Grace offered to let me sleep in her room so Violet could have more space, but now I’m wondering if that’s still happening.

“If you snore, I’m going to smother you with a pillow.” Grace comes in behind me, a stack of clean towels in her arms.

I force a smile because I want her to feel silly and welcome to joke and tease like we used to, but her words spark a fear in me that never sinks too far beneath the surface. It’s difficult to admit even to myself that I sometimes fear my older sister and what she might be capable of, especially after what transpired yesterday. When I was fourteen and Grace was diagnosed, my parents gave me books and sat me down to discuss what they commonly referred to as “her condition.” I hated the term. In my eyes those times that Grace had woken me up at three in the morning to make pancakes or swim in the pond or climb the tallest tree to see if we could catch stars were the most beautiful and perfect of memories. Sure she had bouts where she wouldn’t get out of bed or broke mirrors in the house because her reflection was too much, but she was never dangerous—never scary. It wasn’t until many years later when I saw what my sister was capable of, the pain she inflicted upon herself, and heard her beg to hurt others that a niggling fear arose. That fear is laced so tightly with guilt that it’s often difficult for me to discern the two.

“It’s weird to have a friend come and stay the night,” I admit. “I kind of feel like I’m twelve again.”

Grace scans the room, stopping when she reaches me. “Maybe this will be nice. You’ll mix your old and new worlds together and see what comes of it.”

I chuckle. “I still live in the same world. Who I am now is the same person I’ve always been.”

“Is it?”

My heart races. “What does that mean?” I ask.

Grace shrugs, looking away before I can read her eyes, which have always said far more than her words.

Before I can probe her for more of an explanation, Mom calls our names, and without a second glance, Grace heads toward the kitchen.

I sweep over the stuffed animals lined on a high shelf across my room, the bulletin board stamped with pictures of old friends. Earlier this week I took down the posters of boy bands and puppies that covered most of my walls.

“Kennedy!” Mom calls again. “Violet’s here!”

The quiet honk from a car alarm being set confirms her arrival as I make my way through the living room out to the porch.

Dad is already halfway down the stairs, heading toward the back of her car to help with her bags, and Mom is leading the way with her arms outstretched, ready for a hug.

“Is this why you never bring guys home?” Grace asks as Mom wraps her arms around Violet and sways back and forth.

“This and you know . . . everything else.”

Grace laughs heartily.

“Did you have a hard time finding us?” Mom asks Violet.

“No, not at all.” Violet and Mom walk up the deck, their arms around each other’s shoulders. The two have met at least a dozen times over the years but never here in Haven Point. “I don’t know that I’ll ever want to leave!”

Mom smiles. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Or until my boss fires me,” Violet says jokingly.

“Are you hungry? Supper is just about ready,” Mom says, releasing her only when they reach the top step. I move forward to hug my best friend.

“Gah!” Violet cries, reaching for me. We grip one another with a ferocity that makes us both laugh. “It feels like you’ve been gone for months, and other times it still feels like you’re just a few blocks away.”

I nod, understanding her analogy perfectly.

“Hi, Grace!” Violet smiles warmly, allowing my sister the wide space she knows Grace requires.

“It’s good to see you!” Surprisingly, Grace reaches forward and wraps Violet in a side hug that lasts a brief second.

“It’s good to see you, too. You look amazing, as always,” Vi says.

Dad huffs up the stairs, carrying two large suitcases that make me laugh aloud. “You really are planning on staying forever, aren’t you?”

Violet’s cheeks color with embarrassment. “I didn’t know what to pack! I couldn’t picture this place from the descriptions you’ve given me over the years.”

“I hope you packed a bathing suit,” Mom says. “It’s been hot. I can hardly wrangle Kennedy out of the pond when she’s not working.”

“The pond?” Violet asks.

“I’m sure Kennedy will be taking you shortly after supper,” Mom says, ushering us into the house.

“It smells so good!” Violet takes a deep breath of the pot roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, hot biscuits, and cucumbers doused with sour cream and vinegar.

Mom beams. She loves cooking and makes big meals even when it’s just her and Dad. Praise for her cooking is something that makes her light up like a Christmas tree, even if it’s the millionth time.

We sit around the rectangular table, Violet beside me and Grace across from me. Conversation and food are passed around easily, like this is an everyday occurrence. Maybe it’s because Violet has spent time with my family before that allows this moment to be so seamless and easy; maybe it’s that I’ve just missed her and wouldn’t be able to notice if things were awkward.

“I want thirds, and fourths, and then maybe fifths,” Violet says, sitting back in her chair and placing a hand over her stomach. “But I might need a little time.”

Dad chuckles. “You and me both.” He pats his protruding stomach and smiles.

“We have to save room. Kennedy made dessert tonight,” Mom says, reaching for her water.

Violet swivels in her chair, her light-brown eyes wide with hope. “Don’t tell me you made Kennedy Cake!”

“I didn’t make Kennedy Cake.” I stand from the table and walk to where the long casserole dish is shielded from my dad by the fridge.

“You made Kennedy Cake!” Violet cries, clapping her hands.

Mom and Dad chuckle at her enthusiasm while Grace surveys her carefully. I hear her thoughts so clearly, she could be saying them:

Is she being genuine?

Is she always this animated?

Is she always this loud?

“We should call this cake Kennedy Cake,” Mom says as I place it on the table and head to the stove, where a small pot holds the frosting.

“We’ll call it Violet Cake since she’s obviously the biggest fan.” I put it on a trivet and go back for bowls and spoons.

“I’m okay with that, too,” Violet says. “Having the most delicious dessert on earth named after me means I’m entitled to request you make this weekly, right?”

Her grin leaves me smiling in response. “Obviously.”

Mom smiles even wider, her pride on display for me to absorb like the sun, and it feels just as good—maybe better. I slice the cake into generous squares and then coat them with a large ladle of hot chocolate frosting. It’s a recipe that I began making with my grandma when I was too small to see the stovetop, and she’d set me on the counter and let me pour and mix the ingredients.

“I keep telling her she needs to open a bakery.” Violet takes a giant bite, then hums her appreciation. “I swear it gets better each time I eat it. Like I somehow forget how good it is.”

“There’s no money in a bakery. She’d be tying herself to a small shop and have crazy hours and crazier insurance,” Dad echoes the same unsolicited advice he’s given me for years.

Violet laughs. “Her degrees aren’t opening many doors for her, so she might as well do something she loves.”

My stomach rises to my throat. Growing up, Dad had the temper of a bull, but it’s lessened over the years to where only small remnants of it will occasionally remind me of how the veins in his neck used to bulge and his entire face would turn red like a cartoon character. Then he’d begin yelling about things that had been making him mad for weeks—unbeknownst to his target. Though his temper has faded, I still try to maintain the peace and not provoke him.

“Especially when she has so much talent,” Violet continues.

I turn in my seat, making a show of looking at the clock on the microwave. “Hurry up, and we can get to the pond while it’s still light out.”

That shuts Violet up, and amazingly Dad doesn’t respond.

I begin emptying the leftovers into Tupperware containers to rush the process when Mom gently nudges me with her elbow. “Go,” she says quietly. “Enjoy time with Violet while she’s here.”

“Are you sure? There are so many dishes.”

Mom nods. “I’ll take care of them.”

I lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

Though she smiles, I hesitate and rinse one of the plates I brought over and deposit it into the dishwasher.

“Kennedy, go.” Mom swats at me with a dishtowel.

“You want to come?” I ask Grace, still reluctant to leave the kitchen with a mess when the rule in this house has always been to clean everything before retiring to do anything else, even homework.

Grace shakes her head. “I think I’m going to read a little and then go to bed. I’ll blow up the air mattress for you, though.” Her auburn hair is loose around her shoulders, and once again she’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt that leaves me wondering how bad her scratches are.

“I put Violet’s bags in your room,” Dad says.

“Thanks, Tom.” Violet hugs him, and my dad looks so at ease, so welcoming—so unlike any moments I’ve shared with him.

I clear my throat. “I’ll give you a quick tour when we’re back. Let’s go get changed.” She follows me down the short hall to my room.

“Wow. I feel like I barely know you.” Violet turns around, taking in the details of my room. “God, how many stuffed animals do you own?”

“Welcome to the life of fourteen-year-old me.”

“Seriously.” She laughs. “I changed my room like three times a year when I was growing up. I bet my walls are each an inch shorter because of all the layers of paint I put on them.”

“It’s been this color since I was born.”

Violet pulls her head back, her eyebrows zigzagging. “Why?”

I don’t have a reason, so I simply shrug. “We can delve into my psyche later.” I move to my dresser, where I finally unpacked my clothes a couple of days ago. I fish out the red bathing suit I’d bought in town, and close the door behind me to get changed in the bathroom.

Once dressed, I find Violet in the hallway waiting for me, a sundress pulled over her suit.

“Ready?”

She nods.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve run the path to the pond. Like it’s calling me, and I can’t get there fast enough, or because I’m in competition with Grace to see who’s faster. But Violet and I walk the path, her commenting on the wildlife and plants that I hardly notice anymore because of having seen them so many times. Towels are tucked beneath our arms, a suggestion she had that I rarely remember.

“I understand why you chose to come back here rather than bunk on my couch,” Violet says. “This place is amazing. Everything’s so beautiful.”

“It feels really weird being back,” I admit to her. “Things have changed so much, and then others haven’t changed a bit.”

“Like your bedroom?” Violet teases, turning to face me, showing her smile.

I laugh. “Exactly.”

I’m aching to explain precisely what I mean, how I don’t know what to do now that I’m back—how permanent I should allow it to feel. Tell her how I’ve been debating reaching out to old friends and visiting places I used to frequent because I don’t know if people will remember who I am, and am even more afraid that they will and see how little I’ve accomplished. When I left Haven Point, no one seemed surprised. They each shared a similar sentiment about how I was too big for the town as they hugged me goodbye. Somehow, Haven Point grew much vaster and quicker than I did and has far more to show than me. But my tirade of thoughts end as we pass through the bracken, and Violet sucks in a quiet gasp.

“How’d you ever leave?”

We descend the slight bank and drop our towels under the large willow tree that always shades at least half of the pond.

“We don’t have to worry about anything being in there, do we?”

I shake my head. “Some fish, but that’s about it.”

“No gators?”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“We’re in the South!”

“We’re not,” I tell her, shaking my head again. “Some people talk with southern accents and wear a lot of camo, but we’re not part of the South.”

Violet throws her head back and laughs. “So you quack like a duck, walk like a duck, and look like a duck, but you’re telling me you’re not a duck?”

I kick off my shoes and laugh with her. “Something like that.”

With my shorts and shirt resting on my shoes, I wait for Violet to finish getting undressed; the wind blows my hair, tickling my skin.

“How is everything?” she asks, following me into the water. “I mean, with your sister and your parents.”

I look back at Vi and shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where they went.”

“Why don’t you ask?”

I shake my head. “That seems so simple, I know, but when they’re avidly pretending like it never happened, it almost feels like it didn’t. Like I made it all up in my head.”

“Would you rather it felt like that?”

“No!” The answer falls from me like a hot coal, sudden and immediate. “I hate not knowing.”

“Kennedy, you have every right to ask.”

“It’s just so hard to bring it up again when everything suddenly feels so right tonight, so normal. You know?”

Violet cocks her head, considering my words. I can see the pro-and-con list starting as she debates my words and reasoning. Slowly, she nods and moves her attention to the pond. “So is this your secret spot?”

“I wish. The guy I hit in the parking lot has been here twice this week.”

Violet snaps her head to look at me, her eyebrows raised. “Really? Is he following you?”

“No. He lives just over there.” I point across the pond. “It was a matter of time before he found it.”

“So what happened with all of that?”

“All of what?”

“You hit him with your car, and that’s the last I heard. You guys are now talking? Are you friends?”

“He’s . . .”

“Oh.” Violet draws the single syllable out. “I see.”

I pull my head back. “You see what?”

“You think he’s hot.”

“Is that what I said? Where in this conversation did you hear me say I think he’s attractive?”

“The fact that you’re taking way too long to tell me anything about him.”

“He’s a cop from DC with an ego that is literally bigger than this pond.” I stretch my arms in a circular motion to emphasize the fact.

A smile tips her lips into a teasing line. “You realize you’re not disputing that he’s attractive, right?”

I hit the water with an open palm, creating a splash that makes her laugh. “Yes. Yes, I do, because he is hot. And he likely has a thousand women who tell him he’s hot on a daily basis. And I do not wish to be number one thousand and one.”

“Twenty bucks says you kiss before the end of the month.”

I close my eyes and shake my head.

“Oh my God, you kissed!” She begins laughing.

“No!” My cheeks warm.

She laughs harder. “When? How?”

I lift my hands and shift them forward and backward, unable to explain either of those questions.

“I’m getting you a pin. Would you prefer one of one thousand and one or just one thousand and one?”

Her laughter grows raucous when I roll my eyes, unable to come up with an adequate comeback.

As if on cue, a branch snaps, and someone emerges from the far end of the woods. My heart drums, expecting Joey.

“Jelly Bean, the town’s gonna start callin’ you fish soon.”

My heart falls back into its natural rhythm as Jackson wanders closer to the pond. “Hey, Jackson.”

“I was going to cut through the woods and check on you guys, but I thought I might find you here,” he says, stopping when he reaches the edge of the pond. “You must be Violet.”

Violet smiles and nods. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Jackson nods once and turns his attention back to me.

“Check on us?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

“The power’s out. A full blackout.”

“But there’s no storm. It’s not even raining.” I look to the sky, where the sun hangs so low, the trees hide the orange sphere.

Jackson scratches the back of his head. “It’s on its way. You know how fast the weather around here changes.”

I look to Violet and frown. “Welcome to Haven Point.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long to get it restored,” she says.

“Depends on how far it reaches and how bad the storm is,” Jackson explains. “Haven Point is a small tick on the map, so it might take a while.”

“It will be like camping.” Violet’s voice is high, trying to be optimistic.

“Have you ever camped in hundred-degree heat while it floods and there’s nothing to do?” Jackson asks.

Violet turns to me, her eyes round with terror.

“You’re not helping,” I tell him.

“Is it safe to be here? Should we drive toward DC?”

Jackson plucks a couple of leaves from the willow tree our things are sitting under. “We’ll be fine, but we should head back to Jelly Bean’s house before it gets too dark or the storm comes. They’re predicting winds over sixty miles per hour and flash flooding.”

Violet’s wide eyes are barely a thought as I consider if Joey has heard the news and if they’re okay.

We wade out of the pond as a curtain of dark clouds appears from the west. Violet hastily towels herself dry before tugging her sundress over her head.

“We’re okay,” I assure her. “You don’t have to rush.”

“I’m a city girl, born and raised. I don’t do thunderstorms while standing in a forest of potential lightning rods.”

If I had thought to grab my phone before leaving the house, I’d shoot Joey a text and warn him about the impending storm. “Jackson, will you take Violet back to the house? I’ll catch up with you guys.”

“What? Where are you going?” Violet stares at me, her dark hair wet and plastered to her shoulders.

“I just need to check on something really fast. I’ll be there before the storm comes.”

“Jelly Bean, it’s a blackout. You won’t be able to see once the sun sets.”

“These woods never have lights in them,” I remind Jackson. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

Hesitancy has Jackson standing in place. I avoid looking to him, knowing if I do he’ll hit me with an arsenal of reasons why I should be going with him, starting with my mom will worry about me and continuing on to how my dad will be upset.

Thunder echoes in the distance. Violet screams.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I tell Jackson. “You guys go!”

I pull on my tennis shoes, my shorts and shirt sticking to me as my bathing suit bleeds through them, leaving unattractive circles over my chest.

“Jelly Bean . . .”

“I’ll see you in ten!” I yell over my shoulder and then dash toward the woods so he can’t object further.