Thirteen

Henley

2009

“You don’t have to walk me home, Conner.” I risk a quick look in his direction, his near-perfect profile illuminated by the glow of the streetlight.

It’s after eight. His mom insisted I stay for dinner, which was weird. Declan, Conner’s older brother, kept staring at us while his mother explained to their dad that I was tutoring Conner in calculus. Mr. Gilroy divides an odd look between us before looking at his wife. Whatever he sees on her face seems to clear up his confusion.

“Well, if you can bring this knucklehead to heel, it’ll be worth every penny,” he says, waving his fork in Conner’s direction. “Afraid you’ve got your work cut out for you, Henley. Dumb as a box of doorknobs, that one.”

Across the table, Declan laughs before scooting his chair back from the table. “Can I be excused?” he says, picking up his plate before standing. “Some friends and I are going to the movies.”

“What friends?” Mrs. Gilroy asks, eyeing her oldest son.

“Ryan, Dean. Caleb—” He shoots a look at us. “Want to go, Con? We can drop Henley off on the way.”

Beside me, Conner stiffens slightly. “No,” he says, before looking down at his plate, his jaw goes tight like he wants to say something but can’t.

Satisfied, his mom nods. “Be home by midnight,” his mom says.

“Always am,” Declan says before carrying his plate into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the back door slams shut.

After dinner, Mr. Gilroy walked us to the door. “Thanks again, for taking this on,” he says. Reaching for my hand, he stuffs a wad of money into it. Unless it’s a bunch of one-dollar bills, it’s entirely too much.

“No, Mr. Gilroy,” I say, trying to give it back. “That’s too much—”

“Did I mention how dumb he is?” His dad shoots him a look, and Conner laughs.

“Thanks, Dad.” He doesn’t sound hurt or offended by his dad’s insult. He sounds relieved. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Just get her home safe, son,” Mr. Gilroy says, patting Conner on the shoulder as we pass through the door before shutting it behind us.

Now, Conner shoots me a quick smile. “Are you kidding?” he says. “My mom tells me to walk you home, I’m walking you home. Because I want to live.”

“Your mom is great,” I say, laughing because I can’t imagine Mrs. Gilroy as anything but nice.

“She is great.” He smiles again, this time there’s nothing quick about it. “She’s also kinda scary.” It spreads slowly across his face, showing me just how much he loves her. How proud he is that she’s his mom. I envy him a lot of things. His mother is at the top of the list.

“I’d take your scary mom over mine any day,” I say, laughing to make the admission sound like a joke.

“Your mom’s not that bad,” he says, and I laugh because we both know he’s just being nice.

“She’s been on this weird kick lately,” I tell him. “Ladies don’t swear. Ladies don’t fight. Ladies don’t play baseball… I miss baseball.” I shrug, suddenly feeling weird about what I’m doing. Confiding in Conner Gilroy. Like he could ever understand what it’s like to be me. “Anyway, I liked it better when she ignored me.”

We round the corner there’s a car parked outside my building. Not just a car. A nice car. One that has a driver who circles around and opens your door for you when you’re ready to get out.

I watch it happen, the driver opening the rear passenger door, holding out his hand to help my mother from the back of the vehicle.

She’s beautiful.

It’s a weird thing to think when you’re being slapped in the face with the fact that your mom is cheating on your dad but that’s what I think. The way her soft auburn hair glows like fire in the shine of the street lamp. Her smooth, ivory skin that she’s always taken care to hide from the sun. Her wide brown eyes. Her full mouth and perfect nose.

My mother is beautiful.

And I hate her.

As soon as she’s out, she turns and leans forward, stooping down to talk to whoever’s still in the car while the driver circles back to his station behind the wheel.

I stop short, and Conner follows suit. Closing a hand over my arm, he pulls me into the shadows of the building, and we stand there, watching.

After a few moments, a hand reaches out to pull my mom closer, just as a face appears in the window’s open frame. It’s a man, one I’ve never seen before. Whoever he is, I can tell it’s not some guy who owns a used car lot in Charlestown.

When he kisses my mom, I feel Conner’s hand tighten around my arm, like he’s afraid I’m going to make a scene. Try to stop them. The thought never even crossed my mind. Maybe it would have if what I’m seeing actually shocked me.

We watch as my mom pulls away with the kind of laugh I’ve never heard from her before. Light. Almost girlish. I hate it the moment I hear it. Hope whoever he is, he takes her away and leaves us in peace. Maybe with her gone, my dad wouldn’t drink so much. Maybe Ryan would be around more.

She steps onto the sidewalk, giving the man in the car an over the shoulder smile and the rear window goes up, seconds before the car pulls away.

My mom is half-way up the stoop when she turns around and peers directly into the shadows where we’re standing. I shrink back, bumping into the solid wall of Conner’s chest, the top of my head brushing his chin. She seems to stare at me forever, and even though I know she can’t see me, I’m almost positive she knows I’m here.

That I saw her.

Conner’s hand tightens on my arm again, like he’s getting ready to drag me back the way we came but then it’s over, and she’s turning away from us to push her way through the front door of our building.

As soon as she’s gone, Conner lets go of my arm, and I turn to find him looking down at me. “I take it back,” he says quietly. “I like my mom better.”

Laughing loudly, I cover my mouth with my hand because even though she’s gone, I still feel like she’s watching me. Us.

If she knew I was standing in the dark with Conner Gilroy, she would not be pleased. I can practically hear her—a neighborhood boy? Over my dead body.

Like someone like Conner Gilroy would even consider a girl like me.

“That makes two of us,” I tell him, pulling my broken backpack out of his arms. Bundling it against my chest, I look up at him. “Good night, Conner.”

A look passes over his face, but it’s too dark and too fast for me to catch it. For a moment, he leans closer, and I think he’s going to do something. Say something. But he doesn’t.

He just steps back with a grin, disappearing even deeper into the shadows. “‘Night, Hennie,” he says, and then he’s gone.