When I come back out, Reeve is in the kitchen on the phone, quietly ordering Chinese takeout. He rubs his temples like he has a headache. “Can you make the General Tso’s extra spicy?” he asks. I know that’s how Paige likes it, how she and Rennie both liked it. Reeve hangs up his phone and gives me a nod. “Hey.”
“I—I thought you’d left.”
“I just got back from taking some of Ren’s furniture over to Goodwill. Paige needs me to help her patch the walls where Rennie hung stuff up, so she doesn’t lose her security deposit.” He looks down at the floor.
There’s an awkward silence between us. It feels like it goes on forever. “Why don’t you go home? I can stay and have dinner with her and you could patch the walls tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” he says, and that one word is like a stinger in my heart.
I go find Paige. “Reeve’s heading home, so . . . it’ll just be us for dinner.”
Frowning, she says, “No, he can’t leave.” She hurries into the kitchen, with me trailing behind her. “Don’t leave, Reevie. The food’s already ordered, and I want both my kids with me. I won’t have you for much longer.”
He nods, and I think how tired he looks.
While we wait for the food, Reeve goes into Rennie’s room and starts taking apart a bookshelf. I clear off the kitchen table, wipe it down, and set three places with paper plates and napkins.
The buzzer on Paige’s door isn’t working, so when the delivery guy arrives, she has to run downstairs to pay him. I call to Reeve that the food is here, and when he comes into the kitchen, he looks around for Paige. Then he leans against the table, clears his throat, and says, “Hey, I got into that prep school in Delaware.”
My eyes widen. “What? Are you serious? Benedictine?”
“Yeah. I found out yesterday.”
I beam at him. “Reeve, that’s amazing!” Before I can stop myself, I jump up and give him a hug. At first he feels stiff, and I start to straighten up, to pull away. What am I doing hugging Reeve, in Rennie’s kitchen of all places? But then Reeve pulls me in closer. And I let him.
He inhales deeply, his face buried in my hair. In a low voice he says, “Thanks for your help. I never would have thought to do this on my own.” I get goose bumps all over.
“Forget it,” I say back, and I feel like I’m going to cry. I know this is wrong, so very wrong, but I don’t want to let him go.
Reeve doesn’t want to let me go either. If anything, he pulls me even closer. His arms tighten around my waist, and I drop my head against his chest.
Then I hear a door close, and we spring apart. I spin around, and it’s Paige, walking into the kitchen with a big plastic bag. She has a funny look on her face, and she says flatly, “I think they forgot our egg rolls.”
I quickly walk toward her, take the bag from her hands, and check the receipt stapled to it. My heart is beating super quick. “I can’t tell if you got charged or not.” I try to sound normal, but I know I don’t.
“I probably forgot to order them,” Reeve says. “I’m gonna go get washed up.”
“All right,” Paige says, but she’s not looking at him. She’s looking at me.
Reeve ambles off to the bathroom, and it’s just Paige and me. “Do you want me to call the restaurant and see if they’ll come back with the egg rolls?” I ask.
“Actually, I think I may have lost my appetite.”
Oh no. No, no, no. “Paige, I—”
“I’m going to take another sleeping pill and try to pass out. You should just go home.”
My eyes dart down the hall to where the bathroom door is still closed. Oh my God, why won’t Reeve hurry up and come back out here? He can smooth-talk his way out of anything, but not me. I’m hopeless. I stutter, “Well, i-is there anything you want me to do before I go?”
“Nope. I’m all set.” The words are sharp. She smiles a thin smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks for everything.”
My mouth feels dry. “Sure. Well, I can come back tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother.”
My stomach knots. “Paige, please. It isn’t what you think.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” There’s the slightest emphasis on the word “me,” and I know who she’s thinking of, and it makes me want to die.
Chapter Nine
KAT
DAD’S WORKING LATE IN THE garage. He needs to finish up the canoe orders from this past summer. Tourist season basically kicks off in another month and a half. As soon as the snow is gone and the grass starts growing, they’ll be here in droves looking for things to spend money on.
So Pat and I are in the kitchen together making tacos. We’ve got it down to a science. I’m cooking strips of flank steak. Pat’s at the kitchen table filling up bowls of toppings—shredded cheese, sour cream, red onion, black beans, wedges of lime. He’s very particular about the size of the onions. Anyway, the tortillas are getting warm in the oven and the yellow rice is going in the rice cooker.
“Hey,” I say, turning away from the pan. “When you cook the steak, don’t press down on it with the spatula. It dries it out.” I don’t know if Pat’s listening or not, because he doesn’t look up. So I kick his chair with my foot. “Actually, you’re not even cooking it. Not really. You just want to sear it so the middle stays pink. Dad hates well-done meat. If it’s well done, he won’t eat it.”
Pat makes a face. “You made me f**k up my onion dice. And whatever. I don’t ever cook the steak.”
“Well, soon you will, unless you want to go on a taco fast while I’m at college.” It’s crazy to think about. This time next year I won’t be living on Jar Island.
“Don’t bum me out on taco night, please.” And the thing is, Pat actually does sound sad. My eyes fill fast with tears. Pat sees it. “Don’t,” he warns.
“I’m not,” I say, and wipe my eyes. But of course more fall.
“Don’t!”
“I’m not!” I scream. “It’s the damn onions, dick!”
Pat laughs under his breath. “Yeah, okay. Look. I’ll change the subject. Eddie Shofull stopped by the other night and told me some story about how you and Lillia called in a missing-persons thing and made him break into a house.”
I busy myself with the steak. “What was he doing here in the first place?”
