Fire With Fire Read online

  “No. I . . . I just . . . I don’t like to go to the deep end when I’m by myself.”

  Reeve crouches down at the edge of the pool. It takes some effort; I can tell his leg is stiff and sore from the workout. Plus, he has his walking cast back on. He says, “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” And then he adds, “You owe me an extra lap for that,” but he says it in a tender, joking way.

  Lillia uses the kickboard and works her way down to the opposite end of the pool. Reeve walks alongside her, every step of the way. His leg has gotten better. Stronger.

  As soon as I get my chance, I run out of the pool, and all the way home. I’m the one who’s in deep water. I’m the one who’s sinking.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  * * *

  LILLIA

  WHILE I DRY OFF, REEVE goes to the parking lot and starts my car so it’s warm for me. I didn’t even have to ask him to, which is a great sign.

  I gather up my stuff and meet him out there. I keep my eyes peeled for Mary, to see if she’s still around, but she’s nowhere to be found.

  Reeve’s taken the icer and chiseled the frost off my windshield. Reeve’s truck is also turned on, and frostless, parked right next to mine. But he’s waiting in my car, sitting in my driver’s seat, listening to my music. I force the grin off my face and hop into the passenger side. “Hey,” I say, pointing the vents so they’re blowing right on me. “Thanks for starting my car up for me.”

  “No problem.” He doesn’t make a move to get out, so I stay put too. Abruptly he says, “Hey, you never told me how Boston went.”

  “Oh, it was good. My interview with the Wellesley alum went really well. The interviewer used to visit Jar Island when she was growing up, so we had that in common.”

  “Cool, cool.” Reeve drums his fingers on my steering wheel. “So did Lindy finally man up and make his move?”

  My eyes go wide. I mean, we did kind of hold hands. But it’s not like that’s a move move. I’m not going to tell Reeve that, though. Better he thinks Alex did. “Why? Are you jealous?”

  Reeve makes a “pfft” sound and looks out the window. “Is Lind jealous of our pool time?” he counters.

  I force a swallow. “He doesn’t know about it.” I want to tell Reeve, Please don’t say anything, but I can’t do that. Instead I think fast and say, “Does Rennie?” even though I’m pretty sure of his answer.

  Reeve scrunches up his forehead. “Nah. I haven’t mentioned it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  So neither of us has told anyone. Rennie and Alex don’t know. But I’m dreading the moment they do. Because this is happening. The train is on the tracks, and it’s speeding up.

  Reeve takes his hands off the steering wheel and lets them fall to his lap, where he fidgets for a moment. Then he looks at me, and I can tell he’s about to say something. Or do something.

  I panic.

  I whip out my cell, pound out a fake text, and tell him, “I should get home. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend?”

  He bites the inside of his cheek and says, “Sure. See you, Cho.”

  * * *

  On Saturday, on my way out of Milky Morning, I run into PJ. “Hey, stranger!” I say, as he holds the door open for me.

  He holds his hand up for a high five and says, “See you tonight, Lil.”

  I hand him my box of muffins to hold while I zip up my puffer. “What’s happening tonight?”

  “Ren scored a ton of free booze. We’re going to meet up in the woods by her house. She didn’t tell you?”

  “No,” I say. “She didn’t.” Neither did Ash. At Rennie’s command, I’m sure. If that’s how Ren wants to play it, so be it. Two can play at that game.

  “What time are you guys meeting up?” I ask him.

  “Nine.”

  “It’s so cold, though,” I say. “We’ll freeze out there.”

  “The booze will keep us warm. Besides, where else are we gonna go?”

  * * *

  Lucky me, my mom and Nadia are off island at a horse show. They won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. My mom wanted me to stay at Rennie’s or ask Carlota to stay over, which I told her was ridiculous—I’m seventeen, and in less than a year I’ll be away at college. I’m old enough to stay by myself for a night. “Besides,” I said, “don’t you trust me?” My mom caved at that. “Of course I do,” she said.

  I text Alex first.

  It’s so cold out. Wanna come over and watch a movie tonight? 9? Bring Derek!

  He writes back immediately.

  Sounds good!

  Next is Ash. I know that if I dangle Derek in front of her, she’ll take the bait. She’d blow off Rennie in a second to hang out with Derek. She’s been crushing on him since last year, and they’ve hooked up a few times, but they’re definitely not exclusive.

  My mom and Nadia are off island tonight. Wanna come over and watch a movie? The guys are coming—Derek too!

  Yes! What time?

  9

  Yay!

  Then Reeve.

  Movie night at my house if you’re interested.

  Reeve takes his sweet time writing back. But eventually he does. One word.

  Cool.

  I jump into action. Carlota was here earlier today, so the house is sparkly clean. But we need snacks.

  I bake a batch of brownies, not from scratch, from a box, but it’s a fancy brand my mom got from some specialty food store in Boston. It cost eleven dollars, so I figure it must be good. For good measure I throw in a handful of chocolate chips. I grab a not-too-expensive-looking bottle of red wine from the wine cellar, and I set that out too, with some glasses. At the last minute I pop a bag of kettle corn and figure that will be good enough.

  Then I run upstairs to get ready. I change out of my school clothes and put on skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder cream-colored sweater. I dab some Lillia perfume on behind my ears and in the hollow of my neck. No makeup, though, only cherry ChapStick.

  Casual.

  But I’m excited inside. Excited thinking about Rennie alone in the woods with her bottles of booze, freezing her butt off while she waits for everybody to show.

  We’re all lounging in the TV room. Ash and Derek are cozied up in our leather armchair with a blanket, where I told them to sit. Alex and I are on the sectional. No Reeve. I guess he met up with Rennie after all. I’m trying not to feel disappointed, when the doorbell rings.

  “Who else is coming?” Alex asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I say, and run for the door.

  I open it, and there’s Reeve in his puffer vest and sweater. “Hey!” I say. I get up on my tiptoes and give him a hug. He looks taken aback, and I smile at him, sweet as cotton candy.

  “Lind is here?” he asks me, looking over my shoulder and frowning.

  “Yup . . .” Then it dawns on me. He thought it was going to be the two of us. Like maybe a date. Wow. That’s good. That’s really good. I can’t wait to tell Kat and Mary all about it. I link my arm through his and lead him into the house. “Everybody’s in the living room.”

  Reeve follows me down the foyer. “Reeve’s here,” I announce, even though, duh, he’s here; we all have eyes.

  “What up, Tabatsky,” Derek says.

  Alex makes room for him on the couch. When Reeve sits down and starts to put his feet up on the coffee table, Alex says, “Dude, her family doesn’t wear shoes in the house.”

  “Calm down, Lindy,” Reeve says. But he obeys; he takes his shoes off.

  “You too,” Ash says to Derek.

  “It’s fine,” I say, but I’m relieved Alex said something. I hate to be the one going around telling people to take their shoes off; it’s so awkward. But my mom will seriously kill me if our white furniture gets dirty. It’s like her life’s mission is to buy everything in white and then rise to the challenge of keeping it that way.

  “Does anybody want any wine?” I ask. I feel so grown-up until I realize I d
on’t even know how to open a wine bottle.

  “Yes, please!” Ashlin chimes in.

  I fumble with the wine opener until Reeve takes it from me and pops it open in, like, two seconds without saying a word. Then he pours the wine for all of us. “Where’s Ren?” he asks me, setting the bottle back down.

  Shrugging, I say, “No idea.” I hop up and run to the kitchen and come back with the plate of brownies. “Fresh baked!” I sing out. I shimmy over to Ash and Derek, and they take one and share it.

  I come back to the couch and offer one to Alex, who accepts it. Then I put the plate back on the coffee table and sit down between him and Reeve. “So what are we watching? There are a few good things on demand—”

  “You’re not even going to offer me a brownie?” Reeve interjects. “What kind of hostess are you?”

  “You don’t eat sweets!” I know this about him, for a fact.

  “I don’t eat sweets during the season,” he corrects. “And the season’s over.” His green eyes glint as he opens his mouth and says, “Ahh.”

  I slide the plate in his direction and he shakes his head. “Ahh,” he says patiently.

  I roll my eyes and pop a piece of brownie into his mouth. “Diva!”

  With his mouth full Reeve says, “Delicious.” I give him another angelic smile as a reward.

  “These brownies are awesome, Lillia,” Alex chimes in.

  “I baked them myself,” I say. It’s not like they need to know they came from a box mix. Grabbing the remote, I say, “I vote we watch this French movie I heard about.”

  Reeve groans and Alex says, “The one about the cat burglar? They were reviewing that on NPR yesterday. It’s supposed to be good.”

  Reeve mutters, “Why don’t you two move into the retirement home already.”

  “We don’t have to watch it,” I say. “Ash, Der, what are you guys in the mood for?”

  They are whispering to each other and feeding each other brownie crumbs and not even paying attention.

  Reeve grabs the remote from me. “Let me put on SportsCenter for a sec.”

  Holding out my hand, I say, “Give it back, Reeve!”

  “I want to check the score on the game,” he says.

  “Reeve!” I keep reaching for the remote, but he keeps twisting away from me. “Oh my God, I feel sorry for whoever marries you,” I say, and then I fall back against the couch and take a tiny sip of wine. I almost spit it back out into the glass. It tastes like smoke to me. Like barbecued wood. I don’t know how adults drink the stuff.

  I meant it as a joke, but Reeve obviously doesn’t take it that way, because without looking away from the TV he goes, “Likewise.”

  “Come on, man, give her the remote,” Alex says.

  Reeve tosses it to me and starts looking at his phone while I queue up the French movie and Alex turns on the surround sound.

  “Should I dim the lights?” Alex asks me.

  Reeve stands up. “I’m gonna get out of here.”

  “Already?” Derek asks, turning around.

  “Yeah. People are hanging out in the woods by Rennie’s. Wanna come?”

  Derek looks at Ash and says, “Nah. Too cold.” Ashlin snuggles closer to him.

  Reeve eyes Alex. “Al, I’m guessing you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Yup, I’m good,” Alex says, stretching out on the couch.

  “All right. I’ll hit you guys up after.” Reeve shrugs back into his coat and picks up his shoes. “Later.”

  “Bye,” Alex says, settling back on the couch.

  “Bye, Reevie,” Ash calls.

  I can’t believe he’s leaving. Rennie snaps her fingers and he comes running?

  Reeve heads toward the hallway and I follow him. “Why don’t you hang out a little while longer?” I ask him.

  “No thanks,” he says over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize I was crashing a double date.”

  “Don’t go,” I say, reaching out to touch the hem of his puffer vest. I drop my hand when he doesn’t turn around.

  He steps back into his sneakers, and then he opens the door, and at first I think he’s going to go without saying bye or anything, but he stops and looks back at me. He hesitates, and then in a low, uncertain voice he says, “See you on Monday at the pool?”

  Smiling slowly, I nod. Then he leaves, and I close the door behind him and lock it.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  KAT

  I WATCH MY ALARM TICK down, and a minute before it’s supposed to go buzz, I turn it off. I close the photo albums I pulled out last night and set them on my floor. Then I pull the blankets back up over me. My head finds the still-warm dent in my pillow, and I lie there for a minute.

  Since she passed away five years ago, I’ve made it a tradition to stay up the entire night before the anniversary of my mom’s death to think about her. I don’t sleep, not one minute. It’s like some depressing form of meditation, I guess, but it’s how I do. I think about her all through the night.

  I can trace that whole last shitty year of her life back to the moment it started, to the day Mom had to drop me off at school early because she had to go off island for an appointment with some specialist doctor.

  I think about the day she and Dad sat us down at the kitchen table to tell us. How it didn’t look good, but we still needed to have hope. Mom was calm and Dad cried so hard he couldn’t breathe, and Pat ran straight out the back door in his socks and didn’t come home for three whole days. I felt anything but hopeful.

  I think about telling Rennie when we first got the diagnosis. I rode my bike over early, before she was even awake, and basically ambushed her. She sat in her bed, still half-asleep, while I knelt on her floor and cried and cried. There was a sick part of me that was happy to have such a sad story. By then she was already starting to pull away from me. She was completely obsessed with Lillia and creaming her pants over the fact that Lillia was moving to Jar Island full-time after next summer. It’s pathetic to admit, but I remember hoping that Rennie might pity me enough to be close with me again, at least while I went through this terrible shit, but my mom getting sick only made things weirder between us.

  I think about how Mom was strong for so long, until she couldn’t be, and then over a single freaking week she evaporated. Cancer eats you from the inside out, and I watched her waste away to skin and bones, to a hollow body, in literally seven days. The last day, she only opened her eyes once, and I don’t know if she saw me standing there, at the foot of her bed. Dad called out her name and Pat said he loved her, but her eyes didn’t focus. It was like we all saw the door closing. I wanted to say something meaningful, but I couldn’t get it out before her eyes shut again. We brought a stereo into the room and played “Suite Judy Blue Eyes” on repeat.

  It was almost a relief to see her go.

  All those memories, plus the good stuff from before she got sick, typically take up most of the night. Once the sun rises, I shift gears and wonder how things might have been different if she’d lived. I go through the old photo albums, the letters she wrote to me as soon as she found out she was sick.

  I do it all and I never, ever sleep.

  The bonus to this is that I can sleepwalk through the actual day it happened. I’m so tired I don’t have to feel anything. That means I won’t cry in front of strangers; I won’t break down. It keeps things nice and tidy.

  * * *

  When I come downstairs, Dad is already at the table, staring over his newspaper off into space. Pat is quietly eating a slice of cold pizza over the sink. Well, as quietly as Pat can eat. Dude is a wildebeast. This is exactly what this day is like. Our loud, crazy family turns the volume down as low as it can go.

  I give Dad a hug, and it brings him back into reality. He taps the newspaper and says, “Found a coupon for the store. Half off a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.”

  Thanksgiving used to be awesome. Mom would entrust me with her recipe box, a wooden thing Dad
had made to keep all her index cards. I’d set out the ones we’d need, each one sticky and stained with use. It would be my job to line up the ingredients on the counter for each of the recipes. Sugar yams, green bean casserole, turkey rubbed with sage and butter, cranberry sauce and sausage stuffing.

  Needless to say, it’s not like that anymore.

  Dad tried, and failed miserably, at recreating the family meal the first few years after Mom died. Every time it was a disaster, and he’d feel bad about the money he wasted and how he couldn’t survive without Judy, and the whole thing was so awful that we started buying a rotisserie chicken and frozen veggies. The only thing we’d make at home was baked potatoes. And even though it’s nearly impossible to fuck up a baked potato, it still never tastes right to me.

  Suddenly Dad starts weeping at the table. I wonder what memory he’s thinking about. And like every year that this shitty anniversary falls on a Monday through Friday, I hate the thought of spending this day without him.

  Even worse, this time next year I won’t be on Jar Island.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I tell my dad, my voice soft and quiet, like my throat hurts. “Maybe I should stay—”

  “Don’t even,” he says, sniffling.

  “What? Come on, Dad.” I know the sick sound is gone, but seriously? “I never skip!”

  “I know you don’t. And that’s why you’re going to school. Your mother would never forgive me for letting you miss school on her account.”

  I open my mouth to keep arguing, but Pat shoots me a look. He’s right. This day is hard for everyone, and I don’t want to be starting shit with my dad. So I trudge back upstairs, get dressed, and head out the door.

  One good thing—I don’t think many people know that I don’t have a mom. Not besides Ms. Chirazo, anyhow. It’s not like I come to school and everyone treats me different. Which I’m glad for, because I couldn’t deal with any pitying looks. But part of me does wonder if Lillia remembers. If she’ll say anything. She wasn’t around for the funeral—her family still lived in Boston back then—but they made a donation in my mom’s name to some cancer society.