Stash (28 page)

A mouse did not frighten her. It just meant more work. She’d have to go through the pantry and examine every box and bag for signs of mouse entry, then seal food into Tupperware containers or tins. Brian would set traps.

Would anyone really stand on a chair and scream hysterically at the sight of a mouse? What is a mouse but a quiet little nuisance. But Jude?

What a mistake. What a series of mistakes. She had wanted to tell Jude about the police because she owed him that much; you don’t turn in a friend who does you that kind of favor. But in the end, Jude turned out not to be the friend she thought he was, and she told him about the police to prevent him from kissing her again. She either did the right thing for the wrong reason or the wrong thing for the right reason. She wasn’t sure which. At least she told Brian about the encounter, even if she did leave out the
part when Jude tried to kiss her. Of course Brian reacted in a protective way; he’d been suspicious of Jude all along.

Now what were they going to do?

Start by putting away the milk. Do normal tasks.

Even muffled inside her handbag, the chime on her cell phone clanged like a tripped alarm. She almost peed when it sounded.

Gwen dug it out, knowing who. Took the call before she could consider ignoring it.

“Please don’t call me,” she said.

“I should thank you for letting me know.”

Footsteps on the porch, Nora at the screen door.

“You need to tell me, when did you speak to the police?”

“I can’t talk. I’m hanging up.”

“Gwen, it’s important. You owe me this one.”

Nora coming in the kitchen.

“I’ll call back.”

She shut off the phone and took a quick breath. Composed her expression and turned to face Nora. “Where’s the fish you caught?”

“Daddy said it was a little sunfish and we had to throw it back.”

“Well, that’s okay. She can swim to her friends and tell about her scary adventure.”

“Mr. Garrison is taking us fishing on his boat. He said the big ones are out in the middle of the lake.”

Gwen looked out and saw Brian, holding both fishing poles, speaking with Walter Garrison. He owned the house next door and kept a small motorboat in the two-bay boathouse he shared with the Raines.

“Be sure to wear your life vest.”

“Mr. Garrison said we had to in the boat.”

“He’s right, even if you are a good swimmer.”

“I swam all the way across the lake and back with Daddy.”

“That’s pretty amazing.”

“Are you coming?” Nora asked.

“No, you go fishing, sweetie. There’s no room for me in the boat. I’m going to take a little walk.”

“I’m joining the Dolphins.” She ran back down to the water.

Gwen waited until the four of them settled into the boat and reversed out from the dock, then took her phone and left through the back door.

She walked along the road on the gravel shoulder a few hundred yards to where an old fire trail she recognized cut into the woods. She and Brian had hiked up here in June with the kids for a picnic lunch but had not gone far before finding a rock ledge and stopping to eat. She started up the trail. She passed the spot where they’d had lunch and she continued on. The trail dwindled from two tracks to one. The forest pressed closer on either side.

She wore her slip-ons, not the best choice for a trail, but she paid attention to where her foot went down and didn’t plan to be gone long.

Her phone showed one bar of battery and one bar of signal strength. She retrieved Jude’s number and pressed to call him.

When Dana got back to her room Jen wasn’t there. She dropped her backpack on the floor, fell onto the bed, and buried her face in her pillow. She wanted someone to come in and notice her shoulders shaking and hear her quiet, muffled sobs—only she wasn’t crying, she was gulping air. She was exhausted. Getting up was out of the question, although her stomach echoed with hunger.

At this hour she’d typically sit down to her last big meal the afternoon before a track meet—a meal of high-octane fuel, pasta with fresh veggies or tuna on whole grain. The rest of the day and in the morning she would eat light, several times. Yogurt and fruit, a slice of toast with peanut butter. But it didn’t matter what she ate now. She could wolf down a sloppy burger, dive into a bucket of wings, although she’d probably puke from the shock to her system.

Whocares
.

She wasn’t running tomorrow in Plattsburgh. The cortisone shot had helped a little, but not enough. She’d rested the two days as instructed, then went out for a few easy laps on the track on her own. At first, her knee held up and her spirits rose, and she went with the team for a light run on the grassy trails. Nothing vigorous, a pace where you can carry on a conversation. Dana stayed at the back of the pack and paired up with Marissa Pratt, another
freshman, who came from Long Island and would take Dana’s place in the meet if Dana couldn’t run.

“How’s it feeling?” Marissa asked.

“Right now, fine. I think the shot has done the trick.”

“I hope so.”

She sounded sincere, but if Dana’s knee held up then Marissa would be watching the meet, not running in it.

“My boyfriend from home says he wants to drive up for the meet,” Marissa said. “But if I’m only going to be an alternate, maybe I should tell him not to come.”

Great. So the health of Dana’s knee determined whether Marissa got to see her boyfriend this weekend. Marissa’s comment also reminded Dana that she had to call her father and tell him whether she’d be running. There would be no reason for him to come if she couldn’t compete.

“So you’re probably hoping I can’t run,” Dana said.

Marissa got a stricken look on her face. “Oh, no—I don’t mean it that way. What I really mean is, actually, I don’t want him to come either way. He seems like part of a previous life, you know? One of the reasons I came here was to get away from my high school life.”

“So tell him not to come.”

“I might. But it’s a hard call to make.”

“Text message works.”

Marissa laughed, as if Dana had given her a devilish idea. The text message was the same advice she’d given Steve, who on the way to class earlier that morning told Dana that his girlfriend from Syracuse was coming up tonight for the concert, but he kind of wanted to put her off. There seemed to be a lot of that going around. Steve was afraid of a “worlds colliding” situation; his girlfriend wasn’t going to college, and Steve planned never to live in
his hometown again. When Dana suggested he just tell her on the phone or by text message, he said he could never break up with someone in such an impersonal way, he’d have to do it in person.

Have you ever done that? Steve asked Dana.

If I had someone to break up with I might, she answered.

I’ll keep that in mind, he said.

Afterward Dana thought about his response, whether he was implying anything about the two of them in the future, that they might hook up, fall in love—although their relationship wouldn’t last and when Dana broke up with Steve via text message he wouldn’t be surprised or outraged.

Just then the shout came from up front—
Pace!
—which meant a one-minute interval at race pace.

As soon as Dana lengthened her stride and increased her turnover she felt the stab in her knee, so painful she stumbled and Marissa had to reach out to keep her from falling. She tried to start up again but even a jog delivered the excruciating sting. The cortisone hadn’t worked.

She must have fallen asleep because she bolted upright when the door opened.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were still at practice,” Jen said.

“Go away.” Dana turned her back, facing the wall. Then she mumbled, “I’m sorry. You can come in.”

They were already in. Jen and Mark sat on Jen’s bed, Heidi joined Dana on hers, Steve stood in the doorway and introduced his girlfriend, Sarah. So he hadn’t texted her after all.

“How’s your knee?” Jen asked.

Dana bent her knee and rubbed the cap, as if trying to get information from a crystal ball. “I can’t race tomorrow.”

Jen groaned in sympathy. The others murmured in assent.

“That’s such a drag,” Jen said. “I know you really wanted to.”

Steve stepped in and put an arm around her shoulder. “On the other hand,” he said brightly, “now you can go to the concert tonight.”

“What concert?”

“The one we’ve been talking about all week. Grace Potter—at Clarkson,” Heidi said. “We’re all going. That’s why we’re here now. We came to smoke a joint and brainstorm how to get there.” She held up a fat joint for Dana to see.

“I’ve got my car,” Steve said, “but it can only fit four. That leaves one of you looking for a ride, now two of you with Dana coming.”

“I’m still going with the team to Plattsburgh in the morning,” Dana said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you back by then.”

Heidi, a lanky girl with hair like a bird’s nest who lived in the suite with Dana and Jen, lit the joint and started passing it around. Dana leaned back and let Heidi pass it to Steve. She turned and opened the window over her bed to let the smoke drift out.

“Wait, there’s one problem,” Jen said. “Dana doesn’t have a ticket and the show’s sold out.”

“I’ll probably just stay here,” Dana said. “The bus leaves at seven tomorrow.”

“No, you’re not going to
probably just stay here,”
Steve said, mimicking Dana’s monotone. His girlfriend looked at him as if he’d said something flirtatious. “There’s always people scalping tickets out front.”

“It’s going to be a great show. Did you see the video of her covering Dylan’s ‘Tangled Up in Blue’ on her website?”

The joint had made the rounds twice, Dana letting it pass both times although she was tempted to try it; she’d never smoked before
or even wanted to, and the sudden lure of it puzzled her. But it was too late—Heidi snuffed the roach by licking her fingertips and squeezing off the red end. She turned and flicked it out the window.

Jen said, “So, how are we getting to Potsdam?”

A few minutes of stoned silence passed until Heidi perked up and said, “I know this guy Chuck who lives downstairs who said he was going to Massena this weekend. Maybe he can give us a ride.”

Later, Jen and Dana stood side by side at the two sinks in their suite’s bathroom. Jen applied mascara and eyeliner, giving life to her somber eyes. “I wish I had a car,” Jen said. “You can’t get anywhere around here without one. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

Jen had grown up in Boston and had the benefit of the T to get around the city.

“I had a car all summer but my father wouldn’t let me bring it here,” Dana said. “I didn’t even try to argue with him about it. He said if I wanted to go somewhere I could go to the library.”

“I’m really sorry you can’t be in the race tomorrow,” Jen said. “I know how important it is to you.”

“Maybe next week,” Dana said, although she was afraid that her knee might not be better next week, or all season for that matter. She cast her eyes down, trying to shake that thought.
Whatever
. When she looked up again, Jen was smiling at her in the mirror.

“What?”

Jen lowered her voice. “Can I show you something?”

Dana nodded. “Sure.”

Jen was wearing a denim button shirt. She undid the top buttons and lifted her right boob from its bra cup. She had a wide, pillowy breast with a tiny areola and a nipple the size and color of a pencil eraser.

Dana held her breath and felt weakness in her legs, unsure what was transpiring and pretty sure she wouldn’t like it.

Then Jen lifted her boob to reveal its underside. There, in dark blue ink, was a tattoo. At first Dana thought it was a teardrop, but then realized it was one half of the yin and yang symbol, the dark half, with a white dot.

“Wow, you got a tattoo,” Dana said.

“Mark has the other half,” Jen explained. “We got them today. There’s a tattoo parlor right in town. The yin and yang represent the two energies of the world coming together to create everything. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but it just feels so right to connect ourselves in this way.”

“Is it permanent?”

“Of course it’s permanent—it’s a tattoo.”

“I mean, I thought maybe it was one of those that wears off after a while.”

“You don’t approve?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Jen put her boob back in her bra and straightened her shirt. “I can see why you might think that a permanent mark on your skin isn’t a positive thing,” Jen said.

“I have nothing against tattoos,” Dana said. “It’s really beautiful.”

They looked at each other in the mirror. Under the intensity of the bathroom lights, the inky, swollen mark beneath Dana’s eye looked anything but beautiful. Of course she’d already clued Jen in on the details, how could she not? When you look like someone punched your face, there’s always a story to tell, in this case
the story of a venous malformation she’d had since birth. “Venous malformation”: sounds like a misshapen planet, an embarrassment to an otherwise balanced solar system.

“So which half do you have?” Dana asked. “The yin or the yang?”

The question caught Jen by surprise, because she laughed and blushed. “I’m not sure.”

Heidi entered the bathroom and went in the stall. “I got a ride for Dana and me, we leave at eight. This is so awesome. And I know this guy at Clarkson, I called him and he’s going to meet me. He’s going to the concert, too.”

“I applied to Clarkson but didn’t get in,” Jen said.

“I didn’t get into Brown and, like, two other colleges.”

“What about you, Dana?”

The three of them now shared two sinks, Dana in the middle, trying to keep a steady hand with a mascara brush.

“This was my first choice,” she said. “I got the scholarship, plus a writer I like went here and that made me want to come.”

“Who?”

“Lorrie Moore—you probably haven’t heard of her.”

“No,” Heidi said. Then added, “By the way, the ride is just one way. You’ll have to find your own way home. I’ll probably stay at Clarkson tonight.”