Broken Hearts (6 page)

Dave's face was bright red now. He quickly made
another snowball and heaved it at a passing truck. It smacked the side of the truck, and the driver honked his horn.

“We've been over that a thousand times,” Melissa said, frowning. “You're being totally paranoid. Josie didn't lose you that job. She had no reason to.”

Dave started to protest, but Melissa cut him off. “No more talk about Josie,” she insisted, suddenly concerned by Dave's anger. She scooped up a handful of snow and playfully shoved it into Dave's face.

He cried out, startled. Then laughing, he lunged toward her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and tackled her to the ground.

“Let go! Let go! Stop!” Melissa cried, laughing.

They were wrestling in the snow when they heard the crash.

The unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

Melissa climbed to her knees. Raising her eyes toward the school building, she saw Jenkman, staring up at the second floor classroom window that had just been smashed. Even from so far away, Melissa could see the satisfied grin on Jenkman's face.

He must have broken the window with a well-aimed snowball, Melissa realized.

Suddenly a head poked out through the large jagged hole in the window. Melissa recognized Mrs. Powers, the Spanish teacher. “Who threw that?” Mrs. Powers shouted down angrily.

“Not me!” Jenkman called up to her, shrugging, a wide grin on his face. He turned and began to walk
away, taking long, loping strides, snickering to himself.

He passed by Melissa and Dave without seeming to see them. He was still chuckling about the smashed window.

“Jenkman's another candidate for your anti-Josie club. He's scary,” Melissa said to Dave in a low voice, watching Jenkman walk through the middle of the snowball fight that was still going on down by the street. “He's like a bomb about to explode.”

Dave had an unusually thoughtful expression on his face. “Who
isn't?”
he asked with surprising bitterness.

♦ ♦ ♦

Josie glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway as she entered the house. A little before six. She shivered as she stamped the snow off her boots. She pulled off her backpack and jacket and tossed the jacket over the banister.

“Muggy! Oh, there you are!” she called as the white terrier came bouncing down the stairs, whimpering with glee. Josie scooped him up in her arms and allowed him to lick her face frantically.

“Hey, you're tickling me!” she cried, laughing.

The lights were all on upstairs. Erica and Rachel must be up in Rachel's room, she figured. “Hey, Mom, are you home yet?” Josie called.

No reply.

Her mother worked such long hours at the phone company. And her father was always on the road, checking on one of his chain of hardware stores. Josie
sighed, realizing she hadn't seen him for four days. And with the heavy snow everywhere, he probably wouldn't get home that night.

Josie hugged herself, unable to cast off the chill from being outside. The intercom speaker on the hallway wall crackled. Josie could hear Rachel's voice through the crackling. She seemed to be laughing about something.

There were intercoms all over the house in case Rachel, up in her room where she spent most of her time, wanted or needed anything.

Josie knew the intercom was useful. Necessary, even. But it gave her the creeps. All that crackling. All the voices, so distant yet so near. As if there were ghosts. Invisible lives being lived deep inside the house.

Rachel is a ghost now, she thought and shivered. Such a cold thought.

Should I go up to see her?

Maybe later.

Josie carried her backpack into the den. She clicked on the light and dumped the backpack on the desk.

The den was warmer than the rest of the house. The radiator against the back wall rattled and steamed. Normally, Josie found it a comforting sound. But now the rattling sounded to her like bones tapping against the wall.

Standing beside the desk, she started to unzip the backpack. Just then Luke burst into the den, his eyes wide behind his glasses, his slender face red with anger.

“Oh, hi. You're here,” Josie greeted him coldly.

“I'm here and you
weren't,”
he said sharply, not trying to cover his anger.

“Give me a break,” Josie muttered, turning her attention back to the backpack. The zipper was stuck. She forced it, trying again.

“How could you do that to Erica?” Luke demanded. “How could you make her miss her tryout? Do you know how upset she is?”

“I'll bet you're going to tell me,” Josie said.

Her sarcasm made him even angrier. She looked up at him and saw his face turn scarlet, saw the blood pulsing at his temples.

“Then when you do come home, you don't go upstairs,” Luke said, narrowing his eyes accusingly. “You don't even check on Erica or Rachel. You're so selfish . . .” His words caught in his throat.

“Listen, Luke—” Josie started.

“That tryout meant so much to Erica,” Luke continued angrily. “This is supposed to be an exciting year for her. But thanks to you, she's missing out on everything. She—”

“I'm sorry,” Josie said, unable to conceal her impatience. “But that's enough lecturing, okay?” She shook her head, frowning. “Really, Luke. You're not my father. What happens in this house is none of your business.”

Luke took a few steps into the den, balling and unballing his fists. He glared at Josie, too angry to speak.

Enough of this, Josie thought, feeling her own anger
begin to rise. I don't need any more lectures from this skinny creep.

“What's your problem anyway?” she cried, the words bursting out. She slammed the backpack against the desk, knocking a silver letter opener to the floor.

“My problem?” Luke's expression remained frozen.

“Why are you still hanging around, Luke? What do you think you're doing here day after day? Why don't you get a life?”

The hurt on Luke's face told Josie that she had gone too far. Stung by her words, he stepped toward her, hands clenched into tight fists at his side.

“Let's just calm down,” she suggested, raising a hand as if signaling for a truce.

It was too late for a truce, Josie saw. Luke was too angry.

“You ruined Rachel's life!” he screamed. “Now you're trying to ruin Erica's. You're so selfish, Josie! So unbelievably selfish!”

Something inside Josie snapped. “I haven't ruined
anybody's
life!” she screamed. “I haven't! You know what your problem is, Luke? It's real simple. You're a loser. You're a total loser. You come here every day, acting so good, so superior, pretending to be such a hero, so much better than everyone else. But you're just hiding. You're hiding behind Rachel because you're too big a loser to face the real world!”

The words exploded from her. And when she finished, she was panting noisily for breath, her chest
heaving, her hands gripping the edge of the desk as if she were holding on for dear life.

With a single cry of fury, Luke lunged at her. In a quick motion he bent and picked up the silver letter opener from the floor.

“Luke, please!
No!”
Josie screamed.

J
osie stumbled backward until she hit the wall.

Luke stopped short.

His eyes widened in surprise, as if he was startled by what he was about to do.

Josie raised both arms, trying to shield herself from the attack. “Luke,
please!”

“Noooooooo!”
he screamed.

With a loud cry, Luke swung his arm down, digging the blade of the letter opener deep into the top of the mahogany desk.

Breathing hard, he let go of the handle and stepped back. He stared for a long moment at the letter opener standing upright in the middle of the desk.

“Josie,” he uttered in a hoarse, frightening voice. “Josie. Almost.”

He took another step back, still gasping for breath, his features twisted in horror at what he had just done.

“I've got to get out of here,” he said, more to himself than to Josie, his voice barely a trembling whisper.

He ran from the room, bumping the door frame hard with his shoulder but not stopping. Josie stood pressed up against the wall, staring at the letter opener, until she heard the front door slam behind Luke.

Then she exhaled loudly and moved to the desk.

“Wow,” she said and cleared her throat, which felt tight and dry. “Wow.”

The intercom on the den wall crackled to life. “Josie, are you there? Are you home?” It was Erica from upstairs.

Josie reached for the handle of the letter opener and tugged. “Yeah. I'm home,” she called to the small box.

“You're late,” Erica said.

More lectures, Josie thought, rolling her eyes. She managed to pull the blade out of the desk top on the second try. She slid some books over to cover the hole.

“Can you come upstairs?” Erica asked. “Rachel is asking for you.”

“Maybe later,” Josie replied. She had to sit down. She was trembling all over. She had to think. She was terribly shaken by Luke's wild attack.

So out of control, she thought. I've never seen anyone that out of control.

“Rachel wants to see you,” Erica insisted, her voice sounding shrill and tinny through the speaker.

“Tell her I'll be up as soon as I can,” Josie said irritably.

The intercom clicked off.

Everyone's mad, Josie thought. Everyone's mad at
me.

And what have I done?

Nothing.

I just want to be left alone.

Still feeling shaky, she moved toward the leather couch. But something caught her eye on the table against the far wall. The day's mail.

She turned and made her way to the table. Sifting impatiently through the magazines and mail-order catalogs, she pulled out a square envelope addressed to her.

Another valentine.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her hands trembled as she tore the envelope open.

This card was heart shaped. Bright pink. It said, “Hi, Valentine, remember me?” on the front in fancy script.

“Oh, brother,” Josie muttered aloud.

Reluctantly she opened the card to find the printed message crossed out and a new message printed beneath it, this time in red ballpoint ink.

This Valentine's Day

No memories to save.

The only flowers for you

Will be on your grave.

Slamming the card onto the table, Josie glanced up at the calendar on the wall above the desk.

Valentine's Day was Saturday.

This has
got
to be a joke, she thought, forcing herself to start breathing again.

No one is
really
planning to kill me. That's impossible.

Isn't it?

T
he crackling of the intercom woke Josie.

She groaned and squinted at her clock radio. Twelve-thirty at night.

She buried her face in the warm pillow and closed her eyes. The crackling from the box on the wall continued.

Why do we
have
to have an intercom in every room? Josie wondered.

“Josie, please come.” Rachel's voice sounded high and frightened through the little speaker.

With a loud groan, Josie pulled herself up, kicking back the covers.

“Josie, come to my room,” Rachel said, pleading.

“Why me?” Josie grumbled aloud.

Why is Rachel awake at twelve-thirty at night? And why on earth is she calling me?

The intercom crackled loudly. “Josie?” Rachel's voice sounded strained and scared.

Josie sighed and stretched. “Okay, okay. I'm coming,” she muttered.

She lowered her feet to the floor and stood up. It was cold in the room. The old windows rattled from the stiff breeze outside. Her radiator was silent. Outside the bedroom window she could see only solid blackness.