For Ever (20 page)

“Why? I don’t get it. Why do you keep helping
me?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and I’m not
sure he’s not going to. I wait, staring at him until he meets my
eye.

“Atonement.” His voice comes out a
whisper.

Atonement
? I shake my head. While his
response doesn’t make any sense to me, I realize this might be the
only real answer I’ve gotten from him. For a moment, the look in
his eyes reflects so much pain and regret that I can almost feel
the grief coming off of him.

He gestures to the car.

“Would you like me to take you home now?”

Resigned, I follow him toward the car. When
he opens the passenger-side door, I can’t think of anything to say,
so I just get in the car. Pulling out my phone, I find two missed
calls from my mom, but with Ever behind the wheel, the drive to my
house only takes a few minutes. He stops at the curb, but I don’t
get out of the car immediately. Instead, I look over at him, my
expression steady.

“I need some answers,” I say quietly.

He looks down. Then, in a very
uncharacteristic way, he pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s
trying to ward off a headache.

“I know.”

His eyes snap to the window, and I turn just
in time to see the front door of my house burst open. My mom is
rushing—barefoot—toward the car. Opening the door, I leap out and
slam it shut behind me. For once, I’m hoping with my entire being
that Ever will listen in on my thoughts and disappear like the last
time.

“You must be Ever,” my mom says breathlessly
when she reaches me.

I turn around, stunned and annoyed. He’s
standing just behind me, the engine of his car silent. Registering
the familiarity in my mom’s tone, I turn back and glare at her. She
looks him up and down, the shock registering on her face.

Wow, this boy is
—

I nudge her with my shoulder, cutting off her
internal monologue about his looks. I glance at him, and he smiles.
Yeah. Ha, ha. My mom thinks you’re hot
, I think acerbically.
Suddenly he has a sense of humor again?

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“God! That makes me sound so old,” she
laughs. “Caroline, please.”

She turns to me with her “
We’re going to
talk later
” look.

“Honey, I thought you were going to look at a
car today,” she says pointedly.

“I did. Well, I was, but—”

“Wren called me with some questions about the
car,” Ever says easily.

“Oh! That’s right. Wren said you helped her
with the Z.” She stops. “I’m sorry, Ever. We’re being so rude.
Would you like to come in?”

I turn toward her, annoyed.
Mom!
I
mouth silently.

“Thank you, but I’m expecting guests from out
of town. Another time?”

My mom nods, looking pleased, and I
frown.

“Of course, of course. It’s just so good to
finally meet one of Wren’s friends.” I suppress a sigh. “We would
love to have you over for dinner.”

“Will tomorrow evening work for you both?” he
asks politely.

I blink and try to make sense of what he just
said. Did he just accept a dinner invitation from my mom? I’m
starting to feel light-headed when he smiles again.

“Great!” my mom beams. “Seven-thirty?”

He nods and then walks at a distinctly slower
pace than usual to the driver’s side of his car before disappearing
behind the dark glass.

“Wren! How come you didn’t tell me that
boyfriend of yours was so gorgeous? Sheesh!”

I’m still trying to sort out the last ninety
seconds when she cuffs me on the arm.

“Mom!” I gasp, imitating her exasperated
tone. “Really, we’re not going out.”

She opens the front door, reaching back to
poke at me.

“Sure. He’s a friend. Wren, snap out of it!
That young man is so in love with you,” she says blithely, walking
ahead of me.

I stare at her back, dumbstruck.

“You want to get the pizza delivered now?”
she calls back. “We can finish it tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” I croak, following her in a
daze. “Is it all right if I go up to my room for a bit?”

She comes over and puts a cool hand on my
forehead.

“You’re flushed. You feeling all right?”

“Yeah, fine.”

In the privacy of my room, I’m suddenly
afraid nothing will ever make sense again. After sitting on my bed
for several minutes, I get up and turn on the computer. With music
playing, I start to feel slightly more normal, like I’m still
living on planet Earth. Slowly I begin to dissect the only answer
Ever Casey has given me:
atonement
. It doesn’t make any
sense to me, which means I’m missing the magnitude of the word’s
meaning in Ever’s mind. I know what the word means, but I decide to
type it into my Web browser to get the official definition.

a•tone•ment
[
uh
-
tohn
-m
uh
nt]

–noun

Amends or reparation made for an injury or
wrong; expiation; recompense.

But how does helping me make amends for
anything? I think hard, trying to remember the last thing that
happened before I woke up. Then I remember my question—the one I
never got an answer to.

What are you?

Assuming that Ever is not human … then the
possibilities are endless, I realize. So I start with what I
know.

Something happened to me the first day I saw
him. I woke up in the hospital. Then he saved me from smacking my
head on the cafeteria floor. He was there the day I was almost
killed by a drunk driver. He appeared in a dark cemetery just
before those guys were about to grab me. … And then he materialized
today right when things were about to get ugly.

The only explanation is that Ever isn’t evil.
But he’s not human, either—I’m sure of that. The only other thing
I’m certain of is that I am falling in love, even when I know that
these feelings will tear me apart. Because I am an obligation to
Ever—a way to repay some debt he thinks he owes. Nothing more.

“What do you think about meatloaf?” my mom
asks.

We’re walking up and down the aisles of an
upscale grocery store whose checkout lines offer organic hand
lotions and herbal remedies instead of cheap candy and tabloid
magazines. It’s Sunday afternoon. The hours are counting down until
Ever is supposed to arrive for dinner at our house, and I still
haven’t recovered from the shock of it. But that seems to be my
life now. One shock after another.

And I thought being privy to people’s
thoughts made things weird.

“He could be a vegetarian. I’m not sure,” I
offer unhelpfully.

“You don’t know?”

I shake my head. I don’t even know if Ever
Casey eats, seeing as our single lunch together lasted about as
long as it took me to sit down. My mom goes to the butcher counter,
and the young man helping her smiles. He says something, and she
laughs and shakes her head. I notice she looks younger when she’s
not worried or sad, and I realize the divorce easily erased ten
years from her features. I remember she said once that my father
was not an easy man to live with. I always thought she meant it as
a joke, but there had clearly been some truth to it.

“I’m going to look at desserts, all
right?”

She turns and waves me on. Ducking down the
nearest aisle, I pull out my phone and call Ashley.

“Hey, Ash, sorry I didn’t call—”

“You will
never
guess what happened
Friday night!” she shrieks before I can finish.

“What?”

“He asked me!”

I smile, excited for her, but also happy to
be putting off an interrogation about
my
whereabouts on
Friday night.

“See, I told you he would. How’d it
happen?”

“Well, you remember we all went outside,
right?”

Ah, yes, the point in the night when I began
feeling so incredibly out of place.

“And?”

“So, we walked to the other side of the pool,
just the two of us. And we were standing there when he just turned
to me and said, ‘
Would you go to the dance with me?
’ And he
already got us tickets! I seriously almost died. Can you believe
it?”

“That is awesome!”

She pauses.

“So, what happened to you? We were looking
all over the place for you when some girl from my Spanish class
said she saw you run out of the house. By the time we got outside
to look for you, I got your text. So, talk. Who’d you get a ride
home from?”

I close my eyes and hesitate before deciding
that the truth—part of it at least—is best.

“Ever.”

“All right, Wren. That is
it
! What is
going on with the two of you? Everywhere you go, he just shows up.
Do you guys have some kind of secret thing going on? ’Cause I’ll
kill you if I’m the last one to find out.”

I exhale.

“It’s really not like that.”

“Oh, come on. The guy’s a god, and you’re
telling me you’re not interested?”

“That’s not it. I mean, I like him. A lot.
But I don’t think he’s …” What can I say?
Human
? I sigh. “I
don’t know.”

“He didn’t ask you out?”

“No!”

Dinner with a parental chaperone doesn’t
count as a date.

“Well, at least we know he talks,” she
snickers.

“Hey, Ash, I’m at the store with my mom. I’ll
see you tomorrow morning in class, all right?

“Fine,” she grumbles.

“Way to go with Marcus!”

I hang up and redirect my energy toward the
dessert case. Caroline Sullivan is famous for going all out when we
have guests for dinner, and tonight we have two, since she ran into
Mr. Hannigan before we left for the store. After a brief debate, I
pick out a chocolate torte and begin combing the store for my mom.
When I find her, she’s staring intently at the specialty
cheeses.

“Can you believe this selection?” she
marvels.

“It’s great. Come on,” I say, nudging her.
“We actually have to make dinner before they show up.”

I start pushing the cart.

“All right, so I’m doing a Greek soup, no
meat by the way, and this great salad—do you think he can eat feta?
Never mind. We can leave it on the side. For the main course, I’m
doing a moussaka recipe. It’s Greek meatloaf. Your friend doesn’t
have to eat any if he’s a vegetarian. And there were these little
appetizers in the freezer case.”

I look at our shopping cart.

“Mom, are you absolutely sure you got enough
food for the entire army that’s coming to dinner?”

She grins.

“Maybe.”

When we get home, I help unload the groceries
before gathering the cleaning supplies from under the sink. I work
on the downstairs, or as much of it as I can. There’s little hope
for the kitchen with my mom wreaking havoc for the next couple of
hours. Sweeping the living room, I’m amazed at how quickly the dust
bunnies pile up. Still, after a half hour with a broom, vacuum, and
duster, the room looks pretty good, though I have to give most of
the credit to my mom for her decorating efforts.

Before heading upstairs, I peek into the
kitchen. Nothing is on fire or boiling over, which is a good sign.
In my room, I collect the dirty laundry and organize the school
stuff on my desk. From there, I move to the bathroom where I put
away the girl things—my mom’s pantyhose, razors, her curlers, and
the random assortment of cosmetics she doesn’t need but won’t leave
the house without applying. Once I’ve cleaned the major surfaces, I
go into the hall and finish vacuuming the dust bunnies.

Back in my room, I look at the clock. In a
little more than an hour, Ever will be at our house—and I’m still
wearing workout clothes from cross country. Scanning my closet, I
rummage around and pull out a white collared shirt before
abandoning it. It’s wrinkly, and it makes me look like I work for a
catering company. I opt for a red sweater from my brief period of
gainful employment, throwing it on the back of my chair with my
nicest pair of jeans.

As soon as I’ve showered and dressed, I comb
out my hair and use my mom’s blow dryer, which is a step I usually
never have the patience for. Opening the bathroom door, I listen
for signs of distress in the kitchen.

“Mom! Do you need me to watch anything while
you get ready?”

“I’m almost done. I’ll be up in a
second.”

Turning my attention to the mirror, I pick
out a lip gloss and take out an eye shadow that I’ve used twice. I
swipe the brush over the crease of my eye. Embarrassed, I stop and
repeat my mantra:
This is not a date. This is not a
date
.

But what is tonight, then? I’ve been playing
by Ever’s rules for such a long time that I’ve fallen into the bad
habit of just accepting things, however weird they might be. Well,
that ends now, I promise myself. Tonight I’m getting answers, even
if it kills me. I shudder. With another deep breath, I rush down
the stairs. When I get to the kitchen, everything appears
suspiciously under control. My mom smiles.

“Wow. Nicely done, Mom. It smells great.”
Leaning over, I sniff the pot of soup on the stove.

“If only your father could see me now,” she
says triumphantly.

Her smile fades, and all I can do is hug her
awkwardly and feel helpless. She takes off the apron she’s wearing
and hands it to me.

“I’ll be down in twenty. You want to put on
some music? Maybe something a little more cheerful than Leonard
Cohen tonight?” she says.

“Unless you want to serve antidepressants
with dinner,” I joke.

She kisses me on the cheek and disappears
through the doorway. Sometimes I think it’s better when I can
imagine she hates my father, because realizing that she misses him,
even if only a little bit, makes me angrier with him.

At the sink, I pile the cooking utensils and
empty bowls into the dishwasher before wiping down the counters.
Then I set the table for four. I’m in the middle of choosing a CD
when there’s a knock at the door. My heart seizes until I remember
that Mr. Hannigan has shown up exactly fifteen minutes early each
time my mom has invited him to dinner. I press the play button and
rush to the door. Our neighbor is holding a bouquet of flowers.