For Ever (21 page)

“Good evening, young lady. Am I early?”

I shake my head.

“My mom will be down in a couple minutes. How
are you, Mr. Hannigan?”

“I’m just fine, my dear. These are for your
lovely mother.”

I take the flowers from him.

“They’re beautiful. She’ll love them.”

I leave the flowers on the counter while I
take out a glass and pour a can of Diet Coke for Mr. Hannigan.
Hunting for a vase, I finally find a plain glass container tall
enough to fit the stems.

“You look especially radiant tonight,” Mr.
Hannigan says when I hand him his Diet Coke.

I look down.

“Thanks.”

“So your mom told me you have a gentleman
coming to dinner.”

Clearing my throat, I fight the urge to have
a complete freak out. Deep breaths, I remind myself.

“Yes.”

“And what is this young man’s name?”

“Ever.”

“Everett?” he says, cupping a hand to his
ear.

“Ever,” I repeat.

His eyebrows pull together.

“Never heard that one before. You like him,
though?” he asks, studying me.

“I do.”

“Well, then that’s all I need to know. But
you tell him he’d better take good care of my girl, or I’ll give
him what for.”

My mom comes in, saving me from having to
bang my head on the counter.

“Aw, Jack, you didn’t have to bring us
flowers. But it’s awfully sweet of you. You’re a true
gentleman.”

“At your service, ma’am.”

The doorbell rings, and my legs go weak. I
look at the clock on the stove. It’s seven-thirty exactly. My mom
starts toward the front door, and I nearly trip in my rush to cut
her off.

“I’ll get it!”

I focus on my breathing all the way to the
door, but my heart is trying to leap out of my chest. With one last
breath, I try to clear my mind, which is impossible when I open the
door and see Ever standing on the doorstep. He looks beyond
perfect.

“Hi,” I say.

He smiles crookedly, and I feel completely
miserable, because all I want to do is reach out and touch his
face—just to see if he’s real. Instead, I dig my fingernails into
my palm and step back. He walks through the door, and before I can
pull back, he reaches down and touches my clenched fist. The heat
of his touch makes me jump.

“Ever! Welcome!” my mom calls, flying out of
the kitchen.

“Thank you for having me.”

“Wren, honey, you want to take his jacket?”
she prods.

Even in just a gray sweater and jeans, Ever
is awe-inspiring. I reach out and take his jacket, again trying to
ignore how unbelievably godlike he is. This is impossible, so I
work on resurrecting my mental brick wall. This doesn’t work well,
either.

“Come on in and meet Jack,” my mom says,
turning toward the kitchen.

As Ever gestures for me to go ahead of him, I
wonder if I’m going to recover from my brain meltdown any time
soon. This is almost worse than when he was aggressively avoiding
me, since I felt less vulnerable when I was constantly irritated by
his weird behavior.

“Ever, this is Jack Hannigan, our neighbor
and savior,” my mom says.

“Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ever
says politely.

Mr. Hannigan stands and sizes up Ever.

“Likewise. How do you know my girl Wren?”

“We share a class in school.”

His explanation is so simple: we’re
classmates. His emerald eyes flicker to mine, and I look down.

“So Ever, you’re a junior like Wren?” my mom
asks skeptically.

I look at her, hoping this isn’t the
beginning of one of her classic interrogations.

“No, I’ll graduate this year.”

I flinch. For some reason this fact had never
even occurred to me.

“Oh, you’re a senior. Wren didn’t tell me
that. Do you know where you’re going next year for college?” she
asks.

“I haven’t made a decision yet.”

And just like that, I know with absolute
certainty that Ever’s time here, as illogical as it always seemed,
is coming to an end. I exhale and breathe slowly as dread
overwhelms me. One day—soon—he’s going to just disappear like he
never existed.

“Honey, you want to help me bring everything
to the table?” my mom asks.

I walk numbly to the counter and reach for
the salad bowls, wondering why we keep things on the higher shelves
when neither of us tops five-foot-four. Turning to get the
stepstool from the pantry, I flinch when an arm reaches past me and
sets the bowls on the counter.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

My mom takes the meatloaf out of the
oven.

“I can help Wren, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Ever, it’s Caroline, please. And that’s very
nice of you.” She pauses. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

He shakes his head, and my mom exhales,
wiping her brow.

“Great! Then you can eat the moussaka.”

I stare at him for a moment, thinking that
I’ve never seen him eat food. Not once. Turning to the
refrigerator, I take another can of diet soda from the refrigerator
for Mr. Hannigan and hand it to my mom as she passes me.

“I used to be a vegetarian back in college
before I met Wren’s father. He wore me down after a few years with
all his barbecue,” my mom laughs.

Ugh. I shoot her a look. Please no more
comments about my father, I beg silently. Taking the salad dressing
from the refrigerator, I turn and see that Ever has placed the
salad bowls on the table. He’s already at the stove serving the
soup, moussaka—and the mashed potatoes that my mom apparently
decided to add to the menu. I pause, unsure of what to get Ever for
a beverage.

“Water is fine,” he says quietly.

I look over at my mom and Mr. Hannigan. Did
they notice him answering a question that I never asked? Pouring
two glasses of water, I turn and see him waiting for me at the
kitchen table. I smile tightly when he pulls out my chair and then
scowl when my mom winks at me.

“Ever, tell us a little about yourself. Are
you from here originally?” she asks.

“No, I’ve moved around quite a bit. My
father’s work requires that he travel frequently.”

“That must be hard on you. Do you have any
other family here? Brothers or sisters?” she asks hopefully.

“A brother and a sister, yes.”

I wonder if he’s telling the truth—or lying
about everything. How could he be telling the truth? Has he gotten
used to pretending? Knowing my mom’s questions about family will
continue relentlessly, I decide to redirect the conversation.

“You should see what a great artist Ever is.
I was sure Mr. Gideon was going to fail me when I saw his projects
in class.”

“Oh, well I would love to see some of your
work, Ever. Wren here won’t show me any of her stuff,” my mom says,
reaching over to pinch me.

I shrug.

“Wren is more talented than she gives herself
credit for,” Ever says.

I stare at him. I had never thought he
noticed anything I did in class. He turns to my mom.

“Dinner is excellent,” he says. “Thank you
again for having me.”

“Well, you’re very welcome, Ever.”

He smiles again, and I wonder why, if he’s so
capable of being normal now, he’s been so detached at school. Mr.
Hannigan raises his glass.

“I’ll second that. This is the best meatloaf
I’ve had since Ellie’s.”

My mom is beaming from the praise. Absently,
I look down at my plate. I’ve been stirring my food around more
than eating it. I take a bite of the moussaka.

“It’s really great, Mom.”

My mom asks Ever about universities he’s
applying to, and while they talk I manage to eat a small amount. As
soon as everyone else is finished, I get up and begin clearing the
table.

“I can get the dishes. Why don’t you guys go
into the living room?”

I’m anxious to interrogate Ever, since he had
reluctantly agreed to tell me the truth. First, I need a few
minutes alone, but he rises and helps me clear the table. At the
sink, I run the hot water and add soap. Of course, with the way my
mom cooks, half the dishes in the kitchen are dirty. With a sigh, I
reach into the sink for the sponge. Something sharp slices across
my palm. Wincing, I pull my hand out of the water. For several
seconds all I can do is stare down at the dripping blood. Using my
other hand, I stir the suds around and find the chef’s knife at the
bottom of the casserole dish. Looking at the cut again, I feel my
stomach heave. The cut is deep and long. I grip the counter as a
wave of dizziness hits me, and when I look up again, Ever is
standing beside me.

“At least I know you’re not a vampire,” I
mutter wryly.

The cut is throbbing, and there is blood
dripping everywhere. I watch, mesmerized, as Ever reaches out very
carefully and covers my hand with his. His touch burns my skin, but
when he releases my hand, the pain is gone.

“Wren, I’m going to—What
happened
?!”

Spinning around, I see my mom rushing across
the kitchen. I close my fingers over my palm before she can reach
me.

“I grabbed a knife by accident. It’s not bad.
Let me just get a Band-Aid from upstairs.”

When I look down at the sink, there’s more
blood than I expected. My stomach clenches again. With one last
look in Ever’s direction, I rush out of the kitchen. Smiling at Mr.
Hannigan as I pass him, I take the stairs two at a time and lock
myself in the bathroom. With the water turned on, I brace myself
for the sting. But as the blood begins to wash away, there’s still
no pain. I study my hand and find nothing.

No cut. Not even a scratch. And this
wasn’t
one of those cuts that felt worse than it looked.

“Wren, are you all right?” my mom calls
through the door.

“Fine.” But my voice doesn’t sound right.

I open the cupboard beneath the sink and feel
around until I find the box of bandages. Grabbing the biggest one I
can find, I rip it open with my teeth and peel off the backing,
pasting it hastily over my palm. I swing open the door and smile at
my mom.

“See, it’s not bad.”

I hold my hand out, palm up, for proof.

“That was a lot of blood …” She shudders.
“Here, let me see. Are you sure you don’t need stitches?”

I clench my fist.

“Mom, it’s fine. Really. It wasn’t that deep.
But thanks for worrying.”

She smiles.

“It’s in the job description.”

When we get downstairs, Ever is sitting on
the couch talking with Mr. Hannigan. I continue into the kitchen
and then stop. The counter top is bare, shining even. And I was
only gone for five minutes at the most.

“Ever helped,” my mom says, coming in after
me.

“With a magic wand?” I mumble.

“He’s very efficient, isn’t he?” she says
cheerfully. “I think it was very nice of him.”

I nod, still stunned.

“And what were you saying about him not
liking you? I’m not getting that at all. I mean how many young men
would come to dinner with a girl’s mother if they didn’t—”

“
Mom
!” I hiss.

She lifts her hands.

“Okay, okay. I’m just telling you what I
see.”

I go to the refrigerator and pull out the
cake.

“Remember, just a little slice for Jack,” she
says before walking toward the living room.

Setting out the now-shining chef’s knife, I
take out small plates and forks and leave them on the counter. Just
as I walk into the living room, Ever looks up at me with an even
expression. There is absolutely no way to explain what just
happened. He just made a three-inch slice across my palm
disappear.

“Mom? Mr. Hannigan? Do you mind if we take a
walk? You can go ahead and start dessert without us. I left
everything out.”

“A walk?” she asks. “But it’s dark. And
freezing.”

“Just for a little bit,” I promise.

When Ever rises from the couch, my mom
shrugs. At the closet, I take out my mom’s puffy black parka since
my jacket is still in Ashley’s car. With the front door closed
behind us, I glance at Ever.

I don’t know where to start. Instead, I walk
silently with Ever keeping pace next to me. Reaching the end of our
street, I continue until we reach the main road. We wait at the
stoplight before crossing to the greenbelt along the creek a few
blocks from our house. With a shudder, I realize we’re not far from
the intersection where I almost got flattened. Up ahead, there’s a
bench lighted by a streetlamp. As soon as we reach it, I sit down
and look up at Ever. He surprises me by speaking first.

“It’s better if you don’t know anything,” he
says, remaining a few feet from me.

I contemplate this.

“I think we’re past that point already, don’t
you? I mean I already know more than I should, right?”

He nods, but I can see he’s not pleased about
this fact.

“And I’m not going to tell anyone,” I add
quietly. “You can tell that, right?”

I drop my eyes to the damp concrete. I can
hear the pleading in my voice. A stab of pain flares in my chest
knowing that he’s heard every other thought I’ve had tonight.

“Ask me, then,” he says flatly.

I’m chilled by the sudden lack of emotion in
his voice. I take a deep breath. There’s no turning back. Not this
time.

“Are you human?”

“No.”

I exhale.

“Are you from this planet?”

The corner of his mouth lifts briefly in a
crooked smile. I fail to see the humor.

“Are you?” I repeat.

“From this planet, though not of your
world.”

The last part throws me for a loop.

“Then
what
are you?”

“A guardian.”

I watch him carefully, but his eyes offer no
hint of irony this time. And now that he’s giving me answers, I’m
struggling a little to find a logical thread to my questions.

“A guardian … ? Of what?”

“A gateway between dimensions.”