The Complete Burn for Burn Trilogy: Burn for Burn; Fire With Fire; Ashes to Ashes (69 page)

“That’s a great idea,” I say, standing up. I get cups for everyone, and Ash grabs a bottle of cinnamon-flavored vodka from the cardboard box on the kitchen table.

Alex goes first. He raises his cup and says, “Remember when Rennie tried to convince me to get my eyebrows waxed?” He starts laughing. We all do.

“Didn’t she make you an appointment somewhere?” Ash says, snorting with laughter.

“Yup. She totally did. At a nail salon, I think.” Alex shakes his head. “Thank God I figured out she was joking before it was too late.”

We raise our cups and swallow, and then I refill everyone’s glasses.

“Remember when Rennie broke into the teachers’ lounge and stole Mrs. Penfeld’s precious coffee mug? The one with the cat in the argyle sweater?” Ash says. I raise my glass and sip, along with almost everybody else.

Not PJ, though. His mouth drops open. “She did not.”

“Oh, yes she did,” Ash says. “Don’t you remember her bringing it to parties sometimes?”

PJ shakes his head. “Dude. Holtz was fearless.”

I’m smiling, but all the while my mind is racing, because it
will be my turn soon, and I can’t think of anything. I have so many stories about Rennie, it feels like my whole life on Jar Island has been about Rennie, and yet I can’t think of even one thing. I’m so panicky, I could cry.

Alex nudges his chin toward Reeve. “You’re up.”

Reeve shrugs his shoulders. “Pass.”

Ash tries to sweet-talk him into sharing something, but he won’t. She’s persistent, but it only makes Reeve shut down even more. The muscles in his shoulders are bunched up, and he’s two seconds from getting up and walking out of here, I know it. I throw Ash a warning look so she’ll stop.

“PJ, you go,” I say, and PJ launches into a story about Rennie sneaking into the boys’ bathroom, and everyone starts to laugh, and the tension of the moment before fades away. Our eyes meet, and I can tell Reeve is grateful. Right before it’s my turn, I get up and go to the bathroom, and I don’t come out until I’m sure they’ve moved on to the next person.

*  *  *

After midnight some people have left and some are passed out in the living room and in Rennie’s bedroom, I guess because everybody started drinking so early. I am on Paige’s bed with Paige and Ash. They are both asleep, but I’m just lying here. I finally get up and open the bedroom door.

In the living room the TV is on and Reeve is cleaning, tying
up a big recycling bag. I watch him for a few seconds, and I suddenly feel such longing for him in my heart, I ache. I’m about to say something when Alex comes out of the kitchen. I step back into Paige’s room before they notice me.

I hear Alex say, “How are you holding up?”

I can hear the surprise in Reeve’s voice when he says, “I’m all right.”

“Come on, man. I know how much you cared about her.” Alex pauses. “I’m still pissed at you for going after Lillia—”

“That’s over.”

It hurts to hear him say it, but it’s time.

Then Alex says, “If you ever want to talk—I’m here for you.”

There’s this long beat, and I’m holding my breath, hoping. Hoping that Reeve will let him in. Alex has always known how to talk to Reeve. His opinion is the only one Reeve has ever really cared about besides Rennie’s.

Gruffly Reeve says, “I’m good. But thanks.”

I let out the breath I was holding. Then I hear Alex say, “All right,” and then a few seconds later the front door opens and closes.

I step out, thinking it’s Reeve who left. Only it wasn’t.

Reeve looks up and sees me standing there. “Oh, hey,” he says, startled.

“Hey,” I say. I busy myself picking up plastic cups.

We work in silence. When we’re almost done, I hear a muffled sound, and I look up and see Reeve, his back to me, his shoulders shaking. He’s crying.

I go completely still. For a few seconds I’m not sure what to do for him. Then I realize I do know. I don’t look at him when I say, “Just go. I’ll finish up here.”

Reeve takes a ragged breath. Then he gets his coat, says “Bye, Cho,” and leaves. When he’s gone, I burst into tears.

I
CAN’T GET
M
ARY OUT
of my head.

So Monday morning, I cut first period and go looking for Ms. Chirazo. Maybe she can tell me something about where Mary went. Just because Mary isn’t locked up in the attic with her freaky aunt doesn’t mean I have the best feeling about what could have happened to her. The guidance secretary doesn’t see me come in, she’s on the phone, so I just walk straight into Ms. Chirazo’s office.

She’s not there.

I wait for a few minutes, feeling stupid. I’m not sure what
Ms. Chirazo is going to be able to tell me. I bet there are privacy laws and shit that she won’t be able to go against, even if she is cool with me. There aren’t even any student files on her desk. Everything’s on her computer. I lift my ass off the chair and peer at the screen. It’s open and on, no password required.

Fuck it. I jump into her chair. If I can look up Mary’s student records, maybe there will be some contact information. Either for Aunt Bette or for her parents. Mary might have gone home to them for the holidays and decided not to come back. If that’s the case, I’ll call her or write her a letter. Better yet, Lillia and I can take a road trip to visit her.

I open an icon that says “Student Transcripts,” and I type in “Mary Zane” and then hit enter. An hourglass pops up as the computer searches the records. It takes forever because this computer is as old as shit.

Nothing.

I try it again with “Zane, Mary.” And then just “Zane,” in case maybe “Mary” is short for some weird name I don’t know. No dice. Weird. I plug in her address and search again. But each time, nothing comes up.

There’s no record of her at all.

What the hell?

I hear a pair of sensible shoes outside the door, and I have just about half a second to get out of Ms. Chirazo’s chair and
back into the one on the other side of her desk.

“Kat?”

“Hey.” I feel like Ms. Chirazo knows I was up to something, because she gives me this weird, distrusting look. I’ve gotten that look hundreds of times, but never from her. “I wanted to stop by and make sure that whole smoking thing from last week was taken care of.” I clear my throat. “I should probably get to class.”

“Yes,” she says slowly. “Good idea, Kat.”

*  *  *

After school I meander over to the Preservation Society office in White Haven. It’s my first day back since the holidays. The decorations have already been taken down—the wreaths, the electric candles flickering in each of the windows, the balsam greenery they had me wrap around the banisters and the door frame.

If I had driven straight over, I would have been on time, but I sort of cruised around the island for a bit with my windows down, because, well, I don’t know. I guess I hoped that the fresh air would clear my head. Except it didn’t. I’m as much of a mess as the piles of dirty slushy snow along the road.

I trudge up the stairs, reeking of cigarettes, my boots soaked clear through, and my nose running snot like crazy. Hopefully they’ll take one look at me and send me home, but as soon
as I’m through the door, Danner Longforth jumps out of her office and points at the clock on the wall with a bony, manicured finger.

Danner Longforth is one of the youngest women working at the Preservation Society. I bet she’s not even thirty. She’s married to a super-old rich guy who lives near the Chos. I doubt she’s ever had a real job. She gets way too excited about office supplies—paper clips and shit.

“Katherine.” Her voice is as thin as her body, and she holds the
n
sound of my name until she’s standing directly in front of me. “You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.”

It catches me off guard. Danner isn’t my superior or my boss. In fact, I didn’t even think she knew my name. “I—”

“I know you don’t think so, but we do important work here.” She waves at the wall next to us, where a bunch of framed proclamations with fancy calligraphy and gold foil seals are hung up. “Our efforts have been recognized by the governor for the last six years running. And if you want to remain in the privileged position of volunteering here, if you want to receive the kind of recommendation letter that will make your college application shine, you’ll need to earn it. And the very least of your obligations here is to arrive on time.” She folds her arms and purses her lips.

I stare at her and, in as flat a voice as I can manage, say, “There
was a prayer service after school today. For Rennie Holtz, the girl who died over New Year’s.”

It’s a lie, but whatever. Bitch needs to check herself.

“Oh,” Danner says quietly, and fiddles with one of the many rings on her fingers. “Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

“When? You were too busy reaming me out.”

I instantly worry that I’ve gone too far, that Danner will fire me on the spot. But she doesn’t. She has this fuzzy camel-colored sweater-wrap thing on, and she pulls it tight around herself. “You were that poor girl’s friend?”

I feel my lip curl. Who is she to ask me that? “Yeah,” I say through gritted teeth. “Yeah. I was.” And it’s true. At the very end I was Rennie’s friend.

“I see,” she says, and then lowers her eyes. “Well, I’d like to apologize to you, Katherine. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It’s a crazy time of year for us here, and I already feel like I’m behind on everything.” She sighs. “Please take today off if you need . . . but if you could manage to give me an hour or two, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“I’ll stay for a bit,” I say, and then turn to head down to the basement. That’s where I scan the old documents and deeds and newspaper clippings for the Preservation Society archives. But Danner touches my shoulder and keeps me from walking away.

“Actually, the archival project is on the back burner for now. Our focus will be on the annual benefit happening this March. I don’t know if your parents have ever attended one”—I watch her look me over, realizing there’s no way—“but this will be an excellent experience for you. I’ll make sure I put it in your recommendation letter. Admissions boards really respond to charity projects.”

I want to laugh. Charity projects are working at a soup kitchen or volunteering at a battered-women’s shelter. Not running errands for a bunch of rich ladies pretending like they have jobs.

But I do need a stellar recommendation to get me accepted to Oberlin. That’s the one bright spot I’ve got to hold on to. A future away from this island, from the hurt and the pain and all the bad memories.

When I think about it that way, I can’t blame Mary for wanting to leave.

“What’s this benefit for?”

“To raise money for this year’s preservation efforts. It’s a huge formal dinner dance at the old city hall building, plus a silent auction. Last year we received almost half a million dollars, which we put toward the purchase and renovation of Jar Island landmarks.”

A prom for rich people. Jeez.

Danner trots back to her office and then returns with several pieces of paper. “Okay, Katherine. I need you to double-check these invitation addresses against the ones in our Rolodex. Evelyn worked on them this morning, so there shouldn’t be too many left for you. We need to make sure each one is correct before we send the final list off to the calligrapher. He charges per envelope, and we can’t afford to waste money on preventable errors.”

I’m about to tell Danner that they could save money by, um, not spending money on dumb shit like that. I mean, this is supposed to be a fund-raiser, right? But Danner’s already headed into the glass-walled conference room, where a table full of ladies are heatedly discussing something. Probably arguing about waiter outfits.

I lock eyes with Evelyn, who’s the oldest lady by far at the office. I doubt they’d let her work here if she weren’t filthy rich, and I bet they hope she’ll throw some money to the Preservation Society when she kicks off. Evelyn’s working at a computer, her hand tentatively going for the mouse like it might come to life and bite her wrinkly fingers.

I take a seat at an empty desk and flip through the list. I only have three pages to check before I get to the end of the alphabet . . .

Erica Zane?

Mary’s last name. Could this be her mom?

There’s no address listed. Just a phone number.

I’m so excited, I can barely dial. What if Mary picks up the phone? What will I say?

I don’t have to worry long. As soon as I punch the last number, I hear three chimes and a recording that this number is no longer in service.

Where have these Zanes gone to?

I check the rest of the addresses and wait for Danner to be done in the conference room. As soon as she is, I’m on top of her, pointing at Erica Zane’s name.

“I couldn’t find an address for her in the Rolodex. And this phone number is out of service. What should I do?”

Danner’s lip curls. She takes a black pen and scratches out the name. “Don’t worry about that one. She shouldn’t be on the invite list.”

Well, damn. My only lead is a bust.

P
AIGE TEXTS ASKING ME TO
stop by after school. When I get there, the door’s unlocked, so I let myself in and call out, “Paige? It’s Lillia.”

I stop in the kitchen first. There are dishes neatly stacked in the drying rack, freshly washed. Paige hates doing dishes. That was always Rennie’s job. It must have been Reeve. Ash told me he’s been helping Paige out too. I turn around and see that he tied up a bag of cans and bottles for recycling and set it near the front door.

“In here, Lil!”

I find Paige in her bedroom, still in her robe and pajamas. She’s packing her clothes into a cardboard box. She looks up at me, and her eyes have that zombie look to them that she gets when she takes her sleeping pills.

“Are you moving?” I ask her. This is the first I’m hearing of it. But I guess it makes sense. Paige always said she’d leave Jar Island after Rennie graduated. The only reason she stayed this long was because Rennie begged her.

“I’m out of here before the end of the month. Rick wants me to go live with him. I can’t stay on this island, not without my girl. There’s nothing left for me here.” Paige wipes her eyes, and in a dull voice she says, “You should take a look around Ren’s room, see if there’s anything you want to keep of hers as a memento. Like maybe that necklace you gave her. I would have buried her in it, but—” She breaks down and starts to cry, and holds her arms out to me, so I go to her. She holds on to me tight. “Stay for dinner, okay?”