The Hollow (16 page)

He patted my arm gently and beamed at me. "You are most welcome, Abbey. I hope I'll see you again soon."

I nodded, trying not to be too embarrassed that I had just cried in front of a total stranger, and headed to the gate. After briefly stopping to wave to Nikolas, I stepped down the stairs and started home. This had been one hell of a day.

On Saturday morning I asked Mom if she wanted to go with me to the Maxwells' house. It had been a while since I'd seen Mrs. M., and I wanted to check on her. I was shocked when Mom told me she didn't have any plans and actually agreed to go. I think the last time she had a free weekend was, like, a decade ago.

We debated on whether or not we should call ahead of time, before agreeing on the just-drop-by approach. Luckily the Maxwells were home when we arrived. It was nice to see them again and be in that familiar environment, but it was also awkward. We tried not to talk about Kristen very much.

When Mom got up to pour herself a cup of coffee, I took that as an invitation to talk to Mrs. Maxwell alone.

"How are you
really
doing, Mrs. M.?" I asked her quietly.

She took my hand and held it. I could tell that she was putting on a brave face. "I'm okay, Abbey. It's hard, obviously. And God knows that I haven't even thought about doing anything with her room yet. But we're taking it one day at a time."

An idea popped into my head. "Would you mind if I went up there?"

"You don't have to ask me to go to her room, Abbey. You know that. You practically lived here when-" She broke off and looked away.

Standing up, I gave her a brief hug. "Thanks, Mrs. M. I won't be long." I turned to leave the room, and she called out to me. "If there's anything in Kristen's room that you want, Abbey, go ahead and take it."

I smiled and nodded, then headed for the stairs.

It felt like a long trip up, and I took a deep breath to steel

myself before I finally reached for her door. In my own room I may

have been able to deal with my thoughts and emotions regarding her

death, but actually going into
her
room was a whole different story.

I slowly pushed the door open, and the familiar sight of petal pink wallpaper-that Kristen had hated with a passion ever since she'd turned eleven-greeted me as I entered the room. It hadn't changed very much since the last time I'd been in here. The only major difference was that the floor and bed, usually covered in dirty laundry, were now both completely clear.

But her small computer desk was still cluttered. And the old white dresser still held her stereo with its tower of empty CD cases next to it. Her favorite red shirt was hanging on the closet doorknob too. Almost like she'd be back for it at any minute.

Sadness sank into me as I realized that she would never
be
back… but I pushed it away. We had spent a lot of time up here, and it wasn't hard to associate practically everything in the room with some sort of happy memory. I clung to that thought as I moved around the room.

Was there anything in here that would tell me why she had been at the river that night?

I glanced in her closet first, but nothing looked out of place in there. I skimmed over her desk next, and that revealed the same result. Her cell phone was propped up beside the charger next to a lamp. I turned away from it and kept looking.

The only thing the dresser held was clothes, and I moved through them as quickly as I could. They still smelled like her favorite shampoo, and that almost brought me to my knees. I sat down hard on the edge of her bed, trying to concentrate on the good memories.

The bedside table beside me had a small drawer, and I opened it. A diary was inside. Picking it up, I skimmed through the pages. I felt kind of bad about peeking through Kristen's private thoughts, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Nothing caught my eye, though. It didn't look like she had written down anything about the river.

Then I noticed one of the corners of the bedspread was hanging against the edge of the bed frame at an odd angle. I leaned down to straighten it out. My fingers brushed against something hard, tucked in between the mattress and the box spring, and I scooted closer to see what it was.

Stuck under the corner of the bed was a little book about the size of a… diary. I had to shift the edge of the mattress and wedge my hand next to the frame, but I was able to reach it.

When I pulled it out, it was a carbon copy of the book I held in my other hand. Only its cover was red, while the cover of the first diary was black.
Now
I was intrigued. Had I found several of Kristen's diaries? I opened the first page of the black book and scanned it for a date. The first entry read April 19. Then I opened the first page of the red book to check for its date.

April 19… of the same year.
Why would she have had two diaries for the same year?

Sitting back on my heels, I flipped the red one open, intent on finding some answers. I felt that twinge of guilt again, but my curiosity was too strong.

I tried to soothe my conscience by making a deal with myself. If I read through the diaries only once, then put them back, I wouldn't really be doing anything wrong. And Kristen's mom
had
said that I could take anything I wanted. Of course, she probably meant more along the lines of clothes, or CDs, but that was beside the point.

Before I had the chance to start reading, Mom called my name from below. I jumped at the sudden interruption and scrambled to my feet, quickly glancing around the room. I needed something.

The red shirt on the knob of the closet door. Perfect.

I grabbed it and carefully wrapped the diaries up inside. As I passed Kristen's desk on my way to the door, a piece of crumpled-up notebook paper caught my attention. A tube of lipstick was resting next to it. I scooped the lipstick up and removed the cap, revealing a dark red shade.

Wanting to leave my mark, my final good-bye in some way, I carefully smoothed out the paper and scrawled "Memories Last Forever" on it. Then I signed my name in a big, bold script and recapped the lipstick before tucking it with the note into the top drawer.

Shutting the bedroom door carefully behind me, I walked down the stairs to where Mom was waiting. Memories
definitely
lasted forever.

Once we got home, I went straight to my room, and locked the door behind me for privacy. Then, thinking twice about it, I went inside my closet and locked
that
door. I settled down on a huge pile of stuffed animals and got comfortable. I wouldn't be interrupted here.

I carefully laid both diaries side by side and then started with the black one. The first page was innocent enough.

April 19th
-
Friday morning

This weekend Abbey and 1 are going shopping for some essential oils and bottles that she needs. There
's
a new store that opened up right next to the mall, and she can't wait to go. I agreed on the condition that we stop at the mall for some new shoes, and possibly a cinnamon pretzel

She acted like she wanted to give me a hard time about it, but she couldn 't keep a straight enough face. She's so funny. After we get back, I have to start on my end-of-the-year science paper. I can't afford to get anything lower than an A-, so I need to get a jump on it.

I wish school was easier. Sometimes I think that one day my brain will explode from all the algebra, biology, and history I'm being forced to cram in there.

Oh well, another day.

Kristen

P.S. Just got back from the mall, and I am now the proud owner of the cutest brown sandals. Harry up, warm weather, so I can show off my gorgeous new shoes!

I smiled as I read what was written in her small, neat handwriting. It was so typically Kristen. I turned to the red diary.

April 19th
-
Friday evening

I have decided to start this alternate diary to talk about D. in. I'm afraid that if I commit any of this to my real diary, it will be taken away from me, like a dream.

D. called me tonight. We talked for over an hour, and he wants to meet tomorrow. I'm so nervous. I can't believe that he's actually interested in me. Am I dreaming? Will I wake up and find this was all a lie? God, I hope not. I don't think I could handle the heartbreak.

It's so hard to keep this from Abbey. I want so badly to share all of this with my best friend. But I know I can't. And that's the hardest thing of all.

K.

I sat in stunned silence. My best friend had been keeping secrets from me? A swift and piercing hurt filled me, and I shoved the diaries away, burying my head in my hands. How could this be true? I'd never kept any secrets from her.

My mind tried to grapple with the impossibility of the situation. April 19. She had been keeping secrets from me since April 19.

Who is D.? Why didn 't Kristen tell me about him?

Tears welled up, and I allowed them to fall. I didn't know how to deal with this. What was I supposed to do now? Part of me wanted to read further, to see if she revealed her secrets. But another part of me was too hurt and furious, and wanted to rip out all the pages and tear them into tiny shreds. She had betrayed me.

I didn't know what I should do.

When Mom called me down for dinner that evening, I went somberly and didn't say very much. I had come to terms with the fact that it didn't matter how or what I felt. I had to keep reading the diaries. They might explain why Kristen had been down at the river.

And secrets or not, I owed it to her.

Chapter Thirteen

A Good Reason

…
.
and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel.

–"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"

I had a hard time going back and forth between the two diaries, so I stopped reading the black one and put it away. In some ways it was harder to read that one. In the black diary she acted so normal. Like the Kristen I thought I knew. It was an abrupt shift switching over to the red diary. The whole tone was different. Even her writing style had changed.

From what I could piece together so far, Kristen had met this guy who insisted they keep their relationship a secret, and had spent hours talking to him on the phone. They'd even gotten together a couple of times.

She never said how she first met him, or when and where they had been meeting, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering where / had been all of those times. It felt like such a personal betrayal. She had obviously gone through a lot of extra effort to make sure I didn't find out about him. I couldn't understand why she would do that, if he'd made her so happy.

So I kept reading to find a clue… Any clue…

April 23rd
-
Tuesday afternoon

I think I'm in love! D. is so romantic. He pretended to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and gently touched my cheek And then it happened
…
our first kiss.

Not being with him is torture – every hour we 're apart I die a slow death of agonizing loneliness. I can't stand this feeling. I wish we could spend every day together. I wish we were free to tell the world. I wish he would agree to let me tell Abbey.

I hope he calls me again tonight. Please call me, my love. Put me out of this misery.

K.

May Ith
-
Friday evening

Today D. told me I'm beautiful. I'll never forget that moment. As I looked into his eyes, I could almost believe him. Then he made me cry when he gave me a flower he found. But I had to leave it behind. Ididn 't want anyone to see it. So he promised me dozens of roses instead. Maybe one day …

K

June 2nd
-
Sunday morning

It's been exactly one month since D. and I made it official. I love him so much! Sometimes I can't believe that he picked me. I don't know why he did, but I do know that we '11 be together forever.

I know what he wants, but I'm scared. The thought of that is … terrifying
…
and exciting … and exhilarating
…
but mostly terrifying.

What scares me the most about all of this, though, is the fact that I can never go back. I wish I could talk to Abbey about it. How do you not tell your best friend something like this? I don't know if I can keep that kind of secret.

K.

I thought back to our last couple of months at school, trying to analyze all the time I had spent with Kristen. Why hadn't I paid closer attention?

And then my thoughts turned to other things. Like, how many times had she wanted me to go away so she could meet this guy? Or, did she tell him any of
my
secrets?

This diary cast shadows of doubt onto every word she had ever said to me, and my mind started picking apart all the things we had done together. I couldn't help but wonder:
If I had asked her about any of this, would she have lied to me?
Unfortunately, the answer appeared to be yes. And that hurt.

I wished I had never found this side of her. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before I found out that my best friend was keeping secrets from me and lying every day. Before I had to question every motive behind her actions. Before I had to ask whether or not she really
had
'been my best friend after all.

July 26th
-
Friday evening

How can I make up my mind about a decision like this? If I say no, what will he do? I can't say no. I try to convince myself that it's not a big deal. Everyone goes through this at some point in time. lean do this. lean do this.

K.

August 13th
-
Tuesday morning

We talked about what we're going to do, and agreed on it. I want to ask him for more time to think about it, but he's given me almost three months already. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose him. It's all I can think about lately. I find myself obsessing over it.

I wonder if Abbey knows what I have planned. She has to have guessed. How can I keep a secret like this from a best friend that can practically read my mind? I hope D. doesn't figure out that Abbey might know something. I don't want him to
… /
don't want to lose him.

Oh God, please don't let me lose him.

K.

August 16th
-
Friday afternoon

Tonight's the night. We're meeting at the park, like usual. I have to get ready soon. I'm so nervous. I hope I can make him happy.

K.

August 18th
-
Sunday evening

Just had another fight with D. I don't understand why this keeps happening. Sometimes I wish Abbey would just come out and tell me if she knows what's going on. She might not forgive me for keeping all of this from her, but I have to talk to someone.

K.

August 18th
-
Sunday evening II

Every time I think it's over, that we 're just too different, he says something that changes my mind. I'm starting to wonder if I'm with him because I actually want to be or because he wants me to be.

K.

August 19th
-
Monday morning

I can't do this anymore. The secrets
…
the lies
…
I told D. that I wanted to tell Abbey about us, and we had a huge fight. I had to beg him to give me another chance. He agreed, as long as we stop meeting at the park. I don't know where else we can go. Sometimes I wish we had never
…

/
don't know what to do. I can't live without him.

K.

That was it. The last entry.

I threw the diary down onto the bed and angrily shook my head, rejecting this new information. There was no way she would have kept any of these things from me. We were too close for that. But proof in the form of a red diary told me I was wrong.

Kristen
had
kept secrets from me… several of them.

I woke up unusually early on Saturday morning. The week had flown by, but I couldn't stop thinking about the diary. It was like trying to solve a puzzle when I didn't know what the picture looked like.

Forcing myself out of bed, I went down to the kitchen to make some more cookies for Caspian. After our last conversation, I was hoping they'd suffice as a peace offering. I followed the recipe in the cookbook automatically, not really paying any attention to what I was doing.

It wasn't until the second batch was being taken out of the oven that my distraction caught up with me, and I ended up reaching for the hot cookie sheet with my bare hand instead of with an oven mitt. The searing metal registered immediately, and I dropped the tray back onto the oven rack. Luckily, I'd only managed to lift it up an inch or two, so it didn't have very far to fall. I cursed my way over to the kitchen sink, and then cursed some more when the phone started ringing.

Deciding that my burned appendage needed more attention than the phone right now, I blasted the cold water and felt immediate, blessed relief. Ten seconds later my hand was barely throbbing, but the phone was still ringing.

I grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the water before applying it to the blister that had already started to form. Turning to reach the phone behind me, I juggled the washcloth into a better position. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey," came a cheerful voice on the other end. "It's Mrs. Maxwell. I thought I'd get the machine."

"Oh, hi, Mrs. M." I snapped to my senses immediately.
Is this a sign? Should I tell her about the diary?

"I was just calling to tell your mom not to worry about the reservations tomorrow night. I've already taken care of them."

"Okay." I replied. "I'll tell her. Are you guys doing anything special?"

"We have a meeting with the head of the historical society. Should be fun. The last one was a blast."

The heavy sarcasm in her voice made me laugh. "I'm sure it will be excitement all around."

"At least the food will be good," she sighed. "We're meeting at Callenini's. They have the
best
chicken Alfredo linguini there."

"Ooooh, yeah," I agreed. "Tell Mom to bring me home some of their garlic knots. I love those things."

"Will do."

We talked about the restaurant a bit more, and then Mrs. M. said she had to go. I didn't bring up the diary. I couldn't do it.

But as I hung up the phone, all those feelings of hurt and betrayal resurfaced and I felt a tear run slowly down my cheek. Another tear followed, and I hung my head, wallowing in a moment of self-pity.

Suddenly the timer on the oven beeped loudly, and startled me. I had set it to go off every fifteen minutes for a new batch of cookies. Rubbing my hands across my face, I quickly dried my eyes. I didn't have time for a pity party.1 still had a whole bowl of cookie dough left, and a couple dozen more cookies to make.

So I turned on the angriest music I could find, cranked it up until it echoed through the house, and sang along at the top of my lungs as I got back to work.

Four sheets of cookies and thirteen kick-ass songs later, it was time for me to get ready to go see Caspian. Exactly one hour after that, I was dressed in jeans and a red sweater, and back downstairs putting some of the cookies into a paper bag.

Since neither of the parental units had yelled at me to turn down the music earlier, I figured they were both probably out of the house already and at one of their endless meetings. I left a few cookies on a plate next to the coffeepot for them to find. That should earn me a couple of "good daughter" bonus points. Then I double-checked the oven to make sure I had turned it off, grabbed the bag for Caspian, and shut the door behind me on my way out.

I didn't feel the cold at first as I briskly stepped into the wind. But it didn't take long before I started wishing that I had grabbed a heavier coat and some gloves to go with it. The wind blew hard, and I felt its cold breath whipping against me. I shuddered and bent my head slightly, trying to ignore it as I walked to the cemetery.

Making my way through the gates and toward the path that lead to the river, I found Caspian at the Irving family plot. His back was turned, and he was dressed all in black, but I would have recognized that hair anywhere. I slowed down, moving carefully and silently until I was directly behind him.

"Caspian," I whispered. If he heard me, he didn't let on. He held perfectly still. I took another step, and was now right next to him. He was staring at Washington living's grave. I reached out to touch his arm.

"Coins. Why do you think they leave coins?" His quiet voice sent a chill through me, and for some reason I pulled my hand back. He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. "Do you think it means anything? To him, I mean?" He looked genuinely perplexed at the question.

I wasn't sure if I should answer or not.

Then he blinked and his expression changed. A smile lit up his face. "Astrid. I'm glad you came."

My head spun. Did he know how much his smile made my heart melt? Or the way his voice sent tingles up and down my arms, and butterflies fluttering wildly inside my stomach?
Someday I'll be able to tell him how he makes me feel. But not today.

I smiled back. "Hi, Caspian."

Did my smile make him melt? Did my voice make him feel funny, or send chills racing through his body? I vowed to ask him those things someday. But not today.

"I hope you're not still mad at me." I peeked shyly at him.

"Mad at you?" he asked. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because I didn't meet you here last week. I thought you were pissed about that."

He shook his head. "I wasn't mad at you. How were you supposed to know that I'd be here?"

"I don't know. I guess I just thought…" I shrugged. "I don't know."

"I wasn't mad, Abbey," he reassured me. "Believe me?" He had that serious little-boy look on his face again. Yeah, like I could resist that.

"Okay," I sighed dramatically. "I believe you." I grinned to let him know I was teasing and was rewarded with a smile in return. Remembering the cookies, I held the bag out and gestured to them. "I made you some cookies so you wouldn't be mad at me. But since you weren't ever mad, I guess I'll just have to keep them."

He tugged the bag playfully out of my hand. "On second thought, if they're snickerdoodle cookies, then I think I
do
need them to help me get over my anger." He gave me a mock scowl.

I laughed at his act. "Of course they're snickerdoodle. I wouldn't make you any other kind. Do you want to go sit under the bridge to eat them? It should be warmer there." I shivered and rubbed my hands together. It was really cold out here.

He immediately looked contrite. "You're cold? Why didn't you wear a heavier jacket?"

"Like you're one to talk? You don't even have one on."

He looked down and seemed surprised. Then he laughed. "I never wear one. I guess I'm warm-blooded. But you're right about the bridge; we'll go there."

We turned away from the gravestone and started to walk down the hill. We didn't talk, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was comfortable. Tiny pebbles crunched under our feet as we followed the path to the riverbank. It was colder by the water, until we stepped underneath the cover of the bridge. I felt warmer already just being with him.