The Year We Fell Apart (6 page)

“Guess he didn’t get the memo about the holiday weekend,” I say.

Declan glances at me. His smile is almost imperceptible, but I see it. “No rest for the wicked,” he mumbles.

Dad gives him one of those lopsided, sympathetic smiles—the same one everyone who knew Natalie gives Declan—and pats his shoulder once more. “Well, what can I get you guys to drink?”

I slip back into the house to shuttle the rest of the hors d’oeuvres outside. Mom is in the kitchen having a hushed conversation with Bridget, who is clearly in Dr. Kingston mode. I wonder if she misses Natalie even more now. Because when I look at the two of them, all I can see is her absence. If Mom’s diagnosis had come two summers ago, Natalie would be here too, supporting Mom.

They get extra quiet when they notice me. This clearly isn’t a conversation they trust me enough to include me in, so I grab the first tray I see and head outside again.

I busy myself lighting tiki torches and citronella candles, and soon the party is in full swing. Dad is in the corner of the patio by the grill, drinking a beer with Declan’s dad. Declan isn’t anywhere near them. I walk over to see if I can be relieved of my prep duties.

“So, Harper . . .” Declan’s dad scrunches his forehead, turning the beer can around in his hand. It’s like he can’t think of anything safe to say. “How is your summer going?”

“Great, so far.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smiles, but it’s horribly reserved. Like he doesn’t remember I’m the same girl he used to lift up to the basketball hoop just so I could score against the boys. The same girl his wife packed extra cookies for in Declan’s lunch.

With Declan away at school, both the opportunities and topics for conversation with his father have been limited. But I wonder what he sees when he looks at me now. Whether in his eyes, I’m anything more than a bad influence.

Dad rotates a rack of ribs on the grill, and the smell of barbecue sauce and charcoal wafts over. He closes the lid and dabs his forehead with a paper napkin.

“Anything else you need, Dad?”

Dad scans the yard. Other years, Graham and I have always had to do a round with our parents, saying hello to all the neighbors. I hated it. But I guess now we’re past the point of showing me off.

“Why don’t you just go have some fun?”

He smiles. We all smile. And then I go looking for Cory.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Malone finds me first.

“Oh, Harper, so good to see you.” She appraises my bare legs with one eyebrow cocked.

Mrs. Malone is about a hundred years old and still wears full makeup and heels every day. Her face is caked with powder that has settled into the deep lines in her cheeks, and she wears a vibrant, frosted pink lipstick on her puckered lips.

I sigh quietly. Mrs. Malone has hated me ever since I got caught stealing apples from the tree in her backyard when I was nine. Declan was with me, but for some reason she blamed me entirely, since in her eyes I’ve never been more than a troubled heathen of a girl. Mrs. Malone is ahead of her time that way.

“Hi, Mrs. Malone. Wonderful to see you too.”

She shuffles closer, squinting her watery eyes up at me. “How have you been handling everything with your mother? Poor dear. Lord knows she’s been through enough this past year. I do hope you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

I clear my throat. Twice. “Of course. We’re all doing our best. Keeping faith that it’s part of God’s plan.”

I know how to work it.

She sends me a beatific smile and pats my arm. “Well, that’s just wonderful to hear. Because you know . . .”

Uh-oh. She pivots a few inches closer, and I find myself cornered between her and a hanging basket of geraniums. I scan the deck for an exit, and my eyes fall on Declan. He mouths,
Praise Jesus!
and I snort a laugh, covering it with a cough as I turn back to Mrs. Malone.

“Young ladies today just don’t seem to have any values,” she says pointedly. She fans herself with a folded paper plate. “One hears things, anyway.”

Indeed. One does.

The smile melts off my face and I struggle to think of a response. Before I manage to come up with anything remotely appropriate, Declan swoops in and wraps his hand around my arm.

“So sorry to interrupt, but I desperately need you.”

I sort of forget where I am for a second and just stare back at him while the words buzz straight down my torso. He cracks a dimpled smile, probably at my expense, and Mrs. Malone shuffles in her pumps. She pats the bottom of her short white hair, and smiles at Declan.

“It’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen you, young man!”

“I hope you don’t mind my butting in,” he says with boatloads of charm. “But I’m afraid I need to steal Harper away.”

“No problem at all! You come by my house anytime to catch up, all right?”

“Absolutely. Take care, now.”

He leads me by the elbow across the deck. Once we’ve cleared the masses, his hand slips off my arm.

I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for that.”

He shrugs. “Looked like you needed an out.”

“I still don’t know why she likes you so much. You stole more apples than I did.”

“Only because you coerced me. See, in Mrs. Malone’s eyes, I’m a good Christian boy who knows right from wrong. Plus last summer I stopped by now and then to mow her lawn.”

Okay, that . . . I did not know.

“Guess that explains why she looked at you like you’re her hero.”

“Don’t worry. The fact that I still hang out with you speaks highly in your favor.”

My forehead wrinkles and immediately all of the things I haven’t told him—the things I can’t tell him—push to the front of my mind. Because he’s right. He’s too good for me.

And why is he being so nice, anyway? Ever since he got back into town he’s been acting like everything is totally fine between us. Like breaking up and going an entire school year without speaking didn’t even bother him.

Maybe he really is over it. And me.

Which would totally be a good thing. We could go back to sophomore year, to the way things were before. Just friends. I mean, it’s not like I’m still interested in something more.

Blowing out a breath, I smile and gesture to the back of the deck. We pass the cooler and I grab two sodas. “You seen Cory?” I ask as I hand him one of the cans.

“Thanks. He’s over with his parents.” We settle into a couple of Adirondack chairs and he starts picking at the wooden armrest. “Hey, what do you think of Mackenzie?”

I flick the tab on the can I’m holding, back and forth until it breaks off. “Um, I don’t know, really. I just met her.”

“But she’s pretty, right?”

Staring down at my lap, I scrape the metal tab down my thigh. This is what friends do; they talk about the people they like. So I nod. “She’s very pretty.” I take a sip of Coke. “Did you want to invite her?”

“Nah, I spoke to her earlier. Her family has their own thing going on today.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.” My gaze slips back to him. His eyes have so much green in them tonight.

Cory collapses into the seat next to mine, balancing a plate full of ribs on his lap. “Have you tried these? So good.”

He licks the barbecue sauce off his thumb and I pilfer a cookie from his plate and crumble it into bite-size pieces. I can’t stop fidgeting.

“Fireworks will start soon,” Declan says. “We should go somewhere and watch them.”

Cory shakes his head. “I’ve got an early practice tomorrow.”

I’m about to get on his case, because it’s not even nine o’clock and besides, since when does a morning practice keep Cory from hanging out? But then Declan turns his attention toward me.

“Harp? You game?”

“Sure.” I try to keep a poker face, but I accidentally smile instead. “I know a place.”

THE CARSON WATER TOWER IS
a lot higher up than I remembered.

Halfway to the top, my brain kicks on and starts yammering about how this might be the worst idea I’ve ever had, and how dead I’ll be if I get caught. But I’m already halfway up and all . . . so I press on.

I reach the narrow platform and sit down, wrapping both hands around the railing in front of me and letting my legs dangle over the side. Declan collapses beside me a moment later. He closes his eyes and pulls his knees into his chest.

Wiping my damp palms on the denim shorts I changed into, I rest my head against the cool steel tank and try to catch my breath. From up here, you can see all of downtown Carson. The shops on Ninth and the blinking yellow traffic light at the corner of Broad Street. The park two blocks over, where families are packed together on checkered blankets to watch the fireworks. Street lamps dot the neighborhoods that sprawl from the center of town, the soft glow fading farther west, where the forest grows thick. Somewhere in the mass of trees, the quarry is hidden from sight.

“Should have known hanging out with you would involve trespassing.”

He doesn’t say it unkindly. But deep inside, I ache for the before. Before Declan knew this about me.

“So you heard.” I lick my lips and try to smile. Can’t do it. “About the pool incident.”

“I was referring to Mrs. Malone’s yard,” he jokes. He shrugs his shoulders and comes close to looking indifferent. But not quite. “Cory mentioned something about you getting caught sneaking in. Guess you’ve had a rough couple of months, huh?”

A couple. Or nine. But who’s counting?

“You might say that.” I wipe my palms again. The judgmental look on Mrs. Malone’s face earlier worms its way into my mind, along with the worry Declan has somehow heard more about what happened with Jake this past spring—or worse, the truth about last fall—than he’s letting on. “So, did he tell you anything else about that night?”

Declan turns toward me. “What do you mean?”

“Just curious which version of the story you heard.”

“Oh.” He scratches his ear. “No, that was pretty much it.”

I almost always know when Declan is lying. He only has about thirty-seven tells. But before I can get a good read on him, he looks out over the horizon and changes the subject.

“I really missed this place.”

The buildings below are getting more difficult to distinguish. It’s almost dark now.

“Really? I can’t wait to leave Carson behind,” I say. “And North Carolina, for that matter.”

“You used to love it here. When did that change?”

When you left.

I don’t say it out loud. But he hears it.

“But you’re still—well, aside from this week . . .” He smooths his hands over his jeans and looks out at the lush treetops below. “Are you good? I mean . . . happy?”

The thing is, Declan already knows the answer. He knows about the incident at the pool in March. Plus whatever else Cory told him. And happy people don’t do that kind of shit; they don’t go looking for trouble. But that’s not the answer someone wants to hear when they politely ask how you are.

A mosquito bite prickles my arm. Right in the crook of my elbow. It itches ten times more now that I’m staring at it. Everything itches. I pull on the elastic hair tie I wear around my wrist and let it snap onto my skin.

“Did you know that three sparklers burning together generate the same level of heat as a blowtorch?” I ask.

He drags his fingers across his eyebrow, back and forth like he’s getting a headache, then rests his forearms over his knees again. “I did not.”

“True story,” I say, because it is, and because I can’t tell him I’m happy, or unhappy, or anything, really.

The wind kicks up and Declan pushes his hair away from his face. I slip the elastic off my arm and hand it to him. He ties his hair into a cute little knot and a few pieces that are too short promptly fall down around his face.

“That climb was easier when we were thirteen,” he says.

A blister is forming on my palm. I press my thumb against it. “Well, you didn’t have all that hair throwing off your balance back then.”

He smiles and leans back. His shoulder grazes mine. “That was a good night.”

“It was my birthday,” I say.

I’m not going to think about his last birthday back in February. When I tried to find a way to start talking to him again. Or the fact that he never responded. That three weeks later my birthday came and went, and I didn’t hear a word.

Coming here was a terrible idea.

From a hundred feet below there’s a whistle. A bright pink chrysanthemum firework patterns the sky, and a split second later is the boom. Then the sky is bursting with comets and peonies that shower down on us in vibrant shades of blue and orange.

I stand and lean against the railing, getting as close to the sky as I can. Declan climbs to his feet as well, inching up to the edge of the platform and gripping the rail so hard, blood drains from his knuckles.

His hand slides closer. Our pinkie fingers touch.

I don’t mean to say it.

“Has it gotten any easier? Living without her, I mean.”

He hesitates. His jaw clenches and I regret asking.

“In some ways I’m used to it. It has gotten a little easier with time, I guess. But I still miss her.”

Of course he does. He lost his mother and his home in the same year. And sometimes, I hate his father for it.

Sure, his dad had his reasons for sending him away. He would be gone for work at least twice a month, and didn’t think Declan should be spending that much time alone. Cory’s parents offered to let Declan stay with them when he traveled, but he argued it would be too much of an imposition.

Every time a solution was offered, his dad came up with another justification. He was just trying to find a shortcut to the end of the grief. I guess we’ve all been guilty of that at some point. And I do believe he wanted what was best for Declan. I just don’t see how he could possibly have thought getting pushed out of his own house was best.

My fingers choke the metal railing as a fresh blanket of remorse settles over my shoulders. Declan lost so much last year. He was hurting when he went away to school, over both his parents. And I was his girlfriend; it was my job to support him, to make sure he got through it. But instead, I made sure he lost me, too.