Thorn Abbey (26 page)

That night, I sit on the cliff gazing out at the sea, which is very still and black. For some strange reason, I feel close to Max here tonight.

I think about my mom’s mom, who passed away a couple of years ago. Mom claims that Grandma comes to her in her dreams and talks to her. She also claims that Grandma saved her life once by warning her not to take I-87 to work that particular morning. Mom went on a back road instead; she got yelled at by her boss for being late. Later, she heard on the radio that a tractor-trailer had jackknifed on the highway near the Avery Park exit and that three people had died.

I never used to believe Mom about any of this stuff. But now I do. People’s spirits do live on after they pass away. Good spirits and bad spirits. I think that Kayleigh was right about everything that happened at Thorn Abbey after all.

Maybe I
should
get a cat’s-eye or peridot amulet, for protection.

I hug my knees to my chest and look up at the sky. I try to make out the Big Dipper, Orion, the Pleiades.

I wonder if Max is a star now. Or an asterism.

I wonder if he’ll keep talking to me in my dreams for the rest of my life.

I hope so.

I
CARRY THE LAST OF MY BOXES ACROSS THE PARKING LOT AND
put it in the back of Mom’s old Volvo station wagon. I can’t believe I’ve accumulated so much stuff in the nine months I’ve been at Thorn Abbey—books, notebooks, and, of course, my coveted trophy from the end-of-the-year student banquet: “Most Likely to Win a Pulitzer Prize.”

“Is that it, honey bunny?” my mom asks me. She wipes the sweat from her brow and smiles cheerfully at me, although I can tell she’s exhausted from the heat and the long drive from Avery Park.

“I think so. I just want to take a final look around.”

“No problem. I’m going to get myself some water, and I’ll wait for you here. Maybe I’ll even bond with the other parents.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I grab an empty garbage bag from the backseat in case there’s anything left in the room and start the trek back to Kerrith Hall. The quad is beautiful—lush grass, flowers in full bloom, sunlight glistening on the spray from the fountain. In my mind, I don’t even think of it as “Becca’s fountain” anymore. I pass dozens of now-familiar faces, everyone lugging boxes, dragging suitcases, saying their good-byes.

I think about all the times I wanted to leave this place. Including just after the fire. I’m glad I hung in there, somehow. And I’m glad I’m coming back in the fall.

It’s been over three months since Max passed away. Things are starting to feel a little bit normal again. I’ve been visiting “The Eternal Spirit” every week and talking to Max. Telling him about my classes, the girls, my new favorite potato chips, whatever. Each week has been getting easier and easier. These last few times, I’ve managed to get through the entire visit without crying. Or crying much, anyway.

As I cross the quad, I run into Yoonie. We exchange hugs and promise to stay in touch over the summer.

“Listen, I think we should totally room together next year,” she adds.

I smile, pleased that Yoonie suggested this. Since the fire and Devon’s disappearance, the dynamic of our group has shifted
somewhat. All the girls are nicer to me. Especially Yoonie.

“What about Elinor and Priscilla?” I point out.

“They can double up next door. I’m hella sick of their snoring.”

I laugh. “Okay, then.”

“When you get your roommate request form in the mail next month, just put my name down. I’ll put yours.”

“Great.”

“Oh, and didn’t you say you played oboe at your old school?”

“Clarinet,” I correct her.

“Same difference. Bring your instrument in September. The music department’s trying to put together a wind ensemble.”

I try to visualize playing the clarinet at Thorn Abbey. It’s a cool idea, and I’d probably make a whole new group of friends. “Sounds good. Thanks. Have a nice summer, Yoonie.”

“You too, roomie.”

We exchange one final hug, and I continue on toward Kerrith.

“Tess!”

Killian saunters up to me.

“Hello, my love,” he says, kissing me on both cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in ages. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving without saying good-bye.”

I hesitate. After the fire, Killian sent me a note expressing his condolences. I sent him a short thank-you e-mail, but other than that, I’ve been avoiding him.

It might be irrational, but deep down, I associate Killian with the chain of events culminating in Max’s death. Killian and Becca were cousins who hooked up for hot sex. Becca told Max about her and Killian on that fateful night when Max tried to break up with her for good.

Which led to Becca’s death.

Which led to Becca turning into a vengeful demon.

Which led to the fire.

Which led to Max’s death.

Killian smiles a little too brightly. “So! What are you doing this summer? Are you going to come visit me in Philly so I can show you around?”

“I’m taking some classes at the University at Albany, so I’ll be pretty tied up,” I reply.

“My goodness, we’re ambitious! Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I gaze into his Abercrombie-model blue eyes. He is ridiculously handsome. And charming. And amoral.

“See you in the fall, Killian,” I say finally.

“Yes, see you in the fall, darling.”

I wave and walk away.

All of a sudden, I can’t wait to leave this complicated, drama-filled place and go home to Avery Park. To the little tan ranch with the scrubby, overgrown lawn. To the strip malls with the cheap nail salons. To
Law & Order
on Friday nights. To Kayleigh and ice-cream binges.

I’m sure the feeling will wear off in a couple of weeks. I’m not the same person I was when I first came to Thorn Abbey.

But still.

As I near the north end of the quad, I can just make out a boy sitting on the steps of Kerrith. His face is turned away from me. I flash back to October, when Max sat at the very same spot, waiting for me as I stumbled home from Killian’s party, wasted out of my mind.

Max. Oh, Max.

The boy on the steps rises to his feet slowly, with the help of a cane. I realize with a start that it’s Franklin.

“Hey!” I run up to him and give him a big hug. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in New York?”

“I decided to play hooky. I wanted to come up and visit before everyone was gone for the summer.”

“Oh, wow. I’m incredibly glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, too.”

After the fire, Franklin was in a coma for two and a half months.
Max’s father convinced Franklin’s parents to have him transported to some fancy, high-tech hospital in New York City at the De Villierses’ expense.

One day, Franklin’s vitals spiraled out of control and he almost died. The next day, he woke up and asked for a glass of orange juice as if nothing had happened. Just like that. The doctors had no explanation for his sudden recovery. They called him the “miracle patient.”

“You didn’t drive all the way up here by yourself, did you?” I ask him, concerned.

“My d—that is, Mr. De Villiers insisted on playing chauffeur. He has this new Bentley SUV he wanted to test out. The guy’s obsessed with cars.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

We stand in silence for a long moment. There’s so much to talk about. And yet neither of us seems to want to go there.

“Well,” we both say at the same time.

We laugh, a little uncomfortably.

“I guess I’d better be going.” I glance over my shoulder. “My mom’s waiting for me in the parking lot, and she’s pretty much wilting from the heat. Maybe I’ll visit you in the city this summer?”

“I’d like that. Hey, Tess? Before you go?”

“What?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he says.

Franklin leans in so that we are just inches apart. He reaches out and cradles my face with his hand. The way
he
used to.

I stare at him in shock.

He cracks a smile. A ghost of a smile.

I stifle a scream.

Thank you . . .

To my editor, Annette Pollert, for her being brilliant, thoughtful, and kind.

To the rest of the amazing Simon Pulse team, including Bethany Buck, Mara Anastas, Jennifer Klonsky, Lucille Rettino, Julie Christopher, Carolyn Swerdloff, Emma Sector, Paul Crichton, Katherine Devendorf, Karen Taschek, Christina Bryza, Brian Luster, Sara Berko, Angela Goddard, Mary Marotta, Christina Pecorale, Maria Faria, Brian Kelleher, Jim Conlin, Theresa Brumm, and Victor Iannone.

To my agents, Lydia Wills and Nora Spiegel, for absolutely everything. You two are the best.

To Jeremy Rodd for teaching me about fires. I am in awe
of the work you and other firefighters do for the rest of us every day.

To Christopher Reynolds, who read the manuscript and offered spot-on suggestions.

To Amy Desmond, Eileen Gilbert, Gwen Guarino, Cindy Litts, Mari MacLean, Carol Ohlin, Marice Pappo, Stephanie Raney, and Elaine Rodd for being there for my family and me so I could immerse myself in the world of Tess, Max, Becca, and Devon.

To Jens, Christopher, and Clara. You guys are my heart and soul, always and forever.

And last but not least, to the late, great Daphne du Maurier for inspiring me to write
Thorn Abbey
.

ALSO BY NANCY OHLIN

Beauty

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.