About That Night (2 page)

While he peers out the window at them, Jordie's kid sister Carly drifts past on her way to the den. Derek can't keep his eyes off them, Ronan in a leather jacket that can't possibly be keeping him warm in this subzero weather, and Jordie with a thick sweater wound tightly around her, held there by her arms, which are also wrapped around her. She must be freezing, but as far as he can see, she has made no move to hurry Ronan along so that she can get back inside where it's warm—and where Derek is waiting. Derek doesn't begin to understand what's so special about Ronan. He knows the girls all think he's cute, and grudgingly supposes he is, if you like those dark and dangerous looks and that sullen I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-anything expression. But Derek? Jeez, Derek can't stand the guy. He used to look at them together—Jordie and Ronan. They were a couple all last year, and Derek, who has been smitten with Jordie ever since he started high school, used to pray for the day she would come to her senses and dump Ronan's sorry ass.

Then it happened.

Status change: Jordie Cross declares herself single.

And Derek Maugham sees his chance.

Now, though, Derek remembers that he never managed to get to the bottom of what happened between Jordie and Ronan. She has steadfastly deflected all questions—“Why dwell in the past?”—and no one else seems to know or, frankly, even care, least of all Derek himself. Because, really, why should it matter to him if it doesn't seem to matter to Jordie? In all the time she has been with Derek, she has never mentioned Ronan, never spoken to him (that Derek is aware of), never even glanced at him across a classroom or in the cafeteria. She's been a hundred percent Ronan-free, which is exactly how Derek likes it.

But she is not Ronan-free now. He wishes he knew what they were talking about, but with the weather so cold, there are two tightly sealed doors between him and the front porch. But Derek watches them. He keeps his eyes on them the whole time, sees Ronan talking earnestly from behind the puffs of frosty breath, sees Jordie nod. What is she nodding about? What is she agreeing to? Why is she even talking to him?

It occurs to Derek for the first time that maybe the breakup didn't happen the way he's always assumed it did. Maybe Jordie didn't dump Ronan. Maybe it happened the other way around. And maybe Ronan has finally seen how wrong he was—only an idiot would dump a girl like Jordie—and has come to get her back. Maybe that's why she's nodding.

They finally stop talking, but instead of Jordie coming back inside right away, she stands there shivering—her whole body is trembling—and watches Ronan walk down off the porch, along the path that leads to the curb and then down the street. She doesn't come inside until he is out of sight. Then, instead of joining the family in the den, she says, “I need to get something,” and she disappears up the stairs. She doesn't come down again for nearly an hour, during which Derek has to restrain himself from racing up to her room to ask her what the hell is going on, what Ronan wanted, why he came to the house. But Mr. and Mrs. Cross are both there in the den, watching
The Lion in Winter
. Mr. Cross has poured himself a Scotch, neat, and looks relaxed now that the Christmas festivities are over. Mrs. Cross is engrossed in the movie, which, according to Jordie, she has watched every Christmas that Jordie can remember (an odd choice, Derek thinks, until Jordie points out that the action takes place at Christmas). Even so, relaxed as they are, engrossed as they are, there's no way they will let him go up to Jordie's room, even if he's been up there plenty of times when they weren't around. All he can do is wait.

For what seems like forever.

When Jordie finally comes back downstairs, she hangs in the entrance to the den and speaks his name the way a teacher would: “Derek!” Like it's a command or a caution. Even her parents notice. For the first time since Ronan left the porch, Mrs. Cross's eyes stray from the
TV
.

“Is something wrong, dear?” she asks her daughter.

“I need to talk to Derek.”

Derek excuses himself and gets up off the couch. He follows Jordie into the kitchen, puzzled by what he reads as ill humor, which only deepens when she closes the kitchen door behind them. She faces him, her arms crossed teacher-like over her chest.

“Did you take something out of my room?” It comes out like an accusation, as if she already knows the answer and the answer is yes.

“No. Why? What do you think I took?”

“Some jewelry.”

Derek is stunned. “You think I stole jewelry from you? Why would I do that?”

“I know you have it, Derek.”

“Have what?”

“My bracelet.”

“What bracelet?” What's the matter with her? “Wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with Ronan?” He's never been able to say the guy's name without disdain, and Jordie picks up on it.

“What if it does?”

“What was he doing here anyway?”

“That's none of your business.”

Is she kidding? Her ex-boyfriend shows up and the next thing he knows, she's accusing him of something—and it's none of his business?

“What was he doing here, Jordie?”

“Did you or did you not take jewelry from my room?”

“I did not. But, hey, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Ronan says you did.”

“Ronan says he saw me steal from you? Are you crazy?”

“He saw you with the bracelet.”

Jeez, the bracelet thing again.

“He's wrong.” Maybe even delusional—that wouldn't surprise Derek. “I didn't take anything from you. I would never do that. You know me better than that, Jordie.” He peers at her. “Don't you?”

“He says he saw you with it.”

“I know what he says. He gave me grief at school. Look, I didn't want to have to tell you this, but what he saw was the bracelet I bought you, and—”

“You bought me a bracelet?”

“I was planning to give it to you on New Year's Eve. That's our two-month anniversary.”

Her face softens a little. “And Ronan thought the bracelet was the one he gave me?”

“Yeah. But it isn't. I bought it myself. The guy's crazy.” Okay, maybe it's a mistake to say that. Her tiny smile of surprise and, just maybe, appreciation vanishes. Yup, definitely a mistake.

“He's not crazy.”

“Okay, I'm sorry. But if you'd seen him…He was ready to take me on.”

“Take you on?”

“Beat the crap out of me. I'm not kidding. You know how he is. But he was wrong. I don't have his bracelet. You want me to go home and get the one I bought and give it to you now? That'll prove I'm not lying.”

She lets out a long sigh. He's not sure what that means, but then she says, “I'm sorry, Derek. I feel like I've ruined things for you. I must have misplaced that stupid bracelet.” He likes the way she says it—as if Ronan has annoyed her with his petty problem. “I'll look again.” She starts for the kitchen door. He catches her around the waist.

“Not now, okay? It can wait. Can't it?” He asks her if she wants to go back to the den and watch the movie with her parents or if she maybe wants to go down to the basement with him and watch a movie down there. In the end, she agrees to go downstairs, which would be perfect if Carly, fed up with Christmas tradition and having no patience for the slow pace of old movies, didn't decide to join them. Still, Jordie calms down and snuggles against him and stays snuggled until Carly, bored or tired or both, finally drifts upstairs. Derek is glad to see her go; he pulls Jordie closer and gets ready to kiss her.

But she wriggles away until there's a good chunk of sofa between them.

“Why would Ronan think you had his bracelet if you didn't?” she asks.

Jeez, that again! The way the question comes out, coupled with the frown on her face, makes him think she has been chewing this over the whole time they were supposedly watching the movie.

“You've seen the one he gave me. It's practically one of a kind. It's not one of those mass-produced things you can get in some low-end jewelry store.”

“I never saw it.”

“I wore it all the time, Derek.”

“Maybe you did. But you weren't wearing it anymore when we started going out, and before that, it wasn't your wrist I was looking at. It was your eyes. And your face.” That earns him a smile. “You know what it probably is? Maybe he's shortsighted, and he needs glasses. Or maybe”—he can't stop himself—“he's an idiot.”

Jordie tenses up, which annoys Derek. If Ronan is truly her ex, she shouldn't care what Derek says about him.

But she does.

“Okay, I'm sorry I said that. Honestly, I don't know why he thinks I have his bracelet. I don't.”

He reaches for her again.

She pulls back out of his reach—again.

“Did you take it because you were jealous of him?” she asks.

She's never going to let up.

“Okay. A, I didn't take it.” There's a sharpness to his voice now that he doesn't try to hide. Everything was going along just great until that asshole Ronan showed up on the porch. “And B, what do you mean, am I jealous? What do I have to be jealous about? Ronan? You two split up, remember?”

She doesn't answer.

He doesn't know whether to press the point or not. They did split up. Everyone knows it. When it happened, everyone at school was talking about it, and they all pretty much said the same thing: it's about time. He certainly seconded that emotion. She's never talked about what exactly led to the breakup, and now he's wondering again what
did
happen. And, more important, who instigated it. Everyone assumes it was Jordie because, really, why would any guy, especially a guy like Ronan Barthe, who'd won the lottery when he landed her, be stupid enough to let her go? But the guy is strange. Everyone knows it.

“Jordie, are you telling me I should be jealous of Ronan?”

“Of course not,” she says, but without the conviction he was hoping for. Without a smile. Without reaching for his hand, without sliding closer to him and snuggling up to him, without kissing him, not even on the cheek.

It's because of all of that, and because she still seriously thinks he might have stolen some stupid bracelet, supposedly bestowed by an ex-boyfriend—and because Ronan showed up the way he did, no doubt about it—that Derek decides to slip home and get the bracelet
he
bought for her, the kind of bracelet he knows she is going to love because it isn't some mass-produced thing either. It's special. He doesn't bother with a note. He plans to be back in a few hours, while everyone is still asleep.

Three

J
ordie stays up late that night. In fact, she hardly sleeps at all. Long after Derek has slipped out of the house, she is sitting exhausted on her bed and surveying the wreck that is her bedroom. The contents of her dresser drawers are strewn across the floor. A half dozen or more purses have been upended and also lie on the floor. Her jewelry—almost all of it costume jewelry—is scattered across her dresser. The jewelry box is empty. Her closet door stands open from when she searched every pocket of every jacket and coat she owns.

Also searched: her desk drawers; both of her backpacks; the collection of vintage tea and cookie tins and boxes that she inherited from her grandmother, an avid collector, and which she has filled with makeup, more jewelry, trinkets and bric-a-brac, what she describes as “just stuff” when her mother asks how on earth she has managed to fill them all; the three mugs she keeps on her desk, filled with pens, pencils and markers; and the wicker ottoman that opens up and that she shoves all manner of things into whenever her mother nags her to tidy up. It looks as if her room has been ransacked by a thief searching for some specific treasure, or by a surly cop trying to pin a murder on her, or, perhaps, by a vicious little sister. But none of these is true. Jordie has done this damage herself.

It had started out so simple. Ronan showed up unannounced on her porch (she had forgotten how much she loved looking into those dark blue eyes of his) and asked for the bracelet back. Her first thought: tough luck, buddy, it was a gift, and it's mine now. She loves that bracelet. And if he wanted to get all pissy because their relationship hadn't worked out—his fault, not hers—then too bad for him. A gift is a gift: once you give it, it belongs to someone else, to do with as they please.

The thing though? He wasn't angry about it. If anything, he looked sad.

“I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important,” he said to her out there on the porch. “You know that, right, Jordie? Did I ever ask you for anything,
ever
?”

No, he never had. But it's not the virtue he makes it out to be. The truth is, Ronan Barthe is a guy who can't bring himself to ask for anything from anyone, no matter what the circumstances. If he were drowning and someone were to appear on the shore, he wouldn't call for help. He has too much pride for that. It's either save yourself or admit your failure, because any man—this apparently applies only to men—who can't save himself doesn't deserve to live. It was part of the problem between him and Jordie. He never asked for anything. And because he never asked, he seemed to think she didn't have any right to ask either, not even for the things that don't require effort or expense to give, like maybe a phone call when he was going to be late or an explanation for why he was so clearly out of sorts, or just a word, one little word, to help her understand why he felt he had to put his fist through the wall in the chemistry lab, right in front of Mr. Thornbury.

“I need that bracelet, Jordie. I'll get you another one if you want. But I really need that one back.”

She didn't ask why he needed it. If she knew him at all—and she wasn't entirely certain anyone could claim to truly know Ronan, but if anyone could, she guessed probably she was the one—he wouldn't explain anyway. So she said, “Sure.” She said, “I have company right now, but I'll look for it later, and I'll get it back to you as soon as I can. Okay?”