Rush (17 page)

“I'll be honest.” She scoots away, faces me, and rests her head in one hand. “The reason I wanted you here is because I don't want you there. I want you off Mox's team and preferably out of this town.”

“It's not so simple anymore—”

“This is a shut-up moment. You have no say.”

I slap my hand over my mouth.

“But here's my problem, mine and yours. You think the only way to live, the only way to lift that cloud fuzzing your head, is to walk Mox's death tightrope. I don't like the option, but ever since you joined the feds, that crew is the only light you see. Since you need that adrenaline boost to feel sane, it would seem that Mox and his insane Immortals are a perfect fit.”

She straightens her legs and lifts her arms in a full-body stretch. Makes me want to hold her.

“So there's the problem I've been thinking about for, well, months.”

“I don't think we'll have this problem forever. There are things you don't—”

Salome places her hand over my mouth. I raise my hands.

“So I need to convince you that you
can
feel alive when you're not floating in caves or embedding rocks into your back.”

She throws back her hair, and her voice strengthens. “You irritate me, Jake King. I have one regret from last year. My prom. I waited all year for my senior prom. I waited for my neighbor to ask me, but the idiot was busy preparing for immortality by jumping out of airplanes.”

“Wait—”

She slugs me. “Yes, airplanes. Meanwhile, my dress, my beautiful green dress, hung laughing at me. Four guys, stable, considerate, on-the-ground guys, asked me to go. Four! Four times I said no. Well, today you will finally ask me. So ask!”

“Is this an excuse to whack me?”

“Ask!”

“Um, Salome, would you like to go to the prom with me?” I scratch my chin. “How was that?”

“Wonderful. And I would absolutely love to!” She jumps up, runs inside, and brings out a crinkled green dress. “It got messed up in the bag, but I'm not going to let your months in smoke-jumper training destroy my senior prom.”

She's joking, I see it in her face. But the words hurt because they're true.

Salome looks at me. It's a wide look that could mean anything. “What's the matter?” She fiddles with the dress in her hands. “You don't want to take me?”

“That's not it. I've messed up everything.”

“Then today,” she says, “make it right.” Her voice lowers. “Please.”

I slap my thigh, jump up, and wince from the pain in my back. “Yeah.” I gain steam. “Yeah! I'll give you a prom to remember, my beautiful neighbor.” I frown, stroke my loose T-shirt. “Hmm. Can't wear this to prom. Let's head to town.”

We drive down into Mandre. Bar, gas station, superette. That's it. No way I'll find a suit in this speck of a town.

“We'll need to head to Holdingford for your suit,” she says.

“Holdingford?” The vise on my lungs tightens. “Rose.” Koss's fiancée, Rose, lives in Holdingford.

“Don't worry,” Salome says. “I'm sure they'll have a flower shop.”

Then it hits. The lunacy of it. All the horror and sadness and loss of the blaze, all the hope and joy and anticipation of my neighbor squeezed into these days. And in the middle—me—responsible for it all.

I peek at Salome. She beams. I can't take today away from her. Not now.

We enter Holdingford and shoot the day spending what little money I have. Tuxedo, corsage, food for the evening, music for the dance. Salome has her hair done; I get mine cut. And everywhere I listen for the name Rose. Because Koss is why I'm still here; he's the one who pushed us over the edge.

We return to the shack with the sun screaming at our backs. My date lays out my clothes on the porch and bounces inside. “Knock in an hour.”

“An hour?”

“Don't even try to figure it out. You're a guy.” She shuts the door.

I glance at the tuxedo. A monkey suit for a monkey boy. I dress and wonder about the fire. Does it still burn? Did it reach the house? Is the department looking for me? Mox surely didn't take any credit for what happened. And what business does a killer have dressed like this? Doing prom with a girl like Salome? I touch my boutonniere and close my eyes. I see it burn. Flower, stem. Then my tux. But I don't feel it.

Left alone, thoughts flood.
I shouldn't be here. I should be taking my punishment. I—

Behind me, a throat clears, and the shack door slams shut. I check my watch. I'm late.

I rise and knock.

“Be right down!” she calls.

“Down? Hey, I have to talk to you! Open the—”

The door swings, and Salome stands before me. Shoulders tan and beautiful, eyes sparkling. She's a magnet. She erases every thought from my mind, and I step closer. My hands reach out and caress her waist. I swallow, puff out air, and pull my hands back.

“I'm sorry. It's just. You're absolutely gorgeous.”

She lifts my chin. “No need to apologize. Are you ready?”

“For anything.”

I frown at my date. “You sure?”

“Now take the next right.”

“But—”

“Pull in.”

I slow the car and breathe deep. We cross beneath the wrought-iron arch and roll to a stop. I played here when I was young, leaped from stone to stone, but the ground feels different now—more sacred, like Dad said it would one day. I set out and wade through the tall grass, to where I remember rests the first stone marker. I bend and swat away brush until my hand grazes cool granite. I trace the date with my pointer. 1935. HE FOUGHT BRAVELY.

The firefighters' graveyard is the reason Dad bought this hill. There were many other mounds available, in better locations along the ocean. But none of them came with this memorial. Thirty-plus markers to unknown men who died in the Pasquat Blaze of '35.

It's too soon, Koss's death too fresh, and my stomach turns.

I gesture around the place with my arms. “This is where you want to go on your prom night? There were plenty of restaurants in Holdingford.”

She reaches into the car, and John Lennon floods the cemetery with “Imagine.”

“Will you dance with me?” she asks.

“Here?” I look around. “It doesn't seem right, us dancing on top of all them.”

“Will you dance with me?” She reaches out a hand, and I take it. We find an open spot. She lifts my hands, places them on her shoulders, and grabs my lapels. “Look at me.”

I am. There's no way to avoid it. Her eyes capture, and the stones behind her fade away.

I pull her close, and she rests her head on my chest. My hands move over her bare back. Every part of me comes to life.

“So how about now?” she says. “What do you want to do right now?”

My mind swims. “Why do you keep asking me that? It's not obvious?”

“Many things have been obvious these last ten years . . . Do you like it here in my arms?”

“Yeah.”

“How about your body and that unique brain of yours? Do they feel alive?”

“Yeah.”

“And how's the weather inside?” She taps my temple. “Partly cloudy?”

“Clear. Warm. It's sure pleasant enough.”

We sway in the headlights and listen to the breeze whistle through the graveyard. The music stopped long ago, but there's no need for beat, for rhythm. We fit. We flow. We belong.

“I want us to be together,” she whispers. “If you stay with Mox . . . I know you. You'll push, and I'll get a call like we did with Drew.” She swallows hard. “It'll be you this time. And I couldn't bear to lose both of you.”

I glance around and hug tighter.

“Do you want to be one of these stones?” she continues. “Do you want to be where I'm not?”

I shake my head. She's right. I see it all. I see where it's going.

“So, friend, prom date, what will you do?” she asks.

Here's when I should tell her that I've thought about her since, well, forever. I should tell her why I've held her away. Why I've been afraid. I should let her into my world. All the way in. Right now, I know, Salome is my rush and always has been. I could find happiness. Maybe even peace.

But there's a knife that twists in my gut, the stabbing from a blade held by Koss's last words.

I shuffle my feet and run hands through my hair.

“I'll leave. I'll tell Mox when I get back.”

Salome grabs my cheeks and pulls my gaze into hers. “Give me your guarantee.”

I'm screwed. “You got it.”

She hugs me. I feel like a loser.

We finish the dance. Salome whirls and laughs. I grin—I've never seen her so happy, but when I pull her close, when my face is shielded from her gaze, my grin falls. To keep my friend's smile, I must ignore Koss's final wish.

The wind dies, and I slump toward the car. I feel Salome's gaze land heavy on my back.

“Only one dance?” she asks.

I rub my eyes. “After I quit . . . let's think here. What else am I gonna do?” I peek at her, her arms limp at her sides. I'm doing it again. Ruining her second prom. “But I know it's right. I mean, you make sense.”

“I want to do more than just make sense.” She approaches.

I nod. “You do.”

We get back into the Beetle and drive up the hill in silence. An old truck is parked out front of the shack. I crunch to a stop. “Stay here. I'll get rid of them.”

I hop out of the car, step quietly onto the porch, and throw open the door.

A scream, followed by fast Spanish. A woman gathers two children to herself. All I see are silhouettes and the whites of their eyes in the moonlight. The woman says nothing.

“English?”

She shakes her head.

I nod, lift up my hands. “Stay.”

I turn and pause. I glance back at the girls, at the beautiful necklaces strung around their necks. Blue rocks.

I point to the girls, gesture toward their necks. Mom speaks quickly, starts to remove the strung stones. I wave my hands.

“No. You can keep them.” I smile. I lift hands to the sky and shrug. “Where did you find them?”

She points to the closet. I open the door. In the dim light, there is a flash of blue from a jar on the floor. Our jar sparkles. Half full. I reach in and grab a few handfuls. It feels like I'm touching something precious, holy, I guess. I stuff my pockets with blue rocks and leave.

Outside, Salome lifts her head, eyes full of worry.

“It's a woman and a couple small kids,” I say. “Gotta let them stay.”

Salome nods. “I'll get our things.” She disappears into the shack, appears a few minutes later.

“What about us?” she asks. “I don't want to go back. Not yet.”

Her face glows smooth and light beneath the moon. It's no fair to look as she does. Not fair to me.

“I got a question,” I say. “Seeing as we're not really neighbors right now—”

She raises her eyebrows.

I squirm. “I mean, yeah, we're neighbors, or at least were and this is your prom and all . . .”

“Go on.”

“And to make it a real prom, I'm thinking, well . . .”

I kiss her. Full and rich and real. A breeze blows, swirls gentle around us. It touches every part of her body and vanishes into the night. But I get to stay and caress her arms and neck. I hear my name melt my ear, feel her lips turn mine to Jell-O. Knees weaken, and there's a good chance I'll go down, but not without her. Nowhere without her. She knows me and still she kisses me, and inside hope wakes up. She kisses me new.

We stumble toward the car with bodies locked. I fumble with the door, throw it open, and we ease into the front seat. My fingers stroke her hair, her shoulders, her back. They move toward the zipper, inch it down. Salome whispers, “Jake.”

I pull back breathless and stare wild-eyed. “I'm sorry. I can't. I shouldn't. I'm so sorry.”

She strokes my chest and whispers, “Why can't you ever shut up.” Salome draws closer.

But I can't. My mind clouds. I swore I wouldn't let anything happen to her, not ever. I can't lose her.

“What's wrong?” She straightens.

“It means too much, you know? Too much. If you were somebody else . . . If you were Brooke, no problem, but you're not.”