Solstice (20 page)

When I can’t watch any more of the misery, I turn off the tube. And then I go downstairs and start tending the plants and flowers even though they don’t really need it. They’ve been protected from the devastation outside. Like an oasis.

Reese’s pink flowers are still alive, though they’ve sucked up most of the water in the vase. I move to water them, but then I stop. Should I really keep them alive? This is the god of war we’re talking about. I halfway feel like picking them up and tossing them into the compost heap, erasing all memories of him and our date. But that would just be causing more death. I go ahead and add water to the stems because that’s what I do. I take care of plants. I can always tell what they need—except for the pomegranate tree.

The pomegranate tree. I realize, with the storm, I’ve almost forgotten about it. The Underworld is fading into memory, and I want to hold onto it with everything I have. Shayne’s pomegranate tree—in his garden—aching for something which isn’t there. Something missing from the soil. When I think about it, the sorrow inside the tree hits me, and I sink to the floor. What would make a tree in paradise so sad?

The next day, aside from flooding, the cold spell is a memory. Temperatures are back at one hundred by seven a.m., and the weather station predicts humidity will get to dangerously high levels because of the melting. Precipitation is good in that it helps plants grow, but in such mass amounts, the ground and city can’t handle it. I try texting my mom again, but there’s still no response. I know I shouldn’t worry about her, but something just feels off. It’s totally out of her character to not be in touch, especially with the weather issues. I call her FON just to make sure, but she doesn’t answer.

I call Chloe next, but her mom tells me she’s sick. Her mom doesn’t sound worried about Chloe but keeps me on the FON for five minutes to talk about the storm. I assure her I’m fine here alone at the Botanical Haven and that if I have any problems, I’ll come over. But I try to get her off the FON. I don’t want to spend my day talking to Chloe’s mom, so I ask her to have Chloe call me later. Once Chloe gets better, I’ll tell her everything, or at least I’ll try to. I think she’ll have a hard time believing I traveled to Hell and came back to talk about it. I have a hard time believing it. I want to make sure I tell her about Reese and tell her she should stay away from him. But as the hours tick by, I start to think this conversation will have to happen tomorrow at school.

I’m about to lock the door and take a nap when the bell rings. I glance out the glass to see who’s here because, at this point, anyone is better than no one. It’s Melina—the girl who’d given me the box last week when my mom wasn’t home. When I open the door, humidity pours in like thick gel.

“Piper.” Melina’s lips lift into a cherry ice cream smile, pink and round and perfect. She peeks her head in and looks around, letting her blond corn rows fall forward over her blouse which dips so low in the middle I see her ribs. Each corn row is capped with a shell which jingles against the others creating a song as she moves. Melina looks like she belongs on the cover of Cosmo, except she’s so pretty no one would believe the photos are real. “Is your mom home?”

I shake my head and smile. Maybe I will have some company today. “No.”

“She’s not out picking seeds today, is she?”

I open the door wider so she can come in. Which she does. “She’s out of town.”

Melina’s eyebrows shoot up her beautiful forehead, making the green of her eyes stand out like emeralds. “Really?”

I nod and can’t help the grin which grows on my face. “Yeah, kind of unbelievable, isn’t it.”

“A bit out of character,” Melina says. “What have you been doing? Were you okay during the storm?”

My mind flies to my date with Reese and my journey to the Underworld with Shayne. “I was fine. I made it home before it got too bad.” The air from outside reminds me I haven’t been out in over a day. “You don’t want to go for a walk, do you?” I ask.

A perfect smile forms on Melina’s perfect face. Her body reminds me of a minx, sleek and supple, and with her low-cut blouse, I see every curve. She reaches out a golden arm and opens the door, and the sunlight catches the fine, blond hairs, making her arms shimmer.

“Definitely,” she says, and I walk outside.

Melina follows me out, letting the door swing shut, linking arms with me as we walk. There’s no one around to see us, so even though my reflex is to pull it back from her, I let it be. We pass the greenhouses out back which are steamed up from all the humidity; I can’t even see inside. I head for the path in the woods, walking under the trees. There are puddles everywhere from the storm, and no matter how hard I try to avoid them, my feet are soaked in seconds. Outside, I see how sheer Melina’s clothes really are. In the sunlight, I can see right through the blouse. Her nipples are hard against the fabric which clings to her, showing the brownness of each nipple perfectly. Her thin skirt falls into the space between her legs, outlining her thighs, and it’s clear she’s not wearing any underwear. But if anyone can pull off the look, it’s Melina. I glance at her sideways, unable to take my eyes off her. Imagining the effect she must have on guys.

“Crazy weather, huh, Piper?” she says. If she’s aware her clothes leave little to the imagination, she doesn’t show it or doesn’t care. She stops near a large crop of limestone and sits on one of the bigger rocks, spreading her legs to let her skirt hang in between. And then she pats the place next to her.

I sit down next to her, pulling my eyes from her chest. “My mom thinks the atmosphere is being stripped away.”

Melina draws her pouty lips together. “I guess that’s one theory.”

“What’s another?” I ask.

She seems to consider this. “Maybe the Global Heating Crisis is just coming to an end. Maybe the whole thing has just been the natural progression of weather on Earth.”

“Maybe,” I say, though I don’t for a second believe it. Global warming has been predicted for the last hundred years. It’s not just going to disappear by magic.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely,” Melina says. “Maybe it’s those air diverters they’ve been trying out in Japan.”

“My mom thinks those are just as bad,” I say.

“But what do you think?” Melina asks.

I nod. “I think she’s right.” Everything I’ve read about the air diverters suggests that all they’re doing is redistributing the heat. Nothing really gets rid of it. They just move it around. I pick up a pebble and throw it, trying to hit a puddle. Instead, it lands on a slope, and I watch it tumble down a few feet and stop in the mud. “Thank you for the box.”

Melina puts her hand on my forearm which causes goose bumps to form. “You already thanked me.”

I shift my arm to get her hand off it. “Yeah, I know. But I didn’t realize how beautiful it was.”

She sets her hands behind her and tosses her head back, letting her corn rows fall until they touch the rocks. “My husband made it. Did you open it?”

I hardly have time to think about that fact that Melina is married. She looks like she’s only a couple years older than me, and I can’t imagine a perfect enough guy to be her match; it seems every creature on Earth would feel inferior to Melina. But my sensors go up when she asks if I’ve opened the box. It’s the exact same question my mom asked when she’d found it hidden in my room. “It was empty,” I lie.

Melina turns to me, lifting an eyebrow, moving so her breast brushes my arm. I flinch but don’t pull away. I don’t want her to think she’s making me uncomfortable.

“Empty?” she asks.

I sigh and, unable to take it anymore, scoot enough so we aren’t touching. After all, she did give me the box; I guess I can tell her. “There was a red feather inside.”

Her eyes widen, and this time, they look violet. I shake my head, knowing the sun must be playing tricks on me; eyes don’t change color on demand. “Interesting,” she says.

“You didn’t know?”

Her eyes say no, but her perfect lips disagree. “Yes. Of course.” And she settles back on her arms.

“I never knew you were married,” I say.

Melina nods. “For a while now.” She stretches her arms, and, for the first time, I notice the thick band on her ring finger. Patterns twist on it into knots.

“Was it love at first sight?”

Melina laughs and settles her hands in her lap, letting them fall between her legs, shifting her legs farther apart. “Not hardly. Let’s just say it was a marriage of convenience.”

I’m not sure what could be convenient about marrying someone you don’t love—especially if you’re the most gorgeous creature on the planet. “So do you believe in love at first sight?” I ask. I think of Shayne. Of the first time I saw him in class. And the desire that moved through me. If I didn’t fall in love that day, I’m sure I never will.

Melina turns and looks me in the eye. Her lilac eyes glimmer in the sunlight and pick up the iridescence of the shells hanging from her hair. “Do you?” she asks.

I nod.

She smiles but continues to hold my eyes. “So do I. I believe there is some love so strong nothing can stand in its way. Love is the only certainty in the whole universe.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” I say.

She nods and breaks eye contact, closing her beautiful eyes and looking back up to the sun. “Good, Piper. Always hold onto that belief.” She inhales and lets out a deep sigh. “I felt that way about someone once,” she says.

“Not the guy you married?”

Melina shakes her head. “No. I was already married. But I loved this guy, and he loved me. The world stopped when we were together.”

“So what happened?” I barely breathe the question.

Melina angles her head. “He fell in love with someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” I say because I can’t think of anything else appropriate.

Melina turns to me then and holds my eyes. “Are you really, Piper?”

“Of course,” I say. Though I’ve only known Shayne for days, I’m pretty sure my world would shatter if he loved someone else.

Melina points to her gorgeous body. To her face. “Look at me, Piper.”

I’m not sure how I could look at anything else, so I nod.

“It happened to me. It could happen to anyone.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “I’m sorry,” I say again.

And Melina lets it drop. We chat for a few more minutes but then say goodbye. I leave her there and head back to the Botanical Haven by myself and lock the door behind me.

I walk upstairs, stopping in the kitchen for a quick drink of water. Outside, it’s getting warmer by the second; the thermometer’s well over one hundred and five. It’s like the ice storm was a fantasy. I want to flip on the tube to make sure it really happened, but I can’t bring myself to watch any more bad news. I finish my water, set my cup on the counter, and head down the hallway to my room.

I open the door to my room, and pink flowers are everywhere inside. Cut at the stems and scattered about—on the dresser, the table, and especially on the bed. My stomach knots. Reese had come into my room while I was out and put flowers all over the place. Cut flowers. Illegal flowers. His scent is everywhere, thick on the sheets and hanging in the air.

My chest constricts as I look around. I wonder if he’s still near. Maybe even in the Botanical Haven. I stand there for at least a minute, frozen. Each flower has been arranged flawlessly, and I love them and hate them at the same time. They’ve been severed and won’t live through the night, but they’re also beautiful.

Anger bubbles inside me, and I walk toward the bed, each step causing the fury to intensify. I’m angry at Reese for violating my home, and I’m angry at myself for seeing beauty in what he’s done. I begin to scoop them together so I can trash them but stop when I see a note tucked under the pillow, sticking out just enough that an edge of the crisp white paper shows. My hands shake as I reach down and pull it out.

Remember I love you.

I tear it to shreds, and when I can’t tear the pieces any smaller, I feel the overwhelming urge to incinerate it. But my mom would flip if I started a fire. So I content myself by gathering all the flowers and the ball of paper scraps and shoving them in the compost heap, and I hope that helps resolve the conflicts in my mind.

S
unday night, the city council holds a press conference. The council room looks empty without my mom sitting there. The Botanical Haven feels even emptier. Councilman Rendon gets up to the podium and talks about the rescue efforts downtown and how nearly everyone was pulled from the debris of the collapsed building. He lists only fifteen casualties of the fifty people trapped. His math reminds me of the cooling gel the city uses in the misters. Ten percent allergic to the gel is acceptable. I think he figures as long as he gets the majority of the vote, he’ll win the election.

After he’s talked on and on about how well everyone responded to the emergency, the questions start.

“How many deaths were reported?” the first reporter asks. It’s always right to the worst of the worst.

Council Rendon clears his throat and uses his most serious expression. “Reports as of late afternoon are that two hundred and eighty-seven lives were lost in the ice storm.”