The Half Life of Molly Pierce (7 page)

“I’ll call you.”

He walks around the car again and gets in the driver’s side and I watch him pull away from the curb. I feel sick to my stomach. Like I might throw up. When I turn toward the house, there’s movement in the living room window. A curtain falling back into place. And I think, oh great, they’ll ask me about it now. Was that the brother? How was the funeral? Why did he kiss you on the forehead and why do you look like you’re about to throw up?

But inside, nobody says anything. I go up to my room and I lie down on the bed and all I see is Lyle’s face on the ceiling of my room. Lyle’s face on the inside of my eyelids.

Lyle, dead.

Lyle throwing a whiskey bottle against a wall.

Sayer driving me home.

Sayer kissing my forehead.

And I don’t know where to put any of it, so I let it swirl around until I fall asleep. I fall asleep and I dream of green eyes. Gravestones. A hand on someone’s shoulder and my forehead, burning and hot.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I
can’t put off seeing my friends any longer and so I agree to meet Luka and Erie for lunch the next day.

I don’t want to go. I have to pull myself out of bed in the morning, and while I’m in the shower Hazel lays out clothes for me on my bed. She does this sometimes; she wants to be a clothing designer when she’s older. She thinks I’m mostly a lost cause, but she always manages to make me look presentable. I get dressed quickly and blow-dry my hair for as long as I can stand it (it’s too hot, I’m too bored, my hair is too long), then I brush on some mascara and I’m out the door before anyone can ask me where I’m going. But there’s Hazel perched on the hood of my car, wearing an enormous oversized sweater and reading a book.

“Need a ride somewhere?” I say, standing in front of her. She looks adorable, my sister, with her pixie haircut and her black velvet leggings and clunky lace-up boots. She could wear a carpet wrapped around her body and still manage to make it look put together. She’s even wearing lipstick—her favorite pale pink. She had me try it on once and I looked like a clown. Even she admitted that.

“Homeward bound,” she answers. She taps the hood next to her, but I’m not sure it will hold both of us so I just take a step closer. She lowers her book, saves the place with a finger. Pushes her sunglasses onto the top of her head. “You look nice.”

“Thanks to you,” I say.

She shrugs. There’s something there, behind that shrug. I don’t know what it is.

“Where are you headed?” she asks.

“Lunch with Luka and Erie.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Sure. You?”

“Reading,” she says, and lifts the book. “For school. Bookstore, later.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there, too. Register duty.”

“Restocking.”

“And Clancy?” I say. I haven’t seen him this morning.

“Sleeping,” she says.

The only person who can sleep longer than I can.

“Sure you don’t need a ride somewhere?” I ask. I’m getting this feeling like she wants to tell me something but she’s certainly taking her time, whatever it is.

“I saw you with that boy yesterday,” she says, sliding off the car, stretching her legs, one after the other.

The mystery curtain mover.

“The brother,” I say. “Of the boy who died.”

“I figured,” she says. “How was the funeral?”

“Fine,” I say. “Sad.”

I don’t know, how are funerals? What are you supposed to say about them? The flowers were nice? The casket was closed? Everyone cried and I remembered that I knew him somehow? That we were friends and that I was with him at a warehouse before he died?

“Are you going to see him again?” she asks.

“Am I going to . . .”

“I was just wondering.”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe, I think so.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

I guess I haven’t thought about it.

Is it a bad idea?

I want answers. And he said he had them.

“It’s an okay idea.”

I settle for this.

“Sure,” she says.

The way she says
sure
. It’s like she wants to say more, but this time I know she’s not going to. She’s too thoughtful; her face is too set. She’s made up her mind.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“It means sure,” she says, smiling, ducking out of my way before I can say anything else or reach out and stop her. “Okay. All right. Sounds good.”

“Hazel,” I say. She pauses on the steps that lead around the side of the house and up to the front door.

“Yeah, Molly,” she responds. She turns around, taps her glasses down over her eyes.

“Do you know something I don’t know?”

She falters briefly, opens her mouth to respond, cocks her head like she’s forgotten her words halfway through saying them. She finally smiles.

“What about you, Molly? Do you know something I don’t know?”

A standstill. An impasse.

She smiles wider.

She turns and skips up the steps. Like a fairy. Like a sprite.

I meet Luka and Erie in the parking lot of a local diner called Sal’s. It’s basically the only place in town not overrun by tourists. It’s out of the way. You have to come here on purpose.

As soon as I’m out of the car, Erie grabs my hand and pulls me into the diner like she’ll die if she goes another moment without food. Like I said: metabolism of a hummingbird. Something equally small and blurry.

Luka brings up the rear, shuffling his feet. I swing my arm behind me to hit him but come up with only air.

“She told me everything,” he says when we sit down. We’re at a table in the back.

“Didn’t think you’d mind,” Erie explains, largely unapologetic. “How was the funeral?”

I’m still not sure how to answer that question. I sort of shrug. Why do people ask about funerals? And what are you supposed to say about them?

I settle for “Fine. It was fine.”

“How’s the brother?” Erie asks.

“Sort of good, I guess.” And then, because I can tell they aren’t at all satisfied with my lackluster recounting of events, I add, “He’s sad. I mean—obviously. He was just really sad. And it was . . . I mean, hardly anyone showed up. Or, I guess, people showed up but it just didn’t really seem . . . it doesn’t really seem like they have much family. I guess.”

Erie makes a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat and Luka looks uncomfortable, and then the waitress comes over and we all order our food and gradually Erie fills up all the empty air with conversation about her weekend, about her weird new poet boyfriend, about her unwillingness to finish Mr. Stone’s English essay. Luka systematically ignores my repeated attempts at making eye contact while attacking his grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. Luka isn’t good with stuff like this. When my last grandparent died, he avoided me for two weeks. Finally I followed him into the boy’s bathroom and refused to let him out of the stall until he acknowledged me.

I move my salad around on my plate until I realize it’s quiet and Erie is looking at me like I’m supposed to say something now. I try and respond but inhale awkwardly and choke on a cherry tomato, cutting off my oxygen for the next twenty seconds while I cough like a fool. Blinking back tears, I wipe my face with a napkin and take a careful sip of water.

“Really, Molly,” Erie says, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t hear what you said,” I tell her.

“I asked if you’re going to see him again.”

“See him? See who?” I say too quickly. It comes out awkward and I feel my face grow hot. Erie rolls her eyes again. She’s pretty good at rolling her eyes. Lots of practice.

“What’s his name again?” Luka asks.

“Sayer,” Erie says.

“Oh, him,” I say. This comes out wrong, too. It was supposed to be more offhanded.

“Weird name,” Luka says.

“You have a weird name,” Erie says.

“You have a weird name,” Luka says. Under his breath, he says something that sounds like
moon
. Erie pushes her shoulder into his shoulder.

“Well, are you?” she says, turning her attention back to me.

“Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I mean, maybe.”

“Well, that clears it up,” Luka says.

“I guess maybe, yes,” I say. “I mean, probably. He said we should see each other again.”

A tiny thrill. Saying the words out loud. Sayer wants to see me again.

Erie takes a sip of water and they both wait for me to continue.

“I said yes.”

Erie smiles, letting her shoulders fall as she leans across the table, closer to me. “Finally,” she says.

“What do you mean finally?” I say.

“I mean like, I thought we were going to have to sit here forever before you admitted that you’re going to see this guy again.”

“Your support is endearing,” I say.

“I don’t think she meant that,” Luka says to Erie.

“No, really, I’m happy you and Sayer hit it off,” Erie continues. “This has to be a difficult time for him and he’s lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “He seems nice.”

“Of course he’s nice,” Erie responds. “Why wouldn’t he be nice?”

“When are you seeing him?” Luka asks.

“Tuesday.”

“What are you going to do?” Erie asks.

“I don’t know. He’s going to call me.”

“Great,” Luka says. “Super.”

“What does that mean?” I ask him.

“It’s just like. Great. You’re both going to have boyfriends now.”

“Oh god, no, it’s not like that,” I say quickly. Erie is beaming and staring off into space, probably planning our eventual double wedding. “Erie,” I say. She looks at me, surprised. “No. Stop. No.”

She shrugs. “It’s a possibility.”

Luka exhales loudly and pushes his plate away from him. “I have to get a girlfriend now. I have to call some people. Molly, you never date anyone. You’re putting a lot of pressure on me.”

“I don’t
never
date,” I say.

“Last boyfriend: Will Bonnet. Sixth grade,” Erie recites.

“That was not my last—”

“Nope, Alan doesn’t count.”

“His last name was Bonnet? Like, a bonnet?” Luka asks, putting his hands on his head like a cap.

“Alan counts,” I say weakly.

“Like a hat?” Luka persists.

“It was a week; Alan doesn’t count.”

“It’s French, Luka. Like—
bonn-ay
.”

“Is that—really?” Erie asks.

“That’s what he said,” I say, shrugging.

“Whatever. He counts. Alan doesn’t count. Luka, we’ll still sit you with at lunch,” Erie says. She puts a hand on Luka’s arm. He shrugs.

“Everyone is getting vastly ahead of themselves,” I say.

“You think he’s cute,” Erie says. “He wants to see you again.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird, though?” Luka says. “I mean, you were the last person to see his brother, right.”

Lyle Avery’s face flashes in front of my eyes. But it’s not his face in the warehouse. This is something else.

“He seems nice,” Erie says. “It’s not weird.”

“I mean, I’m not saying she shouldn’t go. I’m just saying it’s a little weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s sweet. I think it’s sweet.”

I blink my eyes and Lyle’s face is gone. Erie and Luka are totally absorbed in the back-and-forth of whether or not seeing Sayer again is a creepy thing or a good thing and I feel suddenly nauseous, suddenly sick.

“Hey,” I say, but it doesn’t come out loud enough and neither of them hears me. Erie has her hand on Luka’s arm again and she’s trying to convince him about something I don’t understand because my ears are ringing and I taste something bitter in the back of my throat. I wait until they’re done talking and then I say it again, louder, “Hey,” and this time Luka hears me and he puts a hand over Erie’s mouth to shut her up and she pushes it away, laughing.

“What?” she says. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” I say. I dig around my purse and find a ten-dollar bill. I hold it out to them and wave it around until Luka takes it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing, it’s just—I forgot about the bookstore. I told my dad I’d stop by. Big shipment. Things to, you know, put away. Catalog.”

“You usually go in later than this,” Luka says.

“Sorry. I just told him I would. I forgot.”

“Are you sure? You just got here,” Erie says.

“I’m sure. I’m sorry. I’ll call you.”

I jump out of my seat and grab my purse and try to keep myself from running toward the door.

I barely make it into my car before my vision turns to fiery white and my ears rush with blood and I’m not in my car anymore.

I’m leaning against an enormous oak tree on the edge of the graveyard in town. It’s a seaside graveyard; I taste salt on my tongue. You get so used to it living in Manchester that sometimes you don’t even notice it. After a storm it is particularly strong.

So it’s stormed recently.

The skies are still gray.

I’m reading a book and I have a coat on. Jeans and sneakers.

I’m waiting for someone, and when he gets there I smile. It’s a real smile. He sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders and I lean my head against his arm.

“Took you long enough,” I say.

I said.

This is before, of course.

Before the accident and before the argument in the warehouse.

Before the whiskey bottle and the shattered glass.

This is the last thing I can’t remember.

I am here, leaning against this oak tree, leaning my head on Lyle’s arm.

I am always leaning on something.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

T
he next day at school I move through the hallways like they’re flooded. Like I’m swimming through them, coming up every so often for air and clawing my way through seaweed that would hold me down, choke me, suffocate me. My lungs burn with the effort of breathing. What I wouldn’t do for gills. At my locker I press my forehead into the door and let the metal cool me down. Erie and Luka keep their distance, treading just close enough so it can’t be said they’re avoiding me. I appreciate the tact. I also appreciate the distance.