The Mark (6 page)

Tasha was my self-appointed guardian, walking to classes with me, at my locker during breaks. She seemed to get it that it was okay to be
near
people, but that I didn’t really want to talk. Or look at them, if I could help it. There were times, though, that she was at doctors’ appointments or classes and practices that didn’t mesh with my schedule. It was during one of these that Jack Petroski found me.

“Cassie!” He broke away from his baseball teammates and trotted over. Final bell had just rung and I was collecting books from my locker slowly, not relishing my solitary trip home to the empty apartment. “Hey,” he said softly, standing tall and slightly awkward at my side. “I wanted to say how sorry I am about Nan.”

“Thanks, Jack.” I glanced at him, saw genuine concern in his eyes, and looked quickly away.

“How are you?”

I shrugged and pushed hard against my locker to secure its bent latch. “Surviving.”

He nodded and seemed about to go, but then asked, “You heading home?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want company?”

“Don’t you have practice?”

“Nah. Coach is at the dentist. Gave us the day off.”

I shrugged again. Jack didn’t live near me, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Sure.”

He hefted my book bag, carrying it easily along with his own. Jack was already tanned from hours of practice, and his hair, an earthy brown, lay wavy and rumpled as if he’d just run his hand through it, something he often did. I wondered briefly where Val was and if she’d be angry. Not that there was anything wrong with two friends talking. That’s what we were. Friends. Or had been back when the day’s big challenge was who could climb highest in the maple tree behind school.

“So, you guys ready for play-offs next week?” I asked as we went down the five wide steps out front. It felt weird to be asking about something so ordinary. Not bad, necessarily.

“Sure,” he said. “LaSalle’s got some great hitters, but I think we can take them.”

“Your mom going?”

“Oh yeah. She’ll be head-to-toe black and orange, and asking the whole time why our school colors couldn’t be something more flattering.”

“We all wonder that,” I said, smiling. “I hear some of the colleges have been watching you.”

He nodded, looking more serious. “I think one or two might actually come out for the games.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “But … that’s a good thing, right?”

“It is,” Jack answered slowly. “I just want to, you know, enjoy the game. Have fun. The scouts make it … I don’t know … too real.”

“I can see that,” I said, nodding. “Where are they from?”

“Granville and WSU. Both have great baseball programs.”

“Mm-hmm.” I’d never heard of either, which meant absolutely nothing. The only thing I knew about baseball was that our team was really good and it was mostly because of Jack, the star pitcher. He’d started varsity as a freshman last year and even made the paper a few times. “And, uh, where exactly are they?”

“Granville’s in Texas and WSU’s in Kansas.”

“Wow. Far.”

“Not too many worthwhile programs around here, so I won’t have much choice.” Jack hitched his shoulder, adjusting our bags, then looked down at me. “How ’bout you?”

“Nah,” I said. “No one’s recruited me yet.”

Jack grinned, nudging my arm with his. “You know what I mean. Have you started thinking about schools?”

“A little. Maybe Galein.”

He nodded. “Great school. You visited yet?”

“No. Still waiting for their packet.” Before Nan’s death, I had scanned the mail every day for their letterhead. I was surprised to realize I’d actually forgotten to check for a day or so, couldn’t remember the last stuff we’d—I’d—gotten. For all I knew, it was patiently waiting in our little keyed box.

“Where else are you going to look?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe Richford and State. I didn’t want to go too far away.” I shrugged. “Though, now, I’m not so sure …”

He nodded slowly. “I guess a lot seems different for you now. It’ll still be nice to be close to here, though. Your friends and stuff.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t bother pointing out that when everyone left for school, there wouldn’t be anything or anyone here.

We were halfway to the apartment already. It was such a relief to have a normal conversation like this—about school, the future. I don’t think I’d had one with anyone, even Tasha, since Nan had died more than two weeks before. I sighed. Jack looked down at me and, seeing it wasn’t a sad sound, smiled.

“You know what I found the other day?” he asked.

“What?”

“Mickey Mouse poker chips.”

“You did not.”

“I did. I was looking for a picture of the fourth-grade baseball team for some project the cheerleaders are doing and it was there, in that box.”

Jack’s uncle Ray had taught us to play poker when we were eight. Before Jack and his mom moved to their new townhouse, they’d lived three blocks from me and Nan. After school, Ray would come over, done with his mail route by two, and we’d play. Penny ante, two-penny raises. For Christmas that year, he gave us each our own chips. Jack got Mickey, I got Minnie.

I smiled. “I’d forgotten all about those. I wonder what happened to my set. I’m sure I kept it.”

Uncle Ray died just after my tenth birthday. The first funeral I’d ever gone to. Jack had cried and that scared me.

“He was a good man,” I said.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Jack smiled. “But he was a lot of fun.” We crossed the street, both of us slowing as we turned onto my block. “So, you’re staying in the apartment?” he asked. “Just you?”

“Where else would I go?”

“Right, I know, but isn’t it … lonely?”

We had stopped at the concrete path that led into my building. I looked up and saw the yellow curtains of Nan’s bedroom, still and dark. I kept that door firmly closed. Not ready to go there yet. I remembered early last spring, coming home on a bitterly cold day to find the apartment filled with daffodils, the same hue, but five shades brighter than Nan’s curtains. She’d needed some sunshine, she said.

“Yeah,” I answered Jack. “It is.”

It had been a nice walk and I didn’t want to end it like this. I started for the door, but he knew I was crying and stopped me, pulling me close, his sweatshirt warm and smelling faintly of sweat and aftershave. It felt so nice to have someone, maybe him especially, care that way: not protective like Tasha or commiserating like Agnes, but just caring. It broke open my sadness, tears wetting the navy cotton of his shirt.

He stroked my hair, waiting. Not trying to placate so he could leave. Just soothing, letting me be the one to pull away.

“I gotta go,” I whispered, using the heel of my hand to wipe away tears.

Jack nodded. “If you need anything, Cass, you can come to me.” His voice was low and earnest. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, Jack,” I said, because I knew he did.

Slowly I walked the long flight of stairs to the apartment. I thought about watching Jack from the window, wondered if he lingered outside for a minute or two, maybe thinking about coming up. Ringing the buzzer three times quick and once long and then bounding up the stairs, his legs taking the flight in four or five steps like he used to. I would have liked to see him, not a gangly kid anymore, someone much more grown-up, walking from my home to his, that link still between us. But watching him would have meant going into Nan’s room.

chapter 6

“Are we next?”

I nodded, pulling the cord to let the bus driver know we wanted off.

“You know where his office is?” Tasha asked as we stood. We were holding the poles, but still stumbled like little kids when the bus lurched forward.

“No, but I’ve got the address. It won’t be hard to find.”

We were on our way to see Nan’s lawyer, Mr. Koumaras. Tasha wasn’t going in with me, but had offered to come along and wait out front. “I’ll check out the business dudes,” she’d said, winking as if they’d actually be worth checking out. “We’ll hit Serendipity and The Brown Bean when you’re done.”

I agreed, hoping I’d be in the mood for shopping and coffee. I hadn’t been on any of my other recent trips downtown. Having Tash along would probably help, but going through Nan’s will—which is what I was here for—probably wouldn’t.

Mr. Koumaras had called the day after Nan died, when I’d just come back from the hospital, my head feeling as puffy as my eyes looked. I’d registered snatches of the conversation, only remembering to show up at his office today because he left a message reminding me.

“So, tell me the rest,” Tasha said as we started down Cedar Street. “What’d you talk about?”

“Oh, you know, nothing really. Colleges, the play-offs. You were right, scouts are coming to watch.”

“Toldja,” she said, smiling. Tasha made it her business to fill me in on all gossip about Jack, not that I’d ever asked her to or encouraged it. She had a thing about him and me. It had started about a month after she came to Ashville in eighth grade. We were at my locker and he’d stopped to ask me something. Tasha was smirking when he walked away.

“What?” I demanded.

“You belong together,” she said.

“What? Who?” I looked around.

“Don’t play innocent, Cassie,” she said, still smiling. “You and that guy Jack.”

“What are you talking about, Tash? You’re crazy. He has a girlfriend.” He and Val had started going out that summer. So I’d heard.

She shrugged. “He may have a girlfriend, but he also has a crush on you.”

“Come on,” I said, careful to hide my eyes. I hadn’t known Tasha very long back then, but had already figured out that she was good at reading people. Too good. “We’re just friends. I’ve known him forever—we used to hang out when we were kids.”

“Whatever,” she said. “But don’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot. Or that you don’t have maybe the teeny-tiniest little crush on him too.”

“You’re crazy.”

Of course, she’d ignored me and persisted in bringing him up randomly and not-so-subtly raising her eyebrows or winking at me when he passed. It was more funny than annoying—because Tash is a goof—and had become a running joke. Naturally, I’d told her about him walking me home the day before.

“So, that’s it?” she asked as we crossed the street, almost getting run over by a pack of skaters.

“What else did you expect?”

“I don’t know, did he try to kiss you or anything?”

“Tasha! You’re ridiculous.” I ticked off my fingers as I listed: “He has a girlfriend, he and I are just friends, we’d been talking about Nan …”

“Ah, you didn’t tell me that part.”

“Yeah …” I didn’t want to get into what had happened. I’d replayed it all afternoon, alone in the apartment. That moment with Jack—being so close to him—hadn’t really felt like a joke. It felt special, intimate, and too fragile to share. “Anyway,” I said, keeping my tone light and glancing again at the address in my hand. “It was nothing. But I knew you’d want to file it away in your bizarro Cassie and Jack collection.”

“You betcha,” Tasha said, grinning. “Mark my words, Cassie …”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved dismissively, squinting up at the faded numbers on the building, the small happiness of the conversation deflating. “I think this is it.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” she asked.

I shook my head, though I really wasn’t sure at all. “That’s okay. Hopefully I won’t be long.”

Tasha dropped her bag and sat on the lowest step while I ascended, my stomach in knots.

I must have looked shell-shocked when I came out an hour later.

“You’ll never believe …” Tasha said, stopping when she looked up at me. “Cassie? What’s wrong?”

I’d expected my meeting with Mr. Koumaras to be like the court dramas Nan had liked. A dry recitation of heretofores and aforementioneds. It had started out like that—sound mind and body, on this date of blah, blah, blah, a listing of assets. I was her sole beneficiary.

“Quite a nice sum she’s left you,” Mr. Koumaras commented, meeting my eyes for a reaction. “Four hundred eighty-two thousand dollars.”

Almost half a million dollars. I’d long suspected Nan had money socked away, though I would never have guessed such a ridiculous amount. Someday I’d probably be excited about it. Right now, I was just glad it was enough that I didn’t have to think about it.

And then he’d dropped the bombshell: the guardianship.

“The what?” Tasha said as we sat on the steps out front.

“I know,” I said, my head down, fighting tears. “That’s what I said.”

It was temporary, Mr. Koumaras explained. Ninety days mandated by the will. The inheritance would be held until it was completed.

“I don’t even care about the money,” I told Tasha, still trying to sort it all out. “But without it, I don’t have anything to live on. He was talking about bills and mortgage and insurance.” I shook my head. “I hadn’t really thought about that kind of stuff.”

“Maybe that’s why Nan did it.”

“Yeah, I guess, but …”

“What?”

I was angry that Nan hadn’t told me, but maybe it did make sense to have some help. “Okay,” I’d said to Mr. Koumaras. “Let me talk to my friend Tasha. I bet her parents would do it. Or maybe Agnes …”

He held up a hand. “Nan already designated a guardian.”

“Oh. Well, which is it?” Why hadn’t Tasha’s parents said anything when I’d been over for dinner? Or Agnes the gazillion times she’d sat weeping on the sofa?

“Neither.” He looked at his papers. “Nan designated Andrea Soto.”

“Who?”

He turned to another page and read, “Andrea Soto, Fifty-four Weston Avenue, apartment twelve, Bering, Kansas. Ms. Soto is the only sister of Daniel Renfield, Cassie’s father. She is Cassie’s only living relative.”

My dead father’s sister. Who I’d never met. That’s when the tears started, stinging and hot at the corners of my eyes.

“I don’t know her,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t even know my father had a sister. Nan can’t have meant for me to … what? Go live with her?” At that, I started crying for real, the idea of leaving my home to live with a total stranger just too much. “This lady is not going to take care of some girl she doesn’t know from a hole in the wall. Nan never talked about this … this Andrea Soto. She probably has no idea I even exist.”