The Mark (7 page)

“Oh, no, she knows,” he said softly, shuffling more papers and trying to ignore my tears. “She knows and has agreed to take you in.” He’d tapped the page, then placed it neatly at the edge of the desk, facing me.

“Oh my God,” Tasha gasped as we sat on the steps outside the lawyer’s awful mousehole of an office. “How soon do you have to go?”

“Next week,” I said. “He said I could wait until school was out or whatever, but if I do, I’ll miss the beginning of next year here. I’d have to start in Kansas.” I wiped my eyes. “I figured I should just get it over with.”

Mr. Koumaras had assured me there were no other strings and that I’d probably be granted emancipated minor status without much trouble, what with the inheritance. Turning seventeen soon after would help, but wasn’t a requirement. We’d only have to prove I was able to take care of myself. “It’s not so bad, is it, Cassandra?” he’d said.

Yeah, it’s great, I thought. Nan is gone, I see almost-dead people, and I have to leave my home and friends to live with an aunt I never knew about for the summer. In Kansas of all places. Terrific. “No, not so bad, I guess,” is what I’d said out loud, trying to smile, but failing miserably.

“But what about finals?” Tasha asked, looking shell-shocked now too.

“He’ll take care of it. Call Principal McCarthy.”

“But … why, Cassie?”

“Why what?”

“Why would Nan do it? Send you out there?”

“Who knows?” I shrugged tiredly. “But I don’t have much choice, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“But you’re going to miss the play-offs and Matt Glassman’s party and—”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me.”

“I’m sorry, Cassie.”

“Me too.” I took a deep breath, trying to think positive thoughts about the next three months. Nan had often said you can live with anything as long as it’s temporary. I hoped she was right.

chapter 7

The girl next to me picked up a magazine, then a minute later put it down. Her pale forehead was glistening. She looked at her watch and sighed, the exhale of a person barely able to catch her breath.

“What time are we supposed to land?” she finally asked.

“Two twenty,” I said.

She nodded curtly, gripping her armrests as the plane jostled.

“Are you scared of flying?” Dumb question, I thought. Is the sky blue?

She glanced at me and nodded briefly, her color blanching at another bump.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I told her with total confidence. “The plane will land safely.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

In fact it was. A small comfort of the mark—the only one I’d found so far. “Really. It’s going to be okay.”

She looked at me hard, but I noticed her grip on the chair loosen, a slight flush of the knuckles. She smiled weakly. “You’re very convincing.”

I smiled back and returned to my book, but I was too anxious to read. Had been most of the flight.

Tasha and I had closed up the apartment the day before with promises from Agnes and her nephew to keep an eye on it while I was away.

“God, I can’t believe you’ll be gone the whole summer,” Tasha’d said as we sat on the stoop out front. “What am I going to do without you? Who will be my coffee bud? Or go swimsuit shopping with me? You’re the only one I can trust!”

“Yeah. It stinks,” I’d said.

And it did. But after I’d gotten over the initial shock, I realized how hard the past weeks in Ashville had really been. I missed Nan so much. Reminders of her tugged at me endlessly, places we’d gone or talked about, things we’d done together.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was the mark. I couldn’t handle seeing it on someone else I knew. What if it were Juan at the newsstand or Agnes or Tasha or Jack Petroski? If I stayed, someday it could be. It was bad enough knowing it was someone’s time, but I wasn’t ready to face the added burden of knowing their history and dreams, the family they’d be leaving behind to feel the way I felt now.

I’d started to think it wouldn’t be so bad to be with strangers for a little while.

“And what about play-offs, Cassie?” Tasha threw up her arms melodramatically. “You’re going to miss your man’s starring role!”

“You are such a nerd,” I’d told her, smiling, though I’d had to force it a little, which was truly stupid because it wasn’t like, if I’d stayed in Ashville, I’d be likely to see Jack much anyway. Or that it would amount to anything more than “Hi, howya doin’, how’s your summer?”

I hadn’t gotten to say good-bye to him. I’d tried, but every time I saw him the past week, he’d been with Val or his teammates and I felt weird calling him away to tell him I was leaving.

I’d almost caught him two days ago as he’d run past me down the school steps. I called his name, amazed to see him finally alone.

He turned, giving me a big smile. “Hey, Cass! We’re taking off for the first game. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” I said, his back already turned as he jogged toward the waiting bus.

I decided I wasn’t going to mope about Jack, who probably wouldn’t even realize I was gone, much less care. And, though I knew I’d miss Tasha, I’d started to feel a tickle of excitement at the thought of a few months in Bering. A fresh start.

Now that the day was here, though, mostly I just felt sick to my stomach.

Andrea Soto was meeting me at the airport. “I’m average height, dark hair. I’ll be carrying a big orange bag,” she’d said in our brief phone conversation. “My work tote. It goes with me everywhere, probably the best thing to pick me out with.”

I hadn’t been sure what to expect when Mr. Koumaras told me she’d be calling. Would it be a teary reunion? Condolences about Nan? Would she talk about her brother, my father?

It turned out to be none of these, purely logistical: where we would meet, her phone number, address. Just the facts, ma’am. That was fine, I thought, after we’d hung up. The rest of that stuff would be better in person anyway.

At a patch of turbulence, my seatmate inhaled sharply and practically threw her magazine to the floor. “Stupid, I know,” she said through clenched teeth. “Fear isn’t always rational.”

I liked that.

When the bumping and bouncing stopped, she turned to me. “Sorry to be such a nutcase.”

“Not a problem.”

“I’m Petra,” she said. “I’d offer to shake, but my hands are sweaty.”

I smiled. She had black hair, dyed and clipped in a sharp bob around an elfin face. She wore heavy eyeliner, heavier boots, and was reading something with lots of technical-looking charts that I couldn’t decipher without being snoopy. She reminded me of Tasha somehow, though they looked nothing alike. “Interesting name,” I said.

“Thanks.” She waited before prompting, “And you are …?”

“Sorry. Cassandra. People call me Cassie, Cass, take your pick.” I had known it was my turn, but held back. I don’t know why, really. What could be the harm in telling her my name? Except that it meant I knew someone, someone knew me. Connection. One thing I was hoping to leave behind.

“Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” Petra said, smirking.

“That’s right.” I was surprised. Despite the goth look, she was sharp. Not many people knew the history behind my name.

“You live in Wichita?” she asked.

“No. I’ll be staying there for a few months. Not Wichita exactly,” I corrected, “but a town called Bering.”

She nodded. “I’ve been there. Nice place. I live in Ridgevale.” Seeing my blank look, she added, “It’s about midway between Wichita and Bering.” She waited for a reaction, but having never been west of Pittsburgh, I had none. “Do you have family there?”

“Uh-huh. My aunt.” It felt weird to say it, even though I’d been tossing it around in my head since Mr. Koumaras had told me about her.

“Oh, yeah? What’s she do in Bering?”

“I don’t know.”

Petra looked at me strangely. “How old is she?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe forty? Fifty?” Though she could just as easily be ten years older or younger. I hadn’t thought to ask.

She frowned. “So … you’re going to live with your aunt, but you don’t know how old she is or what she does?”

“I’ve never met her.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How come? Was she locked up somewhere? Or is it a family feud?”

I don’t know why I’d been worried about being snoopy. Clearly this girl wasn’t, but she was so openly curious, it was disarming.

“No,” I answered. “I don’t think so, at least. I just found out about her. I didn’t know I had an aunt.”

“Wow. So, it’s like a long-lost relative thing? Like on soap operas?”

I smiled a little. “Yeah. I guess it kind of is.”

“Cool,” she said, her dark eyes gleaming. “What
do
you know about her?”

“Well …” I reached into a pocket to pull out a wrinkled paper. “I’ve got her address.”

Petra looked at it. “Great neighborhood. About as hip as Bering gets.”

That little spark of excitement was back. But then Petra added, “Which isn’t very, by the way.”

Oh. Well, this was Kansas, after all. What did I expect?

In fact, I’d looked it up after my meeting with Mr. Koumaras and expected exactly what the Chamber of Commerce Web site told me: the ninth-largest city in Kansas, top twenty for wheat production, farming the principal occupation. Bering is the home of Lennox University and a vibrant downtown scene.

Petra snorted when I said it. “Vibrant, my ass. Though it beats Ridgevale.”

I was about to ask why she stayed if she didn’t like it, when the nose of the plane dipped, the start of our descent. Petra gasped and clutched the armrests. We passed through the clouds—cotton candy dreamscapes—and on the other side, I got my first look at Kansas: a patchwork of fields—gold, amber, brown, and green—broken by strips of road with tiny cars and trucks inching along. It looked quiet and peaceful, unfamiliar, yet welcoming.

Once the wheels touched down, Petra relaxed and bent forward, rummaging in her bag. She thrust something at me.

“Here, this is my card.” Black, of course, with clean white lettering:
Petra Gordon, PhD, Psychiatry.
Never would have guessed. Plus, she must be older than she looked. “I’d be happy to show you around, if you want. Check out the vibrant downtown scene and all.”

“Thanks.” I tucked it in the outer pocket of my worn backpack, knowing I wouldn’t call. “So you’re a psychiatrist?”

“Yeah. Surprising, isn’t it?”

“Well …”

“Most people would believe I’m seeing a shrink before they’d believe I
am
one.”

“It’s not that. You just seem too young to be done with all that schooling and stuff.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m actually not. Done, that is. I’m doing my residency in Ridgevale, so I am a psychiatrist, but not licensed to practice on my own yet.”

“Uh-huh.” That explained why Petra was here. And made her fear of flying even funnier.

“I don’t really use those cards,” she added. “Not professionally. A friend got them printed up for shits and giggles. They sometimes come in handy, though.”

“Like when you meet clueless strangers on airplanes.”

“Right,” she said. “Something like that.”

We had taxied to the terminal and I felt the slight jolt of plane meeting Jetway.

“Anyway,” Petra said, collecting her bags. “Be sure to pick up the
City Paper
; they’ve got the best list of what’s going on. You know, concerts, shows, street fairs, that sort of thing. Plus, it’ll give you a good lay of the land. There’s usually something happening at the U and even if there isn’t, it’s a pretty cool place to hang out.”

“Great,” I said as she scooted for the door. “Thanks for the tips.”

She waved over her shoulder and was gone.

chapter 8

I picked Andrea Soto out of the crowd immediately. Partly because the crowd was only six people, three of them men, but mostly because she was yelling into her phone so loudly that it was impossible not to notice.

I sized her up while she was distracted. Andrea Soto was lean and muscled as if she did Pilates or yoga, with a big orange satchel slung over one shoulder, as advertised. She might have been pretty, except for the frown lines creasing her forehead, and she looked closer to forty than fifty, which, by my mental math, would have made her a younger sister to my father. Maybe a lot younger. He’d have been fifty-two now.

Andrea Soto glanced up, noticing for the first time the passengers trickling out the doorway from my flight.

“I gotta go,” she told the person loudly. “No. No, you call
me
later.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, still angry from the call, and any glimmer of excitement I’d felt seeing my new home from the air faded. I was within twenty feet of her when her gaze finally found me. Her expression didn’t change.

“Hi.” I smiled, my lips like Silly Putty across my face. “Andrea Soto?”

“Yeah.” She glanced back at her phone, punching a button or two before dropping it into her bag and stepping forward. “You must be Cassandra.”

“Cassie.”

“Right. Okay, Cassie.” She stuck out her hand, which I shook, feeling strangely like I was on a job interview though I’d never been on one and this woman was supposed to be my family. “Everyone calls me Drea.” She pronounced it
dray-uh,
her voice husky like a smoker’s. “You might as well too, I’m sure you don’t think of me as your aunt any more than I do.”

She looked at my bag, a small rolling suitcase I’d bought before the trip. “You have more stuff?”

“Uh-huh.”

I trailed Drea to baggage claim, not unlike the four-year-old who struggled to keep up with Nan on our way to Miss Loretta’s, though at least I knew Nan would’ve waited for me. This lady, I wasn’t so sure. At the carousel, we stood mostly in silence watching luggage tumble onto the conveyor. I looked around, trying to keep my mind off the fact that I’d be spending the next three months with this sharp-faced woman who, at best, didn’t seem to have time for me.

A lot of the people wore glazed expressions, on autopilot until they’d completed the motions to get from here to wherever they really wanted to be. For most, that would probably take a few hours. For me, much longer. Fleetingly I thought about calling Mr. Koumaras and telling him to forget it, I’d forfeit the money, but that was ridiculous, of course. Temporary, I kept telling myself. Three months. Ninety days. Less time than it takes to grow out a bad haircut, right?