The Silver Kiss (8 page)

Lorraine will understand, she thought, and that triggered the tears, because she wasn't sure. She collapsed on the couch, and Lorraine crouched in front of her, one hand lightly on Zoë's knee, waiting for her to stop crying. Zoë pulled herself together. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I couldn't help it.” She told Lorraine what had happened at the hospital, briefly, simply. She didn't mention the embarrassment, or the shame of not being able to respond.

Lorraine squeezed her knee. “You'll go again. It'll be better next time.”

“Yeah.” Zoë wiped her eyes with an offered tissue. “I'm such a wimp,” she said. “I always seem to be crying.”

Lorraine smiled and punched Zoë's shoulder gently. “Listen, Dad sent me some guilt money. He said to buy some clothes to impress my new friends with when I get out there.” She made a face. “Want to go shopping?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Oh, come on. You deserve an outing.”

Zoë swept the hair from her face with short, tense movements as she thought about it.

“Well, I've got to get out anyway, before Diane comes back,” Lorraine continued. “She's pissed she didn't get any money. She was clomping around like a madwoman all morning. Please, please, please!”

“All right,” Zoë said, and stopped frowning. She felt a little uneasy, though. It didn't seem right to go shopping, as if everything were normal.

Lorraine got her jacket, and they left. “Pity you didn't know we were going shopping—you could have asked your dad for money too.”

“No money for clothes right now,” Zoë said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “Too many bills.”

“God, at least a decent pair of pants,” Lorraine said.

“Hey, slow down.”

Zoë lessened her pace and took a deep breath. Come on, she told herself, lighten up.

“There's nothing wrong with plain old Levi's,” she said, poking Lorraine, inviting play.

Lorraine grinned, invitation accepted, but when Zoë turned the corner to go to the Center, Lorraine held back.

“Not there,” Lorraine called after her. “Let's be hedonistic and go to the mall.” She led the way to the bus stop.

“I've got to be back by seven, though. I've got a date with Neil.”

“Oh, gross,” Zoë said, teasing her.

Lorraine squealed in outrage right on cue.

They squabbled playfully until the bus came.

They arrived at the mall, their plan of action already mapped out. “New jeans, a few shirts, and a pair of shoes,” Lorraine had finally decided. She marched Zoë right away to the Jean Jar, then Muggles, through Finders, and on to the Edge. On the way they picked up a couple of oversized, bright sweatshirts, and an expensive cotton shirt emblazoned with one of the new fall designs. It took a lot of trying on, but Lorraine managed to find a pair of pants she liked as well. “Too good for mere mortals,” she gloated, looking at herself in the dressing-room mirror.

At first it seemed remote to Zoë, as if she were an observer from another planet, but Lorraine's enthusiasm was hard to resist. Despite the occasional hesitation Zoë found she was getting into the spirit of things. “Let's go to that punk store down the other end,” she said, knowing that would entice her friend.

“I don't know, dahling,” Lorraine gushed. “I already have leopard-skin pants, shoes, shirts, underwear, and sanitary napkins.”

They went anyhow, and laughed with pleasure at the T-shirt designs, and dared each other to buy colored hair-spray. “It washes out,” Lorraine whispered. “Come on. You'd look great with a purple streak.”

“No one wears that anymore,” Zoë said. “I'd rather have a T-shirt that says
EAT THE RICH
.” She tried not to
laugh too loud and offend the clerks, who all seemed to take their black, spiky selves very seriously.

“Here, I'll buy you a going-away present,” Lorraine said.

Zoë's stomach turned over. “I'd rather you didn't.”

“Don't be silly,” Lorraine said. “You have a choice between the T-shirt or this necklace here.” She pointed to an exquisite little silver crucifix on a deep red ribbon.

How can you talk about it so casually? Zoë thought. You said you didn't want to go, now you're buying me good-bye presents. How can you change so fast? “It seems so out of place here,” she said aloud.

“Not if you look at the people working here. They're dripping with them. It all depends on the way you wear it.”

“I like the ribbon, but it seems like a weird combination somehow. My grandmother would have a fit.”

“Considering she lives in Europe, I doubt if she'll see it much.”

Lorraine went to the cash register and bought the necklace, plus some green hair-dye for herself. “What the hell,” she said. “I can always threaten to show up at a business lunch wearing it, if Dad needs keeping in line.”

Outside she jabbed a camouflage-patterned box at Zoë. “Here.” For once she seemed awkward.

Zoë slipped it into her jacket pocket, blushing. Lorraine didn't have to get her a present to be remembered. I won't wear it, she thought. I don't like it.

“Shoes!” Lorraine screamed like a war cry, causing several passersby to turn and stare. What a subtle way of avoiding sentiment, Zoë thought with wry amusement.

Lorraine launched into a monologue as they headed for the nearest shoe store. “I love shoe shopping, especially if it's a salesman. They grovel at your feet, and run and fetch, and put them on for you. God, it gives me a feeling of power.”

After the final purchase they had pizza at the Roma. They recognized some kids from school there.

“Peter Ziegler,” Lorraine moaned. “I hope I don't get something stuck between my teeth.”

Zoë chuckled. “I don't think it matters, since he probably won't come over here anyway.”

“Killjoy. Hey, he's with that Keith whatzisname you went out with last spring. What was wrong with him? I can't remember.”

Zoë sighed. “Nothing was wrong with him. I don't know. I guess I just wasn't attracted to him.”

“When will you be attracted, Zo, for goodness' sake? I mean, my God, you're almost seventeen.”

“I know, I know.” Zoë pushed a pizza crust around her plate, annoyed at having to go through this again. Lorraine seemed to think that everyone should have hyperactive hormones like her.

“Sorry, I've pissed you off, haven't I? I'll back off.”

Zoë had to admit it was a rare perceptive moment on Lorraine's part. The girls' eyes met then in an unspoken
peace agreement, and they ate for a while in companionable silence.

Boys, Zoë thought. Why aren't I as loony about them as Lorraine? I guess people are different. She smiled at how ludicrously obvious that statement was. But they seem to like me, so I suppose I'm not gross or anything, she decided. She remembered suddenly the pale boy in the park—a surprisingly clear glimpse of him, sparklingly sharp in the moonlight. She tried to dismiss her excitement with anger. I guess I was supposed to be flattered.

“Let's see a movie,” Lorraine said, brushing the crumbs from around her mouth. “They've got an el cheapo horror twilight show at the Cinema Three. None left alive for two twenty-five.”

“I'd rather not,” Zoë said a little too fast. She saw Lorraine cringe at her mistake. Feeling sorry for her, she added, “There's a new French movie there, too, that everyone's been talking about. Perhaps we could see that.”

Lorraine relaxed. “I try
not
to talk about things like that. Anyway, whenever I see a movie with subtitles, I come out expecting to see them in real life for an hour or two. It's weird.”

“What's the other one?”

“Oh, something based on a Saturday-morning cartoon.”

“Yuck!”

“No kidding!”

They decided to forget about a movie and take the bus back to Oakwood. Zoë was relieved. She didn't think she
could sit through a movie, no matter how entertaining. By the time they got off the bus at Oakwood Village the daylight had fled, and the streetlights come on. As the world became darker, so did Zoë's mood. How could I go out and enjoy myself? she thought.

As if she had read Zoë's thoughts, Lorraine tugged at her arm briefly. “Hey, it was good, right? You needed a break.”

“Yeah.” Zoë had to admit that she'd needed it, but now she should get back to the house. Perhaps she'd missed a vital phone call while she was out. However, now that she was near, she dreaded going home; she dreaded the news a phone call might bring.

“Earth to Zoë! Come in, please.”

Zoë looked up with a start.

“I was saying,” Lorraine continued, “I have to run into the drugstore.”

“Oh, I'll wait here, then,” Zoë said, stopping outside the bookstore. “They've got a new display.”

“Okay.”

Lorraine trotted up the sidewalk to the drugstore on the other side of the alley that divided the row of shops into two sections. There were fewer people on the street now. Everyone was going home for dinner. The autumn wind was picking up, and Zoë thought she felt a drop of rain on her cheek. There was a hint of woodsmoke in the air. It always made her feel vaguely lonely to smell someone's cozy fire when she was out in the night.

She examined the contents of the window. She loved bookstores: they were an addiction. Even books she would never read held a fascination when arranged in a bright display. A book called
The Secret Life of Vegetables
caught her eye. It made her unbearably curious. She was wondering if it was about recent botanical discoveries, or a kinky sex novel, when she heard Lorraine's voice.

She looked up to see her friend talking to a small pale child with white hair who stood at the alley mouth. From his left hand dangled a shabby teddy bear. He looked fragile. He must only be about six, Zoë thought. What's he doing here alone at this time? She walked to join them. The child said something. Lorraine held out her hand, and he gave her a dazzling smile. Then he saw Zoë. The smile faded.

“S'all right,” he said in a piping voice. “I ‘member now.” And he took off running down the street toward Chestnut.

“Appealing little monster,” said Lorraine, although she looked puzzled. “Said he was lost. Albino, I think. He wanted me to help him find his mother down there.” She pointed down the alley.

Zoë peered into the dark. “Why would she be down there?”

Lorraine shrugged. “Beats me. I almost felt like humoring him, though.” She stared gloomily through the bookstore window. “Yuck! Hey, that reminds me, Dad sent me a reading list from this school I'm supposed to be going to.
Great, huh?” She rolled her eyes. “It's supposed to help me fit in. I wonder what it'll be like.”

Zoë tensed. “Listen, why don't you go on home? The bookstore's open late tonight. I want to browse for a while.” She was appalled to hear the words come out stiff and remote.

Lorraine glanced sharply at Zoë, but her voice remained neutral. “Bookstores make me break out.”

“I know.” Zoë's tone was carefully gentler. “So go on. You've got to get ready for Naughty Neil.”

Lorraine took the cue. “Well, okay. I'll call you tomorrow and tell you the juicy details.”

“Spare me.”

“It's the only way you'll find out anything at this rate,” Lorraine yelled over her shoulder as she took off for home.

Zoë waved her on with mock impatience. “Get outta here.” Her voice was meant to sound jolly but, I don't want to hear about your shitty new school, she thought. I don't want to hear about your stupid date, and I don't want to go home.

It won't work. It's not magic, Zoë told herself as she entered the store. Just ‘cause you're not there to hear of it, doesn't mean it can't happen. Nevertheless, it felt better to put off going home for now. She headed straight for the window display, but the intriguing title turned out to be merely a cookbook. She looked around for half an hour anyhow, until screaming sirens pulling up outside brought her and the other browsers to the front of the store.

She panicked for a moment. Lorraine. But, of course, Lorraine was long gone. How Zoë hated sirens. They howled to the scene of an emergency like ravenous banshees and left behind emptiness.

A bald man came pushing into the store, white-faced, babbling with shock. “They found a body in the alley. Briggs at the pharmacy found it,” he announced to no one in particular.

The smart blond woman who ran the bookstore sat down heavily in her seat behind the sales counter. “What?”

“Briggs was leaving work,” the man continued. “He had his bicycle in the alley. He almost fell over the woman. Her throat is slashed.”

People looked at each other, dumbfounded. “Another one,” someone whispered. Zoë remembered seeing the bald man stocking shelves at the grocery store.

More people gathered outside—late shoppers, people going home, others going out for the night. Drawn like flies to blood, Zoë thought, and shuddered. She had to get home.

She squeezed past the bald man and went out the door. The bell above the door rang with cheery dissonance. A couple moved to let her out. She found herself next to a hastily erected police barrier, just in time to see something under a sheet being loaded into an ambulance.

“Must have happened recently,” she heard a woman say in hushed tones.

She felt hot and ill. “Excuse me. Excuse me.” She had
to get home. She navigated the crush of the still-forming crowd on the narrow sidewalk. “Excuse me. Excuse me.” Where did they come from? Flies. She was sweating. She felt trapped. People jostled to keep their vantage point as she tried to get by.

Then she was past them into the night, leaning against the window of the grocery store, eyes closed, gasping deep, ragged breaths.

And a cold, soothing hand was stroking her forehead, cooling, comforting.