What Happened to Hannah (12 page)

Such
a very bad idea. Not wise at all and fraught with future disappointment and heartache for the girl—and, okay, a clear pitch for aunt-of-the-year on her part. But the moment the words bubbled from her lips and she caught the elated little fidget that passed through Anna until her fingers twitched in her lap, she knew it was out of her hands anyway. No one knew better than Hannah about falling in love with the most impossible person at the most inopportune time—or how hopeless it was to prevent.

What had Grady been thinking, trying to keep them apart? Had he forgotten? Had it been so long that he couldn’t recall what it was to be a meteor caught in the pull of earth’s gravity; to feel sucked into the eye of a hurricane? Or was that solely her memory of it?

When the senior class graduated from Turchen County High School in late May of 1990 the underclassmen still had another two weeks of school left before summer break. She’d turned fourteen in January and would be heading for high school in the fall—a thought that both thrilled and terrified her.

To think she had only four years left before she could legally liberate herself from her family with enough of an education—more than both her parents put together—to do something with her life . . . away from them . . . far away, was like the sunshine she got out of bed for every morning.

And yet, four years is a long time. The previous three she’d spent as the weirdest, creepiest, most socially dysfunctional outcast in all the histories of all the middle schools in America was proof of that. Not that she cared. Truly. Who cared what those stupid kids thought? They
were
stupid after all. Most of them wouldn’t know their own butt if they sat on it. And she was a straight-A student, even though it irritated her father sometimes—in fact,
because
it irritated him
most
of the time.

She’d be riding a whole different bus next year and Ruth would be alone on the one Hannah was riding that very early June afternoon. She wasn’t too worried about it, though. By now most everyone knew that if they messed with Ruth, they’d answer to Hannah, so she’d be safe enough. But the rides to and from the high school were long and boring and she dreaded sitting all by herself in a seat with no one to talk to . . . or worse yet, having to share the seat and having no one to talk to.

She startled when a long boy-body slipped into the seat beside her on the bus. She instinctively put her back to the window to assess her exposure and evaluate the danger she was in.

“Where’s your little sister today?”

Grady Steadman. A member of the Turchen County High School pantheon best known for his athleticism, rowdy weekends, and for the occasional clever and daring feat of illegal vandalism. Less famous, she was sure, for being one of few who would glance at her kindly, who would sneak her a faltering smile from time to time, and who never, that she could recall, said a mean thing to her.

“Sick.” She settled back in her seat but didn’t relax. She never relaxed.

“That’s too bad.” He waited a moment. “But then if she was here I couldn’t sit down and we couldn’t talk, so maybe it’s a good thing, if she isn’t
too
sick, I mean.”

“No.” Ruth was two years younger but started her monthly curse the same year Hannah had, the first thirty-six hours of which were a sharp cramping misery for her. “She’ll be better tomorrow.”

So don’t get too comfortable in her seat.

“Good. Then today we can talk.”

Talk?
That was twice he’d said it, like they had one single thing in the whole entire universe in common.

“Talk about what?”

“Well, I don’t know. Anything.” He looked around the bus for a good topic. “Um. You’re coming up to the high school next fall, right?” She gave him one nod and looked out the bus window. “Are you excited?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Looking forward to it?” Another shrug. “Want me to get lost again and leave you alone?”

She turned her head to look at him. He grinned at her—but not in the malicious or mischievous way that most of the kids did—benevolently, his green eyes gentle and soft with humor. He had no intention of getting lost again or of leaving her alone. On the contrary, he liked where he was and who he was with—for the moment anyway. And he had those stupid dimples . . .
ah,
jeeze
.

“You’re on the wrong bus.”

“Yes, I am.” Her astute observation and comment pleased him. “I had a dentist appointment this afternoon. My mom dropped me off earlier but now I’m taking this bus home so she doesn’t have to drive all the way back into town to pick me up, then take me back to school in time to ride the high school bus home.”

She’d never been to a dentist—couldn’t imagine why a smile like his would need one.

She’d also run out of plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face things to say to him. The silence grew awkward and oppressive, a familiar full-body cringe started deep inside.

“Wa-why don’t you just ride home with your mother?”

“Sometimes I do. Depends on if she’s staying late to tutor or check papers and I’m staying late to practice or if I’m between sports and going home early, and she decides she wants to go home right after school to cook something special for my dad or something like that. Depends.”

Cringe. Cringe
. Her stomach started to hurt.

“What do you do for fun? What do you like to do?” he asked, like he genuinely wanted to know.

A tough question. She had to think about it; no one had ever asked before.

“I like to read.” She waited for him to laugh but he simply nodded and hung on for more, like there was more. “I . . . I like to work in Mama’s garden.” Because she had recently and it was the only thing she could think of that sounded halfway interesting. “Also I have a book of state birds. When I see one I mark it off in the book. I like to do that, sometimes.”

A rush of hot blood shot up her neck and into her cheeks as she lowered her gaze to her lap. He may not have thought she was anything special or bright before, but now that he’d actually spoken to her and knew
for sure
she wasn’t, she wanted to curl up and die—not that she didn’t wish to curl up and die on a regular basis but this was different. This time she felt it but didn’t truly want to . . .

“Your parents are pretty strict, aren’t they?”

She nodded.
Strict
. Is that what people called it? She reckoned it was one word they could use for it, but it wasn’t the most descriptive.

“Do you think next year, in high school, they’ll let you go out some? To the football games maybe? Or to some of the parties?”

“Not
your
high school football parties.” His personal pronoun and the four words her mind singled out from his last three sentences spilled from her lips with a snippy resentment that surprised her, and him.

It didn’t matter that she was, at present, too young to be invited to the high school parties; nor was it especially important that once old enough she likely wouldn’t be included by her peers. What she resented was knowing that if all conditions were equal with her classmates—physical beauty, nice clothes, good grades, social finesse . . . all of it—her father still wouldn’t allow her to go. She resented the hopelessness of it, the emptiness of her future, at least for the next four years.

Though that’s not how Grady Steadman interpreted it.

“First off, they aren’t my parties. Other people throw them, I just show up when I can get a ride after the games. And second, there are other kinds of parties. Not so rowdy. Sometimes the parents are home even.”

She kept her gaze fixed on the back of the seat in front of her, wondering where he planned to go with all this useless information.

“Me and my dad are rebuilding the engine of his old truck for me to drive, now that I have my license. It’s going to be so great. I hate having to depend on other people to get around, don’t you?”

She nodded, but she never would have guessed Grady Steadman could be so strange. Why was he talking to her?

“You know, once it’s finished, in a few more weeks or so, if you needed to go to town for something and if I’m going that way anyway, I could give you a lift—
What?
”

She wasn’t sure what the expression on her face was like but at least half of it was skeptical because he responded to it.

“What?”
he said again sounding annoyed. “I could. I would. You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No.”

“No
what
? No, you
do
believe me; or, no, I’m right, you don’t believe me?”

She looked straight into his fine green-hazel eyes. “No, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you’d give me lift, I don’t believe you’re interested in what I do for fun or how I feel about going to high school, and I don’t believe you’re sitting there talking to me like we’re friends when I know for sure that you wouldn’t be if all
your
friends were here.”

He sat there and stared into her eyes with the oddest expression on his face. Staring as if hypnotized, staring like he couldn’t stop. No longer upset, giving no indication he’d heard a single word she’d said, he looked sort of . . . sappy, if you asked her.

She might have tried to stare him down but this time . . . well, she looked away first.

“You’re wrong,” he said in a sure, low tone. “The only thing that could have kept me out of this seat today is your sister. And the rest I’ll prove to you.”

Then he left, went back to the back of the bus and the fresh flock of cool kids he’d be reigning over the next two years, before she could think of a snappy retort to send him off with. She didn’t want him to prove anything to her . . . didn’t
want to want
him to, that’s for sure. The only way she’d make it safely through the next four years is if she remained invisible—invisible at school but more importantly invisible at home, and Grady was nothing if not . . . VISIBLE in a big, big way.

Her lips curl in a lopsided smile now, remembering, looking back in speculation as to how one passed through a major pivotal moment in their life with barely a blink of their eye and without noticing the sudden ninety-degree angle in the direction their life was heading. How did that happen? How could it?

“I’ll ask.” Anna’s soft voice was a gentle reminder that the past was the past for a reason—it didn’t exist anymore. “And what I eat is pretty basic, all the food groups, more protein and carbs like your friend said. Gran kept a list of stuff . . . and I can teach you.”

“Good.” She smiled and did a double take at her niece while she watched the road ahead. “What?”

“I do eat a lot, though. At least twenty-five hundred calories a day, at least that . . . and way more in the fall when I run longer distances. I eat a lot. I always feel hungry.”

She looked so worried Hannah couldn’t help herself. “Oh my, that is problematic. Do you think we’ll make enough off selling the farm to cover your grocery bill?”

Not knowing how much a farm sold for or how much of that money would go to her for food—the concern in Anna’s eyes escalated and Hannah felt like a heel.

“Oh, Anna. I’m sorry. Honestly.” She gave a soft laugh as her expression asked forgiveness. “I’m kind of a . . . smartass sometimes. There will be plenty of money for anything you want. Food, school, travel. Oh! I have the best idea. What if I take you to Europe as a graduation gift? Would you like that?” She glanced at a confused Anna. Did that sound like a bribe to her, too? It did, didn’t it?

Okay, so scrape away the fear and uncertainty, vanquish the memories, throw ice on the anger and pain, and deep down under it all somewhere, struggling to stay alive, burgeoned the tiny hope of family. She was stunned to discover it still existed. She was. At first she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it—and it was daunting to realize that her heart hadn’t turned to stone after all. But it thrived as true and real as the frightened and hopeful girl beside her . . . this girl who could well be Hannah’s last chance at ever having a family.

Like she knew anything about family in the first place . . .

Plus, Hannah was lonely. There, she could admit that, too. She had Joe. She had a few other friends, good friends, caring friends that she cherished but . . . well, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t what she hoped to find in this girl.

It was worth a try, wasn’t it?

“Well, it’s only a thought. We have time. You can think about it.” She hesitated, taking the left at the church toward the farm. “You know, Anna, for the record I want you to know that I think I want this to work. I’ll be honest and tell you I wasn’t sure at first. In fact, I told Grady no a dozen times before I agreed to come down here but . . . I don’t know. Being here, being with you . . . well, I’d like to keep what’s left of our family together.

“It won’t be easy. I’m old and set in my ways; I’m used to doing and having things a certain way . . . and I’m not used to having someone else around. I could very likely drive you nuts. But I think we should give it a try anyway.

“So I’m going to leave it up to you to decide. And while I think it would be less complicated for you to come live with me in Baltimore I don’t want you to feel like that’s your only option. It’s not. I’d have to be your legal guardian, I think, to keep you out of the foster system, but there are boarding schools or we might be able to board you with someone here in Clearfield for a couple of years. You seem to have your head screwed on straight. We could go to court and have you declared an emancipated minor, if that’s what you want, and you wouldn’t have to send me Christmas cards if you didn’t want to. But you do have choices, Anna. There’s nothing worse in the world than thinking you don’t have choices, so it’s important to know that you do. You can even make a choice and change your mind if you want. It’s up to you.”

God. Was she bungling this—giving the girl too much freedom, too many options? Where was that fool Grady when you needed him for parental advice? She should have kept her mouth shut until she conferred with a responsible adult who knew something about children.