The Boy on the Bridge

Plus, then I would get to test out my theory about how we would interact outside of school with no one around to witness it. Maybe getting him on his own home turf—and somewhere we have memories together, even if they’re not the best—would work to my advantage, get him to lower his guard a little and I could really reach him.

Maybe we can completely sidestep the grudge he swore he’d nurse against me and be friends again.

I get carried away on this hopeful train of thought, convinced this is how it’ll go as I pick up the pace even more in my haste to get to his house. Dozens of questions surface in my mind—I want to know all about what his life in Italy was like.

Did he and his father form some type of relationship, or was he just living a rich kid existence, all by himself in an expensive home in the Italian countryside with only a housekeeper to keep him company? I bet she was a good cook. Maybe she took to him lovingly, like an adoptive grandma, and taught him how to cook. I bet she makes delicious pasta and homemade sauces. It’s settled—I’m gonna talk Hunter into making me homemade pasta for dinner, because apparently I’m staying for dinner now.

I can hardly tamp down my excitement as I cut through the woods like we did the time he led me this way to his house, but as I approach, I start to reconsider.

Dread fills me at the prospect of going to the front door. What if he doesn’t answer? What if his mom does? I don’t know if I can be nice to her. I’m fairly sure Hunter would want me to be, I just don’t know if I can. I have no respect for the choices she made, for the danger she put him in, for her failure to protect her own son. I don’t know how I’ll be polite to her when I have 14-year-old Hunter living in my memory, telling me she didn’t call an ambulance when he was unconscious because she was more concerned with protecting his attacker than him.

As I approach the front of the house, I prepare myself in case Venus answers. I haven’t seen her since my mother outed her to the school all those years ago. There’s probably a chance I don’t even have to worry about being polite to her—she might take one look at me and kick me off her property.

This is starting to seem more and more like a bad idea.

I want it too much to change my mind now, though.

My steps slow as I approach the front door. I take a deep breath and let it out, then I raise my fist to knock before remembering there’s a doorbell.

I look at the doorbell, but I don’t ring it for a second.

Are you sure about this?

Nope, but I’m doing it anyway. I’ve come too far to turn back now.

I ring the doorbell.

It feels like an eternity passes while I stand there, tenser by the second.

Finally, I see a shadow in the frosted glass.

Oh man.

The door opens. I attempt a half-hearted smile that comes out as more of a grimace when I see Venus Keller standing there. She cocks an eyebrow immediately upon seeing me, her lips pursing with obvious displeasure.

My grimace deepens. Even though I was worried about being polite to her on the way here, the dynamic of an adult being displeased with me seems to hit first.

“Hi,” I say a little sheepishly.

She fakes a smile. “Riley. What a surprise.”

I swallow and attempt to stand a little straighter since I feel hunched and small. “Hi Mrs.—um…” Is it still Keller? Did she change her name back to Maxwell after the divorce? I don’t know what to call her.

Last time we met, she rushed to tell me I could call her Venus, but this time she just watches me struggle and maybe enjoys it a bit.

That annoys me, and my annoyance snaps me out of my awkwardness. “I’m here to see Hunter—is he home?”

She smiles sweetly. “He is. Follow me, I’ll take you to him.”

She sure changed her tune abruptly. I’m immediately suspicious and a little cautious as I step inside the cool, air-conditioned interior of the house and watch her close the door behind me. I keep watching her uncertainly as she flashes me another smile and walks ahead of me, presumably leading me to wherever Hunter is.

I haven’t been through their whole house before. I could tell it was big when I was in it four years ago, but while most houses seem to shrink as you grow older, Hunter’s feels like it got even bigger.

Venus leads me out a back door and down a corridor that puts me in the mind of a castle hallway, pretty and imposing, but only semi-enclosed. We’re outside, but sheltered by nice-looking stone walls with rounded arches every few feet leading to the yard.