Fly Away (Firefly Lane 2)

Marah looked past her to the open door. “No. Fine. I mean yes. Thanks. It was great. ”

Marah couldn’t wait to get out of this room that smelled of stale cookies and burnt coffee. She ran outside and came to a sudden stop. The streets were crowded. On this Wednesday night in June, Pioneer Square was full of tourists and locals. Music spilled out of the taverns and bars.

Paxton appeared out of the darkness beside her; she heard him breathing a split second before she saw him. “You’re waiting for me,” he said.

She laughed. “Yeah, because guys in makeup really rev my engines. ” She turned to face him. “You were waiting for me. ”

“What if I was?”

“Why?”

“You’ll have to come with me to find out. ” He held out his hand.

In the yellowy light from the streetlamp, she saw his pale hand and long fingers … and the scars that ran like an equal sign across his wrist.

Cut marks.

“Now you’re scared,” he said quietly.

She shook her head.

“But you’re a good girl from the suburbs. ”

“I used to be. ” As she said the words, she felt the tightness in her chest ease up a little. Maybe she could change herself somehow, become a different version of herself, and maybe if she did, it wouldn’t hurt so much to look in the mirror and see her mother’s smile.

“Marah? Paxton?” Dr. Bloom walked up the sidewalk behind them. Marah felt a strange sadness, as if a beautiful opportunity had just been lost.

Marah smiled at the doctor. When she turned back, Paxton was gone.

“Be careful,” Dr. Bloom said, following Marah’s gaze across the street, to where Paxton stood in the shadows between two buildings, smoking a cigarette.

“Is he dangerous?”

It was a moment before Dr. Bloom said, “I can’t answer that, Marah. Just as I wouldn’t answer a similar question about you. But I would ask you this: Are you looking at him because you think he’s dangerous? That kind of behavior can be risky for a girl in a vulnerable situation. ”

“I’m not looking at him at all,” Marah said.

“No,” Dr. Bloom said. “Of course you’re not. ”

At that, Marah resettled her bag over her shoulder and headed up the dark street for home. All the way back to Tully’s she thought she heard footsteps behind her, but every time she turned around, the sidewalk was empty.

* * *

On the way up to the penthouse, Marah stared at her reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls. All her life she’d been told that she was beautiful, and for most of her teen years, that had been what she wanted to hear. In the years BC—before cancer—she’d spent hours studying her face, making it up, fixing her hair so that boys like Tyler Britt would notice her. But AC, it had changed. Now all she saw was her mother’s smile and her father’s eyes and it turned every glance in a mirror into something painful.

Now, though, she saw how thin she’d become, how pale, in the twenty months since her mother’s death. The bleak look in her eyes depressed her. Then again, everything depressed her these days.

On the top floor, she exited the elevator and went to Tully’s condo. Unlocking the door, she stepped into the bright apartment and went into the living room.

Tully was there, pacing in front of the wall of windows that overlooked the city at night. She had a glass of wine in her hand and she was talking on the phone, yelling, actually, saying, “Celebrity Apprentice? Are you kidding me? I can’t be that far gone. ” She turned, saw Marah, and flashed a brittle smile. “Oh. Marah. ” She laughed and said, “I have to go, George,” and hung up the phone. Tossing it onto the couch, she met Marah with open arms and hugged her tightly.

“Well, how was it?” she said at last, stepping back.

Marah knew what was expected of her. She was supposed to say, It was great, wonderful, perfect. I feel better now, but she couldn’t do it. She opened her mouth and nothing came out.

Tully’s gaze narrowed, became that journalist-on-a-story look Marah had seen before. “Hot cocoa,” she said, and led Marah into the kitchen. Tully made two cups of hot cocoa with whipped cream and carried them into the guest bedroom. Just like when she was little, Marah climbed up onto the bed. Tully did the same. They leaned side by side against the tufted gray silk headboard. A large window framed the Seattle skyline, which glittered in vibrant neon against a starlit sky.

“So, tell me everything,” Tully said.