Home Again

To that empty house with pictures of Francis everywhere. It felt as if every place she looked, she saw him, felt him, heard him. Finally she’d raced from her room and curled onto the porch swing—the one he’d bought them for Christmas last year—and cried and smoked until her mother came home.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing up at Jett. “I guess I’m out.”

His disappointment was obvious. “No prob.”

They stood there a second longer, waiting for the other kids to arrive. Yesterday she would have tried to talk to him, would have pulled conversation from the chilly air around them and clung to each word he gave her, but today she was too tired to expend the effort.

She heard the magpie chatter of distant conversations and looked up just as five or six kids lurched over the crest of the hill and skidded downward. Within seconds they were all standing alongside the stream, cigarettes going, talking loudly and laughing.

Lina looked at them, from one face to another, and felt a dawning sense of confusion. Why, when she was standing here among her friends, did she feel so lonely that she wanted to ciy?

It took her a second to realize that no one was talking to her, a second more to realize she didn’t care.

Jett pulled a thermos out of his backpack and twisted the lid off. With a grin he said, “Kahlúa and Coke, anyone?”

Everyone cheered and reached for the thermos. But before Jett could take the first swallow, another silhouette appeared on the rise.

“You kids get back to school. The first bell rang five minutes ago.”

As one, they looked up and saw Vicki Owen, the new guidance counselor, standing above them. Beside her, Principal Smithson looked ragged and tired, and Lina wasn’t surprised by his expression. Smithson had raided this ravine a couple of thousand times too often to believe it would make any difference.

The kids laughed at getting caught and tossed their still-burning cigarettes into the stream. Lina watched the white butts swirl together, mix with the fallen leaves, and float downstream. It occurred to her that a bird could see that little white cylinder and swoop down on it, swallowing the deadly man-made thing before it realized what had happened.

“You, Lina Hillyard, I want to talk to you.”

It was Miss Owen’s voice. Lina looked up and realized that she was the only one left at the stream. The other kids and Principal Smithson were gone; the only evidence that they’d been there was a skidding trail of loose mud that cut through the leaves and ferns.

With a sigh, Lina jumped over the stream and climbed up the embankment. At the top she stopped alongside Miss Owen, and saw her mother standing a few feet away.

Lina rolled her eyes. “Great.”

Miss Owen stepped aside, then retreated wordlessly. Lina watched the counselor walk across the football field and disappear into the school.

Finally she turned and looked at her mother. She stood about ten feet away, her hair unbrushed and unkempt, her eyes puffy and red. It was the way they’d both looked in the two days since Francis’s death. The walking wounded.

“Whaddaya want?” she said harshly, knowing what her mother wanted—knowing it was what they both wanted. Comfort, relief from the staggering grief. But there was no comfort. Lina had learned that the hard way. It just kept coming back, sneaking through your thoughts like a snake, pouncing at the most unexpected times. Every time the phone rang, Lina thought it was Francis—then whap! the snake bit.

There was a long pause before her mother spoke, a quiet in which Lina heard the squawking of the crows and the distant whine of a leaf blower. “Vicki Owen called me this morning, told me where you were. I thought… I thought we should talk.”

Lina swallowed heavily. “Is that gonna bring him back, Mom?”

She shook her head. “Come on, baby. Walk with me.”

She stared at her mother, watched as Madelaine turned and walked slowly toward the bleachers. Lina thought about not following, about just splitting and going somewhere—anywhere. But she didn’t want to be alone, and her mother was the only person who really understood how Lina

felt.

She followed her mother across the football field and up into the bleachers. They sat side by side, far enough apart that they weren’t touching, but still somehow together in all the empty seats.

Lina glanced around, at the black scoreboard with the unlit entries for home and guest. A prowling black cat crawled across the wooden fencing, his tail wrapped through the sign that proudly proclaimed this place the home of the Panthers.

Lina had been here, of course, but never for a game. She’d never heard the crash of the helmets or the roar of the crowd, never met with a group of friends to watch their team battle another.

Years ago she’d wanted to, back when she was in seventh grade and Cara Milston was her best friend in the world. She’d tried to get her mother to take her to a game, but that was the beginning of Madelaine’s “busy days.” Days and nights and more days that blurred together in hospital shifts that never ended. There had only been a few home games that year, and Madelaine had been unable to go to every one of them. By the next year, Lina had collected a group of friends who wouldn’t be caught dead at a football game. Instead they’d spent their Friday nights down by the stream, sucking up whatever booze someone could get a hold of and chain-smoking.

Maybe if Lina had had a brother, or a boyfriend, it would have been different, or if she and Cara had stayed best friends. Or if her mom had gone to high school, maybe that would have made a difference, too.

“You never ask to go to football games anymore,” Mom said quietly.