Always and Forever (22 page)

The tone of urgency in her voice gripped Jory’s heart. She eyed her friend and bit her lower lip as she noted the look of sadness on Melissa’s face. “I will, Melissa,” she said, swallowing her fear. “I promise, this will be the very best year any two seniors at Lincoln High ever had. We’ll leave em laughing. Is it a deal?”

Melissa’s eyes softened. “It’s a deal.”

Jory lowered the car window to allow the humid summer heat inside and combat the sudden chill that had swept through her. “Then how about some lunch?”

“Its ten o’clock. We just had breakfast.”

“Correction. You and Michael and Beth just had breakfast. I didn’t eat a thing.”

Melissa laughed, and Jory drove into a fast-food drive-thru lane laughing too.
The best senior year ever
. She’d made Melissa a promise she would keep. No matter what.

The start of school wasn’t nearly as exciting as Jory had hoped. The halls looked the same, the classes were just as boring, the faces of new freshmen just as bewildered and lost-looking. There were no seniors to look up to, either. “We’re it,” she’d told Melissa after the first day of classes. “So why don’t I feel important?”

It was lonely coming home to an empty house, too. Except for Mrs. Garcia, who cooked and dusted and kept the place immaculate, the house seemed lifeless and hollow. Jory almost began to miss her mother’s constant nagging. A few postcards describing the “beauty of the Thames” and the “rugged Irish Moors” were all she had to remind her that she did have parents.

Jory went to Melissa’s often. First out of loneliness, then, once her parents returned, out of a need to escape, and by mid-September her days had settled into a monotonous routine. She was at Melissa’s the afternoon her friend received a letter notifying her that she’d been named a National Merit semifinalist. “Didn’t I say you would be one?” Jory asked with an indulgent expression.

Melissa was stunned and continued to look
dazed, even after Jory had poured her a cola and ushered her to the pine table in the Austin’s kitchen. “I … I should call Mom at work … ”

“Catch your breath first.” Jory took the letter, read it aloud, and hugged Melissa. “How does it feel to have a dream come true?”

“Anticlimactic. What do I do for an encore?”

“Get one of the scholarships. According to the letter, they notify school principals in February who the finalists are and then award the scholarships in March and April.” She glanced up from the letter, her green eyes wide with respect. “It says here that only fifteen thousand high school juniors in the
entire
country get to be semifinalists. I’m impressed, Melissa.”

Melissa’s face broke into an ear-to-ear grin. “So all I have to do now is score incredibly high on the SATs, get a teacher to write a glowing recommendation on my finalist application, and not let any of my grades fall this school year.” She snapped her fingers. “A cinch.”

And keep going for chemotherapy and hope that your cancer doesn’t go out of remission
. Jory heard the unwelcome thought inside her head as loudly as if it had been spoken. “When they go public with the names of the kids who made semi-finalists and print your name in the
Tampa Tribune
, you’ll become a celebrity,” she said.

“Fame, but no fortune,” Melissa mused. “Four years of college is expensive.” She waved the letter under Jory’s nose. “This is my only hope.”

Jory felt guilty because she knew she could afford
to attend any university or college she wanted, grades permitting. “So where will you apply? Yale?”

Melissa arched her eyebrow. “You mean because Brad’s there? If you recall, dear-but-meddling-Jory, Brad Kessing had a girlfriend when he left for college. You
do
remember Sarah of the golden hair and innocent blue eyes, don’t you?”

Jory wrinkled her nose. “She was so All-American clean, she squeaked.”

Melissa laughed. “And even if Brad and Sarah are no longer an item, I’m certain he’s discovered some gorgeous Vassar girl by now.”

“Then why don’t you apply to Vassar?” Jory asked brightly.

“I’m over Brad. And before you go spending all my scholarship money, how about if I first win the scholarship?”

“You will. But you’re right—first things first.” Jory scrunched her brow. “To celebrate this first coup—becoming a semifinalist—we need to have a party.”

“Jory … ”

“I’ll throw the party. It’ll be a bash—a blowout!” Jory rubbed her hands together, warming to her plan. “A beach party,” she said, slapping her hand against the table with a smack.

“Now, you know I can’t be out in the sun.”

“There’s no sun at night,” Jory countered. “Water’s still there. Sand is still warm. We can build a bonfire, roast hot dogs, marshmallows, maybe a few senior boys … ”

“The beach at night? Bonfires? It’s illegal.”

“Don’t be a party pooper. My parents own a strip of beach real estate south of Clearwater that they’re selling for condos, so it’s private property and we can do whatever we like.”

“But it’s almost October … ”

“So what?” Jory interrupted. “This is the
perfect
time of year for a beach party. Not too muggy. Not too cold. I’m telling you, it’s perfect.” She took a long sip of cola, her brain tumbling with ideas. “And besides, it’s my party. And I want to give it in your honor.”

Melissa squirmed. “It’s too much fuss … ”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, how will I maintain my party girl image this year at school if I don’t whoop it up once in a while?”

“But I thought you were going to get serious about your life.”

“I’ve got forever to get serious about the rest of my life. I only have one senior year.”

Melissa smiled tentatively. “I guess one party can’t hurt … ”

“Good. Then I’ll start making the plans. First, I need to pick a date.” Jory stood, crossed to the bulletin board on the kitchen wall, and studied the calendar. “When’s your next clinic visit?”

Two weeks.

Jory wanted plenty of time between the visit and the party. She wanted Melissa feeling her best. She poked the calendar, a Saturday in early November. “This looks like a good date to me. Let’s designate it ‘P-day.’ I’ll get the word out.”

“Do you suppose anyone will come?”

“Get real, Melissa. Who would refuse an invitation to a party thrown by Jory Delaney?”

“Sorry. It was a momentary lapse into insanity,” Melissa giggled.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll throw a party. And believe me, it will be a party to remember. Lincoln will be talking about this party long after we’re dead and gone … ” The innocent words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Dead and gone
. What a stupid thing to say,

Melissa offered a wistful smile. “We all die, Jory. You don’t have to feel bad about reminding me. Forget it.”

Jory nodded, still fighting the prickly sensations that were turning her face red and making her squirm. “Anyway, it’ll be a great party. Trust me.”

“Of course it will. What else would I expect from my best friend?”

Jory’s mother was less enthusiastic about Jory’s party. “The beach at night? On our property? Really, Jory, can’t you come up with a better idea? Why not the country club?”

Jory wrinkled her nose in disdain. “These are the ‘common folks,’ Mom. We want to have fun, not be hemmed in at some snobby club.”

“But on our property? It’s so isolated. There’s nothing out there for miles. What about legal liabilities? And what about chaperons?”

Jory clenched her teeth but forced a sweet
smile. “I’ll get everyone to sign waivers for your insurance company.”

“Don’t be a smart-mouth. You know what I mean.”

Mrs. Delaney tapped her heel on the thick pile carpet of Jory’s bedroom. She crossed her arms over the front of her vivid pink silk shirtwaist dress. “Perhaps we could make a deal.”

Jory sensed disaster but asked, “What sort of deal?”

“Gasparilla’s coming up in February.”

Jory grew wary. Gasparilla was a holiday unique to the Tampa Bay area. In the 1600s, the pirate José Gaspar sailed into the bay and captured the city. For some reason, in later years, the socially prominent of the city had turned the anniversary of the event into a festival that centered on balls, parties, parades, and even a nationally recognized marathon that garnered some of the world’s top runners. The highlight of the day was when a socially elite crew consisting largely of men with Old Tampa money and influence sailed into the bay aboard an authentic pirate ship and “captured the city.”

“So what about it?”

“Your father has been invited to be part of the crew this year, and there’re umpteen parties and galas for us to attend.”

“No reason why you two shouldn’t.”

“You’re
a part of this family, Jory, and you will be expected to be a part of the festivities.”

Every fiber of Jory’s being rebelled. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather
not
do.”

Her mother’s face darkened. “This is quite an honor for our family, Jory, and I won’t have you spoiling it by your flip attitude toward polite society.”

Jory rolled her eyes in indignation. “Well, excuse me.”

“Your attitude doesn’t make sense, anyway,” Mrs. Delaney continued. “You want to give a party, yet you don’t want to attend parties for your father’s and my sake. Parties where you’ll meet the right people, dress in beautiful clothes, and have a wonderful time. Honestly, I just don’t understand you.”

I know you don’t, Mother
, Jory thought. “So our taste in parties is different.”

“Don’t be cute,” Mrs. Delaney said shortly. She studied Jory, who lifted her chin defiantly. “Why don’t we compromise?” she asked.

“Meaning?”

“I’ll let you throw your party on our beach property if you’ll cooperate with me over the next few months about the functions I want you to attend.”

A warning bell clanged in Jory’s head. “I have to keep my grades up,” she hedged.

Her mother chuckled derisively. “I’ll be certain not to cut into your study time. And the Gasparilla party circuit won’t really begin to heat up until after Christmas.”

“How many functions?”

“As many as I think appropriate for you.”

Jory’s temper flared. “That’s not fair! I want to give one party and you’re locking me into as many as you want.”

“Don’t act childish, Jory. I’ll only accept the invitations I feel will be useful to us and our position in the community.”

Her mother’s perspective sounded cold and callous and made Jory cringe inwardly. She wondered whom her mother deemed the “right” people for her to mingle with. She knew it wouldn’t be the Austins. The thought of her plans to help make this the best year of Melissa’s life cooled Jory’s anger. “Do you have escorts to these events picked out for me?”

“Of course not. Not until I know which specific events you’ll be attending. Then we’ll decide. But I won’t stick you with losers, Jory. It’ll be only the nicest of young men.”

I’ll bet
, Jory thought bitterly. An image of Michael floated into her mind.
Definitely not the right type
. But what did it matter? Michael was the impossible dream and always had been. But the hopes and plans Jory had for Melissa were not impossible. Her mother was right—all it took was a little compromise. “And once Gasparilla’s over, the deal’s off?” she asked.

“Please don’t make it sound so cut-and-dried. This is for your own good, even if you can’t see it now.”

My own good
 … Jory was glad that the custom of arranged marriages was no longer in
vogue. “All right, Mother. I’ll make the trade, but don’t bug me about how much time I spend with my other friends.” Mrs. Delaney nodded her agreement. “And notify me in plenty of time when one of these little events is coming up. And if I need a special dress for one, you pick it out.” Jory knew she was safe in that area. Her mother did have good taste and an infallible sense of style. “And now, please let me have the rest of my senior year to myself.”

Mrs. Delaney smoothed the front of her silk dress, and her wrist full of gold bracelets caught the light. Mollified by Jory’s compliance, she asked, “How is Melissa, anyway?”

“She’s still got cancer.” Jory had to clip the words in order not to spit them out. “She gets chemo every six weeks. She gets stuck with needles and has her bone marrow sucked out, and sometimes she gets so sick, she throws up for hours.”

A momentary frown knitted Mrs. Delaney’s brow. “I am sorry, Jory, that she’s having it so rough. I truly am.”

“But she does have a shot at a National Merit Scholarship and she’s at the top of our class.”

“That’s nice.” Her mother toyed with her jewelry. “I want you to have a good time during your senior year, Jory. I want you to continue your friendship with Melissa. But I also want you to realize how much you have and how much more you can have if you’ll only take it.”

Her mother had shrugged off Melissa’s Merit semifinalist status as if it were nothing. To Jory, the
gulf between herself and her mother had never seemed wider. “I’m going to start planning my beach party right away. It’ll cost money.”

“Money is no problem.”