Even the Moon Has Scars (4 page)

“Like you’re dressed in shorts when there’s still snow on the ground, and you have no one to call when you’re locked out? What’s your name?”

She pulls back and squints her eyes at me. She’s trying to look fierce but the way the left side of her lip twitches with nervousness gives her away. 

“I don’t know if I should tell you now.”

“Right, well, you look like you have tons of options,” I say with a laugh and extend my hand. “I’m Gabe.”

She pulls her hands out of the pockets of her cardigan and shakes my hand. Her fingers are tiny icicles in mine. “Lena. The white house with the blue trim is mine.”

“Ah, the one that looks too modern to really fit in out here?” I don’t mean to insult her house, but it sticks out on this street of historic homes.

She shrugs. “I guess. Could you help me.”

“Help you what? Break into your house?”

“It’s not breaking in. I live there. I swear.”

“Right—”

“Listen,” her voice firms up more than it has been. “My parents are out of town, my sister is in the middle of a serious breakup, or breakdown, or whatever you want to call it, and I was stupid enough to lock myself out after only being home alone for a few minutes. I don’t need your raised eyebrow or snarky attitude. What I need is a way into my house. Please.”

“Ouch, didn’t realize my eyebrows were so upsetting,” I say with a laugh. She doesn’t smile back.

We stand there staring at each other for a long moment before she asks, “Can you help me get in or not?”

I pull my phone back out of my pocket and look at the time. I have to get moving if I’m going to make it into Boston to the parts shop and pick up that damn valve cover before Paul supposedly slaps it up on eBay and makes a nice profit.

“I—shit, I honestly don’t think I can.”

I want to help this girl out, I do, but I don’t know if she’s got a regular lock or a steel fortress she needs me to get her past, and I need to have my ass on a train in no more than thirty minutes if I’m going to make it to the parts shop in time. 

“But you have all of these tools,” she says, motioning around to Gramps’s well-outfitted garage.

She’s as close to me as she can be without touching me, but somehow I want her closer. Or I at least don’t want her to leave.

But that’s stupid, because I literally just met her a few minutes ago. And all of the problems that landed me in trouble and out here with Babci started with a girl, so I should want to keep my distance more than I do.

Still, the way her mouth pouts in adorable disappointment makes saying ‘no’ to this particular girl more difficult than it should be.

I swallow hard. “Right, but I also have somewhere I have to be.”

“Oh,” she says. She takes the biggest step backward that the tiny space will allow—back away from me. It’s less than two inches, but it feels wrong.

It feels like I should pull her back. I’m such a goddamn sucker.

“Listen, I have to go into the city to pick something up. I have a really tight amount of time to get there, so...” I say the next part slowly, gauging her reaction to each word so I have the chance to backtrack if it goes wrong and she looks spooked. “You could...come with me. And I can help you get into your place when we get back? It won’t take long, just a quick train ride into the city and back.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding her head way too fast.

“Yeah?” And
that
was way too easy.

“Yes. I want to. Definitely.”

“Really?” I try not to sound so surprised, but damn, that was way easier than I thought it would be. “Cool. We just need to get you some clothes first.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Those shorts are like, paper thin,” I say, and watch her tiny shoulders straighten up at the observation. “Not that I noticed, but, Lena—it’s Lena right?”

“Yes, Gabe, it’s Lena.” Her voice is rigid and filled with annoyance. Funny how someone who thirty seconds ago asked me to basically break into her house for her is now annoyed with me.

“Alright,” I say, around a grin. “I have to run inside and let my grandmother know I’m headed out. My room is at the top of the stairs, you can grab something—”

“I said I’m okay.” I get the feeling this girl would rather freeze to death than have me tell her what to do, so I give up. Besides, my ex wore crazier shit in the dead of winter, and we’re just making a quick in-and-out of the city.

“Alright,” I say, holding up my palms surrender style. “Whatever you say, Lena. I’ll be right back then.”

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m not supposed to be in the city at all and bringing a stranger along with me—especially a stranger with a hazel eyes that look like there is liquid copper running through them—a stranger who smells like wild berries even though a blizzard just came through—a stranger whose soft hands fit a little too well in mine—doesn’t feel like the best way to stay out of trouble, but dammit, after only talking to Babci for the last several weeks,

I couldn’t turn this girl away.

The truth is all sorts of complicated, even if it’s simple: something in me just isn’t ready to say goodbye to Lena yet.

“Hey Babs,” I say. I lean over the couch where she’s laying down. Her eyes are still heavy with sleep so I whisper. “I’m heading into town to grab a part for Pop’s car, okay?”

“Gabriel? What are you doing here?”

As the words leave her mouth, I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Ms. Seale next door, asking her to check in on Babci a few times while I’m out.

She won’t mind looking in on her, especially because it’ll mean she has an excuse to park herself at our kitchen table to give me a full report tomorrow—whether there’s actually anything to report or not.

She brings me food and insists on me eating it all while she’s here, no matter how much I protest that I’m stuffed, that I don’t, in fact, need to eat an entire pot roast on my own.

She talks while I eat. Her food is decent, so at least there’s that. 

I guess Ms. Seale is just lonely.

Same as the rest of us.

“Go back to sleep, Babci. I’ll be home soon.” My phone dings, and it’s a message from Ms. Seale saying she’ll be right over to sit with Babs.

I feel lucky to have at least one reliable person in my life, even if she’s a mildly crazy old woman who happens to be a wicked flirt.

“Tell your grandfather and your daddy that there’s roast chicken in the oven when they’re ready for dinner. I didn’t make them a pie tonight, though. Your daddy didn’t get any lemons. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll make a pie.”

I pull in a long breath. My sweet grandmother. I hope she’s at peace in her own mind at least.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the burning feeling in my throat before I walk back into the garage to find Lena.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says.

“Because you can stay here until I get back. I shouldn’t be that long, and my grandma is inside—”

“I said I’m good. Let’s go.”

“Okay.” I can’t help but smirk at this strange girl, acting tough in her shorts in the snow.

“Do you need to get that?” I ask this guy—I ask
Gabe
—as his phone buzzes in his hand for at least the fourth time since we left Gloucester.

He shakes his head, taps on the screen and then slides it into his coat pocket. “No, I’m good.”

I don’t know who is trying to get ahold of him, but whoever it is, they’re awfully persistent. Not that it’s my business. At all. I’m just a weirdo who agrees to go into the city with a stranger. Who does that? People that are bored, that’s who. And locked out of their houses.

I lean in closer to the warm air piping from the heating system, trying to soak it all up before the doors open again and the outside air freezes me to the core.

I should have taken Gabe up on his offer of pants. He’s several inches taller than me, but even extra-long sweatpants would have been better than these shorts.

In actuality, what I should have done is turned him down altogether. That’s what a sane person would do, right?

I should have called Kaydi and hung out in Gabe’s nice warm house with his sweet grandmother until my sister made it back across town to let me back in the house. Sure Kaydi would have yelled at me and told me how I’d ruined her life. Again.

Her complaining about me isn’t anything new, and at least I’d be warm.

But I wasn’t going to do that.

Not just because scooping my eyeballs out with a melon baller sounded preferable to calling my sister, but because right now, I’d take freezing over passing up the chance for a little adventure.

A trip into the city with someone new? Someone new with nice, broad shoulders and a wicked grin that he flashes to cover up what’s really going on inside?

No way.

I’m all in.

And maybe a little crazy.

Even though I’ve lived just outside the city my entire life, I’ve only been on the train once before. Mom and I stopped for lunch at a place around the corner from the Children’s Hospital my doctor’s office is in, and when we got back to our car late that afternoon, the battery was dead. Dad was out of town for a meeting and it was, of course, freezing.

So, we hopped on the train back to Gloucester, then had to take the bus back to our house. It was one of the coolest days ever, even though Mom was rocking back and forth with nervousness the entire time.

Sometimes I wonder what my Mom was like before the life crushing anxiety of being my parent took over her soul.

The train is packed pretty tightly with people tonight. More crowded than the one and only other time I was on it.

There’s something about sitting so close to people, when everyone is on their way to entirely different places that is so fascinating. Outside the train, the world flashes too quickly to focus on one thing, but inside there’s plenty of time to wonder what everyone's story is. 

The man sitting on the bench next to me has a worn, black briefcase on his lap and is tapping his foot impatiently. It’s odd, because if he were on his way home from work, you’d think he’d be going out of the city, not into Boston at this hour. So I can’t help wonder what his story is? Did he forget an important piece of paperwork and now has to make the trip back into the city? Did he tell his wife that, just to go and meet someone? How is it that I’m cynical already?

“Do you do this often?” Gabe asks.

“Do what?” I ask, blinking myself out of the people-watching daze I’m in. “Lock myself out?”

Gabe shakes his head and smiles. That smile… That smile is one of the biggest reasons that I’m on this train right now. “Run off to the city with a stranger.”

“Are we still strangers?” I ask. “I mean, we have known each other…” I glance down at my wrist but realize I’m not wearing my watch. Or much else for that matter.

“You’re right, I think we could definitely qualify as acquaintances by this point,” Gabe says. “Let’s make it official. What’s your last name?”

“Pettitt,” I say. “And yours?”

“Martinez. See, last names out of the way. We’re well on our way to being actual friends who ran off together.”

I laugh lightly. “I don’t know if this counts as running off, really. We did stop by my house to leave a note on the door for my sister, so—”

“What’s up with her, by the way? Is she really so bad you didn’t want to call her to get back into your house?”

“She’s not terrible—it’s complicated.”

“I gotcha,” Gabe says. Though I seriously doubt he understands at all. “Sometimes when I screw up, even when it’s something minor, I feel like I’m being judged for it. Like someone is always watching me and shaking their head.” He pauses and then says with a smirk, “And sometimes people
literally
are.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Alright, maybe I’m paranoid because I’m new to this ‘venturing out’ thing, but I can’t fight the cold chill that runs down the back of my neck when he says it.

Gabe jerks his head in the direction of a poster on the interior wall of the train. It’s a beautiful woman’s headshot. Her dark hair is in soft waves around her face and she’s flashing a big, toothy grin while giving a thumbs up.

I read the slogan out loud: “
Maribel Martinez says: ‘Make the right choices, Boston or suffer the consequences.’
”

“Endearing, huh? That’s my mother,” he says with an expression that’s more of a grimace than the semi-pained smile I think he’s going for. “Always watching.”

“Ouch.”

“So I get why you wouldn’t want to rat yourself out to your sister. It sucks when people are just waiting for you to screw up. And anyway, I’m happy to have the company.”

He inches in a little closer. I definitely don’t mind.

“Whoa,” Gabe says. He wraps a sturdy arm around my waist and steadies me as the train comes to a stop and I stumble forward.

“This is us.” He tips his chin in the direction of the open door.

Gabe easily pushes his way through the crowds of people in the station, he must do this all the time. He mentioned he lives in the city, so of course he does. He leads me up a flight of stairs and then into the open air, all without loosening his grip on my waist. I stiffen under his soft touch. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I’m afraid if I shift in any way, he might let go.

The rush of cold air stings my kneecaps and whips my ponytail against my face. Goosebumps cover every inch of me that’s exposed, making my skin feel tight. But that’s forgivable because Gabe hasn’t let go. In fact, he’s pulled me in closer, trying to shield me from what wind he can.

“Here,” he says. He shrugs off the long, navy coat. “Put this on.”

“I already have a coat,” I say, tugging at the ribbed edges of the cardigan.

“That’s not a coat, Lena.” My name comes out with a rasp that makes me want to ask him to repeat himself. Over and over.

“We’re only making one stop. I’ll be okay,” I argue.

I realize this is a ridiculous argument to have, but I am so darn tired of having people dote on me and worry about every darn thing I do. I was dumb enough to go outside without the right clothes. I was dumb enough to lock myself out. I can suck it up and be a little cold for a few minutes.

Normal people have to face the consequences of their actions. I’m normal, right? At least for today.

“This isn’t an argument we’re going to have, Lena.”

He lets his smoky eyes run down my legs, which feel borderline naked, covered with only these very few inches of cotton. I can’t fight the heat on my cheeks. I don’t know if I’ve ever been checked out before. Or maybe that’s not what he was doing at all. Maybe he was just re-noticing how ridiculous I am for stepping foot outside of my house in these shorts.

“I’m really—”

But he doesn’t allow me to protest any more. Gabe stops walking altogether and slips one of my arms through the armhole of the coat for me.

“I can do it,” I say. I’m not an infant and I refuse to let this guy see me as one—to see me like everyone else in my life does.

The coat is long and so warm. It almost covers my bare legs completely. I am so glad my stubbornness didn’t win out because I may want to live in this coat.

As we step out of the crowd and the city opens up, and  I take it all in.

The densely packed, old brick buildings, the ornate signs that mark everything from churches to sports bars, the way the sunlight hits the icicles on the tall buildings and acts like a prism. The light is different here than it is in Gloucester. Maybe it’s not as crisp and perfectly blue, but it’s somehow just as vibrant. The streets look confusing to me, and are filled with the honking horns of hyper-aggressive drivers and crowds of jaywalkers, but Gabe navigates with no problem.

This is it.

This is my one shot. This is my one day of not being the pain in the ass sister or the miraculous daughter.

This my one moment to just be Lena.

Even if it’s just to go to an auto parts store. Not quite the breaking free dream I’d kept locked away in my mind, but it works.

“I’m such a prick. I should have given that to you back at the house,” he says. “Don’t worry though, the place isn’t much further.”

All of my feelings should be frozen along with the rest of me, but disappointment still surfaces. We just got here and he’s already talking about turning back home.

“No rush,” I say.

Gabe turns to me and gives me a quick, appreciate smile and a nod. That smile could easily have raised my core body temperature at least a few degrees.

“So this car part, why so urgent?” I ask.

His posture stiffens a little.

“The car in the garage. It was my grandfather’s. I’m just trying to get it fixed up while I’m staying with my grandma.”

“You’re just visiting though, right? How long are you going to be around?”

Gabe sucks in a quick breath. “Not sure. Soon as things smooth out here at home.”

He told me on the train ride in that he lives in the city with his mother but that he was staying with his grandmother for a while. He wouldn’t elaborate.

“But, aren’t you in school?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t
you
in school?”

“I’m homeschooled.”

“Ah,” is all he replies.

“Not like those freaks who don’t leave the house and have no friends or social life, though,” I say. Actually, one-hundred-percent, exactly like those kids.

“Well, I’m doing online courses right now, too,” Gabe says. Like we’re the same. Like he has any clue what my existence is like.

“That’s cool,” is all I say.

“Okay, so, school at home. What do you do for fun then?”

I follow Gabe around a corner, trying to keep up with his quick pace even though his legs are much longer than mine. I don’t have any idea where we’re going, but I can’t stop staring at the people we pass. Wondering where they’re going in their suits and dresses and khakis—whether they appreciate that they’re able to walk down the street and do whatever they want without having to answer to anyone.

“I paint.”

“I said for fun.”

“Hey,” I playfully swat at his arm. “Painting
is
fun. To me. It’s like, cars are your hobby, right?”

He shrugs. “I guess so, but the options are a little limited out in Gloucester...”

“True. So painting is my hobby. And to be fair, I’ve never had to hop a train and then haul butt across town to pick up a paint brush, so—”

“It’s right here,” Gabe says. He pulls the door open to a non-descript, dimly lit shop that I would have walked right past if he hadn’t stopped me.

Inside there is nothing more than two metal folding chairs on a dirty linoleum floor, a beat up counter, and a flickering overhead light. The walls are painted a deep gray and the long blue counter’s paint is chipping.

“This is it?” I ask, raising a worried brow.

“What’d you expect?” Gabe leans into the counter.

“I don’t know,” I say, pulling the coat tighter around me. For the first time since we left Gloucester, I feel like this may be exactly one of the poor decisions my parents have always said I’d make if left on my own. “Somewhere I may not get hepatitis.”