Hurricane Kiss (5 page)

“I'm suggesting we think for ourselves,” I insist. “We could find a place to hole up. Something solid. The roads are totally open going back.” I see the look on his face. He never listens, never cares what I think.

“Exactly where would we go?”

“A shelter or something. I'll find a place. It beats sitting in the middle of a jam-packed highway like a target.”

“Or something?” he repeats, like I'm crazy. “The traffic will pick up; it'll start to move. At least we're going in the right direction.”

I stare at my dad, my fists tightening. “Just look at what's ahead of you on the highway. You're a prisoner. You don't have a chance. Why is it so hard to admit you're wrong?”

Chapter 8

JILLIAN

River pops pills, throws knives, and yells at the sky. I eat myself up inside with fear because time is running out. Which one of us is crazy? Which one is sane? Which one of us knows the right thing to do?

Monster storm. Monster storm. I keep replaying the nightmare. Why did I have it? What did it mean—assuming dreams give you insights and aren't just a jumble of your fears, the wreckage left behind from the storms in different chapters of your life.

I go back to the day my dad left. I couldn't breathe as I stared at him through my bedroom window and watched him get into the car and drive away, leaving us to get along on our own.

But why did I dream it? Was it a warning about what was to come? Would I be orphaned again, this time by Danielle? Would I keep losing my way and be powerless to do anything about it?

It wouldn't be the first time someone dreamed what was later going to come true. It wouldn't be the first time the future would have the power to affect the past, as crazy as that sounded. I ended up telling Kelly.

“It's because you're not from here and this is new to you,” she said. “We're used to tornados and hurricanes and—” She waved it away. “We take it in stride because we get hit with crazy weather all the time, so we just ride it out.”

“Ride it out?”

“Shit happens here,” she said, “get used to it.” She laughed. “What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.”

Kelly was probably right. I tried to distract myself by keeping busy. As soon as I got home from school, I went swimming. If I was worn out, I'd crash when my head hit the pillow. Exhaustion would drive the nightmare away.

Our pool is nothing fancy, just a big rectangle, half of it surrounded with plants with blue flowers that are bigger than snow cones. In the summer it's my oasis of coolness and calm. While I was doing laps, I remembered something that happened before River disappeared from school. It was just a few months after he moved in next door. It was November, but it was still warm enough to swim.

I wanted to work at the town pool for the summer instead of interning and being stuck inside an office all day, so I was determined to pass the lifeguard test. There were four parts to it. The first was to swim two hundred yards in four minutes or less. I measured off the distance, basically two-and-a-half laps in our pool. I was in the zone. In my fantasy I was an Olympic contender, training for the competition. I was so lost in my daydreams that I didn't realize anyone else was around. Then I looked up.

It was like seeing a mirage, ripples of heat distorting my vision. River was standing at the edge of the pool watching me, the late afternoon sun bathing him in a golden light. There was something surreal about seeing him still as a statue, unruly curls framing his face, red board shorts slung low on his hips.

“You scared me!” I tried to catch my breath, pushing the wet hair away from my eyes. I hoisted myself up and sat on the side of the pool, trying to catch my breath. “I didn't see you come in.”

“Sorry, I called you, but I guess you didn't hear me.”

He dropped down next to me, put his feet in the water. We gazed at each other, neither of us saying anything, the silence growing strained, even though it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. A dragonfly swooped down, skimming its iridescent blue-green wings along the surface of the water, before rising up and perching itself on River's shoulder, its wings fluttering, the insect equivalent of a preening peacock.

Even bugs are drawn to him. I almost laughed.

His lips curled up into a smile. He blew at it softly, and the dragonfly lifted off. I followed its flight and then glanced back at River.

“In half an hour, they can devour an amount of food equal to their entire body weight.”

“I don't remember learning that in bio,” he said, smirking. “I must have been out sick that day.”

“No, that came from the inside of a Snapple lid.”

“I have a lot in common with dragonflies then,” he said, “I'm always starved too.”

Our eyes met and everything inside me seized up. I turned away, reaching for the towel on the lounge chair behind me, wrapping it tightly around my shoulders.

Without a word, River leaned toward me and lifted a strand of wet hair off my cheek, tucking it behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my face. He lifted a second strand on the other side with the same light stroke of his fingers, slipping it behind the other ear.

It wasn't anything, the lightest touch. It meant nothing. But the sensation shot through me, setting off painful stings of longing, which was crazy and confusing. I swallowed hard and finally looked away. I had a boyfriend, this was wrong. River probably came on to girls all the time, to see who and what he could get. Guys like him did that. Why not?

“So,” I said abruptly, “why did you—”

“You're not getting enough air on the intake,” he said, turning serious.

“What?”

“When you swim. You're not getting enough air when you inhale because you're not getting enough out at the exhale.”

“You can see that?”

“I used to swim competitively, and we videotaped ourselves so we could study our form and see what we were doing wrong.”

“Oh … well … thanks. I'll try to exhale harder. Next time.”

“Try it now,” he said, motioning for me to get back into the pool. “I'll watch you.”

I hesitated.

“Go on,” he said, motioning to the water.

I got back in and he followed me in. He swam alongside me, watching intently as I went from one end of the pool to the other, working at breathing out harder and then deliberately taking in more air. Finally I stopped and looked up at him questioningly.

“Better,” he said. “How does it feel?”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure. How's it supposed to feel?”

“Keep going. You'll know.”

Why did everything he said sound like …

I kept swimming and so did he, keeping pace with me. He seemed to really care that I got it right. When I stopped he held his hand up for a high five.

“You got it,” he said, his hand hitting mine. “You'll see, you'll swim stronger now.”

“I'm taking the lifeguard test for a job at the pool,” I said, climbing out of the water. Why did I tell him? He didn't ask.

“Cool,” he said, following me out. “Which pool?”

“West U.”

“Wow,” he said. “I just applied for that too. What a coincidence.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I definitely want that job.”

“Oh.” Why was I wasting my time preparing? I didn't stand a chance.

He looked at me straight-faced for a moment and then laughed. “I'm kidding.”

I could feel my face turning pink. So I was a total dork.

“River one, Jillian nothing,” I said, writing the score in the air with my finger.

“Not nothing,” he whispered, his eyes holding mine. “Definitely not nothing.”

He stepped toward me. The air between us was charged. It was late afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, warming my back. My mom was out. So was Ethan. It was just the two of us, our bodies inches apart.

And he was still staring.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the steady stream of water droplets trickling down my shoulders and back, slipping inside my suit.

He lowered his gaze to my lips.

I needed air.

“So,” I blurted out, trying to draw a breath. “Was that why you came over … because of how I swim? Or just to goof on me?”

He grinned, socking his head. “Hell no, I nearly forgot. Our refrigerator died and my dad wanted to know if we could use your freezer until tomorrow when the new fridge comes. If you have room. And you don't mind if—”

“—It's fine.”

“Cool.” He laughed. “Or cold, or whatever.” He headed toward the back door of his house, our backyard gate slamming behind him. A few minutes later it slammed again and he was back with a stack of frozen dinners under his arm. He looks embarrassed.

“Frozen food,” he said. “It's what's for dinner.”

“You really live on those?”

“Uh … yeah. We don't cook much …” A flicker of sadness passed over his face, and then it vanished.

Why hadn't I just shut up? He didn't have a mom, and his dad worked. Who was there to cook for him or worry about what he ate?

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean …”

“No worries.”

“I just meant I know the coach gets on your case about eating right, so—”

“Right,” he said, nodding robotically.

“You're almost in first place, so I guess he doesn't want to …”

He looked off, waiting impatiently.

“River?”

“What?” he said, turning back to me.

“You can use the pool anytime you want. We're hardly ever out here.”

“Thanks,” he said, the smile returning. “I'll take you up on that.”

The following week at about ten at night I was upstairs on the phone. Absentmindedly, I walked to the window. The house lights cast enough of a glow for me to see him swimming from one end of the pool to the other, over and over.

I started counting to see how many laps he'd do, but he kept going back and forth, back and forth, in a regular rhythm and I lost count, eventually turning away. I thought about going outside and bringing him cookies and lemonade. Maybe he was thirsty. Or wouldn't have minded taking a break. But I didn't want to bother him, or break into his fantasies, whatever they were.

The honking of horns draws me out of my thoughts. River and his dad ignore each other, their barriers up even though they sit nearly shoulder to shoulder in the front seat. The stony silence is pushing me to take sides. There's no middle ground. Stay in the car? Come up with another plan? I look at my watch. I'm on a game show with only seconds left before I need to answer—that's how it feels.

The sky is changing color, everything deepening to a mix of silvery grays with shots of white light, but the shift is so subtle I feel I need to take pictures, to prove it to myself, so I know I'm not imagining it. We may be trapped in place, unable to move, but nothing's holding Danielle back. She's slowly building strength, getting ready to stage her life-altering performance.

So typical of us women. Hazardous, wildly unpredictable! At least that's what male meteorologists used to think—that's why they used only female names for hurricanes. I wrote that in my hurricane article for the school paper. Then, hello, that sexist practice got scrapped in 1978 when more women entered the field and the hurricanes were given male names too.

It takes nearly half an hour for us to creep to the next exit. I watch the sky, trying to scope out Danielle like she's a girl who's a threat, someone you can't turn your back on. I feel like screaming at her too. She is a bitch. This is all her fault.

Finally Harlan pulls into a gas station and gets into a long line of cars waiting for a pump. River goes to buy a drink. I head for the bathroom line that snakes along the side of the building. One bathroom, unisex.

As I stand there, two guys a little older than me get in line behind me.

“Jenna?” one of them says, almost in my ear. I shake my head.

“You sure?” he says, laughing. “You're like her twin.”

No, I'm not sure. I don't know who I am.

“Where you from?” he says.

I ignore him.

“What, you don't want to talk?”

I still ignore him.

“You speak English?” he says, and then laughs.

“Shut up, Mike,” his friend says.

“What did I do? She's hot, OK? I'm into redheads. Anyway, if we're all gonna die here, might as well enjoy ourselves before we go.”

At that point I want to disappear, but that's not happening and I need the bathroom and the line is long and where is River, or Harlan, or anybody?

Fingers slide through the back of my hair.

“Don't!” It comes out louder than I intended. Everyone in line is staring at me now, and my face is turning crimson. I look around and then spot River watching from a distance. He walks over and steps between me and the guys.

“You have a problem?”

The first one laughs. “We don't have a problem.”

“Good,” River says, still staring at them, the closed knife visible in his hand. He clicks open the blade and slides it very lightly against the palm of his right hand, again and again as if he's testing the sharpness.

“Let's go,” one of them says. “Line's too long. We can pee behind the trees, that's why God invented them.” The other one shrugs and finally they amble away.

I look at River. “Thanks.”

He shakes his head and closes the knife. He slides out the pill bottle, looks at it, and puts it back in his pocket.

“What are those?”

“Pills.”

“Thanks, I couldn't tell.”

But I see the label. Ativan. They're addictive, I know that. So he's a pill junkie, great, but does that make him wrong about the storm? He opens the knife and snaps it shut. Click. Snap. Click. Snap. Again and again, rhythmically, before sliding the blade slowly over the inside of his palm again. Snap.

Ahead of us in line a girl with dark curls and blue eyes who looks six or seven is watching him, her eyes fixed on the knife. She leans into her mom.

“I'm not going back to the car,” he says, turning to me.

I don't answer.

“You coming with me?”

I suck in a deep breath and shake my head. “No.” My default answer in life. Like a two-year-old.

“Mistake.” He narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

“I think it's safer to be in a car than out on the road. What if the wind picks up or the rain gets heavy? What are you going to do on foot?”

“There are safer places than a goddamned car.”

“Like?”

Before he can answer, Harlan comes back. “So?”