Long Black Veil (13 page)

Devon picked at a rough edge on her cuticle, unable to process why she felt so disappointed. He was right; it was stupid to care about something like that, especially with the end of high school looming. It just hadn’t been what she’d hoped to hear.

But Brock wasn’t done. “I got to know you. And you seemed pretty cool.” He gave her a tentative smile.

Devon could feel her face getting hot and she ducked her head. He didn’t need to see her glowing like a stoplight. “So do you.” Did that sound as lame as she thought it did? She glanced out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction. He was smiling, his dimple flashing in and out like a wink.

He leaned over her chair to look at the computer monitor. “What are you working on anyway? I never asked why you needed five generations worth of paperwork.”

Devon swallowed at his nearness. He smelled good. He was wearing some kind of woodsy scent that smelled clean, but there was the smell of him layered underneath it. The scents mixed well together and she had to fight the urge to take a deep breath. Yeah, that wouldn’t be weird AT ALL. Instead she focused on the computer screen, typing in the last parameter of years she was looking for.

“It’s for a scholarship. To be eligible, you’ve got to be able to prove your family has been born in this county for at least five generations.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“How’d you find out about something like that? I’ve never even heard of it.” Brock’s breath tickled her ear as he spoke over her shoulder.

Of course not, Devon couldn’t help but think. You don’t need to worry about scholarships—your parents can afford to pay the tuition wherever you end up going. “It’s pretty obscure,” was all she said. “The guidance counselor found it for me.”

“But you’re valedictorian.” He sounded confused. “I figured you’d be offered a free ride.”

She turned the chair around so they were facing each other. It was much less distracting to talk to him that way instead of feeling the shivery touch of his breath on her neck. “I can’t count on that.” She wouldn’t count on that; not and risk being disappointed, or worse, stuck here. “Schools are being pretty picky about who they give money to now. I want to be sure I’ve got everything covered.”

Brock shook his head, something like respect in his expression. “You’re not going to let anything stop you.”

“Nope. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting out of here.” The determination in her voice surprised even her.

His gaze shifted back to the monitor. “So what’s the number of the box you need? I’ll go get it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Devon stuttered, unsure of what to do with his kindness. “I can get it.”

Brock shrugged like it was no big deal. “I’m going down there anyway. You stay here and keep on your research. I’ll bring it up.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She watched him shuck off his jacket and walk down the stairs that led to the basement archives. Then she opened her mouth in a silent scream of excitement. Brock thought she was cool! What did this mean?!

Skylar and Micah were forgotten in the happy flush that filled her up. She and Brock were talking. Like friends! He had even remembered what her project had been about. She wanted to call Gil right away and talk it over with him, but now wasn’t the right time or place.

And tell him what?
her inner voice snarked. Devon took a few deeps breaths and calmed herself. She was getting excited over nothing. So what if they were friends? He was nice to lots of people. It didn’t make her special, and it certainly didn’t mean he was going to suddenly declare his undying love for her in fifth period. She was getting all worked up over nothing. She’d had a crush on Brock for years; it was no surprise that she was trying to read more into it than there really was.

Her mind slowed its racing. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Slowly, she got herself back under control. She had a task to finish—it was only a few more weeks before she needed to turn in all of her applications and financial aid forms. That was what she needed to focus on here.

She dove back into the puzzle of the strange blood types. Devon didn’t know much, but she knew that something wasn’t right. There was no way this combo of blood types could add up to hers. Had the hospital got it wrong? That didn’t seem right, though. She’d been typed since and they’d gotten her blood type correct. Maybe they had made a mistake with her mom’s or dad’s blood type. Gammy would know—or have records of—her mother’s type, but who could she go to so she could verify her father’s?

Brock clomped up the stairs from the basement and deposited the box she needed on the counter beside her. Devon thanked him. When he returned to the basement, she pulled up a browser window and began to search for anything she could find on blood types and genetics. After the first few sites, she started to feel a little overwhelmed, so she put that research aside to pull the papers she’d need for her scholarship.

She had sifted through the files in the archival box, stacking the ones the needed to make copies of. She had just turned on the copier and was letting it warm up, when a loud boom of thunder rattled the glass panes in the windows. Devon walked over to the small window and saw nothing but the sheets of water cascading down the wavy glass.

The copier dinged it was ready. Devon made her copies, filed the originals, and returned the folders to their rightful place in the box. She took it back downstairs as another round of thunder made the siding rattle.

“Brock?” She couldn’t hear him down here and she didn’t know where he had pulled the box from in the shelves.

“Over here!” he called. Devon saw a hand wave from behind a shelf.

She hoisted the box into a more comfortable position and made her way through the silent metal racks of stacked boxes. When she turned down his aisle, she found him sitting on the floor, replacing an old box that had sustained some water damage with a new one.

“Do you ever get leaks in here?” she asked, indicating the old box with the one she was holding. You could barely hear the thunder down here.

“Nah. This one spent some time upstairs though. Some of the offices leak like crazy, especially around the windows. One of the perks of being an old building.” He finished what he was doing and hoisted the box back into its place on the shelving unit. “You all done?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to put this back in the wrong place.” She found it hard to look at him in the dim light of the archives. They were too close down here, and it was too easy to get lost in his eyes. She tried not to roll her eyes about how corny she was being; she sounded like a love-struck seventh grader inside her head.

He took the box from her. “Over here.”

He led the way to the correct aisle and slid the box back home. The lights flickered as another timpani of thunder burst from the sky. They both looked up, as if they could see through the ceiling and straight into the sky. “I’d better get going before it gets too bad out there,” Devon said, beginning to make her way through the warren of shelving and back to the stairs.

“Be right up,” Brock called after her.

Another boomer shook the building. Devon shut down the computer in case of a lightning strike, and began to gather up her things. She left the light on for Brock, then took herself out to the front of the building.

She stopped at the doors, trying to peer out through the sheets of water that pelted down. She couldn’t see the steps, let alone the street in front of the building. She had an umbrella in her bag—Gammy made sure she always carried one—but it would do her next to no good in this downpour. She’d be soaked before she went half a block. And Gammy couldn’t drive in weather like this; she could barely see in clear weather as it was.

Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, Devon lingered at the door, hoping that the rain would lessen before the records hall had to close for the evening. She peered out the door, watching the water sluice down in heavy sheets. She could make out flashes of lightning through the watery murk, but very little else.

“Wow, it’s really coming down,” Brock observed from behind her.

“Yeah.” Devon wasn’t entirely sure what else to say.

“See you around,” he said, turning to go. Devon turned her head and watched him sign out at the front desk.

“Okay,” she answered. Devon checked the storm again. The rain hadn’t lessened, but she wasn’t any closer to getting home. She was just going to have to deal with getting wet. It wouldn’t be the first time. She pulled her messenger bag inside her jacket, holding it close to her chest, then zipped up the jacket. She was going to just have to hope that her notes and papers would stay fairly dry with enough layers between them and the rain.

“Hey,” Brock’s voice called from the other end of the room, “you’re not planning on walking home in this, are you?”

Devon turned, the bundle of her messenger bag making her feel like a pregnant kangaroo. “I don’t have a car,” she said by way of explanation. She sounded almost apologetic and wanted to kick herself. Not everyone her age had a car. She had nothing to feel bad about.

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride.” He smiled at her and waved her over.

“That’s okay. I’m just going to wait a little for it to lighten up.” She really didn’t want his pity.

Brock checked the clock on the wall before looking back at her. “I don’t think it’s going to stop much in the next five minutes, and you’d probably need a rowboat even if it did. Come on.”

Devon looked back out the door once more. He was right; the rain didn’t look like it was going to let up any time soon. “Okay. Thanks.”

He waited while she crossed the room to join him at the back of it. Then he led the way down another hall and out a back door that led to a small lot behind the building. He took his keys out and unlocked the doors with a remote, then sprinted out into the wet. Devon followed him.

She slid into the passenger seat, already feeling bad about getting the interior wet. It wasn’t a brand new car, but it wasn’t old either, and the inside was still in excellent condition. She wondered if it was his dad’s old Volvo; if he’d inherited the old one when his dad got the latest model.

Brock leaned over his seat to reach for a towel resting in the back. He wiped the water from his face and hair, then handed it to Devon. “Here, dry off a little.” He started the car up and fiddled with the defroster and the temperature knobs.

Devon ran the towel over her wet hair. Amazing how she’d only been out in it for maybe a minute and she was practically drenched. There was no way she would have been able to walk all the way home. She’d have probably stopped somewhere and given Gil a call to see if he could give her a ride. That is, if Brock hadn’t offered her one first. She wiped her face free of the rivulets of water coursing down her scalp, noticing as she did so that the towel smelled like Brock. It had his mix of cologne and fabric softener and Brockness that made her want to curl up with it. Instead, she put it in the backseat where it came from.

Brock turned the wipers on high and slid the car into Drive. He took it slow, since visibility was practically nil. He also turned on his lights and hazards so he could be seen more easily. Devon buckled herself in and tried not to grab the door handle or ohshit bar in nervousness. She didn’t have much to worry about. There was hardly anyone on the roads right now.

They rode in silence for a little while, the only conversation coming when Devon had to direct him to turn. They were about halfway to the mountain turn-off for Gammy’s when she managed to get out, “Nice car.”

Brock nodded. “It was my dad’s,” as if that explained everything.

“He’s a doctor, right?” Of course he was. Everyone in town knew who Dr. Cutler was. Most of them went to him. But the thought of his father gave her an idea about some of the questions she had running around the back of her mind.

“Yep.” Brock frowned at the mention of his dad.

“Do you know anything about blood types?” Wow, that didn’t sound crazy AT ALL. She should really work up to questions like that.

Brock’s eyes flicked over to her, then back to the road. “That’s a weird question.”

“Sorry.” Devon turned a little in her seat so she was mostly facing him. “I just came across something strange in the records today and I didn’t know if you could help me with my questions.”

“Just because my dad’s a doctor doesn’t mean that I am.” Then he smiled at her. “But I’ll try.”

“Cool.” Devon took a moment to collect her thoughts. She pointed him to the right turn that led up the mountain before continuing. “Is it possible for a person with O blood type and a person with B blood type to have a child with AB blood type?”

Brock thought for a moment. “You sound like you already know the answer to that.”

Devon thought she did, but if she was right, then nothing made any sense. It meant that someone had lied, or was possibly still lying. Her hands clenched together into fists in her lap at the thought. What did this mean for her?

Brock continued when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to say anything. “I don’t think it’s possible, at least if I’m remembering my biology right.” He risked a look over at her, taking his eyes off of the road for a moment. “I can ask my dad if it would make you feel better.”

Devon nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Nothing would make her feel better. Maybe if she hadn’t bothered with the scholarship, if instead she’d just counted on her grades and activities scoring her enough money to go to a state college, she wouldn’t have found anything out. She felt mad, which in turn made her feel stupid; who could she be mad at? And was it too early to go getting mad at anything? She felt all knotted up inside.