Authors: Jeanette Battista
Brock came back around the car. He flung open the door and scooped her up. She made a surprised little squawk. Then he was carrying her into Gammy’s house while the old woman held the door open.
“What did you tell her?” she whispered as Brock set her down on the sofa.
“That you were a complete klutz and tripped down the stairs in front of the library. I was driving past and saw you fall. My heart was then filled with such pity that I had no choice but to take you home.” He grinned down at her, a wicked glint in his eye.
“Well, aren’t you just the Good Samaritan,” she hissed at him, unobtrusively elbowing him in the stomach when he set her down.
“Be nice or I’ll tell your Gammy what really happened.” He winked at her.
“Blackmailer.” But she smiled at him when she said it.
“Now exactly how did you manage to fall down the steps, my girl?” Gammy closed and latched the door, then joined them in the living room.
Devon looked down at her lap, in an effort to hide her smile. “You know me. My mind was somewhere else and I took a header down the steps.”
“You’re just lucky this young man bothered to stop and give you a ride home.” Gammy’s voice sounded harsh to Devon’s ears, almost as if her grandmother begrudged Brock the compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Cutler.”
“Brock, Ma’am. And it was no trouble. I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt.” He ducked his head shyly. Gammy could have that affect on people.
“Yes, I bet you were.” Gammy gave him a slight smile. Then she gestured to the door. “But I think Devon needs her rest. You can see her at school.”
“You’re being dismissed,” Devon whispered from the side of her mouth.
“Looks that way,” he whispered back, his lips barely moving. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stopped, watching as Gammy went to the door. Then he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.
“Thank you,” Devon whispered against his mouth. “For everything.”
Devon watched him go, shaking Gammy’s hand as he left. Her grandmother watched as he climbed into his car, staying at the door until his taillights disappeared around the bend in the road. Then she turned and gave Devon her best parental glare.
“Alright, my girl. What really happened?”
The envelope came in the mail on a Tuesday. Devon hadn’t been expecting it, even though she had applied for early decision. She stared at the envelope in her hand for several long moments before she slipped it into her bag. She kept the rest of the mail in her hand as she proceeded up the path.
Devon had been looking so forward to finding out where she had been accepted; but now that the first one was here, she suddenly was in no hurry to see what it said. This envelope could change everything. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. So many things had changed already—her own father had even changed—this might be overwhelming.
She paced the floor, her eyes drawn inevitably to her messenger bag. She’d have to open it eventually...just not right now.
Devon picked up the phone. She’d never called Brock before for something like this and she felt a little nervous doing so now. She told herself it was just a phone call, swallowing nervously as she waited for him to pick up.
“Hey.” Brock’s voice on the phone was warm, like melted chocolate.
“Hi.” She took a deep breath. “Um, I was wondering if you were busy?”
“No, just studying. What’d you have in mind?” She could practically hear the leer in his voice.
Devon laughed. “Down boy. We’ll get to that later.” She turned serious. “I have something that I really don’t want to do alone.”
“Dev?” Brock sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, a rush of heat flushing her cheeks. “It’s college stuff.”
“Ah, okay.” She could hear him rustling around for something. “Want me to come pick you up?”
“Yes. I can meet you at the bottom of the road.”
“See you in twenty.”
Devon gathered up her things and left the trailer. She needed movement, a physical way to burn off her anxiety. She walked quickly down the road, passing the church. She didn’t want to go in there today. The future was what was on her mind, not the past. As she walked by, there was no sign of Jessamy, for which she was grateful. She had enough on her mind without the ghost complicating things today.
She made good time and reached the bottom a few minutes before Brock was due. She paced back and forth, both to keep her legs warm and to pass the time and keep her mind off of the envelope in her bag.
He arrived perhaps five minutes later. Devon heard his car well before she saw it. Remembering her last encounter with a car on this road, she stepped well back from the highway, just in case it wasn’t Brock. But it was Brock, and he pulled to a stop on the side of the road right next to her. She hopped in, grateful for the warm blast of heat and for his smile. Devon leaned over, giving him a hug. Brock pulled her even closer and upped the ante with a kiss. Before it could progress much further, Devon pulled away.
Brock squeezed her hand. “So where are we headed?”
“Someplace quiet and out of the way.” She looked up at from underneath her lashes. “Any ideas?”
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think I know a good spot.” Without another word, he turned around and drove back towards town.
They hadn’t gone very far when he turned left, following a winding two lane road up another hill. Devon recognized the gates of the town’s cemetery. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You sure this is a good idea? I think we’ve had our fill of ghosts and graveyards.”
“There’s a small garden just before you hit the older section. We won’t be overheard or bothered there. We’ve only ever seen Jessamy at the old church; I don’t think we’ll run into her here.” He pulled the car into a parking space and killed the engine.
They got out of the car, Brock taking her hand and leading the way. The paths were well tended, the lawn between the headstones neatly mowed. The place felt peaceful, the quiet of the cemetery soothing Devon’s frazzled nerves. She had no idea she was so wound up.
The garden was before them. Since it was winter—or nearly so—all of the flowers were gone. There was still some ground cover over the tilled mounds of recently removed plantings. The bushes that dotted the perimeter were still lush. The garden was decorated with large rocks in various places as a way to provide visual interest when the color was gone. It was grey stone and dark earth and wiry grasses, but it was pleasing in a stark way.
A stone bench sat directly in the center of the garden. Brock sat and pulled her down next to him. “Let’s see it.”
Devon pulled the large envelope out of her bag. She handed it to him.
“It’s a big one. That’s promising.” He looked at the return crest. “Nice. Duke.” He handed it over to her. “Are you going to open it?”
She didn’t take it. “That’s the thing. Every time I think about opening it, I want to throw up a little.” She grinned sheepishly.
“Dev, you’re super smart. You’re like a dream student. They’d be lucky to have you.” He pushed it at her. “So just open it already.”
Devon sat next to him, her mouth suddenly dry. “Okay.” She slid her finger underneath the envelope’s seal, dragging it across the paper. “I’m really nervous.”
Brock just smiled at her encouragingly. “Stop stalling.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine.” She broke through the rest of the seal with a loud rip of paper. Then she pulled out a sheaf of pages, all terribly official looking. She scanned the top sheet, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“What does it say? Besides that you’re awesome.”
Devon flipped through the rest of the packet quickly. Then she handed it over to Brock. “I’m in.” She looked around, not really focusing on anything. “They accepted me.”
“You sound like you’re surprised.” Brock scooted over and handed her the papers. When she looked at them with no sign of taking them, he slid them back into the envelope they came in. Then he put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re brilliant, Dev. And you work hard. You deserve it.”
Devon frowned, upset now by what the packet hadn’t included. “No mention of financial aid though.” She scuffed her foot on the ground, moving around bits of rock dust.
Brock put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Stop it, okay? Just stop it. You should take a moment and be proud of what you did. It’s what you wanted, right?” When she nodded, he released her chin. “You need to enjoy your accomplishment, Dev. Worry about the money later. For now, just be happy. This is great news!”
Devon sighed. Brock was right, and he was wrong at the same time. She knew she should be happy at the acceptance letter to Duke. And she was, but that happiness was tempered with fear. What was the point in getting excited about being accepted if she didn’t know whether she would be able to attend? The tuition was outrageous normally, and she was from out of state. That meant even more money. She wanted nothing more than to be like Brock—he didn’t have to worry about how much school cost, because his parents could afford to send him anywhere. If he didn’t get a scholarship or financial aid of some kind, he could still attend the college of his dreams.
Devon couldn’t. As much as she might wish she could, she was bound by the circumstances she found herself in. Still the letter had mentioned that they were still in the process of determining which of their scholars would qualify for financial aid. Hope wasn’t lost just yet.
She tried to take Brock’s advice to heart, cutting herself a bit of slack. “It is pretty huge,” she admitted, her mouth drawing up at the corners.
“You said it!”
“Have you heard back from any of your schools?” Devon tried to make it a little less all about her.
Brock shook his head. “Nah. But I didn’t apply for early decision either. All of mine should come in January, February the latest.”
“You worried?”
He grimaced, and Devon put a hand on his knee. He said, “It’ll just be an argument between my parents—one more in like a marathon session, I guess. Dad will insist on one, Mom will go all passive-aggressive, my grandmother will get called in and she’ll have her opinion too. It will be decided for me, like I’m not even there.”
“You should talk to them. Tell them what you want to do.” She squeezed his leg.
Brock looked at her, moving his knee out from under her hand. “My parents don’t work like that. They wouldn’t listen, even if I did feel like starting something.”
Something in Brock’s voice made Devon swallow what she wanted to say. She got the feeling this type of argument had been going on for years, with Brock always in the middle of it. Instead, she said, “Let’s take a walk.”
She stood up, offering Brock her hand. He took it and they began to stroll through the garden. They followed the path out of the garden and into the older section of the cemetery. After a few moments, Brock spoke. “I bet you think I’m pretty stupid, huh?”
“Why on earth would I think that?” Devon glanced over at him, confused.
“Because I let my parents make all my decisions for me.” He tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Considering I don’t have a father and my mother is in prison, I really don’t have a right to say anything about anyone’s relationship with their parents.”
They continued walking. Devon looked at the headstones, giving Brock time and space to gather his thoughts. She noted that the dates on the markers were getting older as they went farther along the path. Soon they would be in the early nineteen hundreds.
“I wish I could be more like my brother. He’s happy going along with my parent’s plans for him. He’s done everything they’ve ever asked of him—and done it way better than I ever could.” He wound his fingers through hers.
“Why do you have to be like him at all? Why can’t you just be you?” That’s surely good enough.
“That’s a nice thought.” His voice told her that she was being naïve.
“But not a very realistic one, right?” She squeezed his hand again. “But if your brother is doing such a great job with it, why not let him? You can do what you want to do.” Her eyes scanned the statuary and the stones, feeling like there was something here she should see, but unsure what exactly.
“It’s not that simple, Dev.” He shook his head.
She stopped, turning to face Brock. “With everything we’ve found out so far, don’t you think we’ve seen enough to realize that it is just that simple? Look at the people who tried to do fight against what they really wanted—we’ve seen what happened.”
Devon was planning on saying more, but her eyes fell upon a large obelisk. That wasn’t unusual, but what drew her attention was the name on the monument. Keaton Winchester was carved into the stone. “Brock,” she whispered, pointing at the obelisk.
He turned to see where she was pointing. “You don’t think…” he began, but Devon was already moving, walking quickly towards it.
She stopped a few feet away. “Oh my God,” she breathed. Brock came to a sharp stop directly behind her.
There, carved into the stone next to Keaton’s name, was another: Jessamy Winchester.