Authors: Melissa Marr
I think back to the last night we spoke. “Then one night you were
awful
. The party out at Piper’s parents’ lake house? You knew everyone was watching us, and you acted like you didn’t even know me.”
He swallows and looks at me, not meeting my eyes, but gazing in the general direction of my chin. “I wish I could tell you that I’d already apologized for that and everything else before now, and you forgave me, but I’d be lying.”
I nod.
“I
want
you to forgive me, Eva.” He meets my eyes now. “I’ve wanted that for years, but . . . I know I’m only tolerated by your crowd these days. I couldn’t walk up to
you
.”
“I was the one who came to you that night,” I remind him.
“Yeah, and I was a mess then. I just wanted to be numb, and beer and girls seemed like a good idea.”
“Seemed?” I echo.
“I don’t drink anymore.” He looks straight at me. “Even so, what would they do if I walked up to you? Baucom, Piper, and the rest of them? Sober and at a party or at school?”
I’m not sure what to say. He is—like Amy Crowne—fine to be with in private or after a few drinks at a party, but he’s definitely not considered date material or even friend material. He hasn’t been since he stopped being a part of our crowd.
“Well, we’re talking now,” I finally say. “Are you going to ignore me later?”
“No.” He rubs his hand over his head, just like he used to when we were kids.
“You still pet your head when you’re nervous, Nate.”
He pulls his hand away quickly, but he flashes me a smile I haven’t seen in far too long. Then he says, “Aaron does it, too. He calls it ‘helping to think.’”
I decide to let the other things go for a moment and ask, “How old is Aaron?”
“Eight.”
I do the math. “So before your parents split . . .”
“Yeah. Hence Mom not being very supportive of all the time I spend with Nora.” He reaches up to rub his head again, stops midway, and lowers his hand. “I missed you too, you know?”
I’m not sure what to say to that. If anyone told me before the accident that I’d be having a heart-to-heart with Nate, I’d have laughed at the thought. He’s called a lot of things these days, but most of them are more along the lines of aloof, stoic, and mysterious. The person in front of me seems sweet and open. “You’ve been a jerk, ignoring me like I was chasing after you. I wasn’t. You can’t even look at me at parties or in the cafeteria or anything. It’s insulting, and . . . ridiculous. Really, it’s
ridiculous
.”
“I know. I just . . . I was screwed up. I could’ve handled things better that night at Piper’s and every other one after that when I saw you. I’m sorry, Eva.”
Nathaniel Bouchet is an idiot. I’m not surprised by this revelation. I am, however, a little lost on what to say. It’s hard to stay angry at him when he sounds like
my
Nate again.
“Eva?” he prompts when I don’t reply.
“I’m in room 406,” I say.
“I know.” He grins briefly. “The nurses didn’t tell me, but it was pretty easy to figure it out. Your door was the only one that stayed closed all the time.”
“I like my privacy,” I hedge. I’m not ready for total honesty.
“I still miss you.”
My anger rekindles at that. I cross my arms over my chest. “We go to the same school, Nate. I live at the same house. You even saw me the
night
before the accident.”
“What was I supposed to do? Walk up to you and the perfect people, and say ‘sorry I ignored you for years; I was stupid. Now, let’s go catch crawfish’?”
I remember Nate, super muddy on the bank of the creek, telling me that no one would even be able to tell we went into the water once we dried. I barely repress my smile before I say, “I don’t catch crawfish anymore.”
“You don’t read Andrew Lost or catch crawfish,” Nate says musingly. “Noted. What are we going to do when you get out of here then?”
I shrug, but I’m smiling at him as I do it. “Nothing, maybe.”
He frowns and stands up. “I get it if you don’t want people to know we’re talking again—or if you don’t want to talk to me. Piper and everyone would have fits, and Baucom probably wouldn’t like me being around anyhow.”
“It’s none of his business who I’m friends with. He doesn’t like Grace, either.”
Nate looks at me like he’s studying me, but I’m not sure what he’s hoping to see. It doesn’t matter though. I yawn suddenly.
“Past nap time?”
Without thinking I flip him off, and then promptly blush. “Sorry.”
“Maybe I’ve missed your temper, too.” He pauses and gestures at the wheelchair. “Do you need help back to 406 first?”
I shake my head. I hope I’m not blushing when I add, “But if my door’s open tomorrow, you can stop by my room.”
The smile Nate flashes my way reaffirms my earlier realization that he’s dangerous. All he says though is “See you tomorrow,” and then he’s gone, and I’m left staring after him, trying to remind myself that he doesn’t mean anything by it. But, somehow, even being friends with Nate is more than enough reason for me to smile so wide that the cuts on my face twinge worse than usual.
Judge
I
’VE FOUND HER, THE
message. She is one of Them, not as bad as Piper but still one of the people who think they are superior. They live by class and name and none of it is
real
. They aren’t better than anyone else.
Eva used to know that.
I open the pages of the photo album that I keep on the shelf beside my bed. It’s one of those old-fashioned ones where the whole plastic layer lifts, and the photos are stuck in the pages. They sell them down at Harvey’s Sundries. I like it even though it’s old-fashioned. Not everything from the past is
wrong
—just some things. Caring whose family came first, worrying about what is owned by whom, those things are bad. Liking the simplicity of old-fashioned photo books is good. It’s proof that I’m reasonable: I don’t dislike everything that’s outdated. I run my fingers over the first page, seeing Eva stare up at me. She’s ordinary. That’s why she was made for me. We’re not like the ones who worry about status, not inside where it matters.
There are pictures of all of us from the time we were kids up to this year. She’s talking to other people in some of them, so I cut up a few pictures and arranged them so we’re close in
every
picture. That’s the way we should be. Later, if she heeds the messages, we’ll have new pictures where we are close like we should be.
Soon.
I feel a ripple of excitement at the thought of our future. When we were kids, I didn’t appreciate what a gift she was. I see that now. No one understands me like she does. No one else can. Only Eva.
Slowly, I turn the pages, watching Eva grow older, seeing her skirts change to jeans. She smiles with more restraint in the newest pictures, as if she’s pained by something. It’s how I look in pictures, too. I hate the rules of status we all have to live by in Jessup; rules ruin everything.
In one picture from a party at the start of this year, Eva looks free. She has her mouth open in a laugh, and her head is thrown back. Grace is at her side. That’s the secret in this one. Grace is someone the rules don’t understand. They don’t like her, but They don’t have a good reason to reject her—not if Eva Cooper-Tilling declares her worthy. Eva’s blessing would make the lowliest sinner worthy in Their eyes. Grace isn’t from here, isn’t even Southern, but she’s the one who walks at Eva’s side. Sometimes I think Grace is Eva’s Mary Magdalene, except that, unlike The Magdalene, Grace hides her impurity. I did one of those background checks they advertise online. I know enough about Grace Yeung to make friends with people on social media and check her out. I couldn’t let just
anyone
around Eva.
Grace isn’t as sweet as she acts. She’s redeemed now. Like The Magdalene, she’s stopped her whorish ways. She’s perfect to walk with Eva. She used to be a whore, but she’s been delivered from that; plus, she isn’t connected to any of Them. If the messages don’t help Eva see the truth, maybe Grace can help. I slide my fingertips over the picture of the two of them. I like the feel of the slick plastic of the picture album. It’s not the same as bare skin, but I can pretend for now.
I wonder if Grace would let me touch her the way Amy lets me. Abraham laid with more than one woman; he had two wives. My breath hitches at the thought, and I look at their picture again. Eva would be my first wife, but she’s too pure for some things. Grace isn’t. I get frightened sometimes when I think of my future with Eva. How can we have a happy home if I have to be so careful with her? Maybe Grace is the answer. I’ll pray on it. God’s plans are often complicated. I’ll wait for guidance.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I think the path would’ve been clearer if I hadn’t been impatient . . . and angry. I’ll admit it: I was angry with Eva when I hit her with the car. I want so badly to make her see, to help her understand. I felt desperate, and I acted out. It’ll hurt inside if I have to kill her.
But the thought of killing this one, the message, doesn’t hurt. I feel excited, happy, and nervous. It’s like a first date. I whisper a quick thank you to my Lord for giving me another chance, for trying to save Eva, and then I glance at the clock. I have time yet before the message.
My bedroom door is locked already. I wanted to wait until afterward, when the message was sent, but I can’t wait. I’ll have to atone later, but right now, I unbutton my trousers as I stare at their happy faces, and I let myself have a reward.
Eva
I
T’S PROBABLY A LITTLE
silly, but I have Kelli help me into a skirt the next day. She grins like she knows exactly why I want to wear something other than my pajamas. She’s right, but it makes me feel oddly embarrassed. Before the accident, I obviously didn’t have what it took to attract Nate, so I can’t imagine that I do
now
.
“I don’t want to look slouchy. It’s bad enough that I look like . . .” I gesture at my face. There really aren’t words that describe what I look like.
“You’re healing,” she says gently. “I know the cuts look bad, but it’ll get better.”
“Right. Scars all over my face are—” I stop myself and take a deep breath.
Kelli shakes her head. “Try to remember that you’re still healing.”
She stands beside the bed while I pull myself into the skirt. She’s there to steady me, but more and more I want to be independent. I need to if I’m going to go home, especially
my
home. Once I’m in she asks, “Do you need anything else?”
“No, just . . . leave the door partway open when you go.”
“Soon, you’ll be able to get to it yourself. You’re doing great, Eva,” she reassures me.
I feel a wash of happiness at her praise. I
am
doing well. I’ll be ready when I’m allowed to go home. My parents are to be here tomorrow, and they’ll see that I’m coping fine. I told them as much, and although I know I sounded convincing, they still suggested we hire a temporary companion for me. I know this is their way of trying to help, but I haven’t had a sitter since I was eleven. I’m almost eighteen now and very accustomed to being on my own. They’ve never quite known what to do with me. They work hard and succeed, and when they think of it, they stop to say hello to me.
When someone taps on my door, I sit a little straighter, but I don’t turn off the television. I pretend like I wasn’t waiting for him, like I didn’t get dressed a little nicer for him.
Nate walks in. He looks ridiculously good today. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, which seems odd this time of year, but inside the hospital it’s cold. Unlike me, he hasn’t dressed any differently to spend time together. I try to remind myself that he’s only ever going to be a friend, that he doesn’t date, that he didn’t look at me before the accident, that I’m just a girl he used to know. Then he smiles at me, and I’m grateful that I’m not still hooked up to the heart monitor.
“Hey.”
I nod and mute the television. “Hi.”
“Aaron’s with Nora, so I . . .” He looks around the room. “Can I stay for a little bit?”
I nod again. I’m not sure why it feels different now that he’s in my hospital room. Somehow the space seems smaller, and the fact that I’m sitting in my bed makes it all feel
more
. It’s not like this is my real room or my real bed, except that right now they
are
. Being in the room with a bed and a boy—especially one who seems as awkward as I feel—makes me nervous. Maybe he doesn’t know how to be with a girl he has no intention of sleeping with later. Maybe he’d be the same if he was here with another guy. Nate doesn’t have friends. He has girls he has sex with at parties, and that’s it.
“Classes ended. Only exams left,” he says, his words seeming too loud in the quiet.
I refuse to just keep nodding, so I say, “I’m taking them when I get out.”
“They’re making you take exams? Seriously? That’s fucked up.”
“No. They said I could skip, take the grades I had currently, but I want to take them.”
“Are your grades bad?”
“I’m holding all As, I think. I study with Grace now, so my grades went up.”
He slides the chair closer to my bed and sits down before he says, “Your dad must love that. Do you remember when he had his ‘your duty’ motivational chart?”
I make my voice low like my father’s and say, “Verses inspire children.” I can’t keep a straight face as I repeat my father’s reply when Nate’s mother suggested that ice cream might be a good reward. He’d presented me with this awful laminated poster he’d made; the columns and rows listed my duties and reasons for doing them. It was one of the least effective parenting tools he’d tried.
“Not as much as sugar,” Nate says lightly, and just like that, my awkwardness vanishes. It may have been years since we were friends, but we still know each other. That makes all the difference.
It’s silent, but not awkwardly so, as he pulls an apple out of his bag. He holds it out to me, and I shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
He examines it as he says, “So poor Piper and the minions are beside themselves that you can’t have visitors.”