Crescendo

CHAPTER 3

I LOWERED MYSELF ONTO THE CORNER OF MY bed, staring into space. The anger was beginning to wear off, but I almost wished I could stay caught up in its fever forever. The emptiness it left behind ached more than the sharp, fiery pain I’d felt when Patch walked out. I tried to make sense of what had just happened, but my thoughts were a disjointed mess. Our shouted words rang in my ears, but they echoed helter-skelter, like I was recalling a bad dream rather than an actual conversation.

Had I really broken up with him? Had I really meant for it to be permanent? Was there no way around fate or, more immediately, the archangels’ threats? By way of an answer, my stomach twisted, threatening to be sick.

I hurried to the bathroom and knelt over the toilet, my ears clanging and my breathing coming out shallow and choppy. What had I done? Nothing permanent, definitely nothing permanent. Tomorrow we’d see each other again and everything would go back to the way it had been. This was just a fight. A stupid fight. This wasn’t the end. Tomorrow we’d realize how petty we’d been and apologize. We’d put this behind us. We’d make up.

I dragged myself to my feet and turned on the sink faucet. Wetting a washcloth, I pressed it to my face. My mind still felt like it was unraveling faster than a spool of thread, and I squeezed my eyes closed to make the motion stop. But what about the archangels? I asked myself again. How could Patch and I have a normal relationship when they were constantly watching us? I froze. They could be watching me right now. They could be watching Patch. Trying to tell if he’d crossed the line. Looking for any excuse to send him to hell, and away from me, forever.

I felt my anger reignite. Why couldn’t they leave us alone? Why were they so bent on destroying Patch? Patch had told me he was the first fallen angel to get his wings back and become a guardian angel. Were the archangels angry over that? Did they feel Patch had somehow tricked them? Or that he’d cheated his way back up from the bottom? Did they want to put him in his place? Or did they merely not trust him?

I closed my eyes, feeling a tear travel down the side of my nose. I take it all back, I thought. I desperately wanted to call Patch but didn’t know whether I’d be putting him at some kind of risk. Could the archangels listen in on phone conversations? How were Patch and I supposed to have an honest talk if they were eavesdropping?

I also couldn’t let go of my pride that quickly. Didn’t he realize he was just as much in the wrong? The whole reason we’d fought in the first place was because he’d refused to tell me what he was doing at Marcie’s house last night. I wasn’t the jealous type, but he knew my history with Marcie. He knew this was the one time when I had to know.

There was something else causing my insides to sicken. Patch said Marcie had been attacked in the men’s room at Bo’s Arcade. What was Marcie doing at Bo’s? As far as I knew, nobody at Cold-water High hung out at Bo’s. In fact, prior to meeting Patch, I’d never heard of the place. Was it a coincidence that the day after Patch was gazing at Marcie’s bedroom window, she’d wandered through Bo’s front doors? Patch had insisted there was nothing but business between them, but what did that even mean? And Marcie was many things, among them seductive and persuasive. Not only did she not take no for an answer, she didn’t accept any answer that wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

What if, this time, she wanted … Patch?

A loud rap at the front door brought me out of my reverie.

I curled up in the heaps of pillows on my bed, closed my eyes, and dialed my mom. “The Parnells are here.”

“Ack! I’m at the light on Walnut. I’ll be there in two minutes. Invite them in.”

“I barely remember Scott, and I don’t remember his mom at all. I’ll invite them in, but I’m not making small talk. I’ll hang out in my room until you get back.” I tried to convey in my tone that something was wrong, but it wasn’t like I could confide in my mom. She hated Patch. She wouldn’t sympathize. I couldn’t take hearing the happiness and relief in her voice. Not now.

“Nora.”

“Fine! I’ll talk to them.” I snapped my phone shut and threw it across the room.

I took my time walking to the front door and flipped the lock back. The guy standing on the doormat was tall and well built— I could tell, since his T-shirt fit on the snug side and blatantly advertised PLATINUM GYM, PORTLAND. A silver hoop ran through his right earlobe, and his Levi’s hung dangerously low on the hips. He wore a pink Hawaiian-print ball cap that looked fresh off a thrift store shelf and had to be an inside joke, and his sunglasses reminded me of Hulk Hogan. Despite all this, he had a certain boyish charm.

The corners of his mouth turned up. “You must be Nora.”

“You must be Scott.”

He stepped inside and pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes scanned the hall leading back to the kitchen and family room. “Where’s your mom?”

“On her way home with dinner.”

“What are we having?”

I didn’t like his use of the word “we.” There was no “we.” There was the Grey family, and the Parnell family. Two separate entities that happened to be sharing the same dinner table for one night.

When I didn’t answer, he pushed on. “Coldwater’s a little smaller than I’m used to.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “It’s also a little colder than Portland.”

He gave me a head-to-toe, then smiled ever so slightly. “So I noticed.” He sidestepped me on his way to the kitchen and tugged on the fridge door. “Got any beer?”

“What? No.”

The front door was still open, and voices carried in from outside. My mom stepped over the threshold, carrying two brown paper grocery bags. A round woman with a bad pixie-style haircut and heavy pink makeup followed her in.

“Nora, this is Lynn Parnell,” my mom said. “Lynn, this is Nora.”

“My, my,” Mrs. Parnell said, clasping her hands together. “She looks just like you, doesn’t she, Blythe? And look at those legs! Longer than the Vegas strip.”

I spoke up. “I know this is bad timing, but I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to go lie down—”

I broke off at the black look my mom shot in my direction. I aimed my most unjust look back.

“Scott has really grown up, hasn’t he, Nora?” she said.

“Very observant.”

Mom set the bags on the counter and addressed Scott. “Nora and I were a little nostalgic this morning, remembering all the things the two of you used to do. Nora told me you used to try to get her to eat roly-polies.”

Before Scott could defend himself, I said, “He used to fry them alive under a magnifying glass, and he didn’t try to get me to eat them. He sat on top of me and pinched my nose until I ran out of air and had to open my mouth. Then he flicked them inside.”

Mom and Mrs. Parnell shared a quick look.

“Scott was always very persuasive,” Mrs. Parnell said quickly. “He can talk people into doing things they’d never dream of. He has a knack for it. He talked me into buying him a 1966 Ford Mustang, mint condition. Of course, he hit me at a good time, I was so guilt-ridden over the divorce. Well. As I was saying, Scott probably made the best fried roly-polies on the whole block.”

Everyone looked to me for confirmation.

I couldn’t believe we were discussing this as if it was a perfectly normal topic of conversation.

“So,” Scott piped up, scratching his chest. His bicep flexed when he did, but he probably knew that. “What’s for dinner?”

“Lasagna, garlic bread, and a Jell-O salad,” said Mom with a smile. “Nora made the salad.”

This was news to me. “I did?”

“You bought the Jell-O boxes,” she reminded me.

“That doesn’t really count.”

“Nora made the salad,” Mom assured Scott. “I think everything is ready. Why don’t we eat?”

Once seated, we joined hands and Mom blessed the food.

“Tell me about apartments in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Parnell said, cutting the lasagna and sliding the first piece onto Scott’s plate. “How much can I expect to pay for two bedrooms, two baths?”

“Depends how remodeled you want,” Mom answered. “Almost everything on this side of town was built pre-1900, and it shows. When we were first married, Harrison and I looked at several inexpensive two-bedroom apartments, but there was always something wrong—holes in the walls, cockroach problems, or they weren’t within walking distance of a park. Since I was pregnant, we decided we needed a bigger place. This house had been on the market for eighteen months, and we were able to get a deal we considered almost too good to be true.” She looked around. “Harrison and I had planned on fully restoring it eventually, but … well, and then … as you know …” She bowed her head.

Scott cleared his throat. “Sorry about your dad, Nora. I still remember my dad calling me the night it happened. I was working a few blocks away at a convenience store. I hope they catch whoever killed him.”

I tried to say thank you, but the words had broken to pieces in my throat. I didn’t want to talk about my dad. The raw feelings from my breakup with Patch were enough to deal with. Where was he right now? Was regret eating at him? Did he understand how much I wanted to take back everything I’d said? I suddenly wondered if he’d texted me, and wished I’d brought my phone down to the dinner table. But how much could he even say? Could the archangels read his texts? How much could they see? Were they everywhere? I wondered, feeling very vulnerable.

“Tell us, Nora,” Mrs. Parnell said. “What’s Coldwater High like? Scott wrestled back in Portland. His team won State the last three years. Is the wrestling team here any good? I was sure we’d faced off against Coldwater before, but then Scott reminded me Coldwater is Class C.”

I was slow to pull myself out of the fog of my thoughts. Did we even have a wrestling team?

“I don’t know about wrestling,” I said flatly, “but the basketball team went to State once.”

Mrs. Parnell choked on her wine. “Once?” Her eyes cut between me and my mom, demanding an explanation.

“There’s a team picture across from the front office,” I said. “From the look of the picture, it was over sixty years ago.”

Mrs. Parnell’s eyes stretched. “Sixty years ago?” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Is there something wrong with the school? The coach? The athletic director?”

“No biggie,” Scott said. “I’m taking the year off.”

Mrs. Parnell set down her fork with a loud chink. “But you love wrestling.”

Scott shoveled in another bite of lasagna and raised an indifferent shoulder.

“And it’s your senior year.”

“So?” Scott said around his food.

Mrs. Parnell planted her elbows on the table and leaned in. “So you’re not getting into college on your grades, mister. Your only hope this late in the game is that a community college picks you up.”

“I’ve got other stuff I want to do.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Like repeat last year?” As soon as she said it, I saw a spark of fear in her eyes.

Scott chewed twice more, then swallowed hard. “Pass the salad, Blythe?”

My mom handed the bowl of Jell-O to Mrs. Parnell, who set it down in front of Scott a little too carefully.

“What happened last year?” my mom asked, filling the tense silence.

Mrs. Parnell waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know how it is. Scott got into a bit of trouble, usual stuff. Nothing every mother of a teenage boy hasn’t seen before.” She laughed, but her pitch was off.

“Mom,” Scott said in a tone that sounded a lot like a warning.

“You know how boys are,” Mrs. Parnell prattled on, gesturing with her fork. “They don’t think. They live in the moment. They’re reckless. Be glad you have a daughter, Blythe. Oh, my. That garlic bread is making my mouth water—pass a slice?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” my mom murmured, passing the bread. “I can’t say enough how delighted we are to have you back in Coldwater.”

Mrs. Parnell nodded vigorously. “We’re just glad to be back, and all in one piece.”

I’d paused eating, dividing glances between Scott and Mrs. Parnell, trying to figure out what was going on. Boys will be boys, that much I could buy. What I wasn’t buying was Mrs. Parnell’s anxious insistence that her son’s trouble fell into the category of typical. And Scott’s close supervision of every word that fell from her mouth wasn’t helping to change my mind.

Thinking there was more to the story than they were saying, I pressed a hand to my heart and said, “Why, Scott, you didn’t go around at night stealing road signs to hang in your bedroom, did you?”

Mrs. Parnell erupted into genuine, almost relieved, laughter. Bingo. Whatever trouble Scott had wormed his way into, it wasn’t something as harmless as stealing road signs. I didn’t have fifty dollars, but if I did, I would have bet it all on the hunch that Scott’s trouble was anything but the usual stuff.

“Well,” my mom said, her smile pinched at the corners, “I’m sure whatever happened is in the past. Coldwater is a great place for a fresh start. Have you registered for classes yet, Scott? Some of them fill up quickly, especially the advanced placement classes.”

“Advanced placement,” Scott repeated with an amused snort. “As in AP? No offense, but I’m not aiming that high. As my mom”— he reached sideways and shook her shoulder in a way that was just a little too rough to be friendly— “so kindly pointed out, if I go to college, it won’t be for grades.”

Not wanting to give anyone at the table a chance to pull us further away from the topic of Scott’s former troubles, I said, “Oh, come on, Scott. You’re killing me. What’s so bad about your past? It can’t be so horrible that you’re not willing to tell old friends.”

“Nora—,” my mom started.

“Get a few DUIs? Steal a car? Joyride?”

Under the table, I felt my mom’s foot come to rest on top of mine. She directed a sharp look at me that said, What’s gotten into you?

Scott’s chair scraped back against the floor, and he got to his feet. “Bathroom?” he asked my mom. He stretched his collar. “Indigestion.”

“At the top of the stairs.” Her voice was apologetic. She was actually apologizing for my behavior, when she was the one who’d set the whole ridiculous evening up. Anyone with a shred of perceptiveness could see that the point of this dinner wasn’t to share a meal with old family friends. Vee was right—this was a meet cute. Well, I had news for my mom. Scott and me? Not happening.

After Scott excused himself, Mrs. Parnell smiled wide, as if to erase the past five minutes and start fresh. “So tell me,” she said a little too brightly, “does Nora have a boyfriend?”

“No,” I said at the same time Mom said, “Sort of.”

“That’s confusing,” Mrs. Parnell said, chewing a forkful of lasagna and looking between Mom and me.

“His name is Patch,” Mom said.

“Odd name,” mused Mrs. Parnell. “What were his parents thinking?”

“It’s a nickname,” Mom explained. “Patch gets in a lot of fights. He’s always needing to be patched up.”

Suddenly I regretted ever explaining to her that Patch was his nickname.

Mrs. Parnell shook her head. “I think it’s a gang name. All the gangs use nicknames. Slasher, Slayer, Maimer, Mauler, Reaper. Patch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Patch is not in a gang.”

“That’s what you think,” Mrs. Parnell said. “Gangs are for inner-city criminals, right? They’re roaches that only come out at night.” She grew silent, and I thought I saw her eyes flick to Scott’s empty chair. “Times are changing. A couple weeks ago I watched a Law & Order about a new breed of wealthy suburban gangs. They called them secret societies, or blood societies, or some such nonsense, but it all boils down to the same thing. I thought it was your typical sensationalized Hollywood garbage, but Scott’s dad said he’s seeing more of this stuff all the time. He would know—him being a cop and all.”

“Your husband is a cop?” I asked.

“Ex-husband, rot his soul.”

That’s enough. Scott’s voice drifted out of the shadowy hall, and I jumped. I was on the verge of wondering if he’d gone to the bathroom at all, or if he’d stood just outside the dining room, eavesdropping, when it dawned on me that I didn’t think he’d spoken out loud. In fact—

I was pretty sure he’d spoken to my … thoughts. No. Not my thoughts. His mother’s. And somehow I’d overheard.

Mrs. Parnell flipped her palms up. “All I said was rot his soul— I’m not taking that back, it’s exactly how I feel.”

“I said stop talking.” Scott’s voice was quiet, eerie.

My mom spun around, as if just now noticing that Scott had entered the room. I blinked in dazed disbelief. I couldn’t really have overheard him speaking to his mom’s thoughts. I mean, Scott was human … wasn’t he?

“Is that how you talk to your own mother?” Mrs. Parnell said, shaking her finger at him. But I could tell it was more for our benefit than for any purpose of putting Scott in his place.

His cold stare stayed fixed on her a moment longer, then he retreated to the front door and yanked it shut at his back.

Mrs. Parnell wiped her mouth, pink lipstick staining her napkin. “The nasty side of divorce.” She let go of a long, troubled sigh. “Scott never used to have a temper. Of course, it could be that he’s growing up to be his father’s son. Well. It’s an unpleasant topic and not appropriate for dinner. Does Patch wrestle, Nora? I bet Scott could teach him a few things.”

“He plays pool,” I said, my voice uninspired; I had no desire to talk about Patch. Not here, not now. Not when the subject of his name had caused a rock to swell in my throat. More than ever, I wished I’d brought my cell phone to the table. I wasn’t feeling half so angry, which meant Patch had probably cooled off too. Had he forgiven me enough to send a text or call? Everything was a tangled mess, but there had to be a way around it. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed. We’d find a way to work it out.

Mrs. Parnell nodded. “Polo. Now there’s a true Maine sport.”

“Pool as in pool halls,” Mom corrected, sounding a little pale.

Mrs. Parnell cocked her head like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Hotbeds of gang activity,” she finally said. “The Law & Order I saw? Wealthy, upper-class young men were running their neighborhood pool halls like Las Vegas casinos. Best keep a close eye on that Patch of yours, Nora. Could have a side to him he’s keeping from you. A side he’s keeping in the dark.”

“He’s not in a gang,” I repeated for what felt like the millionth time, straining to hang on to a courteous tone.

But as soon as I said it, I realized I had no way of knowing for certain that Patch had never been in a gang. Did a group of fallen angels count as a gang? I didn’t know much about his past, particularly before he met me …

“We’ll see,” Mrs. Parnell said, doubtful. “We’ll see.”

An hour later, the food was gone, the dishes were washed, Mrs. Parnell had finally left to hunt down Scott, and I retreated to my room. My cell was faceup on the floor, showing that I had no new texts, no new messages, and no missed calls.

My lip quivered, and I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears beginning to blur my vision. To keep from dwelling on all the awful things I’d said to Patch, I tried to work out in my mind a way to repair everything. The archangels couldn’t forbid us from talking or seeing each other—not when Patch was my guardian angel. He had to stay in my life. We’d keep doing what we’d always done. In a couple of days, after we’d shaken off our first real fight, things would go back to normal. And who cared about my future? I could work everything out later. It wasn’t like I had to have my whole life planned right this moment.

But there was one thing that just wasn’t adding up. Patch and I had spent the past two months displaying our affection openly, with no reservations whatsoever. So why was he just now showing concern over the archangels?

My mom poked her head inside my room. “I’m going to pick up a few toiletries for my trip tomorrow. I should be back soon. Need anything while I’m out?”

I noticed she didn’t bring up Scott as potential boyfriend material. Apparently his uncertain past had withered her matchmaking urges. “I’m good, but thanks anyway.”

She started to pull the door shut, then stopped. “We sort of have a problem. I let it slip to Lynn that you don’t have a car. She volunteered Scott to drive you to summer school. I told her that really wouldn’t be necessary, but I think she thought I was only saying no because I was worried we’d be putting Scott out. She said you could pay him back for his time by giving him a tour of Coldwater tomorrow.”

“Vee gives me a ride to school.”

“I made that clear, but she’s not taking no for an answer. It might be better if you explain things to Scott directly. Thank him for the offer, but tell him you already have a ride.”

Just what I wanted. More interaction with Scott.

“I’d like you to keep riding with Vee,” she added slowly. “In fact, if Scott stops by while I’m out of town this week, maybe it’s best to keep your distance.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“We don’t know him very well,” she said carefully.

“But Scott and I used to be best friends, remember?”

She looked at me emphatically. “That was a long time ago. Things change.”

My point exactly.

“I would just like to know a bit more about Scott before you go spending too much time with him,” she continued. “When I get back, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Well, this was an unexpected turn of events. “You’re going to dig up dirt on him?”

“Lynn and I are good friends. She’s under a lot of stress. She may need someone to confide in.” She took a step toward my dresser, pumped a dot of my hand lotion into her palm, and rubbed her hands together. “If she mentions Scott, well, I’m not going to not listen.”

“If it helps build your case that he’s still up to no good, I thought he acted really weird at dinner.”

“His parents are coming off a divorce,” she said in that same carefully neutral tone. “I’m sure he’s going through a lot of turmoil. It’s hard losing a parent.”

Tell me about it.

“The auction ends Wednesday afternoon, and I should be home by dinner. Vee’s staying over tomorrow night, right?”

“Right,” I said, just now remembering I still needed to discuss this with Vee, but I couldn’t imagine there’d be a problem. “By the way, I’m thinking about getting a job.” Better to toss it out in the open, especially since with any luck, I hoped to have employment before she returned home.

Mom blinked. “Where did this come from?”

“I need a car.”

“I thought Vee was fine with giving you rides.”

“I feel like a parasite.” I couldn’t even run to the store for emergency tampons without calling Vee. Worse, I’d come this close to having to hitch a ride to school today with Marcie Millar. I didn’t want to make unnecessary demands on my mom, especially when money was so tight, but I didn’t want a repeat of this morning, either. I’d been longing for a car ever since my mom sold the Fiat, and seeing the Cabriolet this afternoon had pushed me to action. Paying for the car myself seemed like a good compromise.

“You don’t think a job will interfere with school?” Mom asked, her tone telling me she wasn’t wild about the idea. Not that I’d expected her to be.

“I’m only taking one class.”

“Yes, but it’s chemistry.”

“No offense, but I think I can handle two things at once.”

At that, she sat on the edge of my bed. “Is something the matter? You’re awfully snappy tonight.”

I took an extra second to answer, coming very close to telling the truth. “No. I’m fine.”

“You seem stressed.”

“Long day. Oh, and did I mention Marcie Millar is my chem partner?”

I could tell by her expression that she knew just how deeply this cut. After all, it was my mom I’d run home to for most of the past eleven years after Marcie had had her way with me. And it was my mom who’d picked up the pieces, put me back together, and sent me back to school stronger and wiser and armed with a few tricks of my own.

“I’m stuck with her for eight weeks.”

“Tell you what, if you survive all eight weeks without killing her, we can talk about getting you a car.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mom.”

She kissed my forehead. “I’ll expect a full report on the first couple of days when I get back from my trip. No wild parties while I’m gone.”

“I make no promises.”

Five minutes later, my mom steered her Taurus down the driveway. I let the curtain drop back in place, curled into the sofa, and stared at my cell phone.

But no calls came in.

I reached for Patch’s necklace, still fastened around my neck, and squeezed it harder than I expected. I was struck by the horrible thought that it might be all I had left of him.