I smiled. “I’d forgotten all about those. I wonder what happened to my set. I’m sure I kept it.”
Uncle Ray died just after my tenth birthday. The first funeral I’d ever gone to. Jack had cried and that scared me.
“He was a good man,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Jack smiled. “But he was a lot of fun.” We crossed the street, both of us slowing as we turned onto my block. “So, you’re staying in the apartment?” he asked. “Just you?”
“Where else would I go?”
“Right, I know, but isn’t it … lonely?”
We had stopped at the concrete path that led into my building. I looked up and saw the yellow curtains of Nan’s bedroom, still and dark. I kept that door firmly closed. Not ready to go there yet. I remembered early last spring, coming home on a bitterly cold day to find the apartment filled with daffodils, the same hue, but five shades brighter than Nan’s curtains. She’d needed some sunshine, she said.
“Yeah,” I answered Jack. “It is.”
It had been a nice walk and I didn’t want to end it like this. I started for the door, but he knew I was crying and stopped me, pulling me close, his sweatshirt warm and smelling faintly of sweat and aftershave. It felt so nice to have someone, maybe him especially, care that way: not protective like Tasha or commiserating like Agnes, but just caring. It broke open my sadness, tears wetting the navy cotton of his shirt.
He stroked my hair, waiting. Not trying to placate so he could leave. Just soothing, letting me be the one to pull away.
“I gotta go,” I whispered, using the heel of my hand to wipe away tears.
Jack nodded. “If you need anything, Cass, you can come to me.” His voice was low and earnest. “I mean it.”
“Thanks, Jack,” I said, because I knew he did.
Slowly I walked the long flight of stairs to the apartment. I thought about watching Jack from the window, wondered if he lingered outside for a minute or two, maybe thinking about coming up. Ringing the buzzer three times quick and once long and then bounding up the stairs, his legs taking the flight in four or five steps like he used to. I would have liked to see him, not a gangly kid anymore, someone much more grown-up, walking from my home to his, that link still between us. But watching him would have meant going into Nan’s room.
Chapter 6
“Are we next?”
I nodded, pulling the cord to let the bus driver know we wanted off.
“You know where his office is?” Tasha asked as we stood. We were holding the poles, but still stumbled like little kids when the bus lurched forward.
“No, but I’ve got the address. It won’t be hard to find.”
We were on our way to see Nan’s lawyer, Mr. Koumaras. Tasha wasn’t going in with me, but had offered to come along and wait out front. “I’ll check out the business dudes,” she’d said, winking as if they’d actually be worth checking out. “We’ll hit Serendipity and The Brown Bean when you’re done.”
I agreed, hoping I’d be in the mood for shopping and coffee. I hadn’t been on any of my other recent trips downtown. Having Tash along would probably help, but going through Nan’s will—which is what I was here for—probably wouldn’t.
Mr. Koumaras had called the day after Nan died, when I’d just come back from the hospital, my head feeling as puffy as my eyes looked. I’d registered snatches of the conversation, only remembering to show up at his office today because he left a message reminding me.
“So, tell me the rest,” Tasha said as we started down Cedar Street. “What’d you talk about?”
“Oh, you know, nothing really. Colleges, the play-offs. You were right, scouts are coming to watch.”
“Toldja,” she said, smiling. Tasha made it her business to fill me in on all gossip about Jack, not that I’d ever asked her to or encouraged it. She had a thing about him and me. It had started about a month after she came to Ashville in eighth grade. We were at my locker and he’d stopped to ask me something. Tasha was smirking when he walked away.
“What?” I demanded.
“You belong together,” she said.
“What? Who?” I looked around.
“Don’t play innocent, Cassie,” she said, still smiling. “You and that guy Jack.”
“What are you talking about, Tash? You’re crazy. He has a girlfriend.” He and Val had started going out that summer. So I’d heard.
She shrugged. “He may have a girlfriend, but he also has a crush on you.”
“Come on,” I said, careful to hide my eyes. I hadn’t known Tasha very long back then, but had already figured out that she was good at reading people. Too good. “We’re just friends. I’ve known him forever—we used to hang out when we were kids.”
“Whatever,” she said. “But don’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot. Or that you don’t have maybe the teeny-tiniest little crush on him too.”
“You’re crazy.”
Of course, she’d ignored me and persisted in bringing him up randomly and not-so-subtly raising her eyebrows or winking at me when he passed. It was more funny than annoying—because Tash is a goof—and had become a running joke. Naturally, I’d told her about him walking me home the day before.
“So, that’s it?” she asked as we crossed the street, almost getting run over by a pack of skaters.
“What else did you expect?”
“I don’t know, did he try to kiss you or anything?”
“Tasha! You’re ridiculous.” I ticked off my fingers as I listed: “He has a girlfriend, he and I are just friends, we’d been talking about Nan …”
“Ah, you didn’t tell me that part.”
“Yeah …” I didn’t want to get into what had happened. I’d replayed it all afternoon, alone in the apartment. That moment with Jack—being so close to him—hadn’t really felt like a joke. It felt special, intimate, and too fragile to share. “Anyway,” I said, keeping my tone light and glancing again at the address in my hand. “It was nothing. But I knew you’d want to file it away in your bizarro Cassie and Jack collection.”
“You betcha,” Tasha said, grinning. “Mark my words, Cassie …”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved dismissively, squinting up at the faded numbers on the building, the small happiness of the conversation deflating. “I think this is it.”