days, though, busy with the holidays at her mom’s house and then the final portion of this journey, they hadn’t even checked to see what weird delights might await.
They’d already passed a dozen landmarks that had always marked off the distance between her mom’s and this town like hash marks on a ruler. The Mount Nittany Inn, with its spectacular view. The child’s sneaker-shaped scooter attached for no good reason to a high fence, which she could remember looking for during every trip to visit Nan. Janelle had thought about rallying Bennett to scream out “Weed!” as they passed through the tiny town of Weedville, the way she and her dad always had, but knew he wouldn’t understand the joke—nor did she want to explain to him the old comedy skit about a pair of stoners incapable of keeping their stash a secret when visited by the cops.
Now she spotted another landmark Bennett wouldn’t really “get”—the Virgin Mary statue in the corner lot they were passing. Common enough in a town named for her, not so much in any place they’d lived. Janelle slowed a little as she passed to give the praying Virgin a silent nod.
Janelle hadn’t been inside a church for years, but she still wore the Blessed Virgin medallion she’d had since she was eighteen. It lay against the hollow of her throat, warmed by her flesh. She wore it constantly; it had become as much a part of her as the small but genuine diamond in her nose and the shooting star tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. She never took the necklace off unless she was getting dressed up to go somewhere fancy, and replaced it with her single strand of good pearls—and it had been a damn long time since she’d done that. She never thought much about it, in fact, unless she forgot to put it back on, and wasn’t that the way of things? You didn’t notice them until they weren’t where you expected them to be.
She traced the medallion with her fingertips, so familiar by touch, though honestly, if you’d asked her to identify it in a photo, she’d probably be unable. Mary’s features had become worn from the thousands of such touches over the years. The metal had tarnished. Janelle had replaced the chain twice that she could recall. It hardly looked like the same necklace that had been given to her so long ago.
Past Deprator’s Beverage, down one more street, one more turn. Her heart beat a little faster at the sight of the familiar green shingled house. She pulled into Nan’s driveway and let the truck idle for a minute or so before turning off the ignition.
Don’t be a stranger, Janelle. This will always be your home.
I know, Nan. I know.
Come back soon, Janelle. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.
I’ll come soon, Nan. I promise.
She’d had the heat going on the highest setting, but now the frigid air was finding its insidious way through the cracks and crevices. She told herself that’s why she shivered, why the hairs on the back of her neck rose, why her nipples pebbled beneath her multiple layers of clothes. She got out of the truck, one hand on the roof, one foot propped on the running board. Her sudden chill had little to do with the actual weather.
“We’re here,” Janelle said. “We’re home.”
TWO
Then
THERE’S A GIRL with red hair in the backyard of the house next door, and she’s blowing soap bubbles from a big plastic dish. She dips the wand in the liquid and holds it to her puckered lips, then laughs as the bubbles stream out, one after the other, like beads on a string. Like pearls, Gabe thinks. Like his mom’s pearls, the ones in the drawer in the back bedroom, in the box his dad doesn’t think Gabe knows about.
The girl with red hair glances up, sees him looking and frowns. Gabe stands on one of the cinder blocks that keep his yard from falling into hers. If he steps down he’ll be on her grass, so he stays where he is. His yard is higher, which is good because he thinks she’s taller than him, and that would be annoying.
“Hi,” she says. “You’re Gabe Tierney. My dad says you have twin baby brothers.”
He does. Michael and Andrew. Gabe doesn’t question how or why this girl’s dad would know that. Everyone knows about the Tierney boys. His bare toes curl over the edge of the cinder block, but he doesn’t step down.
The girl stands, her fist dripping with suds. “I have bubbles, look.”
“I have bubbles in a big jug. Had,” Gabe mutters. “I spilled ’em.”
It had been an accident, but he might as well have done it on purpose since he got in so much trouble for it. The soap had soaked into the rug in the front room, making a squishy patch he’d been unable to clean up no matter how much water he used. Mikey walked through it, then onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen, where he skidded and slipped, hitting his head on the table. Then Dad came through, yelling, and he slipped, too. Went down on his butt. It would’ve been funny, kind of like something on TV, except Dad didn’t laugh about it. He hadn’t spanked Gabe, but it might’ve been better if he had. He’d not only taken away the rest of the bubbles, but he’d sent Gabe to his room for a whole day. No lunch, no supper. Gabe’s belly had hurt from being empty.
“I’m Janelle.” She holds up the wand. “Do you want to blow some bubbles? You can use mine.”
Gabe does want to blow bubbles, but he stays put. “My dad says I’m not supposed to leave the yard.”
Janelle puts her fists on her hips. Her lower lip sticks out in what Gabe’s mama used to call a pouty. “Gaby’s putting a pouty on,” that’s what she used to say. Before.
Janelle shakes her head. “What are you, a baby?”
He’s not anything close to a baby. Heat floods him, not from the summer sun beating down but from someplace deep inside. It comes from the same place that gets hot whenever he overhears someone talking about “those Tierney boys.” Which is a lot. Without another thought, Gabe jumps down from the cinder block and into Mrs. Decker’s yard.
“Be careful. Your dad might yell.” Janelle looks toward Gabe’s house, which is taller than Mrs. Decker’s. Made of brick instead of painted wood. Gabe’s house has three stories and he’s pretty sure the third floor is haunted.
“He’s not home. He’s at work.” Mrs. Moser wouldn’t yell if she came out from inside the house and found him in the yard next door. She’d be happy to see him playing with a friend. She’d be happy for him to stay out of the house, out from under her feet like she said, though it is the twins who are always crawling around under her feet. Not Gabe.
“Oh.” Janelle grins and holds out the bubble wand again. “So come and blow bubbles! It’s really fun.”
“Bubbles are for babies,” Gabe tells her, knowing it will wipe the smile off her face.
That’s what Dad says. Wipe the smile off your face. But it’s never like wiping your face with a cloth or a napkin or the back of your hand. Smiles always melt like Popsicles in the sun. Drip, drip, drip.
Janelle does stop smiling. That line appears between her eyebrows again. She puts one hand on her hip, the other still holding out the wand. “I’m not a baby, and I like bubbles! But if you’re too much of a baby to come into my Nan’s yard...”
“I’m not a baby!”
“Nope,” Janelle says with a grin that melts something inside him that’s nothing like a smile, “you’re a jerk.”
* * *
Gabe Tierney was still a jerk. He knew it. Cultivated it, as a matter of fact, because it was easier that way. People gave you a wide berth if you were an asshole. They left you alone. Well, most people did. Some women didn’t. For them, a sneer was as good as a smile, maybe better. For them a kiss from a fist was better than nothing, but Gabe would never hit a woman, not even if she hit him first, and he’d had plenty of slaps to prove it. He’d deserved most of them, though if you asked him, any woman who went after a man who told her right up front he wasn’t ever going to be her