Page 56 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
“I can’t,” Hannah says. “If you won’t get help for yourself, do it for your daughter.”
“Christina doesn’t need help. Colin would never hurt her.”
Hannah shakes her head. “You might not see it now, but living with a man like that, it does things to a kid. You might think you’re shielding her from it, just like my mother thought, but Christina knows, Georgina, I promise you she does, and when she gets older it’s—”
“Hannah.”
The tremor in her tone stops Hannah in her tracks. She follows the older woman’s gaze to her front door, where Colin leans against the frame, one hand raised in greeting, a plastic smile pinned to his lips.
“Please. I’m begging you. Just stay away from me and my family.”
33
Christina
Hawthorne Lane
Christina Pembrook bends to pick up a fallen leaf from the walking trail. It’s a maple, once red but now browned with age to the color of toasted cinnamon. She adds it to the bundle in her hand that she’s already collected. It’s an old habit, picking up leaves as she walks. It’s something she used to do when she was little, when she’d walk this trail with her mom. Her mom was always good with stuff like that, making things fun for her and Sebastian. They weren’t just out for a walk—they were on a scavenger hunt, gathering leaves in every color they could find, willowy stems clutched in small palms like discovered treasures.
Lucas looks over at the growing collection in Christina’s hand, but he doesn’t comment on it. He probably thinks she’s such a weirdo, picking up leaves like a little kid. Christina should just drop them.
But then he leans down and grabs a leaf of his own, this one canary yellow. He inspects it for a moment, then hands it to her. “You don’t have one like this yet.”
She blushes. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad you were able to meet me today,” he says, his hazel eyes tinted a more mesmerizing shade of green than any of the foliage around them.
“Me too.”
“It’s strange, hanging out with you in broad daylight. I was beginning to think you were a vampire or something.”
Christina laughs. “No. No fangs. I just have strict parents and it’s easier to sneak out at night.” Well, itwaseasier, until one of the new neighbors saw her creeping across the front lawn one night and texted her mom. That sort of put an end to all the cloak-and-dagger meetups.
“Well, I like the daytime version of you.”
He sweeps a lock of her blond hair off her cheek and gently tucks it behind her ear. Christina feels a warm flush travel up her neck, ending where his fingers had grazed her skin.
She and Lucas have known each other for most of their lives, but only recently has she started to get the sense that he really sees her, as maybe more than just the girl who lives across the street. She kind of still can’t believe it. She’s not exactly at the top of the social pyramid at school, which never really bothered her before, but Lucas is right up near the peak. Christina can certainly see why. He’s a star athlete, an honor student, and he looks like…that.She risks a glance up at him now, at the swoop of his dark hair, the square set of his jaw, the muscular slope of his shoulders. Somehow,thatboy has chosen her. She’s pretty sure this is what it feels like to win the lottery.
Christina hasn’t told anyone about Lucas yet, about this growing thing that’s sprouted up between them. Her best friend, Amy, would absolutelydieover the news that she’s seeing Lucas Corbin. But her parents would be apoplectic if they found out that she’s been sneaking around with her maybe sort-of boyfriend. Besides, she likes having this for herself, this amazing, bubbly secret that makes her feel lighter than air. She isn’t ready to share it with anyone but Lucas yet.
Lucas takes her hand, weaving his fingers through hers, and leads her off the paved path and onto a narrow dirt trail carved by the footprints of teenagers before them. She knows where they’re headed: to the clearing where kids hang out sometimes, hidden away from parents and teachers and every other adult who wants to tell them what to do. She and Lucas have found the occasional beer bottle here, cigarette butts left behind by other people, but over the past weeks, Christina has come to think of the clearing astheirspot,hers and Lucas’s. She likes to imagine it that way, as if it exists only for them.
The trail narrows, and Lucas steps in front of Christina. He ducks under a low-hanging branch and holds back the foliage for her as she passes beneath it.
It’s so different, being here in the middle of the afternoon. At night, lit only by silver moonlight, the forest is all monochrome shadows and rustling branches like hollow bones knocking together in the wind. But now this place feels softer, more alive. Chipmunks scurry up tree trunks, their cheeks stuffed with plump acorns, and the ground, padded with a bed of fallen leaves, is spongy beneath the soles of their sneakers. Somewhere in the distance, a pair of cardinals whistle their melodic tune, and a gentle breeze, heavy with the fresh scent of sap, winds lazily between the trees.
“Here we are,” Lucas says as he leads Christina into the clearing.
There isn’t much to the place. A fallen log that serves as seating, a circular patch of grass, and a small firepit that was both built and extinguished long ago. But there’s still something magical about it. Or maybe the magic is in who she’s with.
Lucas sits on the log, stretching his long legs out in front of him, angling his face up to the sun as if soaking up the final rays before winter sets in. Christina wonders what they’ll do then, if they’ll still be able to come to this place when the trails are frozen over, buried under a blanket of snow. And then she wonders what will happen after that, if, when the leaves turn again next fall, she’ll still be here to see it.
Christina hasn’t told Lucas about her plan to apply for the exchange program in California next year. Not that she thinks he’ll try to talk her out of it—this thing between them isn’t nearly that serious yet, and she can totally imagine Lucas being supportive of her dream—but because she’s afraid of how much it will hurt when he doesn’t. Not that it matters. Christina knows she’ll never be able to convince her mom to let her go, even if she does manage to get accepted.
Lucas nudges her with his elbow. “What are you thinking about?”
“My mom.”
