Page 116 of The Hitchhikers
CHAPTER 41JENNY
Alice stared at her, blinking.
“Simon knew, but he didn’t care.” It was the first time Jenny had told someone else. She didn’t feel ashamed. She didn’t care anymore. She just wanted Simon back.
“You had another boyfriend?”
Jenny shook her head.
“Then who…” Alice trailed off, frowning, then her brow smoothed. She pressed her fingertips against her lips, murmured. “Your stepfather…”
Jenny looked past Alice. She needed to be near Simon, needed to touch him. She had to see for herself. She scooted forward, until her feet were braced against a rock, then she stood. Alice tried to hold her leg, but Jenny pulled free, nearly unbalancing them.
Jenny inched down the hill, crawling backward in some areas like a spider, scooting on her bottom in others. When she found Simon, he looked as though he was sleeping. His hand was palm up, with his fingers curled. She took his hand into her own, placed a soft kiss in his palm.
She traced his handsome face with her fingers. His eyebrows, his mouth. The line of his nose. His strong jaw. She rested her cheek on his chest. They’d lain like that so many nights.
Alice was behind her, talking. Jenny ignored her. She wanted to go back. All the way to the day when Simon first spoke to her on the dock.
Alice was touching her arm, shaking her. “Jenny, we have to get him help.”
Simon couldn’t be helped now. Alice meant they had to call someone to get his body. Simon wasn’t there anymore. Jenny lifted her head from his chest. Her tears landed on his face, mixed with his blood. Alice slid down beside her and rested her hand on her back.
Jenny looked at her. “I was fifteen the first time it happened.”
The house was quiet and dark when she got home from school. She flicked on the lights, and the crystal chandelier over the dining room table glittered. She reached up to touch one of the diamond drops. They’d been in White Cliff for over a year now, but she could still scarcely believe that she lived in such a pretty house. Sometimes when her mother and Robert weren’t home, she’d pretend she was grown up and that she lived there with her wonderful husband and adorable children. Two at least, maybe three. She’d pour juice into a wine glass, play a record, and slow dance in the living room with a pillow. She’d die if she was ever caught.
That weekend her mother had driven into Vancouver to shop for the latest in fall fashions. Robert usually went with her, and they’d get a room in a fancy hotel, but this time he’d wanted to stay and focus on his book. He’d probably be shut away in his office far into the night.
Jenny put a place mat under her notebook, so she didn’t scratch the mahogany table, and worked on her English homework until her stomach complained. She fetched the chicken salad that her mother had left in the fridge and ate at the table while finishingher essay. She paused when the lights flickered. Was the power going to go out?
She got up and walked to the large window in the living room. It was nearly dark outside, so she cupped her hands around her eyes and leaned closer to the glass. The sky had been heavy with gray clouds all day, the air spiked with a metallic scent. Now wind lashed the trees around their house and raindrops hit hard and loud against the window like thousands of stones.
She’d just finished her meal when there was a loudpoof, and all the lights and appliances shut down, plunging the house into sudden darkness. She stumbled into the living room, searching for candles and the matches by the fireplace. She ran her hands along the mantle.
“You okay, Jenny?” Robert had come out of his office and was carrying a lit candle. The glow stretched across his face, dipped into the shadows.
“I can’t find the matches.”
“Here.” He walked over and lit the candle in her hand, then the ones at the table. “Come into the office. The fire is going.”
She followed him and sat on his brown leather couch, warm from the fire. There were soft pillows on each side and a knit throw blanket. She imagined that he probably rested on the couch while he was coming up with ideas. The office smelled like spiced cigars and leather.
Robert stood behind his desk, staring at his typewriter, a sheet of paper still inside.
“Do you mind looking over some pages for me? See if I’ve made any mistakes.”
He wantedherhelp? She loved reading and sometimes they talked about books, but he’d never asked for help before. She sat straighter as he brought over a stack of crisp white pages, the typed black words pressed in. She could feel them with her fingertips.She read the pages by the firelight, while Robert paced or stared out the window behind his desk and drank whiskey.
When he came over and held out another glass for her, she looked up at him, shocked.
“Just a small one,” he said. “Stormy nights call for whiskey, but don’t tell your mother.” He winked. She’d never tried whiskey. Or any alcohol, for that matter, but the idea of doing something without her mother knowing was both exciting and terrifying.
The first sip burned her throat and sent instant heat into her cheeks.
She coughed.
Robert laughed. “The second won’t be so bad.”
