Page 10 of The Wrong Track

“Here you are, salads,” Mrs. Baghdatis said and put plates in front of each of us, which was a surprise since I hadn’t ordered one. “Vegetables are very important,” she told me as she whisked herself away.

“Dig in,” Tobin recommended. “She may or may not bring you what you ordered. She likes to tweak toward healthy.” He followed his own advice and started eating with gusto.

I picked at the leaves. Hazel was always making smoothies with lots of green matter and leaving them on my porch. They were repulsive but I carefully emptied each jar and returned it clean so she would think I’d drunk them. I thought about her saving Tobin, her friendship with him and what had happened to it. “You and Hazel have known each other for a long time,” I commented, and he chewed slowly and nodded.

“Ever since we were kids. She was such a funny little girl and then, you know she got hit by a car,” he answered, and I nodded, too. I’d heard a little of that story. “She was such a mess afterward and I wanted to help her. My mom would bring me to the hospital or when she got home, I’d go over to play games or watch a movie or something. We got to be friends and we have been ever since.”

Until the end of last year, when something had happened. My guess was that he’d told her that he wanted more than her friendship, or maybe he’d tried something on her. In either case, it hadn’t worked, because Hazel was firmly with the other guy.

“Tell me more about Arizona,” I said, and he looked relieved that we were switching topics.

“Are you sure you want to move there?” he asked doubtfully.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, it seems far. It took forever to drive to the Grand Canyon with all the stops but my dad also always went below the speed limit. I think Haze and Hatch are going to spend time there,” he offered. “That’s where he usually trains in the football offseason.”

Well, then I wouldn’t be going to Arizona.

“I don’t even think they have seasons,” he went on. “There’s probably no winter.”

“And you like that part about Michigan?”

“Sure, of course. Because spring’s just around the corner,” he told me, which wasn’t true at all. There were months and months to go before April.

“It’s perfect in northern Michigan in the summer. Had you moved here then?” he asked.

Kilian and I had arrived in the grey, dismal fall, actually, but when I shrugged noncommittally, he waxed on for pretty much the rest of the meal (food which I hadn’t actually requested) about warm weather activities and I didn’t have to say too much, the way I liked it.

Tobin walked me to the car. “Do you want me to follow you home?” he asked, but I shook my head. He still didn’t seem to want to go, though, and he asked me a few more questions about safety while I stamped my feet to stay warm and blew on my hands. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I came back to the library to show you something but I wasn’t sure I should,” he admitted. “I talked to some colleagues in South Carolina and I asked for a picture. They sent one.”

Oh. He meant a picture of Kilian. “I want to see.”

He hesitated but then turned the screen towards me. Yes, it was Kilian. He was dead.

I drew in air and leaned back against the car for a moment. He was dead, really dead. I made myself stand up straight. “Thanks,” I said, and opened the car door.

“Remy, are you ok to drive? Are you ok?” Tobin asked, and I nodded because I was great.

I cried the whole way back to the townhouse, but again, I wasn’t sure why. Relief? Sadness? I only knew that it was harder to drive when you were wiping your eyes with your glove so I went slower, and then I realized that I didn’t really know where I was going, anyway.

Chapter 3

Miss Monica blew on her hands. “You know, why don’t we go to my house to discuss this? The construction won’t bother anyone too much.”

Hazel glanced at her mom. “We’re already here, and this is fine. I’ll get your coat for you.” She got up slowly to retrieve it from the tiny closet at the door, and I felt bad. Hazel’s hip still bothered her after the car accident that Tobin had talked about. She’d been seriously hurt and the cold air in my house was making the old injury flare up.

“I can fix the heat,” I announced and went to the thermostat. I touched the button gently and the temperature setting moved up five degrees before I could blink. I’d already had it higher than usual for my guests, but not high enough that it would really affect my electric bill, and not high enough that they would get too comfortable and want to stay for a long time. I didn’t want them to be here in the first place, because I didn’t want to have this discussion.

“Here you go, Mom.” Hazel handed over her coat and gloves, and Miss Monica put them on and smiled at her daughter. Hazel turned back to me. “Remy, we don’t want to beat you over the head—” She jerked to a stop, probably remembering the last time she’d seen me and Killian together and what he’d been doing to me. “I mean, we don’t want to belabor,” she started again, but then looked down towards my stomach. “Oh. I mean…”

“We want to know what you’re planning, Remy.” Monica snapped open her laptop and removed the gloves. “We want to write it all out so it’s nice and clear, just like how we plan for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“But obviously, more momentous,” Hazel added.

“I really believe that once you see it on paper, you can make it happen, and we want to help build a great future for you and the baby.” Her mom flexed her fingers over the keys. “We want to help you get on the right track.”

“You used to run, didn’t you?” her daughter asked. “You know all about being on the right track.” She smiled at me.

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