Page 61 of Icing Hearts

He advances a step, and I release the smoke, sending it into his face. A warning. The chief steps back. “Should I ask her instead? Maybe share some things she likely doesn’t know about you.”

There it is. The threat. Stay away or else.

“We’re friends. That’s it. We’ve known each other since fifth grade. She’s dating Vince Culbertson.”

“I know that won’t stop someone like you.”

“So what if it doesn’t? Maybe I’m not scared of you anymore. We’re graduating next year and—”

“You really want to go down this path again?”

Again. That one word brings me right back to middle school.

My family was in Miami for spring break. I was staring at my lox and cream cheese bagel. I hated capers. I told the waiter I didn’t want capers but when the meals arrived, there they were. My parents told me not to complain, and my mom scolded Nonna for scraping them off and told her that fussing would make me soft. I was old enough to do it myself.

Mom gasped when she got a notification on her phone. “Are you friends with Clara Larsen?” she asked. I nodded. Truth be told, I didn’t really know what we were. We had been in a closet three weeks prior during a game of Spin the Bottle that I managed to rig, but I didn’t mention that. I also didn’t mention that I loved Clara. I thought they’d laugh at me or patronize me, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Especially not from my sister.

“Her mom died last night. Car accident.”

“What?” I asked. Her words were loud and clear, but my brain still asked the question in disbelief.

My dad cleared his throat and excused himself. At the time his cold reaction seemed odd. My friend’s mom died, and he just pulled out his phone and disappeared. He was gone for a while and his face was tight and pinched when he returned.

“Oh, that’s so sad,” Giulia said. “She’s the chief’s wife, right?”

I nodded. The chief’s wife, yes, but more importantly, Clara’s mom.

“I want to go to the funeral,” I told my mom. She searched online and told me I wouldn’t be back in time. The funeral was scheduled for Friday morning and our flight back wasn’t until Saturday.

“Please let me go back early. I’ll pay for my ticket. I have money saved from my allowance and birthdays. I haven’t spent any yet on vacation so it should be enough.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mom told me.

Nonna just put her hand on mine. She saw the sorrow in my eyes, the desperation. That’s the thing about me. When I want something bad enough, absolutely nothing and no one stops me from getting it. I’m like a dog with a bone. One of those junkyard dogs that doesn’t stop until someone is dead.

By the afternoon, my mom was crying, and Nonna and I were packing to go home. I felt bad about disappointing my parents but not showing up for Clara would have been unforgiveable.

Dozens of kids showed up at the funeral. Clara’s hair was messy. Shoved into a ponytail like she’d done it as an afterthought. She sat in the front next to her dad. My friends and I were three rows back. I avoided making eye contact while I waited in the receiving line. Most of the girls hugged her but the boys shook her hand. Some of them put cards in a basket. I didn’t bring a card, but my Nonna did.

I’ll never forget the weird black dress pants Clara wore that still had the department store folds in them. Or the look in her eyes when they met mine—both red and raw. But hers were shattered. Somehow, they looked like the ocean froze and then splintered into a million pieces. I knew she’d never be the same.

She’d hugged me. She hadn’t hugged any of the other boys but she’d hugged me. And didn’t let go for a long time. People shifted awkwardly behind me. Some of them skipped Clara, shook her dad’s hand and moved along. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

The chief ignored me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, because I’d held Clara so long.

My classmates and I lingered while our parents talked. There was a reception in the church fellowship hall afterward. Piles and piles of donated food. Several dozen people stayed, half of which were kids in our class. Clara and I didn’t really talk much, but I didn’t leave her side. Once, when one of the grown-ups came and told her how much she looked like her mom, she reached her hand out behind her, and I took it in mine. She squeezed so hard I nearly winced. I handed her a tissue to dry the fresh tears.

At the end, I went to the bathroom. I didn’t want to leave her and said I’d be right back. That’s when her father cornered me.

My hands were still wet from those ineffective brown paper towels in public places. Places that are too old for hand dryers. As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, his hand was on my shirt collar, dragging me to a darkened corner by the stairwell. The bathroom was down a hall and out of the way. No one saw. I probably would have been scared if I wasn’t so startled.

He bent down so he was at my eye level, tear-stained eyes inches from mine. “You stay away from her.” A whisper has never been so loud. “You stay away from Clara, boy.”

“What?”

“Don’t you play stupid. I saw you up there. You don’t go near her again or I swear I’ll tell her all about your family. This is all your father’s fault.”

I didn’t know what he meant about it being my dad’s fault, but I knew some things about my family’s business dealings and that Clara would care about a thing like that.

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