Page 95 of Icing Hearts

“I promise. Thanks for looking out for me. I’m glad you bullied me into friendship.”

“Oh gosh.” He takes a final swig of the smoothie, draining it loudly to get every last drop. “So, you and Tory are…”

“Friends, I guess. I guess that’s what we’ll always be. A case of right person, wrong time.”

“I can’t accept that for you.”

I put my hand on Jack’s cheek, tears brimming in my eyes. Wish with my entire heart that I could believe the same.

Chapter 58

One Month Later

Clara

April is a bad month. I used to like April. I liked having spring break and the promise of warmer weather in a state that likes to be frozen. But April is a bad month. And today is a bad day. It’s also a tutoring day.

I don’t bother getting any work done. Well, I try, but I fail. I try not to think about it, but it’s all I think about. The anniversary of my mom’s death. Tory can tell something is wrong. He’s been extra quiet and gentle. He keeps smiling those tight-lipped smiles. The polite ones. Tory isn’t usually like that, but we’re in a weird place and I think he doesn’t know what else to do. Doesn’t feel like he can give me more than that.

When it’s clear I’m a useless mess, I rest my head on my arms and ask Tory, “Do you remember my mom?”

He’s silent so long that I think he doesn’t or that he just won’t answer. I open my mouth to change the subject and release him from the awkwardness of the moment, but he finally breaks the silence before I do.

“She used to pick you up from school barefoot.” There’s a vacant look in his eyes, as if he’s far, far away reliving a moment I didn’t know he’d lived in the first place. “And you’d take your shoes and socks off and leave them and your backpack on the sidewalk by parent pick up.”

Tears spring from my eyes before I can process their imminent arrival. And for a moment, I’m not concerned with my mascara, running black rivers down my contoured cheeks.

For a moment, it’s just me and a boy who remembers my mom. A boy who seems to understand more than he should. More than I’ve given him a right to.

He slowly pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he smiles faintly. “And she’d take your hand. You’d run through the field next to the school that never got mowed. The two of you would pick wildflowers. She would make you a crown out of flowers. You would leave the meadow with dirt-stained feet, holding hands.”

“Those were the best days.” I go to that place—the picture he paints. The memory. “As soon as the weather got warm, she would do that at least once a week.”

“You know she bought me lunch once. When we had that field trip to the zoo in third grade. I forgot my lunch at home. It was one of those weird things you were embarrassed about as a kid but would never care about as an adult. Now, I would just say I forgot my lunch and borrow money from someone or something. But back then, I was mortified. I tried to hide it. Your mom didn’t let anyone know. She called me over to the café and asked what I wanted. I picked a turkey sandwich, chips, and an apple. She asked the employees for a paper bag so it looked like a home lunch.”

“She chaperoned every single field trip we ever had.”

“And she was the best chaperone, too. Everyone always wanted to be in her group.”

A long silence passes, broken only by the clank and hum of a boiler somewhere in the school’s underbelly. Tory wraps the sleeve of his shirt over his thumb and tentatively reaches out, blotting my tear-stained cheeks.

“Thanks.”

“Sure, Charity.” He leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. Our elbows bump, but barely, as he mirrors my posture. “Hey, today sucks. You wanna get out of here?”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the distraction and really want to be anywhere but home right now.”

“Who said anything about going home?”

I look at him quizzically. He gets up and packs our things. “Get whatever you need and meet me in the student parking lot. Make haste, Charity.”

I giggle with a sniffle and dart out the door behind him. When we get to the student parking lot, there are still a few cars. A couple hold snogging teens.

“You ever ridden a bike before?”

“Tory, I’m not getting on that thing.”

“Why not? I’m obviously having you wear my helmet and gear. I would never let you ride unprotected.”

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