Shadow of the Past Page 11

“A couple of weeks ago.”

  She straightened up, and for a second her sympathy was over-shadowed by a look of triumph. Fucking hell, she loves this. It’s like she found the trauma prize in the emotional cracker-jack.

  “Just before the fight.” She nodded, all of her pieces put together. “This is important, Mark. Loss, especially loss of a good friend, is so traumatic and hurtful. If you don’t have time to grieve and accept the loss, then things like this can happen. All of your emotions get all jumbled up and you can’t process anything in a real way.”

  “If you say so,” Mark grimaced, tossing his sandwich back into the bag. Chicken salad wasn’t going to soothe his hunger any more, or his irritation.

  “Who was it?”

  Don’t do it. Don’t do it, man. Don’t let her play emotional whack-a-mole with you.

  “Her name was Clara. She was an older lady, a friend who was there for me when my Aunt died and she helped me and now . . .”

  It was too much. It was buzzing and burning in his head and settling in his eyes. He was tearing up and his voice was cracking.

  Not this crap again. C’mon, this is what she wants. Mark the crybaby. Mark the damaged. Mark the vulnerable. This is a one way ticket to a lifetime of therapy.

  She reached into a desk drawer and handed him a small stack of tissues.

  “I’m fine,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “It’s okay, Mark.”

  “Like hell it is. She’s dead and gone and I’m still here.”

  “Tell me about it, Mark. You can’t keep this ins--”

  “Yes I can! I don’t need to tell you a damn thing! It’s done, okay? No amount of talking is going to bring her back, or change what I’ve seen! She’s dead, okay? Killed, gone, murdered before my eyes and she is never, ever coming back.”

  Oh yeah, that told her. That’ll make her back off, genius.

  The look on her face was enough to confirm that he’d fucked up royally. Her cracker jack prize had turned into an angry scorpion called “Holy shit did he say murder?”

  “Mark,” she said, back stiff and palms flat on her desk. “What do you mean by that? Exactly.”

  They stared at each other for a second. “It’s just an expression.”

  “Really? I’ve never heard it before.” Her face twitched, and Mark realized she was trying to smile it off.

  “Look . . . My friend, Clara, she was killed, okay? They were talking about it in the papers and stuff and on TV so it’s like . . . I can’t really get away from it, y’know?”

  She stayed still for a moment, and then nodded. She picked her hands off the desk and rubbed them together. “Okay, I guess I can see that. But Mark, this is serious business. You can’t just go off and drop a bomb like that and expect me not to react.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve realized my friend’s murder would be such a bother for you.”

  “Mark,” she said, her voice almost reaching ‘I’m a serious disciplinarian’ levels. “That’s not fair. I’m just trying to process this.”

  Stop. Think. Don’t say something stupid.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just really tired and stressed and worn out.”

  “I can imagine. This must be a terrible time for you, Mark. I had no idea that your friend was the one they’d been talking about on the news. These things are never easy when they’re this sudden, but I want you to know that there’s nothing you can’t talk to me about, okay?”

  “Well, thanks, but I should be fine.”

  She stopped and stared at him intently. “Mark, you’re not fine. That’s why you’re here. Now . . . Is there anything else I need to know about Clara’s death?”

  “No, I told you. It’s just an expression, that’s all.”

  “Mark, I think we both know--”

  “You don’t know, okay? Just drop it! I’m sorry I said anything.”

  “Mark, it’s just that you said . . . what you said and I think it’s important that we be honest with each other. If you know something about what happened then you need to tell me about it.”

  “I don’t need to do anything.”

  She paused. “That’s different than there not being anything to tell.”

  “Look, it’s just . . . I’m fine, okay? It’s nothing.”

  Oh yeah, that’ll shake her.

  “Mark, I think we should--”

  “No, we shouldn’t,” he said, leaping to his feet and grabbing his bag. “This is pointless, okay? I was upset because my friend died and Jack thought it was funny, that’s why I got all crazy. That’s all, there’s nothing else. I’m not going to sit here and have you grill me because you think I maybe saw or did whatever.” He darted for the door.

  “Mark,” she said, and he paused with his hand on the knob. “You can go, but this is serious and I still want us to talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

  He didn’t look back, and slammed the door behind him.

  “Oh, c’mon, never?”

  “No,” Christine said with a laugh. “I’ve never seen the Sopranos. Is that horrible?”

  Steve threw up his arms and fell backwards in the grass with a great sigh. “Yeah no, it’s fine. I mean you're a Jersey Girl now and you don’t know the gospel of the Sopranos. That’s fine. I’m just going to lie here quietly and die from the shame you should be feeling.”

  “Oh quit it,” she said, kicking his foot. “I just hate that kind of stuff. Plus, it’s old.”

  Steve propped himself up on his elbows. “They have this thing called the Internet, and you can get stuff from it. Like, shows and music and all kinds of magic stuff.”

  “Ugh, whatever. There’s plenty of good new stuff on.”

  “What, like Gossip Girl?”

  “Well . . .” she said, tapping her chin in mock thoughtfulness.

  “Oh my god, you trash TV slut. Wait, here comes lunch,” he said, rolling over and retching with an exaggerated heave.

  Lunches with Steve had almost always contained some kind of heaving on his part, especially after she had told him that she hated that sound. In the week of Mark’s suspension they’d had lunch together every day, a couple of times with some of the other kids that Steve knew from Drama club, but most of the time was spent together under the tree where she and Mark first had lunch.

  She’d been looking forward to Mark joining them but if there was anything that the counselor could do to help him out, she was all for it. He was so flipped out over them not being able to eat together, so she’d done her best to make sure that he knew that she was fine with it and he didn’t have to stress.

  “I’m going to miss our vomit filled lunches together,” Steve said, straightening up.

  “We’ll still be having lunch together, and it’ll be even more fun with Mark around.”

  “Oh yeah, since he’s such a barrel of laughs nowadays.”

  “Steve!”

  “I know, I know. I don’t want to be a dick or anything, but I just wish he wouldn’t make such a big deal out of everything.”

  “Well you’re kind of a dick, because this is a big deal.”

  “Yeah, I know. When things like this happen he just tenses up and everything becomes the end of the world. It all works out, no matter how much things suck. If he just relaxed, he would realize that he’ll be fine, but he’d rather punish himself.”

  “He’s not punishing himself,” she said. “He just feels things, probably a lot more than you or I do. Under all that shyness is a lot of passion, and I like that. It’s better than feeling nothing.”

  Steve leaned closer. “Oh so you’re an emotional passion-junkie, is that what it’s all about? I don’t really know what’s going on with you two, since Mark was never really one to kiss and tell. Or kiss at all, for that matter.”

  She pushed him away with a smile. “Well, he does just fine and I’m not one to kiss and tell either, wise guy.”

  “Nuts.”

  “Seriously. You think Mark’s going to be okay, don�
��t you?”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “A thousand times yes. I mean, he’s kind of a ‘getting shit on’ magnet and he can be painfully emo about it but he always manages. It was the same thing when his aunt died and it was like his whole world was ending. But he realized it wasn’t and he got over it.”

  “This is a little different though.”

  “Yeah, I know, but Mark’s a lot of things. Sure, he’s weepy, he’s sensitive, he’s melodramatic, and he may have the fashion sense of a homeless guy, but he’s still a great once you make it past all of those things. . .” Steve looked up and saw Christine’s gaze focused just over his shoulder. “And I’m saying these things only because I know he’s standing right behind me.”

  “Oh really?” Mark said, standing right behind him.

  “Of course, and just so that we’re clear, exactly how long have you been standing there?”

  “I’m a lot of things,” Mark said, taking a seat in the small space between Christine and Steve. Mark placed his hand on Christine’s knee, and she felt it trembling. She put her hand on his and gave it a squeeze.

  “Are you okay? I thought you were going to be there all period.”

  “Yeah, just fine.” He didn’t look over at her, his gaze still locked on Steve. Steve just stared back, tugging at the grass with a playful smile.

  “Good, it’d suck to have you in guidance counselor jail all lunch. And look, I was just fooling around, man. You know I love you.

  Mark’s hand trembled again.

  “Mark,” Christine said, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to turn him towards her. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all. We just want to help.”

  “Of course you do,” he said, giving her a sideways glance, but still focusing on Steve.

  “I’ve just got your best interests at heart,” Steve said.

  “Oh really?”

  Steve’s facade faltered a second when he glanced down to see their intertwined hands, but he looked up, cocked his fingers like a pistol and gave Mark and wink and grin.

  “You know it, buddy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’ll be okay, right?” Christine said in the stairwell before they parted ways after lunch.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal. Nothing is going to happen.”

  She knew that gym with Jack and his friends was next because Steve couldn’t shut up about it. It was as if he was trying to give Mark something else to worry about because the half dozen other things weren’t enough. Gym was the only class that he had with Jack and his friends, so this was the first opportunity they’d have for payback.

  “Just be careful,” she said, kissing him before heading up the steps.

  “It’ll be fine,” Steve said, meeting up with Mark at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Sure.”

  Neither Jack nor his friends were there when they got into the locker room, and Mark thought the inevitable was going to be postponed a day until Kyle and Victor walked in. They didn’t even look at him, just headed to their lockers and got ready. Other than the scrape on Vic’s forehead, everything was completely normal.

  Until they pull a pair of shotguns from their lockers and blow you away.

  Steve didn’t even notice. Steve, of course, was too engrossed in his own changing. Apparently it was just Mark who was the weepy melodramatic homeless guy.

  When they got to the gym floor, Mark saw why Jack hadn’t been in the locker room. He was seated on the bleachers, still in his street clothes. He was reading a book when Mark first saw him, and when he looked up Mark finally got a look at his handiwork. Jack’s face was still bruised, one of his eyes still blackened and he had a small line of stitches on his chin. His face was blank and if he saw Mark he made no sign of it before turning back to reading.

  Mark sat on his spot on the gym floor, and for a moment all the worry was washed away by a sudden swell of pride. I did that, he thought. I did that to him, and he has to look like that for how much longer? A week? Two weeks? There’s no hiding it.

  It felt good. He hated it, but aside from Christine it was the only thing that had managed to make him feel good all day.

  The games went fine, better than they had all year. Mark couldn’t tell if he was playing better because of his sudden surge of manly confidence or because no one was gunning to make his life miserable. At the end of the period changing happened without incident. When he got upstairs and waited for the bell, he let out a breath he’d been holding for forty minutes. Leaning against the wall he looked up and found himself staring across the gym directly into Jack’s gaze.

  His expression was still as blank as it had been before, but a smile began to spread across Jack’s face and he gave a lazy wave. Mark turned, too quickly and obviously, squeezing his eyes shut.

  Yeah, things are going to be just fine. You think he doesn’t know he has to walk around with your beating all over his face? Of course he knows, and he’s not going to take revenge in a gym class. But you go ahead and keep thinking about how you did better at volleyball today, champ.

  “Hey you,” Christine said, sitting on the V with a smile. “Still giving rides?”

  “For you, always” he said, stopping in front of her and letting his helmet and backpack fall to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

  “Wow,” she said when she finally pulled away. “What brought that on?”

  “You. And the fact that this piece of shit day is over.”

  “Well, let’s get out of here so you can get some more of me.”

  “I don’t have the spare with me, but you can wear it,” he said, handing her the helmet.

  “Is that the same one from . . . the other day?”

  “Yeah,” Mark said, wiping nothing in particular off the top of it. “It’s takes a licking and all that.”

  “I’ll go without if that’s okay,” she said.

  They rode to the park by Christine’s house, and the whole way there the feel of her arms around him and her body pressing up against him was almost more than he could bear. When they pulled up near their tree he turned and kissed her again, and they barely let go of each other on the way to lie down.

  “I missed this,” he said, pulling her close to him.

  “I can tell,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I missed it too. One of these days we’re going to have to go out someplace and just tear ass on that thing, see how fast we can get it up to.”

  “And just get away,” Mark murmured, eyes closed and leaning back. “Just drive off and never, ever have to look back.”

  “Rough day?”

  “The roughest.”

  “I could tell when you got to lunch. And don’t worry about what Steve was saying. He was just trying to help. In a weird way, but still. He cares about you.”

  “I’m sure he does.” He opened his eyes and saw her propped up on one elbow, staring down at him.

  “So nothing else happened today?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Tell me about it. I want to help.”

  How the hell is she going to help? Flutter her pretty eyelashes and make Jack and Ms. Kennedy fly away to magical fairy land?

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I know it is. I mean, this has got to be a really shitty time right now, but if I can do anything, anything at all to help you, I want to do it.”

  “I know you do,” he said, leaning up and kissing her. “And you do, you really, really do. There’s just some stuff that’s just hard to talk about.”

  “Well, what did Ms. Kennedy say? What was that all about?”

  He let out a deep sigh. “That’s part of the problem right there. When she found about what happened to Clara she acted like it was this huge deal and she was going to try to help and then got all weird.”

  “Well, Mark, it is a big deal. I mean what happened was awful, and I’m not surprised she was worried about it.”

  “It’s not just that. I . . . well I don’t really want to bother
you with it.”

  “Mark,” she said, taking his hand. “Tell me, please.”

  “Okay, okay.” He took a deep breath. With all of the sudden build up he’d given it, he’d rather drop his pants and do a couple laps around the park but it was clear that she wasn’t going to let it go.

  “I’ve been having these dreams. Weird, messed up dreams, about what happened to Clara and this other stuff, and when she found out about Clara I kind of lost my shit. I think she thought I was talking about knowing about her murder instead of just the fact that I’m dreaming about it and thinking about it all the time.”

  “Mark, she can’t possibly think that. I mean, what would you know?”

  Not what her head looks like three feet from her body. No ma’am, not me.

  “Exactly. Nuts, right?”

  “Yeah. But what about these dreams? That sounds really messed up.”

  He shifted, trying to turn away from her so she couldn’t read the lies on his face as easily as Mrs. Kennedy did. “It’s nothing. Just messed up stuff.”

  “About Clara?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, I can’t imagine something like this happening and what it would do to me, but you can talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

  “I know,” he said, but his voice felt empty and hollow.

  She leaned down and kissed him again. “Mark, we’re going to be okay. I promise.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She kissed him again. “Very sure.”

  “I’m still not convinced. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

  They stayed under the tree for at least an hour, until Christine finally had to pull herself away from him and remind him that she still had tons of homework to do, and her parents were bound to start getting worried if she stayed out too late.

  “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize us being able to do this every day.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, letting her go. “I’m doing this just because you’re promising more later.”

  “Count on it.”

  When he dropped her off in front of her house, she leaned in and quickly kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”