The Favour. Megan Hart

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      FIVE

      JANELLE HAD NEVER wept when Bennett started school, not even kindergarten. And Bennett hadn’t been one for tears, not even as a baby. Today, with his breath puffing out in the frigid northwestern Pennsylvania mountain air, his cheeks red and lips already chapping, he looked as if he might break down, and that was enough to send Janelle’s heart surging into her throat.

      “I’ll be okay, Mom.”

      “Sure. It’s going to be a great school for you.” She nodded firmly. “I know it won’t be like the academy, but it’ll be great.”

      “Don’t cry,” Bennett warned.

      She’d always driven him to and from school. Montrose Academy had limited bus service, and Bennett’s after-school activities would’ve meant she needed to pick him up, anyway. Music lessons, sports and art classes, in addition to what the academy provided. No dance lessons; he’d never been interested in that. She’d spent hours ferrying him from one class to the next. Thousands of dollars, all to make sure he had every possible opportunity.

      “And you get to ride the bus,” she told him. “That’ll be fun.”

      His expression told her he didn’t believe her. The bus appeared at the end of the street and stopped at the intersection. For a moment it looked as if it would continue without turning onto Dippold Street. The first day of her senior year of high school, Janelle had had to run for the bus. She’d lost a ballet flat, had to go back. Everyone had been laughing at her when she got on the bus, red-faced and panting, the carefully tousled hairdo she’d spent an hour fixing a mess.

      This time she’d called the school four times to make sure of the stop location so they’d be at the right place on this first day, but her heart still pounded uncomfortably until the bus made the lumbering turn and headed toward them. It screeched to a stop on the opposite side of the street with that distinctive braking noise. The lights flashed and the red sign flipped out to prevent the nonexistent traffic from passing. Bennett headed for the bus without a backward glance.

      “Wait!” Janelle cried. “Do you have your...lunch money? Your gym clothes?”

      She should’ve driven him to school, just this first day. Walked him to the office, made sure he had everything he needed. Switching from private to public school was a difficult enough transition without a cross-country move, including a climate change on top of it.

      Bennett didn’t even look back. Janelle stared at the faces peering at her from the bus windows, and kept herself from running across the street after him. The bus driver waved. She waved back. The bus drove off.

      That was it, then.

      Her teeth were chattering and her fingers numb. The house would be warm, but before going inside she took the time to look up and down the street. Not much had changed.

      Those Tierney boys, Janelle thought, turning to look at the big redbrick house next to Nan’s. It sat higher on the hill than hers. An intricately constructed railroad-tie wall had replaced the cinder blocks that used to keep the yards distinct. The same concrete walk led to the back porch door. It had once been lined with flowers, but now butted directly against the wooden ties.

      And... Oh. Andy. He stood on the front porch, bundled in a bulky red coat, the fur-edged hood hanging down his back. He waved at her.

      “Hi!”

      Janelle tucked her hands into her pockets and quelled her chattering teeth long enough to cross to the edge of the Tierneys’ yard. The new winter boots her mom had given her for Christmas were too big, too heavy. In California, Janelle lived most of the time in flip-flops or sandals. Slow and unwieldy, she felt like she was walking on the moon, without the bonus of being able to leap and float.

      “Hi, Andy.” Janelle waved.

      He’d gotten older, of course, the way they all had. Yet she knew that face. The slope of his chin, his nose, the hollows of his eyes and cheeks. The silver glinting in his dark hair came from age, but the thicker stripe of white along the part hadn’t. That was from the bullet.

      “You know me?” Andy rocked back and forth on his heels. In contrast to his heavy winter clothes, he wore bedroom slippers on bare feet. His ankles stuck out a few inches below the bottom of his flannel pajama pants.

      “Yes. Do you remember me?”

      Andy’s brow furrowed. “No.”

      His lack of memory didn’t surprise her, but her disappointment did. Thick as thieves, that’s what they’d been once upon a time. Janelle and all three of those Tierney boys. She didn’t let even a toe prod the frosty grass of his yard.

      “Janelle Decker. We—”

      “Mrs. Decker lives next door.” Andy jerked a thumb at Nan’s house. “She makes the best cinnamon buns. But she hasn’t made them for a while.”

      Nan did make the best cinnamon buns, that was true. Janelle smiled. “Yep. We used to go to school together?”

      She let the statement lilt at the end, though it wasn’t a question. They’d done a lot more than go to school together, but their adventures had been of the sort you didn’t just quote casually on a January morning after half a lifetime. Andy cocked his head.

      “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”

      “That’s okay. It was a really long time ago. I’m Mrs. Decker’s granddaughter,” Janelle said, wondering if that would spur any sort of recognition.

      No light appeared in Andrew’s eyes. No miraculous recovery. She ought to have known better, but was still disappointed.

      Andy’s hand crept up to stroke along the white strip. His expression clouded. “I don’t... There are lots of things...”

      “It’s okay, Andy. Really. You don’t have to remember.” Impulsively, she hopped over the invisible boundary between grass and cement and up the small hill to the porch. Her boots gave her plenty of traction so she didn’t slip. She put one on the bottom step and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

      Andy took her hand gently. His fingers didn’t curl all the way around hers; his grip was well-intentioned but weak. “Meetcha. What are you doing next door?”

      “I’m going to be staying with her.”

      “For a visit?”

      Janelle paused, then shook her head. “No. For a while.”

      “You’re going to take care of her because she’s sick.” Andy nodded as though it all made sense, as if he’d just put together the pieces of a puzzle and could see that the picture matched the one on the box. “She has cancer in her brain.”

      Janelle СКАЧАТЬ