I thought maybe it had something to do with what had happened on Friday.
“Matthew, about what happened between us in the library yesterday …” I was searching for something to say, but when I looked over at him, I swear he wasn’t listening at all.
Then he shot a sideways look at me. “It was nothing.” He was smiling when he said it, but it was like he was thinking about something else.
After a moment of awkward silence, I asked him where he was off to, because it was almost ten o’clock. He just raised his eyebrows. As he stopped the pickup truck in front of my house, I joked that if he was up to no good, he didn’t have to tell me. But as soon as I said that, I got a bad feeling, like I had guessed right. Still grinning that strange grin, he looked out at the dark road and said, “If you must know, I’m meeting a girl.”
“Really?” The shock of his answer had almost made me forget how to unbuckle my seat belt. I was struggling with it like the truck was filling up fast with lake water, like I was going to drown. “Well, I hope you two have a nice time,” I managed to say, wrestling myself out of the truck and slamming the passenger door. I gave him one last look through the rolled-down window and said, “Isn’t it a bit late for church?” It was sarcastic but I couldn’t help myself.
“Who said anything about church?” He drove off down the road, leaving me there at the foot of my driveway. I would have been less shocked if he had said, “I’m going off to blow up the post office.”
As I walked up my driveway I was burning with a jealous rage, but by the time I got to the front door it had already turned into flat-out heartbreak. The idea that Matthew, having spent all those lunches and spares with me for almost three years, was hot for someone else made me feel like throwing up. Only the day before, I’d thought maybe something was happening between us. I’d felt, well, hopeful. But it had meant nothing. Just my sick imagination again.
A couple of loud sobs slipped out before I told myself to shut up. I was shaking so badly I had trouble getting the key in the front door, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the window curtains twitch. When I finally got the door open, I sneaked as quietly and quickly as I could past the living room, where Ethan was now back watching TV, and the kitchen, where I saw Joyce look up from emptying the dishwasher, to my bedroom at the back of the house.
I shut the door behind me, dropped onto my bed and pushed my face into a pillow to muffle the sound of my crying, unable to blot out the vision of his grinning face.
I’d thought Matthew and I totally belonged together. How could I have been so wrong?
3
I ’m grateful that it was my older brother who broke the news. Jack came home early Sunday evening and walked straight to my bedroom door, his face all white, breathing heavily through his mouth like he’d been running. He didn’t want to have to do it, I could tell.
He said they had found Matthew in an old barn on 12th Line. “Murdered. That’s what they’re saying.”
I looked at him. His eyes were red.
“Can you believe it? Less than a mile down the road from our new place,” he said.
“Wh-what?”
He started talking slowly, as if in a foreign language. “Run through the middle with some kind of old farm tool.” He stopped, watching me like he was afraid. “A pitchfork or something.” He made a little motion like a turtle, ducking his head into his shoulders. “Right through his stomach.”
He sat down beside me and put a heavy arm around my shoulders.“God, I’m really sorry, Amelia. I know you two were close.” He hugged and rocked me and held the side of his head against mine. Just like he held my hand when Mom was lying dead in her blue hospital gown. I don’t remember when he left my room. I just remember hearing him say, “Not again.”
I stay in my room through Sunday supper. I want to call Matthew on the phone.
Do
“Matthew, about what happened between us in the library yesterday …” I was searching for something to say, but when I looked over at him, I swear he wasn’t listening at all.
Then he shot a sideways look at me. “It was nothing.” He was smiling when he said it, but it was like he was thinking about something else.
After a moment of awkward silence, I asked him where he was off to, because it was almost ten o’clock. He just raised his eyebrows. As he stopped the pickup truck in front of my house, I joked that if he was up to no good, he didn’t have to tell me. But as soon as I said that, I got a bad feeling, like I had guessed right. Still grinning that strange grin, he looked out at the dark road and said, “If you must know, I’m meeting a girl.”
“Really?” The shock of his answer had almost made me forget how to unbuckle my seat belt. I was struggling with it like the truck was filling up fast with lake water, like I was going to drown. “Well, I hope you two have a nice time,” I managed to say, wrestling myself out of the truck and slamming the passenger door. I gave him one last look through the rolled-down window and said, “Isn’t it a bit late for church?” It was sarcastic but I couldn’t help myself.
“Who said anything about church?” He drove off down the road, leaving me there at the foot of my driveway. I would have been less shocked if he had said, “I’m going off to blow up the post office.”
As I walked up my driveway I was burning with a jealous rage, but by the time I got to the front door it had already turned into flat-out heartbreak. The idea that Matthew, having spent all those lunches and spares with me for almost three years, was hot for someone else made me feel like throwing up. Only the day before, I’d thought maybe something was happening between us. I’d felt, well, hopeful. But it had meant nothing. Just my sick imagination again.
A couple of loud sobs slipped out before I told myself to shut up. I was shaking so badly I had trouble getting the key in the front door, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the window curtains twitch. When I finally got the door open, I sneaked as quietly and quickly as I could past the living room, where Ethan was now back watching TV, and the kitchen, where I saw Joyce look up from emptying the dishwasher, to my bedroom at the back of the house.
I shut the door behind me, dropped onto my bed and pushed my face into a pillow to muffle the sound of my crying, unable to blot out the vision of his grinning face.
I’d thought Matthew and I totally belonged together. How could I have been so wrong?
3
I ’m grateful that it was my older brother who broke the news. Jack came home early Sunday evening and walked straight to my bedroom door, his face all white, breathing heavily through his mouth like he’d been running. He didn’t want to have to do it, I could tell.
He said they had found Matthew in an old barn on 12th Line. “Murdered. That’s what they’re saying.”
I looked at him. His eyes were red.
“Can you believe it? Less than a mile down the road from our new place,” he said.
“Wh-what?”
He started talking slowly, as if in a foreign language. “Run through the middle with some kind of old farm tool.” He stopped, watching me like he was afraid. “A pitchfork or something.” He made a little motion like a turtle, ducking his head into his shoulders. “Right through his stomach.”
He sat down beside me and put a heavy arm around my shoulders.“God, I’m really sorry, Amelia. I know you two were close.” He hugged and rocked me and held the side of his head against mine. Just like he held my hand when Mom was lying dead in her blue hospital gown. I don’t remember when he left my room. I just remember hearing him say, “Not again.”
I stay in my room through Sunday supper. I want to call Matthew on the phone.
Do
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