Page 31 of Hushed

I’ve done the right thing. This was the only possible decision I could have made. If my career implodes, I’ve got nothing to offer him anyway.

I take a deep breath as I reach for the door and remind myself that this is going to pass. But then I hesitate and look back to our booth. Levi is still sitting there, his fist against his mouth, watching me. His face is masked.

I push the door and stumble out into the August heat, repeating This will pass like a mantra.

I just hope to God I’m right.

Chapter ten

Levi

Wednesday morning in Peterboro, and I’m hiding on the back porch like a coward because Momma’s got her stories on and the living room reeks of Virginia Slims. The coffee’s bitter as hell—Folgers from a can, same as always—but at least out here I can breathe.

Three days home, and I’ve already fixed the kitchen cabinet door that wouldn’t close, replaced the broken dryer belt, and cleaned out the gutters. Staying busy means not thinking about Bastien. Not thinking about ice cream shops and panda hats and the way Bastien’s face went cold and distant like I was already a stranger.

In a couple of days I’ll be gone from here again to go to the college the Army is paying for and get the degree I don’t know how I’ll use when the only thing I want to do is root out Bastien like a hound dog. How can I do that when I’m stuck on some campus hundreds of miles away from him? I wish I could rewind back to March when I hit the apply button on their website and tell myself not to do it, that I’d need this time to search. But now it’s too late and I’m stuck going into something I don’t want.

“Levi?” April pokes her head out the screen door. “You busy?”

“Just enjoying the mountain air,” I say, which is a lie. The air smells like the paper mill twenty miles downwind.

She comes out and perches on the step below me, hugging her knees. “Momma’s friend Darlene came by yesterday. She said her nephew Tyler’s back from Knoxville. Said maybe you two should get together, since you’re both... you know.”

“Both what?” I know exactly what, but I want to make her say it.

“You know.” She lowers her voice. “Gay.” She says it that way because it might be legal, but this is a small town in the South, and word gets out.

“Cricket, just because two people are gay doesn’t mean—”

“I know that!” She cuts me off, flushing pink. “I’m not stupid. I just thought maybe you’d want to meet someone. You’ve been moping around here like somebody died.”

I take a sip of terrible coffee to buy time. “I’m not moping. Momma gave me a list of things that need doing and I been working through them.”

She looks like she’s going to give me an argument, but then she turns on the step to pump me with information, which she’s been doing ever since I left home. “What did you see in DC?”

“It’s big. Lots of people in suits acting important. I saw the monuments.” I think of the Lincoln Memorial at sunset. My throat closes up.

“Levi!” Momma’s voice cuts through the screen door. “Since you’re out there doing nothing, that push mower’s in the shed where you left it. Grass is looking shaggy.”

April’s face falls. “But we were talking—”

“Now, April, your brother didn’t come home to sit around. Man needs to feel useful.” The screen door opens and Momma steps out. She’s wearing the same housecoat she’s had since I was twelve. “Besides, your daddy needs help getting to his chair. My back’s acting up again.”

I’m already standing. “Yes, ma’am.”

Inside, Daddy’s on the edge of his bed, breathing heavy from the effort of sitting up. Only Southern boys who joined up understood why I still called him Daddy as a grown man—it’s just what you do.

“Hey there, son,” he wheezes. “Heard you out there with April. She been talking your ear off?”

“She’s curious about college.” I position the wheelchair and brace myself. “On three?”

We make the transfer, him gripping my shoulders while I lift. He weighs less than my ruck used to.

“That girl’s going places,” he says once he’s settled. “Smart as a whip. Gonna be the first Nichols to make something of herself.”

I wheel him to the living room, that familiar knife sliding between my ribs. I want to say that I’m studying diplomacy so that boys like me don’t get sent out to fight battles that’s got nothing to do with them. But I let it go. “She sure will, Daddy.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, already reaching for the TV remote.