When our order came, Hannah pulled a little airplane-sized bottle of vodka out of her purse and started to unscrew it. “Wanna spike your limeade?” she asked.
“No,” I said, alarmed. “It’s barely nine o’clock.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she said, and laughed. “Like in Norway. Think it’s five o’clock in Norway? I wish I were in Norway. Or Iceland. Or somewhere really far away.” She started to try to pour the vodka into my drink and said, “Come on. Lighten up.”
“Stop it,” I said, and grabbed the bottle.
“Since when did you get all high and mighty?” she asked, annoyed.
“I just—I’m not really drinking now,” I said, “after what happened at that party.”
“You mean after you opened the door on Natalie and me and then decided to ditch us?”
“The reason that I disappeared was that I was messed up.” Then I blurted it out. “Basically Evan Friedman almost raped me. I took some pill that he gave me. He said it was a caffeine pill, but obviously it was something else.”
“Laurel. Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me? Are you all right?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Finally I shoved him off. And then Sky came in.”
“I think I have to murder Evan,” Hannah said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before. I mean, I’m sorry I don’t talk about stuff that much.” I paused a moment. “Honestly, it’s because of something that happened with my sister.”
Hannah listened as I told her what happened with Paul and Billy and the night that May died. She hugged me when it was over and said how sorry she was. Tears were running down her face.
Then she said, “I guess I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t tell you the truth after you told me all of that.” She looked away for a moment and took the sleeve of her sweatshirt and started to wipe away the fake bruise she had drawn on her face with eye shadow. Her hand was shaking. Underneath there was a real one, yellow and fading. I reached out to touch her arm.
“Was it Jason?” I asked softly.
Hannah nodded. “He was so angry after the party.”
“Has he done that before?”
She shrugged. “Not in a while.”
“We have to do something, Hannah.”
“There’s nothing to do.”
“Have you told your grandparents?”
She shook her head no. “It would just hurt them. My grandma’s sick, and my grandpa has to take care of her. He can hardly even hear when I try to talk to him. I never wanted anyone finding out, because what if they put me in a foster home or something? Or else I’d have to go back to Arizona to my aunt, and then I’d lose Natalie for good, and you, too, and everyone. Jason’s finally going to the Marines in a few months. It’s better just to wait.”
“Natalie doesn’t know?” I asked.
“I’ve never told anyone.”
“You should tell her, Hannah.”
“She’d freak out. She’d want me to talk to someone. Besides, she hates me now anyway.”
“No she doesn’t. You know that. She’s in love with you. Her heart is broken, that’s all.”
“Do you think that I can unbreak it?”
“I think all she wants is for you to love her back, like she loves you.” I paused. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
“Then tell her. Please?”
Hannah nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do you want to spend the night tonight? If you need somewhere to stay, you can always stay at my house.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Lucky for you I’m at my dad’s this week, so you won’t be subjected to any questions about whether you’ve accepted Jesus.”
Hannah agreed to throw out the vodka, and we passed the day walking around with our limeades. I still didn’t know what we’d do about Jason, but Hannah said that she wanted to forget about it for a little bit, so we went to the park and swung on the swings and jumped off into the dirt. She sang for me the whole time, a mix of Amy Winehouse and old country songs—“San Francisco Mabel Joy” and “I Fall to Pieces.” Her voice sounded beautiful, in the way that a voice does when you need it. Then we went to Walgreens and unwrapped the lipsticks in secret and tried on nearly every color, until we each picked one out and Hannah bought them for us with her Macaroni Grill money. When we went to check out, the cashier asked us why we weren’t in school. “Mental health day,” Hannah said, so confidently that the cashier just nodded in response. And then toward the end of the day, we took the city bus to my house. I’d texted Dad and asked him if I could have Hannah spend the night. I said I knew it was a school night, but she needed to stay in town. He said yes.
When we got there, I started showing Hannah around—the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, Dad’s room, and my room that is still completely dorky.
Then we passed by May’s room, with its door closed. I paused a moment, almost walking past it, but then I went back and turned the handle to open it.
“And this was my sister’s room,” I said. We walked in, and Hannah started looking around, at May’s half-burned Virgin of Guadalupe candles on the dresser, her collection of heart-shaped sunglasses, her jar full of seashells, her Sunflowers perfume. Her pictures on the bulletin board, the picture of River on the wall, the little globe lights strung around the room. “Wow. Your sister was so cool,” she said.
I smiled. “Yeah. She was.”
Then I heard the front door open. “Dad?” I called.
Hannah seemed nervous suddenly. “Do you think he’ll like me?” she whispered.
“Of course,” I answered as we walked into the living room to say hi.
“Hey, Dad,” I said. “This is Hannah.”
I’d never seen Hannah that way before. She was like a little girl, shifting from foot to foot, wiping her palms on her dress. I guess she cared a lot what he thought. It made me sad, realizing how she probably didn’t have a lot of experience with parents. She extended her hand. “Hello, sir.”
My dad smiled. “Call me Jim. I’m so glad to finally meet you!”