“I changed,” he offered, as if reading my mind.
I nodded, just then noticing the clock that hung on the wall behind Bo’s head.
“Ohmigod! Is that clock right?”
Bo turned to look at the clock, too. “Yep.”
It read 2:40.
“I’ve got to go. My parents are gonna freak!” Once again, I’d been unconscious longer than I’d thought. No wonder there was so much blood on me.
“I’ll drive you,’ Bo said, walking with me to the door.
“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine. Really,” I promised. Not that I didn’t want to spend a few more minutes with Bo, but I’d feel terrible that he’d have to walk all the way back home, especially at 3:00 in the morning.
Bo stopped just outside the door, turning to look back at me. “I’m sure you are, but I’m not willing to take the chance.”
My stomach fluttered and I had to work to suppress the grin that was pulling at my lips. Bo took my hand and tugged.
“Come on.”
At my car, Bo let go of my hand long enough to get me inside and shut the door. Once he was seated behind the wheel and had pulled out into the street, however, he casually reached over and wrapped his fingers around mine again.
Surprisingly, instead of the coolness I’d come to expect from him, his skin was really, really warm where he held my hand over the gear shift, just like the last time I’d awakened at his house.
My house came into view all too soon. Even though I’d spent most of the night unconscious—again—I still didn’t want my time with Bo to end.
Both my parents’ vehicles were in the driveway and Bo wasted no time with a lengthy goodbye.
“I’ll get out of here so you can get inside. I hope you’re not in too much trouble,” he said genuinely.
“It’ll be fine.”
The way he was staring into my eyes, I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead, Bo brought my fingers to his lips and kissed them.
He asked softly, “Call you tomorrow?”
I nodded and then he was gone, getting quietly out of the car and disappearing into the night.
I sat in the passenger side for a few minutes, thinking of Bo, basking in the lingering scent of him. If Target had a Bo-scented car freshener, I’d buy one. Or ten.
The thought was so silly I had to laugh as I got out of the car to go inside.
I stood at the front door, listening for sounds from inside. Even through the thick wood of the door, I could hear some light snoring. Dad.
The door was unlocked so I cracked it just enough to squeeze through and then shut it silently behind me. The house smelled of barbecue sauce and old wine.
I crept to the door of the living room and peeked inside. Mom was crashed with her feet in Dad’s lap and he was sound asleep with his head leaned back against the couch cushions. His mouth was hanging open and he was snoring, just as I’d suspected.
As I crept to my room, I was surprised I could hear Dad’s snoring outside; it didn’t seem that loud at all.
The first thing I did in my room was to go and raise my window, though I left the screen down this time. I could hear the frogs and crickets outside, as well as the breeze ruffling the leaves and bending the tree branches. I inhaled deeply. The cool night air teased my nostrils, carrying the scent of rain. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the patter of a light drizzle.
I was turning away to change into my pajamas when a familiar thrill skittered down my spine, racing through my blood. A faint hint of citrus tinged the air for just a moment before it was gone.
I looked out the window, past the grainy grid of the screen, peering into the night. Other than the gentle shift of foliage, there was no movement, no evidence that someone was out there, that I wasn’t alone in the night.
Shrugging it off as my overactive imagination, I grabbed my pajamas and headed for the bathroom to clean up and wash my hair.
********
The next morning I woke early. The birds outside my window were cheeping more vivaciously than ever and I could hear Mom banging around in the kitchen like there were no walls between us.
I lay there, feeling the blood pulse beneath my skin, enjoying the remaining scent of Bo in my hair where it was spread across my pillow.
Mom said something to Dad about waking me up for breakfast, so I went ahead and rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
When I stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, Mom was scooting pancakes off the griddle and onto three plates.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she chirped cheerfully.
I eyed her skeptically. At times, I don’t think I gave her enough credit; she was quite the actress. Behind her overly bright smile and strategic makeup, I could see the tremble of rising discomfort in her bloodshot eyes. Her need for a drink was almost a tangible thing. Dad seemed not to notice, but even if he did, he would do his best to pretend otherwise, which is probably exactly what he was doing.
With a sigh, I fell in to the recently-established grand tradition of the Heller household and pasted on a fake smile of my own, jumping head first into the façade.
“Smells good,” I said, taking a seat at the perfectly set table. I took a big gulp of orange juice and thought surely it was the best I’d ever had, the sweetly tart liquid coating my tongue and sliding down my throat like fruity silk.
Mom served me and Dad then took her seat at the table. Dad said the blessing and we dug in. The only thing that ruined the Cleaver-like meal was the depressing squawk of the reporter that was dishing out news from the television on the counter.
I was surprised that I hadn’t already heard the report. I’d fallen asleep again last night without the aid of the television. Maybe I was cured.
“…indication that the violence raging through Southmoore has made its way south to Harker.
In the early hours, Harker police discovered the body of Southmoore resident Trent Edward Long just inside the city limits on East Highway 5. Long had been a long-time associate of the recently deceased John Gibbs and had, at one time, been included in a suspect pool for the Southmoore Slayings. More information…”
I looked up to see the face of the victim about whom they were speaking and my throat seized around the lump of pancakes I was trying to swallow.