In the Echo of this Ghost Town Read online

  When we get to the door, we stop. The sudden chasm at the door to the ground is an obstacle.

  “Any idea about how to get it out the door without steps?” she asks.

  “I think we could slide it down a ramp. Like a board.”

  “What if the board breaks?” She looks at me, then twists to stare outside.

  For some reason I want to solve this puzzle and make her smile again. A Max smile, not the fake I got earlier. “I bet the scaffold boards would work. Does your dad have one of those carts?”

  She nods, and I see the start of a smile at the corner of her eyes.

  I feel ten feet taller.

  “Yeah. In the workshop.”

  “You get that, and I’ll grab the boards.”

  A few minutes later, after reconvening and lamenting that we hadn’t used the dolly earlier, we build a makeshift ramp and muscle the cabinet as gently as we can on the rollers down the incline. By the time we cart the cabinet into the workshop, we’re both sweating and panting from the exertion. But she’s smiling again—the real one—and for some inexplicable reason that makes the effort worth it.

  The realization makes me uncomfortable, like it’s too authentic or something, like the half of Griffin that would open up and be vulnerable, and I’m scared to be that Griff. I clear my throat. “I’m going. I’ll grab some water and get back to scraping. Got to get that side of the house finished today.”

  She nods.

  I turn to leave.

  “Hey, Griffin?”

  My name. Not some nickname she’s come up with to irritate me. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for the help.”

  I nod and start to the door but then hesitate, thinking about Danny and his words the night of the fight: you ruined this. I stall, worried about ruining the tentative bridge between Max and me. I turn back around. She’s standing near the cabinet looking at it, her hands on it again. The yellow light filters through the windows into the wooded workshop, filled with dust. She looks like the subject of a pretty painting. I shake my head at the dumb thought. Max is making me as weird as she is, but I follow the earlier impulse further. “You know, earlier? Did I say something that, you know, made you mad?”

  Asking this question feels like unzipping my skin, opening it up, and offering her a knife to go to work on my insides. Not one for real conversations since they feel too close to the Griffin I’m trying to protect, but Danny’s words have haunted me: We’ve tried to talk to you for months.

  Max crosses her arms over her chest like she’s protecting herself. “It’s no big deal.”

  I know just by looking at her stance that she isn’t telling the truth. “Kind of seemed like it was.”

  A short laugh flutters out of her, quiet like butterfly wings. “I used to get teased for you know–” she flaps her hands around in front of her body.

  “For using your hands to talk?”

  That makes her smile, and her shoulders relax as she sighs. “I got teased a lot for my size. Growing up.”

  I feel like a dick because I’d noticed. I never would have taken the time to get to know her because of it. Circumstances seemed to decide that was going to happen in some capacity anyway. Here we are, standing in a workshop, and I stopped to discover something that holds a mirror up to my face and says, “See what kind of dick you are?”

  There isn’t another girl I know who could have helped move that cabinet (my mom doesn’t count because she would move it out of spite). Or another girl I know that could make a breakfast sandwich like she can. Or one who just shows up with water, just because she knows it’s hot and her dad needs it. A girl who loves her dad so much that she doesn’t like to leave him by himself. In the weeks I’ve known her, she might be a girl who’s freaking weird, but I think she’s pretty, damn cool.

  Fuck. Vulnerable Griffin is forcing a fucking appearance.

  I swipe my hand down my face, the white clown suit making noise to remind me I look like an idiot while I’m trying to be nice. “I’m sorry,” I say unsure what to say in circumstances like these. I don’t think I can tell her all the other shit without sounding like a moron.

  “You didn’t know.” She flicks a hand toward me, but her protective shield drops.

  “Well, I’m sorry people are assholes,” I say, speaking mostly for myself.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I appreciate that.”

  I turn back to the door again but stall at the threshold once more. What the fuck is wrong with me? “My dad,” I tell her before I even think about what I’m doing. “He’s been in prison since I was eight, but he’s getting out. People used to tease me about that.” I glance at her over my shoulder and figure maybe we’re kind of even.

  But her eyes are huge. “I’ve been calling you a serial killer. Shit. I’m sorry.”

  This makes me grin. “He’s not a murderer or anything.”

  She presses her hand to her chest. “Shit. Still.”

  “It’s okay, weirdo.” I laugh as I walk back to finish the scraping, and for some reason as I climb the ladder—even dressed like a stupid clown—I feel like air was added back into the balloon around my heart.

  2

  I’m painting primer over the siding at the farmhouse when I get the text from Marcus letting me know there’s a bonfire at the Quarry, probably the last of the summer. Even though it’s a Saturday, I’m at Cal’s and Max’s. It’s one of the only days a week where Cal can devote the whole day to the farmhouse, and since I don’t have anything better going on, I come out to help him. I’ve got the roller on one side of the house while Cal’s using the sprayer on the other; he’d like to get it done this weekend so we can paint it next week.

  I need a way to get to the Quarry and put my phone back in my pocket to ponder my options. Mom needs her car, and I don’t have mine yet. The bus doesn’t go out there. I can’t call one of my former friends. I’m stuck.

  I haven’t been to a party since the last one with Tanner, a few nights before our fight. We got so wasted celebrating the fact he was back in the fold. That was the night he punched Chris Keller; he’d yelled something at Chris about messing with Emma Matthews. I’d got it on camera and posted it to my stories on Insta because it was hilarious. Tanner never fought. Of all of us, I’m the punchiest. And there he was punching Keller because of some rumor the guy spread about Emma being a frigid bitch. While that’s a highlight, that punch wasn’t what I remembered the next day; it was the broken way Tanner had opened up. He’d slipped in comments about Emma, his feelings for her, and I’d ribbed him about them, shut his feelings down as stupid. Then he’d said—and I’ll never forget it because he echoed the words bouncing around inside of me—I’m not good enough.

  I’d been too drunk to do anything other than grab the back of his neck and shake him about in the good nature of friends, laughing to get him out of the funk. I was so happy to have Tanner back with me, and not with her, that I’d been trying to get us back to the fun of us. Then the fight happened a couple of nights later. I haven’t had anything to drink since that night, which, surprisingly, has left me clearer.

  We’ve tried to talk to you for months.

  Is that what Danny was talking about? It was true that Tanner had been sharing more. I’d teased him about it.

  I stop rolling primer over the surface of the wood, uneasy about how I’d responded.

  I’ve gone down a rabbit hole and shake myself back to the problem at hand, pushing the roller again. I need a ride to the party. Then, I remember the last text message I got from Bella and wonder if she’ll be there. Maybe I could get a ride with her.

  I text her: U going 2 the bonfire 2Nite?

  I put my phone back into my pocket and continue spreading painting primer on the siding of the farmhouse.

  My phone buzzes.

  Bella has answered: Going out w/ the girls. Tanner coming with?

  I grit my teeth and shove my phone back into my pocket.

  “Griffin?” Max walks around the corner, c
arrying a pitcher of water. “I thought you might–” she stalls when she sees my face, which I can only imagine looks like a pile of shit. Covered in flies. “Are you okay?”

  I try to adjust using my mom’s wisdom: Fix your fucking face, Griffin. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “So, you’re saying I look like crap?”

  “No. Just upset.” She holds up the pitcher.

  I pick up my empty reusable water bottle and hold it while she pours in cold water. “There’s this party later, and I don’t have a ride. Haven’t got my car yet.”

  “I can drive.” She returns the pitcher back to level. “Unless you don’t want to be seen with someone like me.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugs.

  “You’re willing to drive?”

  “Sure.”

  “Will your dad care. I mean–”

  “Because I’d be going with you? To a party?”

  I just look at her, figuring my silence is confirmation enough.

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  But I do. I like Cal and don’t want him to think I’m trying to make any moves on Max. Am I? No. Absolutely not. “Why are you always bringing out water and stuff?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Why? Is there a crime against being nice?”

  I take a sip of the cold water, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I don’t know. I just–”

  “Not many people have been nice to you, SK?”

  “Oh. You’re back to calling me names?”

  “I figure SK is an acceptable compromise. It isn’t targeting the fact your dad is where he is, but I still get to tease you about the night I met you. And you’ve changed the subject.”

  I’ve been around her for weeks, and this is the first I’ve noticed she has a dimple in her cheek when she smiles deep enough. “I guess not.” I grasp onto the roller extension pole and resume priming the siding.

  She grunts as she turns away. “The proper response is ‘thank you, Max.’”

  “Thank you, Max,” I echo and watch her walk away out of the corner of my eye.

  She stops at the corner, hesitates, then turns back around. “I’ll drive. Just tell me what time to come and pick you up.” Then she disappears around the side of the house.

  After I’ve finished priming my area of the house and check with Cal, who’s almost done too, I cart all the supplies into the workshop where there’s a sink to clean up the tools. Max is in there with her cabinet, which is sanded down to the naked wood.

  “That looks totally different.”

  “I figured there was something beautiful hiding underneath all the rotted layers on top.” She glances at me and then looks away, using a screwdriver on the hardware of a door. Her hand slips, and she steps away to look at the cabinet.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “I’m not sure if I want to leave the doors on.”

  “What are you going to use it for?”

  “I wanted a surprise for my dad. For his books.”

  “Then maybe he doesn’t need doors for them. Unless they’re, like, worth something. Are books worth something?”

  “Not the ones he has, but yeah, there are book collectors out there.”

  I scrunch up my face. “For real?”

  She laughs and returns to the cabinet to remove the door. “I think I might have tightened it too much.”

  “Here.” I step forward at the same time she steps back. She bumps against the front of me. I grab her upper arms to keep us upright, and I can’t help noticing that she smells good, like pumpkin pie. She’s so close, and my stomach does this twisty thing that makes me a little jittery.

  “Sorry,” she says and scrambles forward to get out from under my hands.

  “My bad,” I tell her and hold out my hand. “The screwdriver.”

  “Oh.” She’s blushing, and my heart kicks up into a higher gear because she’s pretty, which is a weird and unwelcome thought.

  She hands me the tool, then steps back to let me get to the fastener.

  I make quick work of getting the door off. “There.” I hand her the tool. “Anything else you need my muscles to accomplish?”

  “Hah,” she mocks. “No.”

  I retreat to the sink to wash the tools I’d used and think about texting my mom to bring home some pumpkin pie from the diner.

  “The primer looks great,” Cal says as he stomps into the workshop, his feet thudding against the wooden floor. “That’s looking great, Max-in-a-million. You going to stain it?”

  Max-in-a-million. The nickname makes me look at her again. It’s fitting.

  “I wasn’t sure. I kind of like the nude wood,” she tells him.

  “Me too. Maybe just a polyurethane finish.”

  Max nods, and her gaze slides to me to share a secret smile.

  I look away. I can’t keep a grin from my face because she just played him. I wonder if he has any idea about her surprise.

  “I’m going to go with Griffin tonight,” Max says.

  I cough and duck my head into the sink to focus on cleaning the roller which doesn’t want to release all of the primer.

  “Where to?” Cal asks.

  The silence makes me look up from the sink. They’re both staring at me.

  “Where to?” Max asks.

  I swallow. “The Quarry.”

  “That’s the park with that lake out of town?” Cal asks.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “At night?”

  “There’s a bonfire with people from Griffin’s high school.”

  “Is it safe?” Cal’s eyes are on me.

  I feel like a deer in the headlights and can’t speak. I nod.

  His eyes bounce from me to Max then between us again until they land on Max. “You can take the truck.”

  She offers him one of those bright smiles and leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Griffin, would you wash this for me?” he asks and disassembles the sprayer. He drops the pieces into the water that need to be cleaned to keep it clear of clogs. “Thanks.” Then, without a word, he disappears from the shop.

  I feel jumpy, like pieces of me might tear through my skin. It isn’t like I’m trying to get with his daughter. We’re friends, I think, but for some reason I feel nervous. Strange. I decide it’s because I’ve never been friends with a girl before, and I’m not sure what to expect.

  Max chuckles.

  “What?” I ask from the sink.

  “Your face.” She cracks up, using the side of the cabinet to hold herself upright.

  “Shut up.”

  She laughs harder.

  Later, Max parks the truck in front of my house. I’ve heard it before she even parks, already walking toward the vehicle from my house when she stops. Max waits in the driver’s seat. Her hair is loose, obscuring her face, her head tilted down.

  I walk around the back of the pickup and open the passenger door.

  She turns to face me, looking up from her phone. “You ready?” She’s smiling the good smile. Dimple.

  It makes me feel both hot and cold at the same time. She’s wearing one of those rock-n-roll t-shirts she likes—Def Leppard, again—and she must really like it because there are holes in the black fabric with all the wear. I notice her tan skin underneath as well as the yellow swimsuit strap tied at her neck. Then she’s got on these denim cut-offs that are snug. I feel like I need to both clear my throat and swallow and suck in a lungful of oxygen. “Yeah,” I croak out and look at my phone, not because there’s anything to see underneath the spiderweb screen, but because I need to look at something else.

  “Is it weird I’m excited?” she asks.

  “You’re weird, so that would be normal for you.”

  She offers me a mocking laugh.

  And I breathe a little easier now that we’re back in familiar territory.

  “I haven’t done anything since we moved here,” she
says. “This will be my first time out, since the night I met you, SK. You’re navigating.” She drives the truck away from the curb.

  I think this is the most I’ve ever heard her talk—chatter really. “You aren’t missing much. If it makes you feel better, this is the first time I’m going out too.”

  She looks away from the road at me.

  “I may not have a car, but I do think it entails watching the road while you drive.”

  “I’m surprised. You kind of seem like the party type.”

  “Didn’t we establish that at the first meeting? Six days a week. Mondays off?”

  “You’re making my point. Thank you.”

  “Right here. Yeah. That was my MO.”

  “Was?”

  “Things change.”

  “By choice?”

  “Necessity.” I give her directions to follow, and she steers the truck in the correct direction.

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “I’m going to skip it.”

  “For now.” She leans to turn up the radio playing pop country, which I’m not crazy about, but it’s clear the truck doesn’t have a lot of options on its ancient, push-button sound system.

  I look out the window when she steers the vehicle onto the highway. “Just stay on this road. The entrance we want to the Quarry will be on the right side.”

  “Truth: I haven’t really had any friends. All the moving. Hard to hang onto any when all I did was leave.”

  “They’re not all that they’re cracked up to be.” They ditched me, and I stayed in one spot.

  “I’m beginning to question my choice of hanging out with you.”

  That makes me chuckle.

  She’s quiet, then eventually says, “Okay. Since you’re stuck with me tonight, tell me something else.”

  “I’m getting a car soon.”

  “You are?” She sounds excited for me, her tone climbing up a notch.

  “I’ll only be able to afford a piece of shit, but I won’t have to share with my mom anymore.”

  She reaches over and turns down a random song that’s a little twangy. “Where’s the first place you want to drive this piece-of-shit car?”

  I haven’t really thought about it before, but now that she’s asked, I just say the first place that comes to mind. “There’s this ghost town I heard about an hour or so from here that I’d like to visit.”