Waiting for April Page 5

  “You do know writing is a form of communication, right?”

  April rubbed the window clear.

  I sighed. “And that, according to the law, silence is an admission—”

  She switched the radio on. I laughed in disbelief. She’d always been stubborn, but this was too much. When I flicked the radio off, April took a deep breath and rubbed her hands together—something she always did when she was anxious.

  “I didn’t plan on kissing you last night. It just … happened.”

  “I’m sure that would make Stella feel so much better,” she snapped. “You’ve put me in a really shitty position. Do you know how hard it is to look at her now? She’s already asking me what’s wrong, and I usually tell her everything, but how can I tell her something like that?”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “And if Rowan had even the slightest suspicion that something had happened between us, he’d go ballistic! So technically I can’t tell my best friend her boyfriend kissed me, because I don’t want my boyfriend to punch you! Do you see how mental this is driving me? Are you trying to cause trouble?”

  I flexed my jaw. “I don’t know.”

  She looked at me with hurt-filled eyes. “Jesus, Scott!”

  “No, I—” I balled my hand into a fist and banged it gently against my door, where I rested my arm. Sure, I’d stepped over the line. I’d kissed a girl who was seeing another guy. But the thought of losing her because she was under the impression I didn’t hold her dear—that was something I wasn’t willing to risk. It almost destroyed me in 1949. “I don’t want to cause trouble. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

  She looked down, avoiding my gaze. “I know you’re used to girls falling all over you, but I’m not one of them.”

  My throat went dry. “I know.”

  “Rowan is good to me. He makes me happy.”

  Her happiness should’ve been enough for me, but selfishly, it devastated me. It was like a knife sinking deeper into my chest every day. I swallowed hard. “Do you love him?”

  Her eyes snapped back to mine. “That’s none of your business.”

  The air was silently sucked from my lungs. I gripped the steering wheel hard and tried to steady my heart. Jesus, I was back at square one. I was back at square one—minus a few squares. “How can I make this right? Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “Dragging me out and trapping me with you isn’t something I’d recommend.”

  “April, please, I just want things to go back to the way they were.” A place where you could at least look at me.

  She sighed and rested her head back against the seat. “So do I.”

  I nodded. That was a start, I guess. “At the risk of annoying you further, can I ask you one last question?”

  She rolled her head to look at me cautiously.

  “If you answer me this, I promise I’ll never mention it again.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

  “You said ‘lavender’ when we—when I did that thing I shouldn’t have done.”

  She shrugged. “So?”

  “So … why did you say that?”

  She lowered her gaze to her lap. “I can’t remember.”

  I placed my elbow on my door and rubbed my fingers over my upper lip. I wasn’t buying it, but I didn’t want to push her. I’d already slipped up by kissing her. Now I had to get our friendship back on track and stick to the plan. The only problem was the plan wasn’t working, and I was running out of time.

  Her eighteenth birthday was only five months away.

  Chapter 6

  (April)

  When Scott realized I wasn’t open to conversation, he turned the radio on and sang along. He had a great voice, which I got to hear on a regular basis. His band, Ear Candy, played at parties around town—but I especially loved it when he sang for me in person. I rested my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

  Last night I’d gone to my bedroom confused about why he’d kissed me, rather than upset about the fact he’d kept this whole other side of himself hidden from me for years. Perhaps that was his plan. It was misdirection, that kiss, and I was having none of it. At least, my brain was having none of it.

  My body wanted more of it, and my heart was being naïve.

  I decided I’d spend the rest of the day with Stella when we returned. I needed a smack in the face with reality, and forcing myself to look at her would be a good start. School had been crazy the last couple of weeks, and it felt like we hadn’t talked in ages. Well, besides texts and Facebook. But that didn’t count. Maybe we could go and spend the afternoon with the horses and she could catch me up on everything that’d been happening outside of the school art room.

  I shifted in my seat. Scott stopped singing. I could feel his eyes on me, warming my cheeks. Damn him! When he resumed singing, I relaxed a little, but then his voice carried me away—right back to where my imagination had taken me last night.

  The summer breeze tickled my bare skin as I lay in the long grass. Scott was leaning over me, his shirt open and his hair disheveled. He lightly placed a pink lavender flower on my forehead and dragged it down my nose, then across my lips and over my chin … down to my chest …

  “Are you going to come?”

  “Yes.” My eyes flew open, reality crashing down on me. “Huh? What? No!”

  I discovered we were now parked outside the grocery store, and the engine was ticking the way it usually did for a few minutes after it’d been turned off. Was I—did I fall asleep? For forty minutes?

  “I’ll let you drive the shopping cart if you come with me,” he said.

  I didn’t look at him, worried he’d be able to read my mind, which was just great. By the end of the day, I’d be in a cabin full of people I couldn’t make eye contact with for the rest of the week! I opened the door and slid out of the truck without a word.

  After buying the groceries from Stella’s list, I told Scott I’d buy us some lunch from the diner across the road. I didn’t wait for him to finish packing the bags into the back of Big Blue before leaving.

  I ordered our favorite BLTs and took a seat. An elderly lady sat at the table next to me, her palm sitting flat against her chest as she stared at me, wide-eyed. My hands tingled. It felt like I was in a play, but I didn’t know my lines. I forced a smile.

  “Sorry, dear,” she apologized. “It’s just that you’re the spitting image of a girl I used to know.”

  “Oh?”

  “She wouldn’t have been much older than you when she was killed.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She nodded. “It was a hit-and-run. It devastated the whole town. She was very much loved.”

  “A hit-and-run?” A car horn sounded, making me jump. I turned to look outside. Clouds had rolled in quickly, casting darkness across the town. An unseasonal chill swept into the diner, penetrating my bones. “How sad.”

  “Very. She was only seventeen.”

  I tried to imagine what it would be like to have my life end at this age. I’d barely begun to live.

  “Happened in 1949, but I remember it as clear as day.”

  “You must’ve been close to her.”

  She nodded. “We used to work together over in Old Town. That’s where we both grew up.” The woman’s stare became distant. “I was the last person she spoke to that morning. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her. She’d been on a date the night before, and was stopping by to make some blueberry waffles to take to him for breakfast. She was so excited about seeing him again.”

  My heart stilled. Blueberry waffles? “Sounds like she was in love.”

  The words slipped out, taking me by surprise. She looked like me, this girl, and she made the man she loved blueberry waffles?

  “I really wish she hadn’t been,” she replied.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he broke her heart right before she died.”

  Her words were like a kick to the sto
mach. The room began to swim. I closed my eyes, only to see an image of a black-haired woman lying naked in a bed. My heart clenched with such force that I dropped my imaginary waffles and opened my eyes to look at the old woman before me.

  I placed my fingertips against my cheek, surprised there were no tears.

  “If you ask me, the car only put April out of her misery.” She placed her hand on mine and gave me a melancholy smile. “Gosh, you look just like her.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and swallowed hard. “Wait, her name was—”

  “Come on, Mrs. Porter. Time to go.” A younger woman who’d been standing at the counter came and helped the old lady out of her seat.

  I shook my head and stood up. “No, wait.” I stepped forward to grab the old woman’s arm. I wanted to know who’d put her up to this. Who would play such a horrible prank on me? But there was no hint of deception in her tone, nor in her eyes as they bored into mine. There was sadness, though. And a touch of fear—as if she was looking at a ghost. I balled my hand into a fist and lowered it to my side. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  She took a deep breath. “Well, it was nice meeting you …?”

  They stared at me while they waited for my answer.

  I hesitated. “Anne. My name is Anne.” It wasn’t a lie. Anne was my middle name.

  “Daphne,” she said. “I wish you a long and happy life, Anne.”

  “Thank you, Daphne.” My voice barely worked.

  She reached out and squeezed my arm before leaving. The cold sweat on the back of my neck trickled down my spine, where the chill was constant. My hands tingled painfully. The empty diner was small—far too small. It was spinning and void of air. Having only grabbed my wallet on the way out of the cabin, I didn’t have my bag, which meant I didn’t have my pills. There would be no safety net for this anxiety attack. I’d have to get through it on my own. I loosened my collar and tried to swallow, but my throat was too tight, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing instead.

  Once the initial nausea had passed, I beelined for the restroom. The closer I got to the door, the harder I trembled. The bile rose in my throat as I approached the sink and pressed my palms flat against the mirror that hung above it. I stared at my pale reflection for as long as I could convince my stomach contents to stay down—which, as it turned out, wasn’t all that long.

  After turning and hurling over the toilet bowl until there was nothing left, I fell to the floor and leaned against the wall, clutching handfuls of my hair until I was sure the strands would tear away from my scalp, one by one.

  “It’s not possible,” I whispered. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself that, though, the images kept coming: the girl in the bed, the waffles on the floor, the photographs on the wall as she—April?—ran down the hall and out the front door, into the rain.

  They weren’t memories. They couldn’t be. It was merely a coincidence. We shared the same name and looked alike, and that was all my imagination needed to run wild and put myself in her place. I shook my head. But … same name, same looks … blueberry waffles …

  No. I clenched my jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous, April … This is just another nightmare, except … you’re awake!” And the nightmares aren’t real.

  When someone else entered the restroom, I took a deep breath and stood up. Scott was waiting for me, and my order was probably being called. I opened the stall door and shuffled to the sink to rinse my mouth out and splash water over my face. After gaining some composure and wiping my face dry, I went back into the diner.

  “Number eighteen?”

  I paid the cashier and pushed the door open, throwing myself outside. My head was still filled with images as I stepped onto the road. That girl. His bed. Waffles on the floor and photographs on the wall of horses and places and war …

  The cashier from the diner pulled me from my thoughts. “Excuse me, Miss? You forgot your change,” he said, stepping outside.

  I turned to make my way back toward him as he waited on the sidewalk. “Oh, sorry—”

  “April!”

  Scott?

  A black SUV flashed in the corner of my eye.

  My legs became deadweights, cementing me to the road. The air around me was still, allowing the shorter wisps of my hair to float across my line of vision. There were gasps, and footsteps, and the unmistakable jingle of a wind chime in the distance. My heartbeat was a dull thud in my ears, but a painful burden in my chest. In the split second I had left before impact, I heard Scott’s delicate whisper in my ear from the night before.

  “Please, don’t leave me.”

  Something thumped into me, hurtling me toward the sidewalk, but it wasn’t the SUV. I slammed into the ground as the sound of shattering glass, squealing tires, and the screams of onlookers filled my ears. I rolled over in time to see the SUV screech to a halt. My eyes darted through the swarm of people rushing to the scene, but I couldn’t see Scott. A pair of hands wrapped around my arm, making me jump. I looked up, expecting Scott to be the one helping me to my feet, but the man lifting me was a complete stranger. I scanned the crowd again, my stomach hollowing more and more with each passing second.

  “Scott?”

  He’d been right here. He’d yelled my name. Maybe he’d—

  It was then that I realized I’d hit the sidewalk because I’d been pushed. It also became apparent that not everyone was running toward me.

  No.

  My legs shook as I stepped onto the road. “Scott?” I squeezed my way through the crowd and saw a man lying face down, around ten yards in front of the SUV.

  No.

  A man who wasn’t moving.

  Oh God, no!

  My world buckled around me when I saw that the man was wearing Scott’s clothes.

  Chapter 7

  (Scott)

  Pieces of hot gravel stuck to my cheek as I peeled my face from the road. I spat glass from my mouth and squeezed my eyes closed, my only comfort coming from the knowledge April was safe.

  I could hear people screaming, and a number of feet hitting the pavement, but when I rolled over, I only saw one face. April staggered toward me, her eyes wide with horror. Her hands shook as she knelt down to touch my face.

  “Scott?” she choked.

  I pulled my arm back to support my weight. “I’m okay.”

  “Don’t move!” she squealed, her hands fluttering over my chest without touching me.

  “April, really, I’m okay.”

  She clasped at my shirt as I got to my feet. “Scott, please.”

  I brushed the glass from my clothes and ran my hands through my hair while skimming the crowd for a familiar face. There was no one I knew. Or, more importantly, no one here who would know me. It had been decades since April’s death in 1949—and it wasn’t even the same town—so the chances someone would recognize us were slim.

  Slim, but not impossible.

  April tugged at my sleeve. “Scott.”

  The dazed driver of the black SUV stumbled through the crowd, muttering that the Devil had made him do it. Two men curled their arms through his to restrain him. A short man in a beige jacket called for an ambulance, while a young woman called out for a doctor in case there was one nearby.

  Jesus. No doctors. Please don’t let there be a doctor in the crowd. I reached into my pocket in search of my keys. “We have to go. Now.”

  “What? No,” April cried. “You need an ambulance. You need to lie down and—”

  “Where are my keys?”

  “Scott—”

  “Come on.” I grabbed her hand. I could always hotwire the truck.

  “Scott!” April wrenched free. She stood, trembling before me, her face ashen and her cheeks soaked with tears. “Please,” she whispered. “Please lie down?”

  I looked around. We were completely surrounded by stunned onlookers.

  “You’re bleeding,” April said.

  Confused, I examined myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bled. “It
’s not my blood.”

  There was blood, though, on the areas April had touched me. I brushed my tattered shirt off again and tore a strip from it, then took April’s hands in mine. Both palms were bleeding, as was her right knee. She didn’t flinch when I pressed the cloth against each spot. I had to restrain myself from taking her in my arms and never letting go. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, her teeth chattering. “Please lie down?”

  I nodded, resigned. Before I could lower myself back to the ground, a man and a woman from the crowd stepped in to assist me. The man who’d called the ambulance came and placed his beige jacket over April’s shoulders as she knelt beside me.

  “He pushed that girl out of the way,” one lady stated, and another agreed with her. They talked amongst themselves while we waited, but April and I didn’t take our eyes off one another. She brushed the hair from my forehead and slid her other hand into mine. I squeezed it gently, careful not to hurt her, and rubbed my thumb over her cold skin.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, and although I was frustrated over the fuss, I was also grateful.

  April was pale and clammy, her teeth still chattering; she needed treatment for shock.

  It wasn’t a long trip to the hospital. April was examined in the cubicle next to mine, all the while asking if I was okay. I agreed to a CT scan to ease her mind, but knew there would be no broken bones or internal bleeding. Before I was returned to the emergency department where April was still waiting, I was questioned by police. I told them what I saw, and that the man who’d hit me had been mumbling that the Devil had made him do it. As far as they knew, the driver hadn’t suffered from any mental illnesses, but had just come through a nasty divorce. No one had seen him for a week prior to today, but witnesses had reported he’d been speeding further down the street and weaving in and out of traffic. They were going to do a blood work-up to determine whether or not he was under the influence, but either way it was a case of driving dangerously, and we weren’t facing any charges despite the fact April had stepped in front of the truck.

  That should’ve relieved me, but I didn’t believe in coincidences. The driver said the Devil had made him do it. I wished I’d been able to get the plates of the black SUV that’d tailed us in Jericho so I could tell if it was the same vehicle.