the tattered ribbon pinned to Mrs. Barry’s chest poking her on the cheek. “Mary, I’m so glad to see you.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Moira,” Wendy’s mother replied gently. Wendy hesitated in the foyer, startled by the warmth her mother displayed for Mrs. Barry. Her mother wasn’t a harsh woman by any stretch of the imagination—she volunteered at homeless shelters up in the city and made a point of tithing regularly—but she rarely allowed anyone outside their family to touch her. She was protective of her personal space.
“Winifred,” Mrs. Barry sniffled, drawing out a humongous linen handkerchief and honking loudly into it, “be a dear and go fetch Edward. He’s being…” she hesitated, and Wendy felt the urge to turn away from the too-real grief etched across her face as she struggled not to cry in front of her guests. “He’s been difficult this week,” she finished. “If anyone can get him to come down, I know it’s you.”
Wendy glanced at her mother. “Go on, dear,” Mary said, gathering the basket. “He needs you right now.”
The staircase wall was lined with pictures: Eddie and his father posing with a Ringling Brothers clown, Eddie and his father posing with Goofy at Disneyland, Eddie and his father fishing, Eddie and his father at Dodger Stadium. The last picture was a formal family portrait of Eddie and both his parents posing in the park. Eddie was perhaps five at the time and his mother was thinner in the picture and happier, her mouth not so pinched and drawn. Only Eddie’s father appeared ageless in the photo; the photographer had perfectly captured the perpetually happy grin he had worn all the years Wendy had known him.
“Eddie?” Wendy tapped on his door with one knuckle, eyeing the shrouded hallway mirror shivering in the upstairs draft. “Your mom told me to come get you, but I’ll go if you want.” She gently pushed the door open. The room was dark. “Eds?”
“I’m not going down,” Eddie said from somewhere in the black. Wendy squinted and could just make out an Eddie-shape huddled in the corner under his bunk beds. The lower bunk had been pushed out from under the top and was against the wall; a trundle bed sat beside. Clearly, Mrs. Barry had guests sleeping in Eddie’s room. It even smelled like old person in here, like Nana’s perfume and mothballs.
Wendy eased into the room and shut the door behind her, leaving them both in the pitch darkness. With the door closed the clink and quiet conversation from downstairs was pleasantly muffled, the room warm. Wendy edged around the detritus of the visiting relatives until she found the bunks and slid to the floor beside her friend.
“Any room under there for me?”
Eddie lifted the comforter without comment and Wendy wriggled until she was flush against him, shoulder to hip. She laid her head on his shoulder and they sat in the muffled silence for a long, long time.
“I’m not going to cry,” Eddie said suddenly. He shifted and Wendy heard the scratch of his nails against the gauze still taped across his forehead. “Everyone keeps telling me that it’s okay to cry, but I’ve tried and I can’t. So I’m just not going to.”
“My mom says it can take some time for the shock to wear off,” Wendy offered. “That it’s okay to not cry right away.”
“You haven’t cried yet?” Eddie sounded surprised. “Didn’t you like my dad?”
“Dummy,” Wendy replied kindly. “I loved your dad. He was awesome.” She gingerly felt around for his hand. The knuckles were bound in plaster. It was the arm he’d broken. “But it still isn’t real yet, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Eddie sighed deeply and switched his broken arm out for his good one. “Wendy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m mad at him.”
Wendy nodded. “It’s a dumb way to die.”
“He always got on me about my seatbelt but his didn’t even save him.”
Wendy nodded again. “Cars are dumb.”
“Really dumb.”
Eddie fell silent and Wendy scratched her knees; the thick hose her mother insisted she wear were itchy against her scabbed legs, her good shoes were too tight and pinched her toes. Eddie sighed and Wendy, moving on instinct alone, held Eddie’s hand, humming her mother’s favorite melody softly in the dark.
“That’s pretty,” Eddie said and laid his head against her shoulder. He may have slept, Wendy wasn’t sure, but they sat still and quiet together, two children in the dark.
Hours passed, and when it was time for Wendy to leave she leaned forward and brushed a soft, hesitant kiss against Eddie’s mouth. He inhaled and she knew he was awake; he tasted of soda and saline and salt. It was an apology and an entreaty and a promise of friendship.
It was her first kiss.
They never talked about it, even though Wendy knew it had been Eddie’s first kiss as well. She never told him that she tasted his tears. She never told him that she’d lied about not crying yet herself.
They’d been damn near inseparable ever since.
Now, years later, when Wendy, freshly scrubbed after gym, thought she’d been forgotten for sure, she found Eddie waiting for her at her locker, book bag at his feet, earphones plugged into his ears. He took the flowers she handed him without question—merely popped open a leftover ziplock from some old lunch and slid the blooms inside—and, taking her elbow, escorted her toward the parking lot, bopping to the tinny music pulsing out a beat.
Jon was waiting for them at the car, demolishing the last of a bag of tortilla chips as they approached. “Finally! Where were you two?”
“Sub in gym,” Wendy said glibly. “Held me after.”
“Suck.” Jon hopped in the back and plugged earphones into his phone as Eddie dialed the radio to the oldies station. They jockeyed to join the line of cars exiting the parking lot.
“I wasn’t expecting you two to pick me up,” Wendy said as Eddie, craning to see in the rearview, carefully maneuvered around a VW Bug. “You know, after everything from this morning. I figured on catching the bus home, give you time to chill.”
“Like I’d let a little thing like that bug me,” Eddie snorted. “Some friend I’d be.”
“You weren’t at lunch. I thought you were mad at me after all.”
“Had stuff to do.” Eddie glanced sideways at her. “Missed me, huh?”
“You,” Wendy sniffed, “owed me lunch.” She held up a wrist and sucked in her cheeks. “Do I look like I can afford to lose weight?”
“Uh huh. Well, how about I get you tomorrow, ’kay? All the pizza you can eat.”
They reached the front of the line and Eddie turned left. Wendy frowned. The way home, or to their usual after-school haunt, was right. “Where are we going?”
“Eddie’s taking us to see Mom,” Jon said. “I asked him to.”
“Yeah? I thought we went last week.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, punching the gas as the lights behind them flashed and the Caltrain whizzed by. “You went, but Jon didn’t. Remember?”
“Right.” Wendy sank back into the seat and closed her eyes, letting the Supremes wash over her in a harmonic wave. The afternoon heat was pleasant on her cheeks, the faint breeze sweet. Once they were on the highway, Eddie reached over and brushed a stray hair off her cheek and gently squeezed the back of her neck.
Assured that Eds wasn’t angry with her, Wendy relaxed and let her thoughts turn circles, brooding over the ghosts she’d spotted the night before. They had slipped away before she could ask if they’d seen her mother. Not that she could blame them; the Light under her control had taken down a pair of Walkers. It was unlikely any spirit would be willing to help her… but she had to try.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sometimes Jon liked to visit with their mother alone. While he went inside, Wendy reclined the passenger seat and counted in her head, breathing in on the even beats and out on the odd. She was just sinking into a zen place when Eddie pounced.
“So what happened in gym?” he asked, zipping open his backpack and checking his cell.
Her breath hitched. “What makes you think anything happened in gym?”
