Cold Kiss

think she just likes the noise, the extra life in the house.
    “No, but I will. You know she won’t care,” I say, and grunt when Robin elbows me in the ribs as she bends down to get something she dropped.
    “Okay.” She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, and now Mom is frowning at me. Robin gets up to clear her plate, so it’s time to wrap this up.
    “I’ll call you later,” I tell Jess. “I have to go.”
    “Well, I’ll be here, wrestling Finch’s trig problems into submission. If I don’t answer, assume I’m comatose.”
    She sounds a little more like herself then, and I grin as I say good-bye. Maybe this will work. Maybe I’m panicking for nothing.
    Then I catch sight of Mom’s suspicious expression. Maybe not.
    “Who was that?” she asks as I dig into my enchilada again, and she runs a finger around the rim of her mug.
    “Just Jess.”
    “And what won’t I care about?” She tilts her head, waiting, and I take the plunge.
    “Jess and Darcia sleeping over on Friday night.”
    Robin’s clattering something in the sink, and in the living room the fire is still crackling and the TV is on, but for a second it’s completely silent, just the two of us, eyes locked. She knows something is up, she’s known for months, but she doesn’t know what, and this is just part of it. No matter what I’ve told her about hanging out with Darcia or going downtown with Jess, they haven’t been at the house since shortly after Danny died.
    Like I said, she’s not stupid.
    Still, she simply blinks as she says, “Of course. They’re more than welcome, you know that.”
    My heart thumps back into rhythm then, and Robin says, “Mom, you got ice cream! Awesome.”
    I snort, and Mom smiles and gets up. She leans down to press her head to mine as she clears her plate. I lean into the clean, warm-cotton scent of her, and pretend that it’s all going to be just that easy.

CHAPTER NINE

    IT’S NEARLY MIDNIGHT BEFORE I CAN GET OUT to the loft. Where was I going to say I was going at eight on a Sunday night, once dinner was cleaned up and we’d stuffed ourselves with mint chocolate chip and butter pecan? Nowhere, of course. So I pulled out my chemistry book and studied while Robin watched some ridiculous movie and Mom went over the schedules for the salon.
    The cat darts between my legs now when I open the back door, and I hiss at him to come back. He pauses mid-sprint and looks at me, tail twitching, and then takes off again. I sigh and follow him, taking care not to let the screen door slam.
    It’s freezing out, and I hunch into my hoodie as I run across the backyard. Everything sounds too loud in the dead calm of the hour, and I wince every time my foot snaps a twig. The side door to the garage wheezes on its ancient hinges when I open it, and I swallow hard. Mrs. Petrelli is asleep in the house, and even if she isn’t, she has to be way too deaf at her age to hear it.
    Danny isn’t, though. He grabs me when I clear the top step, and muffles my startled scream with one hand. He’s no warmer than it is outside, and the smooth skin of his palm is too earthy, dark.
    Dead .
    I wrestle out of his grasp when I can breathe again, and he stumbles back toward the bed.
    “Wren, Wren, where were you? Wren. ”
    If I close my eyes, I can see him banging his head against the wall, smell the hot copper of the blood.
    “I’m here,” I tell him, and sit down abruptly on one of the wooden crates. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”
    “Wren.” He practically vaults forward, landing on his knees in front of me, and lays his head in my lap. “You weren’t here. You weren’t here for so long.”
    I touch his head, spreading my fingers in his hair. It’s so dry, so cool, dark straw now. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and my voice shakes as I make myself stroke his head. “I couldn’t help it.”
    “I need you here, Wren.” He shrugs away from my hand and lifts his head to look at me. His fingers dig into my thighs, ten distinct points of pressure. “I need you. When you’re not here, I don’t … I can’t think. I don’t know what to do and I can’t … I can’t think , Wren.”
    The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and I shut my eyes again. I can’t look at his face, his mouth twisted and his brow knotted, his cheeks pale, and so, so cold.
    “I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, and try not to flinch when his palm rests against my face, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone. “I didn’t mean