Cold Kiss

can’t think —”
    My hand is shaking when I reach up to touch his mouth, stopping the furious flow of words. He’s trembling, too, something fierce and frantic coursing through him, and I have to stop this, I have to do something.
    For now, all I can do is stroke his cheek and murmur, “Sleep now, Danny, sleep. I’m right here, sleep, sleep…”
    It takes a few minutes for it to work tonight, and he clings to my free hand the whole time, icy fingers gripping tight. When he finally lies down, I pet his hair for a few minutes before slipping free.
    At the bottom of the stairs, I use the broomstick to push them up into place, listening for the heavy snick that means they’re shut tight. And all the way across the dark lawn, my heart thumps wildly as I remember what he said about the tree and the smoke.
    He’s talking about the tree in his drawing. It’s the tree that was torn open in the car crash. The tree that killed him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

    ANOTHER LONG NIGHT OF BAD DREAMS MUST show on my face, because the next morning Mom hovers. Standing too close, squinting at me over her coffee—considering, wondering, suspecting.
    I try to keep my head down as I gulp my own coffee. I haven’t given Mom any of my laundry in days, and I’m wearing my least favorite sweater and a denim miniskirt I hate. Mom knows it, too, because she lifted an eyebrow when I walked into the kitchen, my hair still wet and sticking up in a dozen directions.
    She doesn’t even make a pointed comment about keeping up with the wash, though, which is so unlike her, I’m suspicious.
    Robin’s chattering enough for everyone, as usual, splashing milk over her cereal and, I realize halfway into my caffeine, telling Mom all about Mr. Purrfect’s big adventure. I nearly spit out my coffee when she says, “And then we found him way out back, like he’d been in Mrs. Petrelli’s yard.”
    It doesn’t really mean anything—he’s a cat, he can and will wander anywhere—but anything that draws attention to the garage is a bad thing. And I’m only making it worse, since Mom is frowning at me like I’ve grown a second head.
    “Wren?”
    “Coffee went down the wrong way,” I say, and give her a weak smile before I grab my backpack. “I’m working tonight, so I won’t be home till late.”
    I’m out the front door before she can answer, but as I walk to school I can picture the look on her face, curious instead of worried, at least for now.
    I just hope I can keep it that way.
    School is torture. Gabriel is waiting in homeroom, gray eyes trained on me the minute I walk in, and I mouth, Later , as I glare at him. I can’t talk about Danny now, and definitely not here. Gabriel’s frustration is almost tangible, crowding hot against me.
    I see Ryan in the hall outside my chemistry room, which is always awkward, and by the time I get to lunch, where Jess is waiting, I’ve never been more tempted to run away. Or simply curl up in a ball and howl, right there on the grimy floor. Jess is bubbly with gossip and plans for Friday night—something about renting some new vampire flick—and I can hardly do more than nod and try to smile.
    The thought of Danny is like a sore tooth all day, wondering if he’s safely in the loft the way he’s supposed to be, dreading how much of the accident he’s beginning to remember. Every lie and half-truth seems to burn just under my skin, and when I walk into Bliss after school, Trevor takes one look at me and barks, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
    It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to blast him off his stool with the simple force of my fury. I stalk into the kitchen and throw my backpack on the floor in the corner instead. “Your boyfriend is a real humanitarian, you know that?”
    Geoff sighs and looks up from the sandwiches left over from lunch, which he’s boxing up for the shelter in Plainfield. “I’ll send him out with these, huh? He’s in a mood today.”
    Geoff leaves me alone once Trevor is gone, but he puts in one of my favorite CDs as I wipe down tables and organize the mess that Trevor always leaves behind the counter. After a few minutes, I relax into the mindlessness of the work, making lattes and espresso, serving Geoff’s awesome carrot cake, and calling back to him for one of the salads he makes to order. It’s not incredibly busy, but there are enough customers to keep me occupied and moving, which is perfect.
    Bliss has always been a sort of haven for me, even