Читать книгу Anything For You - Kristan Higgins - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

Twenty years before the proposal...

CONNOR MICHAEL O’ROURKE fell in love with Jessica Dunn when he was twelve years old.

The feeling was not mutual.

He couldn’t blame her. After all, he killed her dog.

Well, he didn’t actually kill him. It just felt that way.

The fateful, terrible day had been a Friday afternoon in April, and he and Colleen had been riding their bikes home from school, a new privilege, and one their parents gave only if they rode together, which took away much of the thrill. It was the curse of being a twin, Connor often thought. It would’ve been so much cooler if he could’ve ridden to the village, maybe bought some candy at Mr. Stoakes’s store or found a snake by the lake to put into Coll’s bed.

Instead, they were together. Colleen talked all the time, usually about things he didn’t have much interest in—which of her friends had gotten her period, who flunked the math test, who liked whoever else. But that was the way it was—Coll talking, him half listening, the occasional mild sibling violence that marked a healthy childhood.

But even if she drove him crazy most of the time with her talk of magical twinsy bonds, which yeah, they did have, and the way she followed him around all the time, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. And he did have to look out for her; she was his little sister, even if they were only three minutes apart in age.

Connor and Colleen had about as normal a life as could be had. They had a nice house, a two-week vacation most years, and recently, Connor had become aware of the fact that they were pretty well-off, something you didn’t really notice when you were little. But his father drove expensive cars, and if Connor wanted the latest Nike running shoe, his mother never suggested he get something a little less expensive. He was his mother’s favorite. His father... Well, his father was kind of tricky. Tense and—what was that phrase? Full of himself, that was it. Only happy when he was the center of attention and admiration, and even then, only happy for a few minutes.

If Connor was Mom’s favorite, Colleen seemed to get all of Dad’s approval. These days especially, it felt like Connor was either at fault or invisible, his only value coming from his role as Colleen’s protector. “Watch out for your sister,” Dad had said just this morning, giving Colleen a hug. There was no hug for Connor. Which was okay and all. He was a boy. A guy, even. He wasn’t supposed to want hugs anymore.

But today was a good day. The apple blossoms had popped, and the breeze was warm, finally. He’d gotten three tests back, A+’s on all of them, much to Colleen’s chagrin; Connor never studied. And all day, there was the thrill of the bike ride home. Friday afternoon meant they could take their time, maybe stop at Tompkin’s Gorge and climb up the top and listen to the roar of the waterfall and find bits of mica and quartz.

Colleen rammed his back tire. “Whoops, sorry, brainiac,” she said, not sorry at all.

“Not a problem, simpleton.”

“Did you eat the pizza at lunch today?” she asked, pulling alongside him. “It was nasty. I mean, you could wring out the oil, it was so wet and disgusting. You should show them how to do it, Con. Your pizza is the best.”

He suppressed a smile. Whenever their parents went out, Connor cooked for Colleen. Last weekend had been pizza, the dough made from scratch. They ate a pizza each, it was so good.

He heard a car coming behind them and pulled ahead of his sister, his bike wheels hissing on the damp pavement, the wind in his face. He and Colleen had taken the long way home, the better to enjoy their freedom. Once you left the Village section of town, there wasn’t much out here, mostly woods and fields. West’s Trailer Park was just up ahead, and then nothing for a good mile. Then they’d round up the back side of the Hill, where all the vineyards were, and wind their way home.

After the long winter, it felt so good to be outside. He pushed harder, lengthening the space between him and Coll. He’d had a growth spurt over the winter, and it was easy to outpace his sister. He felt the satisfying burn in his muscles and answered the call for more speed. He’d wait for Coll at the top of the hill. She was lazy, after all.

And then he heard a noise he couldn’t place—was Colleen coughing? Was it a motor? No, that wasn’t—

Then there was a brown blur streaking at him, and he was falling before he even realized it hit him, his bike on top of him. It wasn’t Coll making the noise, it was a dog. The brown thing was a dog, and it was furious.

There was no time to react, no time even to be scared, just hard pavement under his shoulder and hip and his hands trying to keep the dog’s head away from his throat. The world was full of sound—angry, raging snarls and Colleen’s screams. Was she okay? Where was she?

All Connor could see was the dog’s mouth, huge, gaping and snapping, its neck thick and strong, and that mouth went way, way back like a snake’s, and he knew once those teeth bit into him, he’d be dead. It was trying to kill him, Connor realized distantly. This might be the way he died. Not in front of Colleen. Please.

Before the thought was even finished, teeth sank into Connor’s arm, and the dog shook its head, and Jesus, it was so strong, Connor was just a rag the dog was whipping around, and he couldn’t yell or fight; he was nothing compared to the muscular fury of the dog. Colleen was screaming, the dog snarling, Connor silent as he tried to hold on to his arm so it wouldn’t be torn off.

Then Colleen was hitting the dog with her backpack and kicking it, and no cars were anywhere. It would’ve been so great if someone stopped and helped; he wanted a grown-up so badly right now. His arm was on fire, and there was blood, and still the dog pulled and shook, as if Colleen wasn’t even there.

The dog finally released his arm and turned toward Colleen, who kicked it square in the face. God, she was brave, but what if it bit her? And then in a flash, it seemed to do just that, and Connor kicked it in the leg, and it turned back toward him—good, good, better than Colleen—and then it was on him again.

His face this time, and this was it, he was going to die. Those huge jaws clamped down, and a searing burn flashed and throbbed, the whole left side of his face. The dog didn’t let go. Colleen was hysterical now, kicking and kicking the dog, and Connor could see her eyes, open so wide he could see the whole gray circle of her irises.

Get out of here, Collie. Run.

He was passing out. Colleen’s screams were fainter now.

Then there was a yelp, and the dog was gone, and Connor instinctively held his hand up to his cheek, which was hot and throbbing and way too wet.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Colleen sobbed, dropping to her knees to hug him. “Help us!” she screamed to someone.

“Are you okay?” Connor asked, his voice odd and weak. Was his face still on? “Coll?”

She pulled back, shaking. “You’re bleeding. It’s bad.”

They were in front of West’s Trailer Park, where the poor kids lived. Tiffy Ames and Levi Cooper and Jessica Dunn.

And there was Jess now, holding the dog by its collar, trying to lift it up. Her brother, who had something wrong with him, had latched on to the dog, sobbing and saying one word over and over. Cheeto or something. “Is she okay?” Connor asked, but his voice was too weak to be heard. “Is her brother okay?”

“Call the ambulance,” Colleen yelled, her voice high and wobbly.

“Are you all right, Collie?” he asked. The gray was back.

“I’m fine. But you’re...hurt.”

“How bad?”

“Bad. But it’s okay. You’re okay.” Tears dripped off her cheeks onto him.

“Am I gonna die?”

“No! Jeez, Connor! No!” But he could tell she didn’t know. She wadded up her sweatshirt and pushed it against his jaw, making him see black-and-white flashes of pain. His hand was shiny and slick with dark red blood. “Just take deep breaths,” she said, biting her lip.

It helped. The sky became blue again, and Colleen’s shirt was pink. And bloodstained. The town siren went off, such a good sound...but so far away, it seemed.

“They’re coming. Just hang on. Help is on the way,” Colleen said. She sounded way too adult. Tears were streaming down her face, and her lips were trembling.

There was a bang of a door, and Connor looked over. Jessica Dunn’s father had come outside. “What did you kids do to my son?” he asked, staggering a little, and Connor couldn’t help feeling bad for Jessica. Everyone knew her parents were drunks.

“Get that fucking dog inside!” Colleen shouted.

Yikes. He’d never heard her swear before. It made him think that his face was pretty much gone, and he might in fact be dying.

Jessica pushed her little brother aside, finally, then bent down and picked up the dog. It was heavy, Connor could tell. Connor knew.

“Chico!” her brother screamed. “Don’t take Chico away!” He ran after Jessica, punching her on the back with his fists, but she went into the trailer—the rattiest, dirtiest one—and closed the door behind her.

Then Levi Cooper’s mother came out, a toddler on her hip, and seeing Connor, ran over to him. “Oh, my God, what happened?” she said, and Connor realized he was shaking, but at least there was a nice grown-up here now.

“The Dunns’ dog attacked him.” Colleen said, her voice breaking. “It came out of nowhere.”

“God,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I’ve told them that dog is a menace. You just lie still, honey.” She patted Connor’s leg.

It was weird, lying there, Mrs. Cooper telling him not to move, Colleen’s sweatshirt pressed against his throbbing face, the Dunns standing in their yard. The father was loud and kept saying things like “That dog wouldn’t hurt a fly,” and “Why were those kids in my yard anyway?” and Colleen was holding his hand too hard.

When the ambulance did come, it was both embarrassing and such a relief he almost cried. There was fuss and questions, gauze and radio. “Minor child, age twelve, attacked by dog,” Mr. Stoakes said into the radio. Minor child. Cripes. Everyone was shooting dirty looks at the Dunns.

They put a neck brace on Connor and packed him onto a gurney. Mrs. Cooper said she’d called Connor’s mom, and she’d meet him at the hospital. Colleen rode in the front of the ambulance, sobbing.

In the ER, he was told he was very lucky, and that it could’ve been so much worse. He ended up with eleven stitches in his jaw, eight under his eye. “Don’t worry about the scar,” said the hip young doctor who was doing the job. “Chicks love scars.” Another sixteen stitches in his arm, but it was the bite on his face that was the big concern. A bump on his head, road rash on his back where his shirt had ridden up. He was a mess, in other words. Everything stung, throbbed or burned.

Mom was weepy all that night. Connor was woozy from the pain meds. Colleen made him a get-well card without any insults, which made Connor think he must look worse than he realized. “You saved me,” he told her, and she burst into tears.

“I didn’t,” she said. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“It ran away, though.”

“Jessica threw a rock at him. Got him right in the head.”

Huh. He was too bleary to think about it further. Good aim, though.

His father was icy with fury. “Those fucking white-trash scumbags,” he said, peering into Connor’s face, then got on the phone in his study and didn’t come out until Connor was in bed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder. Suddenly, the dog bite felt worth it. “You were very brave, I heard.”

“It was scary.”

Crap. Wrong answer. He should’ve said something about it not being a big deal. Sure enough, the hand was withdrawn. “It could’ve been worse, though,” Connor added quickly. “At least it wasn’t Colleen.”

Because if something happened to his sister, Connor would’ve killed the dog himself. The flash of rage and terror was unexpected.

“Tomorrow we’re going to see the Dunns,” Dad said.

“Oh, Dad, no.” The memory of Jess lugging the dog into the house... There was something wrong with that image, but Connor couldn’t say what it was.

“You have to man up in situations like this,” his father said. “I’ll be with you. Don’t worry. They owe you an apology.”

The next day, sure enough, Dad made him get into the Porsche and go back to West’s Trailer Park. His face was swollen and sore under the bandages, and his arm ached. The last place he wanted to be was here.

Dad knocked on the door, hard. Jessica answered, her eyes flickering over Connor’s face. She didn’t say anything. A TV blared in the background, one of those court shows with a lot of yelling.

“Are your parents home?” Dad asked, not bothering with politeness.

“Hi, Jess,” Connor said. Dad cut him a look.

She slipped away. A second later, Mrs. Dunn was at the door. “What do you want?” she said sullenly. Connor was abruptly grateful for his own mother, who always smelled nice and, well, wore a bra and clean shirts.

“Your dog attacked my son,” Dad said, his voice hard. “I’m here to inform you that Animal Control will be here this afternoon to have him put down.”

“You don’t get to say what happens to my dog,” she said, and Connor could smell her boozy breath from the steps.

“What’s put down?” asked a little voice.

Connor flinched. Davey Dunn was peeking out from behind his mother’s legs. He was five or six, and had the longest eyelashes Connor had ever seen. Everyone knew he had something wrong with him, that skinny head and eyes so far apart, but Connor wasn’t sure what it was. The kids on the bus had a word for it, but Connor hated thinking it. Davey just wasn’t quite...normal. Cute, though. Jessica reappeared next to her brother, her hand on his head, staring at Connor, her face expressionless.

He and Jess were in the same class. He couldn’t say she was nice, exactly; they didn’t have the same friends, but she hung out with Levi Cooper, and everyone liked Levi.

And Jessica Dunn was beautiful. Connor had always known that.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Dunn appeared in the doorway, rumpled and skinny. And suddenly, the dog was there, its big brown head, and Connor jumped back, he couldn’t help it. Dad grabbed the animal by the collar, roughly. “Put down,” he said to Davey, “means your dog has to go somewhere and never come back, because he was very bad.”

“Chico’s not bad,” Davey said, putting his thumb in his mouth. “He’s good.”

“Look at my son’s face,” Dad snapped. “That’s what your dog did. So he’s going to doggy heaven now.”

Silence fell. Davey pulled his thumb out of his mouth and blinked.

Dad could be such a dick sometimes.

“He’s gonna die?” Davey asked.

“Yes. And you’re lucky he hasn’t torn your throat out, son.”

“Don’t talk to my boy,” Mr. Dunn said belatedly.

“No!” Davey wailed. “No! No!”

“Here they are now,” Dad said, and sure enough, a van was pulling into the trailer park.

“Chico! Come on! We have to hide!” Davey sobbed, but Dad still had the dog by the collar.

“Dad,” Connor said, “maybe the dog could just be... I don’t know. Chained up or something?”

“Have you seen your face?” his father snapped. “This dog will be dead by tomorrow. It would be insane to let it live.”

“No!” Davey screamed.

There were three animal control people there, and a police car, too, now. “We need to take the dog, ma’am,” one of them said, but you could hardly hear anything, because Davey was screaming, and the dog... The dog was licking Davey’s face, its tail wagging.

“Dad, please,” Connor said. “Don’t do this.”

“You don’t understand,” his father said, not looking at Connor.

“Screw you all,” Mrs. Dunn said, tears leaking out of her eyes. “God damn you!”

It was Jessica who picked Davey up, even though he flailed and punched. She forced his head against her shoulder and went deeper into the gloomy little trailer.

Mr. Dunn watched, his mouth twisted in rage. “You rich people always get your way, don’t you? Nice, killing a retarded boy’s pet.”

There was the word Connor wouldn’t let himself think, from the kid’s dad, even.

“Your pet almost killed my son,” Dad snarled. “You can apologize anytime.”

“Fuck you.”

“Dad, let’s go,” Connor said. His eyes were burning. Davey could still be heard, screaming the dog’s name.

It was a long walk back to the car. The Porsche, for crying out loud. A car that probably cost more than the Dunns’ entire house.

Connor didn’t say anything all the way home. His throat was too tight.

“Connor, that dog was a menace. And those parents can’t be trusted to chain a dog or fence in their yard. You saw them. They’re both drunks. I feel bad for the boy, but his parents should’ve trained the dog so it didn’t attack innocent children.”

Connor stared straight ahead.

“Well, I give up,” his father said with a sigh. “You want to worry about that dog coming for you? You want to take the chance that it would go for Colleen next time? Huh? Do you?”

Of course not.

But he didn’t want to break a little kid’s heart, either.

By Monday, most of the swelling had gone down in his face, and his arm was stiff, rather than sore. But he still looked pretty grim. Colleen was over the trauma, already calling him Frankenstein and telling him he was uglier than ever. The doctor had said he’d have a scar on the underside of his jaw, where the dog had taken a chunk, and one on his cheek, near his eye. “It’ll make you look tough,” Connor’s father said, examining the stitches Sunday night. He sounded almost pleased.

Connor’s stomach hurt as he went into school.

Everyone had already heard. In a town this small, of course they had. “Oh, my gosh, Connor, were you so scared? Did it hurt? What happened? I heard it went for Colleen first, and you saved her!” Everyone was sympathetic and fascinated. He got a lot of attention, which made him fidget.

Jessica didn’t come to school that day. Not the next day, or the day after that. It was Thursday before she made it. Granted, she was absent a lot, and everyone knew why—her parents, her brother. But Connor couldn’t help feeling like this time it was because of him. The bandage on his face came off the night before; the swelling had gone down, though there was still a good bit of bruising.

Jessica played it cool. She didn’t talk much; she never did, except to Levi and Tiffy Ames, her best friends, and she managed to spend all day without making eye contact with him, despite the fact that their school was so small.

Finally, after school when he was supposed to go to Chess Club, he saw her walking down the school driveway. He bolted down the hall and out the door. Her pants were just a little too short—highwaters, the snotty girls had said at lunch—and the sole of one of her cheap canvas shoes flopped, half-off. “Jess! Hey, Jess.”

She stopped. He noticed that her backpack was too small, and grubby, and pink. A little girl’s backpack, not like the one Colleen and her friends had, cheery plaid backpacks with their initials sewn on, extra padding on the shoulder straps.

Then she turned around. “What do you want?” she said. Her eyes were cold.

“I...I just wanted to see how your brother was doing.”

She didn’t answer. The wind gusted off Keuka, smelling of rain.

“I guess he’s still pretty sad,” Connor said.

“Uh...yeah,” she said, like he was the stupidest person on earth. He did feel that way. “He loved that dog.”

“I could tell.”

“And Chico never bit anyone before.”

Connor had no answer for that.

Jessica stared at a spot past Connor’s left ear. “My father said that in most cases, Chico would get another chance, but since Pete O’Rourke told the mayor what to do, our dog is dead now.” She cut her eyes to his. “Davey hasn’t stopped crying. He’s too upset to go to school, and he’s wet the bed every night this week. So that’s how he’s doing, Connor.”

She made his name sound like a curse word.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispered.

“Who cares what you think, O’Rourke?” She turned and trudged away, her footsteps scratching in the gravel, the sole of her shoe flopping.

He should let her go. Instead, he ran up and put his hand on her shoulder. “Jessica. I’m—”

She whirled around, her eyes filled with tears, fist raised to hit him. Jess got into fights all the time, usually with the oafs on the football team, and she could hold her own. But she paused, and in that second, he saw the past week written on her face, the sadness and anger and fear and helplessness. The...the shame. He saw that she was tired. That there was a spot of dirt behind her left ear.

“You can hit me,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll pop your stitches.”

“Punch me in the stomach, then,” he said.

Her fist dropped. “Leave me alone, Connor. Don’t talk to me ever again.”

Then she turned and walked off, her head bent, her blond hair fluttering in the breeze, and it felt like someone was ramming a broom handle through the middle of Connor’s chest.

She was so beautiful.

A lot of girls were pretty—Faith Holland and her red hair, Theresa DeFilio and her big brown eyes, Miss Cummings in the library, who didn’t seem old enough to be a grown-up. Even Colleen was pretty, sort of, when she wasn’t annoying him.

But Jessica Dunn was beautiful.

Connor felt as though he’d just stepped on a bluebird, crushing its fragile, hollow bones.