Soon the streetlights come on outside, casting their lonely light through the windows. Finally Connie says it’s time for her and Sunny and Juanita to cut out.
‘Y’all okay in here?’ Juanita asks. ‘For just a little bit longer?’ She hiccups and claps a hand over her mouth, then starts giggling.
‘Yes, Juanita,’I say, and I lean into her and give her a hug, and she hugs me back. Soon Sunny is crawling over to me and hugging me, too, and reaching out to pat Diane on the forehead. Even Connie gives in and swings her arm around Sunny for a moment. Part of it feels awkward and new, I guess. We don’t really hug all that much.
But part of it feels right, too.
Hugging doesn’t make us less tough. Maybe we know that now.
‘Sleep tight, sweet Diane,’ Sunny says, like she’s tucking in a child. ‘Thanks for the steam-bath tip for my complexion.’ Diane manages to crack a smile from her position on the floor.
‘Y’all are a bunch of lightweights,’ says Connie, but when she attempts to stand up, she trips over her own feet and falls down again. Everybody laughs, even her, and then we all hush each other just as much.
I wish they wouldn’t leave. I wish we could stay here forever, just drinking and smoking and laughing and being together.
Finally they make their way out the back door, moving as quietly as they can under the circumstances. My head is buzzy and swimmy and I’m definitely feeling the Old Crow, but I’m not totally blitzed or anything. Diane still hasn’t moved from her position on the floor, so I find myself crouching down to join her, resting my cheek against the cool, well-worn hardwood floor underneath me.
‘Diane?’ I whisper. ‘Are you all right?’
She nods, her eyes still focused on the ceiling. Suddenly she rolls over onto her stomach, reaches out for our matches, strikes one, and lights our candle. She takes a deep, shaky breath.
‘There’s this part of me that wants to sneak out tomorrow and go see Johnny.’
I feared this was what she was going to tell me. I think I’d guessed the idea had been running through her head from the moment Connie insisted she had to stay put.
‘Diane, no,’ I say, stubborn. ‘You’re nuts to try something like that. Absolutely not. It’s way too risky.’
Diane frowns, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I know it’s reckless. But after all Johnny and I have been through … after being separated and realizing how much I really love him, I just … I don’t know. Maybe it’s the wrong idea. But I can’t stop thinking about it!’ The tears that have been building spill down her cheeks. She sits up and I follow.
‘Diane,’ I say, ‘I’m so sorry. I know how awful all of this must feel.’ I haven’t experienced the head-over-heels love that Diane clearly has for Johnny, and, to be totally honest, there’s a small part of me that’s glad I haven’t. Diane’s pain fills the rooms of this house, threatens to drown her. It’s frightening.
As she cries softly into her hands, an idea occurs to me. It’s risky, I know. But I think about that night at Winkler’s. That evening that feels both minutes and ages ago. I remember Diane’s face in the moonlight, her dress splattered with blood. I remember those first moments in her aunt’s house on Coyle Street, her sad, tiny oasis of a bedroom even sadder in my memory now that I know the reason Diane was exiled there by her own parents.
‘Diane,’ I whisper, my heart pounding at the offer I’m about to make. If I say it, I’ll do it. I know I will.
‘Yes?’ she manages, her face buried into her arms.
‘Diane, I have an idea,’ I say. ‘What if I bring Johnny a letter? I could sneak out. I know where his and Connie’s house is. You’re the one the police are really after, you know. If they catch me – and they won’t – I won’t rat you out. You know I won’t. You could at least let him know you love him. That you want to be with him again as soon as it’s safe.’
Diane lifts her face up with a gasp. ‘Oh, Evie,’ she begins, her voice laced with excitement. Then she frowns, shakes her head. ‘No, I can’t ask you to do that. It’s too much.’
But now that I’ve made the offer, it’s like I can’t deny this to Diane. And anyway, I don’t want to. She’s my friend, and I want to make her happy.
‘Diane, please,’ I say. ‘Let me do it.’
She tucks her hair behind her right ear and studies me. Her cheeks are still pink from the Old Crow, but suddenly we both seem pretty sober.
‘Evie, what if the cops catch you? Johnny told me what they do to kids around here when they get hauled in.’
I’ve heard those stories, too, of getting roughed up and pushed around just because of the neighborhood you come from. I’ve even seen the evidence a few times, in kids with black eyes and torn T-shirts who got picked up for questioning. I’m sure Johnny’s been through all that and worse these past few days. But I shake my head and try to nudge the thoughts away.
‘I can do it. At least let me try.’ My voice is firm and my mind is set even if my heart is pounding.
Diane nods, tears sliding down her face. ‘Oh, Evie,’ she says, embracing me tight. ‘You’re the best friend ever. In the entire world.’
I can barely breathe she’s squeezing me so tight, but I don’t care. I just squeeze her right back.
When she lets me go, she immediately reaches for Juanita’s old composition book – the one that’s held dozens of our games of tic-tac-toe and MASH – and a stubby pencil.
‘I’m going to start writing to him right now,’ she says, scooting back so she can lean against the wall of the abandoned house. ‘I’ll have it done by the morning.’ Then she looks at me and says, ‘You should get some rest.’
A yawn slips out as if on cue. I am tired. As I settle into my makeshift bed, I can hear the quick scratches of Diane’s pencil on paper, followed by the occasional squeak of eraser and a long pause. I drift off to the rhythm of it, too exhausted to even dream about what might happen tomorrow.
When I wake up the next morning, Diane is sleeping next to me, her mouth hanging open, a tiny stream of dried saliva down her left cheek. A folded piece of composition paper is tucked partway under her pillow, and I wonder if she’ll let me read it.
By the time I get back from the bathroom, Diane is sitting up, rubbing at her eyes and checking her watch for the time.
‘Hey,’ she says, stretching.
‘Hey, back.’
She takes the letter from near her and hands it to me, her arm outstretched. ‘I want you to read it,’ she says. ‘Since you’ll be delivering it.’
‘All right,’ I say. ‘If you’re sure. But don’t watch me while I read it. It makes me nervous.’ Diane complies and looks away.
Johnny,
I don’t know where to start. Well, let me start here. I love you. I want you to know that. After all this time, after everything that’s happened, I still think of myself as your girl. I know the last time we talked at Winkler’s, it was such a disaster. I wish I could have the fall to do over again. I didn’t have the words then for what I was going through. But by becoming friends with Evie and your sister (yes, I know it’s wild to think about, but yes) and the other girls, I’ve admitted to myself what happened to me. It’s not like I didn’t ever think it was real. It was all too real. But it hurt too much to think about it, so I just blocked it out. The reason I was sent away from you. Johnny, I wanted to tell you. I honestly couldn’t. But I’m telling you now.