‘Look, Evie, don’t get upset. I’m sorry I snapped. It’s going to be okay.’ He leans back in the recliner, taking on the position of someone in authority. Someone who isn’t afraid. His panic and emotion from moments earlier have leveled off, and he’s speaking like the Johnny Treadway I’ve always known and maybe even feared a little.
‘Here’s what you need to do,’ he says slowly. ‘Before you leave, you’re going to tell me the address of where you’re staying, and then you’re going to head back there, careful and sneaky so you don’t get seen. Just like how you got here. You’re going to go back there and you’re going to tell Diane that I’ll be there tonight at eight sharp. And you’re going to tell her that I miss her, and that soon everything is going to be all right. Tell her that I swear this. That I swear to God. Tell her’ – he pauses, looks me dead in the eyes – ‘tell her she rules my heart. Those exact words, okay?’
I nod, committing them to memory. Carving them into my mind so Diane can carve them into her heart.
‘I’ll do it,’ I tell Johnny. ‘And you and Diane will see each other tonight.’ As I stand to go, already nervous about my journey home, Johnny tells me to wait and runs down the hallway to his room. He’s gone for a few minutes before he comes back with a folded piece of composition paper.
‘Can you give this to her?’ Johnny asks. ‘And can you tell her it’s from me?’
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘And can you not read it?’ he asks, his voice suddenly tender, almost shy. ‘It’s for Diane.’
‘I won’t read it,’ I swear. I can only guess that what’s written on it is more private than what he’s just asked me to repeat to Diane.
‘Thanks, Evie. You’re a swell kid.’
I blush. I can’t help it. I tell Johnny the address of the abandoned house, and then I slip out the back door and head toward Monroe.
The sprint home feels similar to the trip over. I admit I’m still anxious, but I’ve got some confidence now. I’m already imagining the delight on Diane’s face as I tell her the good news about Johnny.
As I hustle up Elliston and cut over to Monroe, making my way through a backyard, I hear the sound of steps behind me, movement of some kind. I stop in my tracks, my eyes trained on a pile of rusted-out children’s toy trucks sitting in the middle of the unkempt grass. Gripping the paper for Diane that Johnny gave me, I turn my head slowly over my left shoulder, frightened of what I’ll see. I’m holding my breath.
Nothing. There’s nothing there. No one.
I face forward again and start walking quickly, practically jogging, convincing myself it was probably a cat like before. This neighborhood is full of strays, after all. By the time I make it back to our hideout, by the time I hand Diane the paper from Johnny and share the good news, by the time she is hugging me and spilling tears of gratitude, I have very nearly put the moment out of my mind.
After Diane opens the paper and devours Johnny’s note, I share his message word for word. When I get to the part about how she rules Johnny’s heart, Diane’s tear-filled eyes look up from the paper, and her face breaks out into a wide grin.
‘He’s quoting that Irma Thomas song I played you in the listening booth at the Jive Hive,’ she says. ‘It was one of our favorites.’ Then she turns her focus back to the letter.
Diane rereads Johnny’s words more times than I can count, opening up the letter, taking it in, smiling at it like it’s Johnny’s face itself, folding it up, holding it up to her nose and smelling it, then opening it again. At last she slips it into her skirt pocket.
I don’t ask to read it or even what it says. That feels too personal. Diane doesn’t offer to tell me anyway. But whatever Johnny’s written, it’s set Diane’s heart to flying.
She offers her thanks, over and over again.
‘Evie, you’re truly the best friend I’ve ever had,’ she says. ‘I mean that.’
It feels good to hear her say it again, and I smile.
‘Diane, do you know what’s so funny?’
‘What?’
‘We met ten days ago!’
Diane runs a hand through her auburn hair and laughs. ‘It feels like ten years.’ Her face grows serious. ‘But, I mean, in some ways that’s a good thing. Do you understand?’
‘Sure,’ I answer, opening up the saltines. I slip one out and pick at it. I’m hungry but not. I’m tired but not. I’m a million feelings at once with no shelves to store them on.
‘Diane, can I ask you something?’ Part of me wants to push my feelings away. Hide them. Ignore them. Ride them out. But what if, just this time, I let them out? Diane has proved to me it’s possible.
‘Of course,’ she says, holding up the cracked handheld mirror we found in the bathroom. She examines her face and scowls. ‘I wish I’d thought to bring makeup and a decent hairbrush. I want to look nice when Johnny and I see each other.’
‘You do look nice,’ I offer. I wait until Diane sets the mirror down carefully, tilts her head expectantly.
‘What is it, Evie? You know you can ask me anything.’
I pick and pick at the saltine until it crumbles into a pile on the floor.
‘Will we still be friends after this? I mean, after you and Johnny get back together and the police know you’re innocent and all?’
Diane frowns, confused. Then a soft smile spreads out on her face. She stares at me for a moment, quiet.
‘Evie, what on earth would make you ask such a thing?’
I shrug and press my fingers into the ruined saltine, making a mess. ‘I don’t know,’ I mutter, unable to look at her. ‘You’re older than me. You’re practically a grown-up after all you’ve been through. And once Johnny and you are back together …’ My words drift off, unable to take shape.
‘Evie, hey, look at me,’ she says. ‘You’re not some kid. I mean, yes, you’re younger than I am, but you don’t give yourself enough credit. Don’t you know what a special person you are?’
Diane’s words confuse me instead of comforting me. What am I but a girl whose own mother is probably terrified of her? A girl whose future feels so tiny and suffocating she doesn’t know how to react, so she acts just to feel something, if only briefly?
‘How am I special, Diane?’ I say, and I hear my voice cracking, surprising me. Diane cries, and so freely. But I’m so scared to let myself sometimes. And yet, here with Diane, I let the tears come.
‘Oh, Evie,’ Diane says, practically shouting my name in distress. She scoots over across the floor and rests one hand on my right shoulder, shakes it a bit. ‘Evie, listen to me! How are you special? My God, you stood up for me! You’ve risked everything to help me! You’re a true friend. Don’t you know how rare that is in this world?’ A stricken look crosses her face. Her voice drops in volume. ‘Or at least, that’s been my experience. You’re so special, don’t you know?’
‘Diane, after all you’ve done for me,’ I start. Then I realize how that might come out wrong, but I push through, trying to get the words out no matter how difficult it is for me. Because I know I’ll feel better when I speak my heart and mind. ‘I’m not saying I’ve helped you just because I think I owe you, even though I have to tell you … there’s part of me that feels I won’t ever repay you. But what I did … it wasn’t all that much.’