Lisa Unger - Darkness My Old Friend

“Hey,” he said. He offered his hand, which she thought was kind of dorky and also sweet. Well mannered, her mother would say. “I’m Cole.”

She took his hand and found herself noticing the silver sky, and the gold-orange of the falling leaves, and how hard and dead the ground looked already, even though it wasn’t really winter yet, as she glanced around everywhere but into his face.

“I’m Willow.”

“That’s a nice name.”

She started to say something about how it was a family name, maybe her grandmother’s, who was a famous dancer in the forties. But that wasn’t true. So she clamped her mouth shut against the lie. Dr. Cooper, the shrink she’d been seeing since she moved to The Hollows, had advised, When you feel that urge to say something that’s not true, just try to be silent, observe the feelings that make you want to do this. And remember that you don’t have to be anything other than who you are. That’s enough .

“Thanks.” The silence that followed felt awkward. She wanted to fill it. “My mom named me after a character in a movie she loved.” That was true. And so boring.

He nodded carefully. “Cool.”

He dug his hands into his pockets, hunched up his shoulders. “So what do you guys want to do?”

“I don’t know,” said Jolie. “Willow doesn’t have much time.”

If Willow didn’t know better, she’d think that Jolie wanted her to go. Willow pulled her cell phone from her pocket, looked at the time. There was still an hour.

“When I cut yesterday,” Willow said, “I went home through the woods. I saw someone out there, digging a hole in the ground.”

“You did?” said Jolie. She narrowed her eyes at Willow, gave her a little nudge. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

She enjoyed the way they were both looking at her with keen interest as she spun the tale for them.

“My mom said he’s a caver,” she said. “There’s another word for it, too.”

“A spelunker?” said Cole.

“Right,” said Willow. “That’s it. He told my mother that there’s an abandoned mine that might have a body in it. That’s what he was looking for.”

“I told you about the mines,” said Jolie. Something in her tone was triumphant and resentful.

“So where was he digging?” asked Cole. “Do you remember?”

She wanted to take them there, to show them something and have it be amazing. But she didn’t know if she had time to go there and get back for the late bus. If she was late getting home or had to call her mom, she didn’t even want to know what was going to happen.

“I can’t miss the bus,” she said, even though it killed her. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

“I’ll get you home before your mother misses you,” said Cole. “I promise.”

“He has a car,” said Jolie. She gave a pragmatic nod in his direction. Mixed signals from her friend. Did Jolie want her to go or stay?

“A Beemer,” Jolie went on. “His dad is rich.”

A flush came up on Cole’s pale skin. “It’s an old car. He’s letting me use it until my mom gets back. I’m just staying here with him until she comes home.”

The way he said it had a charge; the flush deepened and spread down his jaw. Willow picked up on it right away. It was something bad.

“Where is she?” asked Willow. She immediately regretted asking. She should have kept her mouth shut.

He cleared his throat, looked at his shoes. “My mom is in Iraq. She’s in the military.”

Jolie narrowed her eyes again, pulled her head back a bit. “I didn’t know that . How come no one tells me anything?”

“I’m telling you now,” he said, echoing Willow. He gave Willow a smile; she knew it was just for her. Jolie started pouting then. Out of the corner of her eye, Willow saw the other girl slump a little.

“Wow,” said Willow. “That must be really hard. Really scary.”

She couldn’t imagine her mom going somewhere like that, being so far away in such a bad and scary place-a place from which she might not return. The idea of this made her think she should go back to school and get on the bus home.

Cole shrugged. “My mom’s a badass. Special Ops.”

And right then-the way he said it, the way his eyes shifted-she knew he was lying. Takes one to know one. It made her feel sad for him, made her think that wherever his mom was, it was way worse than if she’d gone off to war.

“That’s cool,” she said. “When does she come home?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The wind picked up, and she thought about her mother again and about the promises Willow had made. She stood and shouldered her backpack. Jolie and Cole were both looking at her. They were different from her. Willow was old enough to know that. No one would notice if Jolie or Cole came home late; no one was keeping track of their whereabouts, calling the school librarian to make sure they were where they said they were. She wanted to be like them.

“Come on,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I remember where he was digging.”

“Really sure?” said Jolie, glancing back at the school. “It’s getting late.”

“Don’t worry,” said Cole. “I’ll get her home in time.”

Willow watched Jolie turn an odd gaze on Cole, while Cole kept his eyes on Willow.

There was a moment where she could have said, I’ll take you tomorrow. But I’ve gotta go .

And she could have walked off, and neither of the other two would have stopped her. Jolie and Cole would have passed the afternoon together, because Willow could tell that Jolie liked Cole more than she wanted to admit and that she was sorry that she had invited Willow at all. All of them knew that going home was the right thing for Willow to do. She belonged with her mother, who loved her. And Jolie and Cole belonged to themselves, for whatever reason.

But that moment passed. Willow looked up at the darkening sky and the cute boy who was gazing at her with interest.

And instead of saying what she should have said, she said, “I remember where it is. It’s not far. There’s time.”

She started walking, and the other two followed her into the woods.

Jones was always getting text messages from his son on the cell phone that Maggie had bought and made him carry. The phone would issue a tone and shudder a little, and then the screen would light up: TEXT MESSAGE FROM RICKY. Often these missives were unintelligible to Jones, containing bizarre abbreviations and acronyms for which he had no reference. HIH, D? MISS U GYS. STDYING HRD. LOL. What did it mean?

What was more frustrating was the fact that at first he’d had no idea how to answer. He could not figure out how to use the keys on the phone to create a message or how to send it. So he usually just wound up calling his son back and talking to him, which was always awkward for reasons Jones didn’t really understand. He always felt like he was rousing the kid from sleep, no matter what time of the day it was, or found that he really didn’t have anything to say that seemed cool or interesting. Or later he’d send Ricky an e-mail if he couldn’t reach him on the phone. But for some reason, uncomfortable phone conversations notwithstanding, Jones felt closer to Ricky now that he was away at school than he ever had when they’d lived under the same roof. Maybe it was just all the different ways they could communicate now. When it came to talking face-to-face with his son, he was still hopeless. But he could manage a fairly decent e-mail.

Today the message was, IZ DA RIDE RDY, D? CW!

Jones interpreted this to mean: IS THE RIDE READY, DAD? But CW? Can’t wait , maybe? Jones didn’t know for sure. But he managed to text the letter y for yes and send it the way Maggie had shown him. A few minutes later, he got a message back: SWEET! Jones laughed a little. Ricky was happy. Happy at school, happy to be coming home for the weekend. Something about that filled him with pride. Jones thought it was an accomplishment to be a happy person, a choice. He couldn’t say he’d accomplished the same thing in his own life yet. Not that he was unhappy. Anyway, what did it even mean? To be happy?