Megan Hart - The Favour

“Wait!” Janelle cried. “Do you have your...lunch money? Your gym clothes?”

She should’ve driven him to school, just this first day. Walked him to the office, made sure he had everything he needed. Switching from private to public school was a difficult enough transition without a cross-country move, including a climate change on top of it.

Bennett didn’t even look back. Janelle stared at the faces peering at her from the bus windows, and kept herself from running across the street after him. The bus driver waved. She waved back. The bus drove off.

That was it, then.

Her teeth were chattering and her fingers numb. The house would be warm, but before going inside she took the time to look up and down the street. Not much had changed.

Those Tierney boys, Janelle thought, turning to look at the big redbrick house next to Nan’s. It sat higher on the hill than hers. An intricately constructed railroad-tie wall had replaced the cinder blocks that used to keep the yards distinct. The same concrete walk led to the back porch door. It had once been lined with flowers, but now butted directly against the wooden ties.

And... Oh. Andy. He stood on the front porch, bundled in a bulky red coat, the fur-edged hood hanging down his back. He waved at her.

“Hi!”

Janelle tucked her hands into her pockets and quelled her chattering teeth long enough to cross to the edge of the Tierneys’ yard. The new winter boots her mom had given her for Christmas were too big, too heavy. In California, Janelle lived most of the time in flip-flops or sandals. Slow and unwieldy, she felt like she was walking on the moon, without the bonus of being able to leap and float.

“Hi, Andy.” Janelle waved.

He’d gotten older, of course, the way they all had. Yet she knew that face. The slope of his chin, his nose, the hollows of his eyes and cheeks. The silver glinting in his dark hair came from age, but the thicker stripe of white along the part hadn’t. That was from the bullet.

“You know me?” Andy rocked back and forth on his heels. In contrast to his heavy winter clothes, he wore bedroom slippers on bare feet. His ankles stuck out a few inches below the bottom of his flannel pajama pants.

“Yes. Do you remember me?”

Andy’s brow furrowed. “No.”

His lack of memory didn’t surprise her, but her disappointment did. Thick as thieves, that’s what they’d been once upon a time. Janelle and all three of those Tierney boys. She didn’t let even a toe prod the frosty grass of his yard.

“Janelle Decker. We—”

“Mrs. Decker lives next door.” Andy jerked a thumb at Nan’s house. “She makes the best cinnamon buns. But she hasn’t made them for a while.”

Nan did make the best cinnamon buns, that was true. Janelle smiled. “Yep. We used to go to school together?”

She let the statement lilt at the end, though it wasn’t a question. They’d done a lot more than go to school together, but their adventures had been of the sort you didn’t just quote casually on a January morning after half a lifetime. Andy cocked his head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”

“That’s okay. It was a really long time ago. I’m Mrs. Decker’s granddaughter,” Janelle said, wondering if that would spur any sort of recognition.

No light appeared in Andrew’s eyes. No miraculous recovery. She ought to have known better, but was still disappointed.

Andy’s hand crept up to stroke along the white strip. His expression clouded. “I don’t... There are lots of things...”

“It’s okay, Andy. Really. You don’t have to remember.” Impulsively, she hopped over the invisible boundary between grass and cement and up the small hill to the porch. Her boots gave her plenty of traction so she didn’t slip. She put one on the bottom step and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

Andy took her hand gently. His fingers didn’t curl all the way around hers; his grip was well-intentioned but weak. “Meetcha. What are you doing next door?”

“I’m going to be staying with her.”

“For a visit?”

Janelle paused, then shook her head. “No. For a while.”

“You’re going to take care of her because she’s sick.” Andy nodded as though it all made sense, as if he’d just put together the pieces of a puzzle and could see that the picture matched the one on the box. “She has cancer in her brain.”

Janelle swallowed. “Yes. She does.”

“Will she die soon?” Andy said this so matter-of-factly, so calmly, that all Janelle could do was gape. He gave her that look again. “I almost died once. Did you know that?”

Her mouth was dry, but she managed to say, “Yes. I did.”

Andy’s mouth tipped on one side. He’d once had a brilliant smile, just like both his brothers—wide and bright and infectious. When Andrew Tierney grinned, he did it with his entire face. Or had, until things had gone bad. Now only one-half really moved.

“But you’re here now. You’ll take care of her.”

Janelle nodded. Her shivering had stopped with the uprush of emotion heating her from inside. Her cheeks felt flushed, her armpits sweaty.

“Good. I was worried about her. We used to play cards all the time, but not since she went to the hospital. I haven’t gone over since she got back, because Gabe says she probably doesn’t want to be bothered. I would help her, you know. But this—” he knocked a fist against the side of his head “—makes me stupid. I’m stupid now.”

Janelle wasn’t sure what to say. Nan had never mentioned playing cards with Andy. She hadn’t said a word about any of the Tierney boys in years, not since she’d called to tell her about the accident. Janelle suddenly felt dumb. Of course, Nan wouldn’t say anything about them to her, but that wouldn’t mean she didn’t see or talk to them. Or, apparently, play cards with them. They were her neighbors, after all, and in a town the size of St. Marys you didn’t ignore your neighbors unless you had some reason to feud. Nan would have no reason for anger.

And Janelle didn’t, either, did she? Everything that had happened was long past, and the man in front of her had paid a far greater price for it than Janelle ever had. There’d be no sense in holding any grudges, and it was obvious Andy wasn’t capable of it, anyway.

His brother, on the other hand, obviously was. Gabe glared, first from the window, then the front door. His gaze skidded over her, then went to his brother.

“Get inside here, Andy. You’re going to freeze your balls off.”

Andy let out a guffaw of laughter and charmingly ducked his head. It was hard to tell if he was blushing beneath the wind-chilled red of his cheeks, but Janelle thought he was. He shook his head.

“Gabe!”

“Get inside. Your breakfast is waiting. Jesus.” Gabe stepped aside so Andy could go in.

He did, but looked over his shoulder at Janelle. “This is my brother Gabe. Do you remember him, too?”

“She remembers me. Get inside.” Gabe waited until Andy had moved past him, then closed the door a little too hard. He stared at Janelle. He wasn’t dressed for the weather, but if the cold bit at his bared arms or feet, he didn’t show it.

Gabe also had silver in his hair, at the temples and dark stubble at the scruff of his neck. Maybe a glint or two in his bushy brows and most certainly in the tuft of hair curling up from the V-neck of his white T-shirt. Time had been good to him, and Janelle wasn’t surprised. Gabe Tierney had a face that could make angels weep and devils dance.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. Daring her, but to do what?

“Hi, Gabe.”

“You’re moved in.”

Janelle glanced toward Nan’s house. She supposed she should start calling it home. She looked back at him. “Yep. Me and my son. Bennett. He just turned twelve.”