HIDING - every scar has a story

23. The last place on earth he wanted to be.

{Jon}

Jon rode the bus to Cary's house in silence. Cary swayed with the turns, leaning on his knees. Watching buildings pass, Jon felt as if grief had stretched him as tight and thin as a guitar string. The bus turned into a residential subdivision and strip malls gave way to houses, each one bigger than the last. Cary reached across to pull the cord. Startled, Jon got up and followed him off the bus. The house in front of them was set back on its own loop of road. Behind the gated drive, huge elms shaded the house's face.

"You live here?" Jon couldn't help asking.

Cary punched the gate code into the security box on the wall. He gave the house a look, with no appreciation in his face. "Yuh."

Jon trailed up the drive behind Cary's shoulder, staying close to the hedge as if he might need to leap in for cover at a moment's notice. Cary didn't use the double front doors with the steps marching half-way up the house. Instead, he led Jon around to a sheltered side entrance, took a key out of his jacket pocket and let them into what appeared to be a boot room. Utility shelves lined the walls, and hooks held out-of-season coats and hats.

Cary stood still a moment, listening, before peeling his jacket off. He balled it up small, stashing it inside the shoe bench under the coat hooks. He looked at Jon, who was still standing in the doorway.

"You can come in."

Jon stepped inside and followed Cary down the hall. He couldn't help staring. Cary's house was nothing like what he had expected. The walls went up and up, gleaming white and hung with real paintings, not prints: blocks and lines of color in dark, massive frames. At the end of the hallway, suspended above the tile floor was an enormous glass sculpture, throwing shards of light against the high walls and sweeping staircase. Glancing into the rooms that opened off the hallway, Jon saw the strong shapes of modern furniture and more glass on display. Everything was as immaculate as a show home.

A well-dressed woman tapped down the hall towards them. Her blond hair was swept back from her face, emphasizing her astonishing cheekbones and large gray eyes.

"Ciaran, you're home." She smiled and put her arms around him.

Cary held still for her embrace, his hands closed at his sides. She pulled back, her nose wrinkling. "You reek of cigarettes."

"I'll change," Cary said. Her eyes went over his shoulder to find Jon. "Mom, I asked a friend over to work on some homework."

She spared Jon a smile, getting her coat from the hall closet. "Your father will be home in an hour. I'm stepping out for a few minutes."

"Liam?" Cary said.

"He's sleeping."

Cary nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Jon." She swept out the door. The thump of it closing made the chandelier above them shiver and scatter light over their faces.

"My room is upstairs," Cary said.

Cary was stiff and slow going up the stairs. Jon opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, then shut it again, looking away. He was sure Cary didn't often have friends over after school. Never on a day like this. So what was he doing here?

He talked to make the whole thing seem normal, but what came out of his mouth was mostly nonsense. "So are your parents artists or millionaires or what? This place is amazing."

Cary said, "Grandpa Douglas' money." He put a hand on a door, swinging it open. "This is my brother's room."

Jon saw the edge of a crib, curtains with giraffes in blue bow ties. He felt Cary watching him as he leaned around the door. Cary's brother was curled in his crib, asleep with one fist clenched against his cheek. His blue cap had slipped over his eyes so only his parted lips were visible.