Page 13 of Revenge At Raleigh High
There’s at least four inches on fresh snow on the driveway, wet and slushy, thick as cement. In patches, the ground is visibly waterlogged and muddy. When a blast of frigid, icy wind swirls around the porch, trying to find its way inside the house, Dad issues an unspoken retreat and shuffles us back so he can slam the door closed.
“Fine,” he concedes. “I guess I’ll find my site boots.” Seconds after the words leave his lips, the lights in the hallway flicker out and die.
* * *
Me: Worried about you. Do you still have power? Ours is out.
Alex: Yep. Separate grid over here. In case you forgot, Salton Ash is a five-star trailer park.
Me: Dad and I are at the diner. Come meet us?
Alex: Doubt the wholesome Raleigh types would appreciate me bringing down the neighborhood. Have to work in a couple of hours anyway. Pick you up for school tomorrow?
Me:
Me: Yes, pls.
Alex: Silver?
Me: Yeah?
Alex: Ti Amo, Tesoro
Me: I know what that one means. And I love you, too.
In some small towns when the power goes out, the locals batten down the hatches and stay indoors, waiting out Mother Nature with their families, checking their storm lanterns, rifling in the kitchen drawers for batteries, borrowing scented candles from their bathrooms and making sure to open up the freezer door as infrequently as possible to avoid defrosting the food inside.
Not in Raleigh. For the most part, the people of Raleigh all band together, bringing whatever non-electrical entertainment they might have at home, from Scrabble boards, to decks of cards, to coloring books for the children, and everyone converges at Harry’s. It’s a community institution, and all are welcome. One year, Halliday’s mom even brought a piñata she’d purchased in advance of Halliday’s little brother’s birthday, and the kids had had an impromptu party. They chose the songs they wanted to hear on the juke box, and danced and played until they were so tired they collapsed one by one to the diner’s floor and slept, dropping like exhausted seven-year-old puppies.
As Dad and I adhere to Raleigh tradition, heading in the direction of the diner, the sky’s so dark it almost looks like dusk is approaching. The horizon is a bruised, angry looking shade of purple. Even at the beginning of winter, the days are normally bright by eleven in the morning. Not today, though. Halfway to Harry’s, the heavens grow even darker, and Dad has to turn on the van’s fog lights as we cautiously complete the rest of the drive across town. Out of the windshield, swings in front yards rock and spin crazily, trees sway wildly, bowing too far for safety, and yet, despite the madness and all of the toppled-over trash cans, there’s a stillness to the world. It feels abandoned, deserted, like the end of the world really did take place while Dad and I were holed up at the house and no one thought to tell us.
The parking lot at Harry’s is full, so we have to leave the van on the next side street over. Dad links arms with me as we make our dash from the safety and warmth of the van toward the single story building blazing light out into the late morning gloom. I shriek at the cold wind that lances through my jacket and drives its way down the back of my shirt. The sound of my cry is ripped away by the wind so quickly that I don’t even hear it.
“Cam! Silver! You made it!” Behind the counter, Harry’s wife Kaitlyn is busy setting muffins out onto a large metal catering tray. She looks a little harried, her steel-grey hair falling loose from the normally neat and tidy bun on top of her head, but her eyes are bright and she’s smiling from ear to ear. She lives for this stuff. So does Harry. It’d be easy enough for them to close up shop on a day like today. The diner invariably gets trashed by so many bodies crammed into such a small establishment, and no one pays for anything. It costs them money to host Raleigh’s residents at the diner on bad weather days; any other small business owner would see that as more of an inconvenience than a blessing.
Kaitlyn and Harry are cut from a different cloth, though. Running the diner has never been about the bottom line for them. They’ve always kept their prices as low as possible in an effort to make sure that even the families who only have a little can afford to come and eat at their place every once in a while. And it’s a point of a pride for them that people rally here. A point of pride that they’ve created a place where the people know they’ll be safe and taken care of in times of need.
“Barely, Kate. By the skin of our teeth,” my father replies to the old woman. “There’s a transformer down on Ridgehurst by the looks of things. Power company’s probably gonna take five hours to get to the damn thing. How’s the generator holding up? You got enough gas?”
Kaitlyn winks at me, laughing. “He’s a worrier, isn’t he? The generator’s fine. We have enough gas to keep it running for the next three days if needs be. Why don’t you help yourselves to a coffee and find somewhere to sit? I’m gonna need some help in an hour or so, once Harry has lunch ready, if you’d like to pitch in.”
“Of course.”
The diner’s busy, but it’s not bursting at the seams just yet. We’ve arrived just in time. In an hour, there won’t be any seats left at all, but for now I actually manage to score us our own booth. I slump against the padded back rest, groaning with relief as the first sip of the coffee Dad brought hits my lips and travels down my throat. Warmth spreads out across my chest, and the cold that sunk into the marrow of my bones outside finally begins to thaw.
Dad looks out of the window to his right, a soft smile suspended on his face, but his eyes seem distant. Sad. The chatter of our friends and neighbors surrounds us as they gossip and laugh together, but the contagious, lighthearted atmosphere inside the diner doesn’t appear to have infected my father. My heart thumps painfully, so hard it feels like it’s struggling to beat. I reach across the table and take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and he looks over at me. The smile spreads to his eyes, warming the sadness right out of his expression, but I’m no fool, and I know my father. He is not okay.
“Silver, I wanted to…I wanted to speak to you, but…I don’t really know how. I’m not very good at this kind of stuff.”
Ah, now this is a look I recognize, too. I let go of his hand, drawing back into my seat. A tightness spreads across my chest, fingers of panic clawing up my spine. He wants to talk about happened. He wants to ask again for the names of the boys who assaulted me. I can’t—I don’t think I can—
Thoughts burst inside my head like bubbles, popping before they have chance to fully form. I cannot talk to him about this. Not now. Not yet. I wish there was a way I could, but…
“Stop. I can see you shutting down already. I’m not—” He shakes his head, the muscles in his jaw popping. His frustration’s plain as day. “I’m not going to ask you aboutthat. I just want to know if you’re happy, Silver. That’s all. You seem like…” He drums his fingers against the table. “You seem like you’re content enough. I hear you laugh. I see you smile. And all the while I’m thinking…fuck, I hope she’s not pretending. I hope…she doesn’t feel like she’s dying inside, and she thinks she has to fake being happy to protect us from what happened to her. Because that…I couldn’t bear that, Silver.”
My instant response is to reassure him. To jump in with a promise that I’m fine, and that I’m perfectly happy these days. But he doesn’t want to hear that. He wants the truth from me, and I owe him that much. I’ve kept so much from him for so long that imparting this small piece of honesty seems vital now. I clear my throat, leaning my temple against the window next to me; the glass is cold and spackled with condensation, but I barely even notice as I consider my father’s question.
“Some mornings, I wake up…and I can feel a pair of hands closing around my throat. It’s like the fear rises up inside me when I’m asleep and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have nightmares about what happened anymore, but occasionally I think the truth of all that violence and panic catches up with me when I’m unconscious and it just…festers. And when it’s like that and I wake up, I can sometimes bring it all with me into the waking world, and…it’s enough to make me feel like I’m going to fucking die.”
