Page 28 of The Gallagher Place
Nate settled down into the back, the toes of his boots locked against the small ridge, and Henry threw himself between Nate’s legs. Marlowe took her own place, rolling her eyes as Henry jammed his knees into her sides and gripped the back of her coat in his fists. That was part of the problem. Without any sides to the sleigh, Henry was the only thing keeping her on. Nora scooted backward against Marlowe’s chest, and Marlowe wrapped her arm around her friend’s torso.
“Ready?” Nate called from the back.
“Wait.” Nora wrapped her hands up in the looped rope and then nodded. “Ready!”
“Prow to the garden!” Nate shouted as he wiggled the sled loose, pointing it downhill.
“Yes, Captain!” Henry shrieked in excitement.
The sledding had reawakened the childish games of pretend they used to play, where they were treasure hunters aboard a stolen pirate ship. Marlowe and Nora would be high schoolers in the next year and had left such games behind, and Nate was certainly too old, but at twelve, Henry was still clinging to his childhood. It was going to have claw marks when he finally let go.
Henry could have this day. They all could, she supposed.
“Man the sails!” she yelled, laughing and squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as possible.
“Full speed ahead!” Nate shouted the command as he pushed them off. The toboggan inched down the slope and then picked up speed, going faster and faster.
“Lean portside!” Nate hollered, and they all leaned to the left. Marlowe whimpered as her shoulder dropped almost parallel to the snow, and then screamed as Henry pulled her back to the center. She cried out again as they hit a bump, and opened her eyes, immediately catching a blizzard of icy powder in the face as they whizzed downhill. They held on to each other’s coats, leaning left and then right, trying not to tip over.
Nate was shouting at them to hold the course; they were bound straight as an arrow toward Glory’s garden and the flat patio to the side of the house. They just had to dodge the small green garden shed.
They were going too fast, but Marlowe knew it was too late to bail. She clenched her eyes shut again and screamed. Nora, having at last reached the limits of her daring, shrieked as well. Marlowe was pretty sure she heard a fearful yelp escape from Nate as they shot over the bottom of the hill and flew through the garden, missing the shed by just a few feet. The sled clipped a snow-covered bush and finally slowed down to a glide between the house and the orchard.
As it drew to a stop, they all tumbled off. Marlowe leapt up, exhilarated that she had survived. Nora rolled around in the snow, laughing, and Nate pumped his fist in the air.
“That was it,” he said. “The perfect run!”
Henry tried to stand up but toppled over like a puppy in the snow. He was quivering from the adrenaline rush.
“Come on, young one, let me help you up,” Nora teased, hooking her arm under his and hauling him upright. Henry’s chubby, wind-chapped cheeks burned redder. But Nora smiled and patted him on the back, and he wrapped her in one of his sweet, brotherly hugs.
They celebrated with grilled cheese sandwiches and hot chocolates before Nate wandered off to his room with a book, and Henry sprawled out on his stomach in the living room to do a jigsaw puzzle. When it was time for Nora to return home, Marlowe bundled up in order to walk part of the way with her, as she always did, stealing a few extra moments of alone time together. Near the road, Nora tugged Marlowe toward the Gallagher barn.
“Quick,” Nora whispered.
Marlowe didn’t hesitate to follow; the hayloft was their favorite place to trade stories about school and share secrets. Tom and Dave Gallagher had been scarce that holiday season, mourning the loss of their brother Leroy, so she didn’t fear getting caught as they ran under the boughs of the chestnut tree and snuck through the small opening between the barn’s old doors, which hung slightly askew.
As they slipped into the barn, Marlowe shivered at the memory of the last time they’d seen Leroy. She remembered it being the first weekend in November, mere days before Leroy’s death. She and Nora had spent all Sunday afternoon in the loft, swapping stories about their separate Halloweens and giggling. When the setting sun was casting only a dim light and the air was almost unbearably chilly, Marlowe knew it was time to run back to the Gray House for the drive back to the city. Still, they lay on their stomachs for another minute together before peering through the hay drop. Leroy emerged from the office and moved through the barn aisle, his bowlegged stride causing him to sway as he moved.
“Hello? Anyone there?” he asked. Crouched behind the bales, Marlowe and Nora turned to each other and clapped their handsover their mouths, eyes gleaming with mischievous delight. A girlish whisper or footstep was easily written off as a mouse or a squirrel in the rafters, or the old bones of the barn creaking in the wind. Leroy walked on.
Marlowe now fixed her gaze on Nora’s blue coat, so vivid and real in the moment. They scrambled up the ladder and climbed over the bales until they were perched in their spot.
“I have to tell you something,” Nora said. “I couldn’t in the house, in case Henry or Nate were spying.”
Marlowe nodded in understanding. They had suffered a disastrous humiliation in September, when they shared detailed descriptions of their respective crushes, unaware that Nate was listening outside the door. He and Henry still chanted the names whenever they wanted to get a rise out of Marlowe or Nora.
“I got my period!” Nora whispered.
“When?” Marlowe almost jumped off the hay bale. “Now?”
“No, it was two weeks ago, but I couldn’t tell you over the phone!” Nora shook her head. “It didn’t hurt as much as I thought, and it lasted four days. My mom made me use a pad, but I hated it, and I told her I want to try tampons next time.”
“Oh my God.” Marlowe leaned back against a bale, stunned by all the information.
“Thirteen is a good age to get it,” Nora said, with all the wisdom of a newly flowered woman. “Not too old, not too young.”
“My mom didn’t get hers until she was sixteen.” Marlowe sighed. “I’ll probably be waiting forever like a freak.”
