"I’m on Crow, just down from Mrs. Sullivan’s." I lean against the side of my car, banging my head softly on the window.
"I’ll be right there."
Younger than me by a couple of years, Howie and I have always been close. He was my awkward sidekick, and I was his overly anxious leader. Inseparable. I was looking forward to catching up over sushi, not dealing with more shit.
I swallow down the thick emotion that forms in my throat and decide now’s as good a time as any to start playing Beth’s little game—it’s not like I have much else to lose. I slide into the driver's seat and grab the book.
Across
1. Acting without regard for one’s self: Benevolent
There are ten empty boxes. I grab a pencil from my purse, quickly writing in selfless. Nope, not enough letters. I erase it. Unselfish also isn’t enough, and it can’t be benevolent. Charitable or thoughtful could work, but they don’t feel right.
The loud rumble of Howie’s Bronco roars as he makes his way down the street, saving me from the question. I snap the small, tattered book closed and peer out the window. He could have chosen a quieter, less conspicuous vehicle, but apparently Howieisthe King of Mage these days.
His door slams, the sound echoing through the car, followed by a soft knock.
"Sade, are you ready? Let’s go."
Holding up a finger, I fumble around, grabbing my purse and laptop, before giving the interior a once-over to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. I hop out of the car and stare at the deflated tire.
"Come on, Sadie. Toss the keys onto the tire so the mechanic can move it later."
Instead of continuing to sulk over the repair I’m going to have to pay for, I straighten my shoulders, do as instructed, and slide into my cousin's front seat. "Thanks for the rescue."
"Don’t mention it. Glad you called and didn’t just stand me up." Howie side-eyes me before pushing the gearshift into drive and peeling away. "What’s it been… like three days and you couldn’t stop by to see me?"
There’s hurt in his eyes. I should’ve called, or gone to see him right away. But something about admitting what’s going on to Howie hits a little harder than it does with Mal and Mom. I’ve always cared what he thought, wanted him to be proud of me. We had big plans to make it out of Mage together, to make allour dreams come true as kids. But life had other plans for him, and I feel like a jerk for leaving him behind.
It was never about the town—we both love it here. Our goals were just bigger, grander, wrapped in a big-city bow where we could be ourselves and not the quirky kids we were back then.
Shaking myself out of yet another trip down the gloom staircase, I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath.
"I’m sorry." It’s not enough, and I know it. I’d be pissed off if he came to the city and didn’t tell me. "There’s been a lot going on, a lot that’s not ideal. It didn’t feel like a conversation we should have over the phone."
"Okay, but a text or something would’ve been nice. I’m worried about you." My cousin flips on his blinker to head toward the seafood spot our uncle owns, while smartly keeping his focus trained on the road.
I peer out the window, searching for any topic other than the one he so badly wants to discuss. The streets pass by, each one more inviting than the next. Everyone makes a big deal over Mage Hollow in the fall, but summer here has always been my favorite. There’s something enchanting about it—the way the willow trees dance in the breeze as if they’re finally shaking off the bitterness of winter.
Howie turns onto one of the side streets we used to ride bikes on, bringing a gaudy black and gold for-sale sign into view.
"The Caldwells are moving? Since when?" My voice shakes with the obvious signs of one trying to change the subject to literally anything else. But it’s a legitimate enough question. Brian and Amy Caldwell lived around the corner from us our entire lives. I can't picture her watering flowers anywhere else. Or him hanging Christmas wreaths on anything other than the eight rectangular windows that mark the front of their classic 18th-century home.
"Three years ago. Their renters had been staying long-term, but I guess they finally decided that Florida is home now. It’s better for Amy’s joints with the arthritis." Howie’s eyes widen at me, as if to call attention to my sudden need to know about neighbors I clearly haven’t seen in years. "Would you like to tell me what’s going on? Or should we talk about you giving Max O’Reilly two black eyes?"
Shit! I hoped that was going to stay between us.
"That was an accident, I swear." I hold both hands up in front of me, and Howie laughs. "I can’t believe he ratted me out."
"It's kind of hard to hide something like that. What were you guys doing anyway?" Howie turns onto the highway, taking us toward the beach.
Now I’m the one that laughs. "Iwas reading peacefully, and he scared me." Picking at my nails, I can’t hold back a smile. Max is different than I expected, or at least has changed from when we were in high school. Back then, he didn’t seem to know I even existed outside of study hall. Yesterday, he treated me like a friend, as if he didn’t mind my company even if Mr. Altruistic—as he calls himself—gave me shit the entire time.
"Holy Shit. That’s it!" I grab the book and a pencil from my bag, flipping open the first page to scribble the letters into the boxes.
Altruistic
"What?" Howie glances over at me briefly.