Happenstance: A Novella by McGuire Jamie

Author:McGuire, Jamie [McGuire, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jamie McGuire LLC
Published: 2014-05-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Weston’s truck was parked directly behind the Dairy Queen. As if he already didn’t look happy enough, I brought him an extra tall Cherry Dip Cone. His grin spread from ear to ear.

“Do I have time to go home and change?” I asked.

“Nope. I’m too excited to show you something.”

We drove to his house. The windows were dark, and when he pressed the garage door button, his parents’ vehicle wasn’t in its spot. Even though it was a weekend, the entire town seemed to be closed down. With all the upperclassman traffic gone during Spring Break and so many families away for vacation, Blackwell would be on a week-long sleep; it was that way every year.

“Your parents already left?” I asked.

He nodded. “This morning.”

“What did they say about you staying home?”

He held open the door for me, and I walked through to the hallway. “It was a little weird. They were confused, and Mom’s freaking out about Alder, but they also seemed relieved. I think they were letting me go because I’m eighteen, but they were going to be worried about me the whole time.”

“Makes sense.”

“They asked me if I wanted to go skiing, but it’s their first adults-only vacation since they had me, so they were kind of glad I said no.”

I chuckled. His life was so fascinating to me. The way he was so close with his parents, how they understood each other and cared for each other was foreign to me. But mostly I liked that they were sober and could solve their issues without yelling at him.

We went to the main stairs, and Weston flipped on the light. I followed him up the spiral, wooden staircase. There was a polished wooden banister with intricate iron instead of spindles. I loved his house. It was so clean, and decorated with such care that it could have been featured in a home design magazine. Hanging from the clay-colored wall were canvases of Weston and his older sister Whitney, posing together and individually, from grade school to senior year.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Weston walked down another hallway, and then opened the last door on the left, sweeping his arm across his body, signaling for me to come in. The room was still dark, but when I stepped inside, Weston flipped on the light, revealing his bed, a dresser, and a desk. Like the rest of the house, everything had its place. It was all dusted and smelled fresh. The midnight blue comforter was tucked under the pillows, and smoothed out just right. The desk was organized and dusted, and his brand new computer was off.

Above the desk was the charcoal he’d drawn of me. Its frame was black and looked like rope. It didn’t really go with the brown-stained wooden frame of his bed, or anything else in his room.

“What do you think?”

I realized then that my mouth was open and I snapped it shut.

His eyebrows pulled together. “I went to Hobby Lobby in Ponca to get it framed.

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