Frost

A pair of skinny dogs trotted alongside us for a minute before sliding through a gap in a barbed-wire fence into an abandoned lot.

“I bet I could find some great stuff for projects here,” Celeste said. I prayed she wasn’t going to tell the driver to stop so she could pick up a desiccated rat carcass or something.

Earlier, when she’d asked me what I thought was happening in Frost House, I’d been spooked by her tone. And by the question.

“Nothing,” I’d said. “Seeing as it’s empty. Right?”

She’d seemed surprised I’d even answered, like she hadn’t meant to ask it at all. “Of course,” she’d said. “I was kidding.”

The driver took a left on a street that was lined with parked cars. On one side was the water. On the other side was a small, dark storefront with a neon sign of a dolphin curved around an anchor. Above it was a sign that said BAR. We tumbled out of the car and walked up to the door. As David held it open, warm light spilled out along with the sounds of low voices and live music. Bodies filled the long, narrow space; a band was squeezed in the middle of the crowd. We worked our way inside and found Abby, Viv, and Cameron just taking off their coats.

David and Viv said they’d get our drinks. The rest of us pushed through the room, past where the four-man band was playing Johnny Cash–type music. No one seemed to give us a second look, but we were definitely the youngest people there. We ended up in a back room that was a little less crowded and noisy. A group was just leaving a round, red leather booth, so as soon as they got up we claimed it. The space and everything in it seemed to have been here for a hundred years—walls and shelves were filled with artifacts: from delicate models of old clipper ships, to figurines of the Marx Brothers, to real shark jaws. I loved that everything about it felt genuine. Not at all what I expected from a bar in New York.

David and Viv appeared minutes later with an assortment of beers. I waited until Celeste and Abby had picked, knowing they’d be the two to make a fuss if they didn’t get what they wanted.

“So, is everything okay?” I asked David quietly, during the first lull in our group conversation. He was sitting on my left, solid against me. “Whatever you needed to talk to Celeste about?” I glanced over; she was talking to Viv. “She seemed upset earlier.”

“Sort of okay,” he said, tugging on the corner of his beer label. “I got a call from our mother. Our father’s not doing too well.”

“I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

“Bad reaction to a new drug,” he said. “Something for a trial.”

I studied my dress. How long ago had Mrs. Lazar worn it? When her husband looked at the red-and-black pattern, had his brain seen it the way mine did? Maybe he was already seeing things differently, finding meanings and messages in the geometric forms, instead of just thinking how good the dress looked on his wife.

“I don’t want to talk about it tonight,” David said, startling my mind off the track it had been going down.

He reached over and smoothed my hair behind my ear. Our eyes met and a whole conversation seemed to pass between us in an instant. I was only snapped out of it by a clunking noise on the other side of the booth.

“Back in a minute,” Celeste said as she hopped off.

My hands rested on the table. David reached over and began fiddling with my bracelet. His thumb brushed against my wrist.

“Have I told you how great you look?” he said, his mouth by my ear.

“Yes,” I said. More a breath than a word.

“What are you guys talking about?” Abby called from across the table.

“Nothing,” I said. “David was just saying he misses Barcroft.”

“Yeah, right,” Cameron said. “How do people live through senior year? The freedom is so damn close. I swear, I’m not going to make it.”

“We make it through by having weekends like this one,” Viv said, giving him a big kiss on the cheek.

Cameron lifted his beer. “To weekends like this.”

“To weekends like this,” we all echoed, clanking our bottles together.

We went around making several other toasts until our bottles were drained. Viv and Cameron got up and took our orders. With nothing to drink, the natives were restless.

By the time they returned with beers, so was David. Twenty minutes had passed; there was no sign of Celeste.

Chapter 22

“ I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM ANYWAY-” I said to David. “I’ll find her.”

I made my way up and down the narrow front space, pushing myself between people and dodging the band members’ guitar necks. I checked all of the seats. I figured out where the women’s bathroom was and knocked on the door. From inside, I could hear the sounds of someone being sick. Damn.

“Celeste?” I knocked again.

After a bit, a voice that was definitely not Celeste’s called out, “Can you wait a minute?”

Finally, I asked the bartender if he’d seen the girl on crutches recently.

He nodded as he squeezed a lime into a cocktail shaker. “She was talking to a guy. He bought her a drink. Everything okay?” He gave me a funny look, and I got the sense he was about to ask for my ID.