Part 17 (1/2)

Baker sits up and hovers over Hannah again. She kisses her with an anguished tenderness, her tears bleeding onto Hannah's cheeks. She kisses her way down Hannah's neck and torso, her lips bringing fire to Hannah's skin. She kisses Hannah's naval, then her hipbones, and Hannah clenches on the bed sheets, waiting.

Then Baker kisses her way down Hannah's legs, her wet lips picking over the skin, until her mouth is at the inside of Hannah's thigh.

”Are you sure you want to-?” Hannah says desperately.

”Please?” Baker rasps, lifting her head to meet Hannah's eyes.

They hang silently on each other's questions. There is nothing in the room but darkness and themselves.

Then Hannah feels Baker's mouth on her, kissing her in this last, indisputable place.

She falls back on the sheets and listens to the new sound in the room-the sound of Baker tasting her-and for reasons she doesn't understand, her mind starts to meditate on words from the Ma.s.s, from the Last Supper- This is my body....

She tangles a hand in Baker's hair and moves her fingers over the crown of Baker's head, asking wordlessly for more, turning her own head into her arm to stifle her gasps. Baker's mouth closes over her, tasting, eating, and Hannah finds herself praying, first in her mind and then aloud, her new voice begging and thanking, until she comes with the words Oh my G.o.d ringing around her.

Baker slides up Hannah's body afterwards, her breath fast and her lips wet. She wraps an arm around Hannah and kisses her on the mouth, and Hannah shares in the tasting of their covenant, of the fruit of their union. Baker kisses her again and buries her face into Hannah's neck, her tears still fresh on her face, and as Hannah strokes her hair, they fall asleep, naked in the darkness.

Chapter Eight: Broken.

Hannah wakes to a knocking sound. ”Girls,” a voice calls through the door. ”Are you awake?”

The first thing she realizes is that she is naked. The second thing she realizes is that Baker is naked too.

They stare at each other with terrified eyes.

”Girls,” Mrs. Landry calls again, knocking louder this time. The doork.n.o.b rattles as she tries to turn it, and Hannah and Baker wrench the sheets over themselves. But the door stays closed, and Hannah remembers, through her adrenaline rush, that Baker had locked it the night before.

Get in the shower, Baker mouths as she scrambles off the bed. Her eyes are as frantic as a wild animal's. Hannah rushes into the bathroom and turns the shower on. Then she hovers near the bathroom door, listening to the sounds from the bedroom.

”Oh, good morning, Mrs. Landry,” comes Baker's shaky voice. ”Sorry, I just woke up.”

”Are you two alright in here?”

”Yes, ma'am, we're fine, I think Hannah's in the shower.”

”Did you mean to have the door locked, honey?”

”Oh-no, ma'am. I'm sorry. That was my fault. I heard weird noises last night and it kind of freaked me out, so I locked the door. Sorry.”

There's a short pause before Mrs. Landry speaks again. ”That's alright, honey. Are you two ready to start packing and cleaning? We have to be out by noon.”

”Yes, ma'am. We'll clean up in here and then we'll come downstairs.”

”Great. Let me get your sheets while I'm here. I need to start on the laundry.”

”Oh-no! That's okay, we can get them.”

”No, that's alright, I have to do everyone else's, too-”

”Please, no, my mom would be so embarra.s.sed if she heard I didn't wash my own sheets. Really. I'll take care of them.”

There's an awkward pause, and Hannah holds her breath at the door, the steady whistling of the shower the only thing she can hear.

”Well, alright,” Mrs. Landry says hesitantly.

”Thanks,” Baker says, her voice cheerful and overly polite. ”We'll be right down!”

Then there's the sound of a door closing, followed by silence. Hannah opens the bathroom door a crack to see Baker standing limply by the bedroom door, her body slumped in humiliation, a long t-s.h.i.+rt covering her torso.

”Hey,” Hannah calls softly. Baker doesn't turn around.

There's a bad energy in the room that makes Hannah's stomach clench. She stands still for a long second, her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against the doorframe. Her heart beats fast in her chest.

She leaves the shower on and steps back into the bedroom, and still Baker does not turn around. Hannah walks up behind her and tucks in the tag on her sleep s.h.i.+rt. ”You okay?”

Baker startles and turns to look at her, but she averts her eyes as soon as she realizes Hannah is still naked. She backs away toward the bed, her movements slow and graceless like she might be sick, and then she stands over the bed, gazing down at the sheets.

”Bake?”

Baker says nothing, just continues to look down at the bed. Hannah folds her arms over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and crosses her legs together, suddenly very ashamed of her nakedness.

”You should get in the shower,” Baker says tonelessly. She pauses. ”Or at least put some clothes on.”

Hannah feels a coldness spread up from her stomach and into her throat. Gooseb.u.mps rise on her skin. ”Okay,” she says, releasing the word into the room to see what happens. ”But are you alright?”

Baker doesn't answer. Hannah takes a few steps toward her.

”Don't,” Baker says, her body flinching.

”What's-?”

”Please just get in the shower.”

Something in the room, some invisible line between them, has broken. Hannah can almost see it: a vine that had once connected them, had once wrapped them together, now lies, butchered, on the floor. She takes a step backward and feels her navel tugging on her broken half. It retracts into her, coils around her stomach, clogs her throat.

She retreats to the bathroom without another word. But after she locks the bathroom door behind her, she stands in front of the mirror and studies her naked body. She tries to remember every place Baker touched or kissed.

They clean their rooms, they clean the kitchen and the pool area, they load up their bags, and then it's time to leave. Hannah falls in line behind her friends to thank Dr. and Mrs. Landry, and she's not sure if it's her imagination, but Mrs. Landry seems to hug her with rigid arms.

They take a picture in front of the house-Hannah squeezes between Luke and Wally and smiles like she's the happiest 17-year-old girl on earth-and then separate between the two cars.

Hannah slides into Baker's pa.s.senger seat and listens to Luke and Joanie jabbering behind her. Baker scrolls through the music on her iPhone without asking Hannah to deejay like she normally does, and Hannah clutches her arms around her stomach, feeling hollow and sick. Then Baker starts the car and backs out of the driveway, away from the house, away from the upstairs bedroom, away from their barest selves.

They arrive back in Baton Rouge just before 4:30. Baker guides the car down familiar streets, past familiar banks and restaurants, and Hannah swells with a sudden hope that this anchoring, common place-this place their friends.h.i.+p is rooted in-will restore the two of them.

But Baker drops Hannah and Joanie off first, even though Luke's house would have been the more convenient one, and as Hannah grabs her bag out of the trunk and puts on a brave goodbye face, she realizes their shame has followed them all the way from Destin.