Free After Dark by M. Pierce Page A

killed.
    Aunt Ella and Uncle Rick came into our lives then. Childless, they happily spirited Nate and Seth and me to their grand colonial-style home in Chatham, and we stopped going to church and playing in muddy creeks, and we learned instead how to play tennis and ride horses.
    “‘My little gentlemen,’ Ella used to call us.” I chuckled, my eyes drifting open. “Only Nate really took to that.”
    “Will we see Nate this weekend?”
    Hannah had been so silent while I spoke, her hands so still, that I flinched at her voice.
    “If you want. I’m sure he’d love to see you. Would you like that?”
    “I think so, yeah.” She wiped her eyes quickly and stared toward the front of the church. Shafts of light came in through the single remaining stained-glass window. “I think they hate me, your aunt and uncle. It’ll be nice to have someone on my side.”
    “Hate isn’t in their repertoire. And they have no reason to believe you knew I was alive last year. They’ll believe what we told the papers—that I masterminded my fake death, that you had no knowledge. No one knows you were visiting the cabin regularly except Kevin, Nate, and Seth. They’ve all agreed to keep quiet, and I believe them.”
    I did believe them. Kevin, who owned the cabin, was my first and best friend in Colorado. Nate’s loyalty was unquestionable. As for Seth, little though I liked him, I trusted his word. I also knew he had no desire to drag Hannah deeper into my mess.
    Hannah squinted at the podium, then at her feet. After a while, she said, “I just want your aunt and uncle to like me. The way they looked at me, at your memorial…”
    “That was different. Everyone thought you wrote Night Owl then. Hannah—” I took her hand and led her out of the church. It struck me as strange that I’d shared my story with her and all she wanted to know was if we might see Nate tomorrow. “I’m marrying you. We’re only here to tell them, not to get their approval.”
    “But you wanted my dad’s approval.”
    “These people aren’t my parents.” I pulled her toward the car.
    “How can you say that?” She dawdled, gazing over her shoulder at the church. I felt myself freezing up inside. Chilling toward her. “It’s so … ungrateful, Matt.”
    “Am I supposed to be grateful that my parents died? My parents would have loved you, and you’re what I want. A simple girl—” The words tumbled out without a thought, and I gaped.
    Hannah’s hand stiffened in mine.
    “What?”
    “Nothing,” I said, but I couldn’t take it back.
    The dull impact of my words receded. Hannah swallowed and trailed me to the car.
    I’d turned to ice inside. No meaningful emotion could pass from me to her. We drove back to the Fudge Shoppe in silence. I ran the church key in to Stephen and bought a little bag of toffee and chocolate brittle. I plopped the candy on Hannah’s lap; she mumbled a thank-you.
    Fuck . I could see her pulling away from me—wondering who the hell I was, to call her “a simple girl.” But I’d meant something different … something better.
    We returned to Morristown.
    I’d envisioned a day spent in Flemington, and me opening up to Hannah completely. So much for that. We got back to the hotel by two. Hannah went straight up to the room for a nap, insisting she wasn’t hungry. I sat alone in Rod’s, the hotel restaurant, and ordered a cup of crab bisque and a glass of Coke.
    I stirred the soup and broke the crab cake into tiny pieces with my spoon.
    Hell, I wasn’t hungry either.
    A simple girl  … what I wanted. Couldn’t Hannah understand? I didn’t want the affectation surrounding my aunt and uncle. I also didn’t want the middle-class life on which my parents insisted; I didn’t share their humble values. I wanted something uniquely ours—something natural for us.
    I shoved away my soup. It had been a mistake to go to Flemington—to see that old sunlight and remember. Stupid.
    I drank my Coke, paid the bill,