Minnie walked up to him. “Hi.”
Viggo tapped his leg with his skateboard. “Hey.”
Beside them, wake-goers were discussing the food that the restaurant had out for them.
“It’s a buffet situation,” one of them said, shrugging.
“I hate buffets,” a woman said stiffly. “You would think, with all the Bard money, they’d spring for something else.”
“I don’t think they’ve had a lot of time to consider this…” another scolded her.
Minnie glanced back at Viggo and saw that he struggled not to smile. “Sorry,” he muttered. “People act so insane at funerals. I never know what to do with my face.”
Minnie smiled back. “Are you friends with Stacy?” She asked because she couldn’t stop herself. “I mean, you don’t have to answer that.”
Viggo shrugged. “She’s my ex.”
Minnie’s ears rang. How was it possible that this fascinating, talented, handsome boy had dated that popular, wealthy girl with long blond hair? Was he really that shallow?
“Oh,” she said.
“She’s cool. We’re cool. We don’t talk that much anymore after we went our separate ways. But I used to be really close with her family. So, I guess, I wanted to come by and support her? Her most recent boyfriend broke up with her about a month ago. I know it’s been hard.”
Viggo’s tenderness strangely touched Minnie, although her chest burned with jealousy. “Are you going to get back together?”
“Naw. That’s over. I’m not the kind of guy to go back in time,” Viggo said.
Minnie marveled that at sixteen, he already knew what kind of guy he was.
Silence fell between them. Minnie wondered if Viggo was waiting for her to leave, or to explain why she was there in the first place. But it was then that her eyes drifted to the window of the restaurant. Through that, she saw her mother, Hannah, standing in the corner with a glass of wine. Her eyes darted left,then right, as though she were assessing every person in the room.
Minnie felt it like a smack. Of course, her mother was here! Her mother couldn’t resist a mystery. She couldn’t stop hunting for new stories. For some reason, this annoyed Minnie to no end. Why couldn’t her mother do something useful for a change, like fix the leaks in the roof, or find Minnie’s father, or get a real job, something that had less to do with ruining people’s lives?
“I can’t believe this,” Minnie mumbled.
Viggo frowned. “What’s up?”
“My mom’s here.”
Viggo followed Minnie’s gaze to find Hannah in the corner. “You look alike,” he said.
“No, we don’t.”
Viggo shrugged again. Maybe he sensed the darkness beneath Minnie’s tone. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.
Minnie felt an opening in her chest. Viggo wanted to leave? With her?
“More than anything,” she said. “I mean, yeah.”
“Let’s go.” Viggo turned and sauntered away from the restaurant, away from the mourners, away from Minnie’s mother.
As it happened,Viggo had a car. It was a clunky red convertible with an ancient CD player, something he said he inherited from an uncle. Minnie threw her bag in the back and sat in the passenger seat, conscious of Viggo’s body, of the ease with which he threw off his raincoat and turned the key in the ignition. A shiver went down her spine. She had a flashing image of herselfand Gavin, making out in the front seat of Gavin’s Porsche. She remembered her mother had said, “A sixteen-year-old shouldn’t have a Porsche.” Minnie imagined it had been taken away after Hannah had exposed what Gavin’s father was up to.
Not that he’d been up to anything, she reminded herself.
Minnie was too scared to say anything. They drove out of the Historic District to a beach she’d never been to before. The CD in the player was something from the ’80s called The Cure. It was wailing, sorrowful, but beautiful music that Minnie immediately decided she loved. She reminded herself to look it up later and learn everything she could about the singer, Robert Smith. Viggo told her he was from England and a “poet.”
When Viggo parked the car, he got out and beckoned for her to follow. Minnie felt as though she were on an adventure, exploring a land she’d never fathomed. This was nothing like Miami. It was cold and wet, the waves crashing against the sand. But it was also beautiful: the ocean gray and turquoise at once, the clouds roiling overhead. She followed Viggo down the beach and to a sort of inlet, where— incredibly—there was an old, busted sailboat, crooked in the sand. Viggo stepped aboard, then turned to extend his hand to help her on.
