She Loves You, She Loves You Not... (20 page)

I shut her door and stick the note where she’ll see it.

Lying in bed, I listen to the howling wind and smell the smoke. I’m afraid to be here alone. I wish I could call someone.

Dad.

Yeah, right.

I get up and find my phone. I call M’Chelle. Her cell rings and rings. Before her voice mail picks up, I disconnect.

Sarah. If I could just call and talk to her—

No.

I go back down to the computer and slideshow through the last set of pictures. Angelica standing all by herself. Angelica smiling with her birthday cake. One candle. Angelica wearing the little sweater with the
A
.

I don’t know how many hours elapse while I’m paging through the pictures. Over and over. My eyes ache. I want to close them and sleep forever, but my gaze drifts down to the clock on the monitor: 4:46.

I’m going to be late for work.

No time to shower, and I still have on my work clothes from yesterday. I can hardly see through the dirt, mixed with smoke, that’s blowing across the access road. Even with my brights on, I’m driving blind. By the time I park behind the Egg Drop, my nerves are shot.

Flying dirt and debris sting my bare arms and legs as I hurry inside. The radio’s blaring. Finn’s chopping onions and green peppers. The sight of another human being makes me so happy that I rush over and fling my arms around her.

She stops chopping.

“Don’t go,” I say softly. Please don’t leave me.

Finn’s head rests on mine, and I feel her relax in my arms. “Alyssa,” she says.

“Finn.”

“A tree fell on Arlo’s van, and he’s stuck at Safeway.” She twists gently out of my grasp.

“Is he okay?”

“
He
is. His van’s not. We’re on our own today. Can you cook?”

“No,” I tell her. Tanith does—did—all the cooking at home. “I mean, I could try.”

“I don’t want you getting burned. That grill gets hot. You wait tables, and I’ll man the grill.”

I elbow her. “You mean
woman
.”

She quirks a smile at me, and my stomach flips.

The reporter on the radio says, “The Keystone fire, fanned by winds, is spreading east toward Silver Plume and Georgetown. That fire is approximately fifteen percent contained. At Eisenhower Tunnel, we’ve received reports of wind gusts in excess of eighty-five miles per hour. A new fire has sprung up near Kremmling.”

Finn goes, “That’s close.”

A guy hollers from the dining room, “Is anyone working here today?” I recognize the voice. Rufus.

I grab my order pad and head out. The tables are filling fast, and none of the orders have been taken. I yell, “Hey!” Then louder, “
Hey! Everyone!
”

People quiet down.

“Arlo’s not here today,” I tell them, “so Finn’s cooking, and you’re all stuck with me as your waitress. I’ll get to everyone eventually, but have mercy, okay? If you triple-tip, I’ll put you in my will.”

People laugh.

Barbara pushes up from her chair and says, “You want me to work the counter? I’ve waitressed before.”

“That’d be awesome!”

I take orders from two four tops and run them in so Finn can get started cooking. I hear the reporter on the radio again. “We have breaking news out of Georgetown. A crew of firefighters was overrun this morning as the Keystone fire exploded out of control. Four people have been airlifted to St. Anthony’s.”

Someone calls, “Turn it up, Finn.”

I stick the orders on the spinner and ask her, “Should we be worried?”

“I’m sure they’ll evacuate in time,” she answers.

The front bell tinkles, and a blast of dirt blows in with customers. Behind them, I see an aluminum lawn chair tumbling across the street, taking a hop onto the plank sidewalk, and heading straight for our plateglass window. “Look out!” I cry.

Everyone cowers.

The chair hits with a
clunk
and bounces off. People near the windows get up and move.

Every person in the Egg Drop is talking about the fires. A couple of the hospital crew are heading out to volunteer their services. As I race back and forth, I catch snatches of conversation. “The dead lodgepole pines are pure tinder.” “Firefighters are spread thin.” “More fires south in the Sawatch and the Sangre de Cristos.” “Trapped livestock in Heeney.” I notice Dutch isn’t here today.

The only natural disasters I’ve ever come close to are hurricanes along the East Coast. Virginia Beach has been spared, for the most part.

Finn says, “Is this grits or gravy?” She squints at my order.

“I don’t know.” I can’t read my own writing.

She says, “I’ll just put both on the side.”

I load up my arms with multiple plates and deliver all the food hot. It’s a miracle.

A lot of people leave early with gobs of food left on their plates, and I don’t want to tell Finn, although she probably knows she’s not the cook Arlo is. The dining room clears except for a few people at the counter. Barbara hands me a coffee cup stuffed with cash. “Tips,” she says.

“You keep them.”

She smiles and shoves the cup my way. “You know, the first time I saw your mom was in here. In fact, I think this is where she met Jason.”

“Do you know him?” I ask.

Barbara’s expression grows serious. “I did. Angelica too. She was a darling.”

I set my bus tub on the counter. “Where are they? Carly won’t tell me. Where did they go?”

Barbara’s eyes change. She palms the back of my skull and kisses the top of my head. Then she shoulders her carryall and hurries out the door.

Why won’t anyone tell me anything?

I lock the front door and flip the sign to
CLOSED
. In the kitchen, Finn’s a blur of motion, stacking plates and clanging silverware in the sink and hauling armloads of produce to the fridge. I finish busing all the tables and then collapse—literally—on the floor by the dishwasher. My tongue lolls out the side of my mouth as rigor mortis sets in.

Finn hovers over me. She slides down the side of the
dishwasher to her butt and clunks her head against the stainless steel. “Code blue,” she says. “Call 911.”

It’s quiet except for the wind. At some point Finn turned off the radio. “I have a death wish for whoever got me this job,” I say.

Finn nudges me with her foot.

I lift my arms in the air, but the pull of gravity is too fierce, and they fall back to the floor. My head rolls to the side, onto Finn’s shoulder. “Something bad happened to Jason and Angelica, didn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Are they… dead?” I ask. I shift to sit so I can face her, and she holds my eyes for a long moment before nodding.

“How? When?”

“Alyssa—”

“Tell me!” I bark at her.

“I can’t!” she barks back. “I don’t know all the details.” She scrambles to stand, and I clamp a hand around her ankle.

“Tell me what you
do
know.”

She offers a hand to help me up. “It was an accident,” she says. “A hit-and-run. I don’t know where or when. You’ll have to ask someone who was here then.”

Oh my God. “Thank you for telling me.” At least there’s one person in this life I can trust. “Please, Finn,” I say. “Do you really have to leave? I want you to stay.” I want it so bad I can taste it.

Her soft brown eyes melt into me, and this overarching desire to love and be loved again swells every pore, and I slide my arms around her waist and kiss her.

She doesn’t resist. In fact, she draws me closer and kisses me so deeply I lose myself in her, in the moment, oblivious to the raging storm around us. Finn suddenly jerks away, and I open my eyes to see what startled her. Arlo rolls past us, going, “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Finn and I stand there, dazed. She ducks her head, grabbing a wet towel to go out and swab the counter. Leaving me with Arlo.

“Who moved my radio?” he asks. “Where the hell is my radio?”

I hurry over and retrieve the radio from the shelf above the grill. Arlo snatches it from me and turns it on. “There’s a fire at Caribou Lake,” he says. “Some stupid kids were setting off firecrackers. It’s already spread into the Estates.”

“What?” I say. Oh my God. I go to find my phone in my bag and realize I don’t have it with me.

“Is Carly at home?” Arlo asks.

“I don’t know. She might be by now.”

He rolls to the phone on the wall and punches in numbers. “Carly?” he says. “Do you know about the fire up there?” She is home, probably hungover.

He listens. He says, “You get your ass out of there right this
minute or I’ll—” She must disconnect, because Arlo slams down the phone.

“You.” He points at Finn, who’s returning to the kitchen through the swinging doors. “And you too.” He aims his finger at me. “You’re done for the day. Get out of here, and get Carly down off Caribou Mountain.”

As we’re logging our hours, Arlo adds, “And don’t ever let me see anything like that again. My heart’s too weak.”

The thick cloud of smoke billowing off Caribou Mountain is visible at the edge of town. A huge airplane roars low overhead, and I hunch over, like it’s going to hit me. I turn on the radio but can’t find a local news station. The sight of Carly’s mailbox is a relief. Finn follows me on her bike all the way up, and we park in the driveway. Everything looks fine.

I get out and Finn idles. She pulls off her helmet. Carly flings open the front door and surges out. She says, “Where have you been? I’ve been calling your cell all morning.” She looks and sounds pissed.

“I don’t have it with me.”

Her eyes pan to Finn. “So, you bought your motorcycle. I wonder where you got the money.”

Finn looks at me and then back at Carly. The way Finn jams on her helmet and revs the engine lets me know she’s figured out I lied to her.

“Wait.” I lurch for the handle grip. “Don’t go.”

She stalls for a long minute before raising the visor. “They’ll do a reverse 911 if you need to evacuate.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

Carly returns inside.

“You’ll get a call telling you to get out.”

My grip on the bike tightens. “Take me home with you.”

She lowers the visor and backs off, speeds away.

Damn.

When I get inside, Carly’s on the phone in the dining room. “Uh-huh,” she says. “Thanks, Mitchell. Love you too.” She hangs up. “They have the Caribou fire under control. Unless the wind whips up again, we should be safe. What’s going on with you and Finn?”

My face flares. “None of your business,” I say. Did Arlo snitch on us? “I know about the hit-and-run,” I tell her.

“Then drop the subject,” Carly says. “And stay away from Finn.”

My first reaction is,
Don’t tell me what to do.

Carly adds, “I know her type.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Without answering the question, Carly says, “Pack up everything you brought, in case we have to evacuate.” She bounds up the stairs, her cell attached to her ear.

Dad’s wise words ring in my ears: “If people would stop and consider the consequences… How stupid can you be?” We were watching the news, and there was a report about a judge who’d gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. That’s how Dad put it. The judge was identified by a high-priced call girl as one of her regular clients. I guess Dad knew the judge. He said to me, “Don’t ever be that stupid, Alyssa. I can stand anything but stupidity.”

When I wrecked the Civic, Dad said to me, “How could you be so stupid?”

I wanted to tell him you don’t always know the consequences beforehand. Or you do, but you don’t think about it at the time. I wanted to tell him you can’t live your life scared of every action you take. Sometimes, Dad, what’s in the cookie jar is worth the risk.

I shove everything in my backpack and then lie on the bed, listening to my music. I wonder how long Carly and Jason lived together before the accident. As long as Carly and Dad? Her life with Jason was different, that was for sure. Dad and I lived with Grandma and Grandpa while Dad was in college. Carly must’ve lived there, too, for a while. Then Dad went to law school and got a job in Virginia Beach, and we moved to the house we have now. I shouldn’t say
we
. I need to stop thinking of it as my house.

It’ll never be mine. Nothing’s mine. Even this house is Carly’s and Jason’s and Angelica’s.

She has no right to tell me who I can and can’t see. She’s never been my mother, and she isn’t now.

I find my iPhone under my pillow and listen to Carly’s voice mails. “Where are you? Call me.” She called three more times. That’s hardly “all morning.”

I add Carly’s name and number to my contacts. I add home. Not my home anymore, but Paulie’s if I ever want to talk to him. Which I do, and will.

I love Paulie. He’s my brother. We
will
stay in touch.

If Angelica were still alive…

A hit-and-run. Carly must’ve been devastated. I know I
would’ve been. All she has left, besides a box of baby things, is this house, which is probably a constant reminder, which is probably why she doesn’t spend much time here.

I’ve been pressing numbers on my phone unconsciously. It rings on the other end, and Sarah answers. “Hello?”

My heart stops. “Hello?” she says insistently. I immediately disconnect. It’s… it’s just so automatic.

I can’t have a phone. I can’t handle a phone.

End of May

You called and called. You texted her. You IM’d, even though she asked you not to IM, because her mom always monitored her online activities. She either removed you from her buddy list or blocked you.

You asked Tanith if you could borrow her car. “It’s an emergency,” you said. You’re not even sure why she let you, since your driving record wasn’t exactly stellar. You drove by Sarah’s house for an hour, maybe two. It was growing dark, and you drove past her house again and again, calling on your cell and texting. You knew the dangers of driving and texting, the consequences. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting in touch with Sarah.

You parked at the curb to text her again, when Ben’s VW rounded the cul-de-sac. Ben and Sarah got out. They walked to the door holding hands, and then Ben kissed her. Sarah kissed him back.
No,
you thought.
This can’t be real.