Sticky Fingers (11 page)

“I hear you there.” We move forward in line, and after I order a bagel sandwich and she orders hers, she says, “So I assume you’ve been talking to Courtney about everything that’s going on?”

“A little.” I’m careful to not give anything away, just in case.

Anne’s eyes get wide. “She did tell you about the divorce, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry, Anne. You know how much I like both your parents.”

Anne smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “I know. Lemme tell you, Christmas sucked the big one. Dad and Mom were cheery and everything, but since Dad moved out last weekend, it felt really strange having him there. And my parents acting all nicey-nice is just … well, you know.”

She shrugs as she takes a straw out of the container near the register and peels off the white wrapper. “He invited me to his apartment in Brookline, but I haven’t gone yet. Maybe next week. Courtney
says it’s gorgeous. Just off Beacon Street, in some really luxe building with a doorman and everything.”

“Courtney’s been there already?”

“Yeah. She spent the day before Christmas there. Guess they walked around downtown and looked at holiday lights and the skaters on the Frog Pond and stuff. She says they talked a little, but she didn’t really tell me what about.”

The bagel guy hands us both our sandwiches in to-go bags, along with our drinks. Anne grabs a handful of napkins from the dispenser, then passes a few to me. “Dad says I can stay at his place if I want to do stuff in the city on weekends. But it’s going to feel wrong for a long time, I think.”

I don’t even know what to say, so I mumble something about how I can’t imagine being in her position, and how I’m here for her if she needs to talk or anything.

“Thanks, Jenna. But I think it’ll be okay. It just takes time, you know?” She jerks a thumb toward her car, which is parked next to my beater Toyota out in the parking lot. “I have to go. Running errands and
stuff. But I was hoping to talk to you about Courtney, so I’m glad we ran into each other. I was going to call you tonight.”

Since Anne’s fairly shy—really the opposite of Courtney, personality-wise—and this is about the typical length of our conversations, I’m trying to hide my surprise. “What about Courtney?”

She moves closer to the door, indicating that she’d prefer to talk outside. It’s really cold, but I notice there are some other kids from our high school sitting in one of the booths, so she’s probably just being discreet. I follow her out the door, and the instant it shuts behind us, she says, “Courtney’s really been down about all this, even though she’s talking a good game, and acting all excited about visiting Dad and all. I dunno … I think she has a lot going on. More than just the divorce. And she won’t talk to me about whatever it is. Probably because she thinks I’ll tell Mom or something.”

“And you want me to check up on her?”

Anne tucks a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear and nods. “You don’t need to interrogate her or anything, but I was hoping you could casually find
out what’s up next time you talk to her. See if this is just the divorce. And if there’s anything I can do.”

“Sure.” If we talk, that is. “I’ve been worried about her too.”

“It might be the college thing, partially,” Anne adds. “She’s really stressed out about her applications. Especially the BU one. She’s desperate to get into their communications program, you know?”

“I know. I’ll do what I can, okay?” Which is probably nothing, but I can’t bring myself to tell her that.

Anne gives me a quickie hug. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

But as she slides into her car and I get in mine, I feel like anything but the best. I feel like a fraud of a friend, to both her and Courtney.

I’m going to have to go in.

I use the sleeve of my sweater to swipe the fog from my car window before squinting at the entrance of the Stop & Shop. Unfortunately, I can’t see a thing inside the store. There are too many sale posters with pictures of scallops and various canned goods at
LOW, LOWER, LOWEST!
prices plastered to the store windows, blocking my view.

Either Scott’s waiting inside because he can’t see my car where it’s parked near the back of the lot or he’s been held up. Either way, I’m screwed.

I give the Toyota key a half-turn, just enough to get the radio going and—more importantly—to light up the clock.

Quarter after six.

Courtney should—
should
—be gone by now, since she usually bolts the instant her shift is over. But I haven’t seen her come out, so I’m not counting on it.

After taking one last, long sip of my lukewarm coffee, I yank the keys out of the ignition, shoulder my purse, and head toward the sliding doors of the Stop & Shop, careful not to step in any of the puddles filling the parking lot. I loathe having to do this, but if I don’t find Scott soon, we’ll miss our lane reservation.

And with any luck, Courtney was one of those people I saw walking out hunched under an umbrella and I just couldn’t tell.

As soon as the electronic eye swishes the doors
open for me, I realize I’m just the queen of wishful thinking. Courtney’s still here, standing about thirty feet away, right next to the row of can and bottle recycling machines. She’s talking to Scott—of course—but neither one of them looks happy.

In fact, they look really intense.
Great.
Courtney’s probably getting into it with him.

I’m about to call out, “Hey, Scott,” thinking that if I act all cheery and like I have no clue they might be in the middle of some serious discussion, then I can get him away from Courtney before things go south. And while we still might get our lane.

But for whatever reason—maybe the look of complete pissedness on Courtney’s face as she’s talking to Scott—I hesitate, stopping right inside the doors next to the rows of dripping wet shopping carts that some poor person pushed in from the parking lot for minimum wage.

Now what? Do I interrupt? Go right back out the door and pretend I never came inside? No, that won’t work. They’d probably see me walking out.

Crap. I suck at knowing what to do in a situation like this.

“Look, I gotta go. Jen must be here by now. But say a word and you’re dead meat,” I hear Scott tell Courtney. He’s not particularly loud. I can barely hear him from the front doors. And he doesn’t sound angry at all. He’s using that calm, determined voice he has when he’s certain he’s correct about something.

But Courtney looks like she’d give him a swift kick to his privates if they weren’t standing in a public place. “Fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest, mushing the Stop & Shop logo on her deli apron. “But you’d better not do it. Or
you’re
dead meat. I swear, Scott, I’ll tell her. I’ll tell everyone. And I don’t care what you do to me.”

“I told you, I’m not doing it, so just forget I said anything.”

He takes a couple steps backward, toward the doors, and I figure I’d better make my presence known or risk getting caught. I start walking forward, but I keep my head down, using one hand to brush the rainwater off my hair, pretending like I haven’t seen them yet. When I look up, they’re both turned toward me. Scott’s got a huge smile on his
face, but Courtney looks uncomfortable. Not pissed anymore, but definitely uncomfortable.

Well, if Scott told her that the two of us know that she’s been shoplifting, she
should
be uncomfortable. But what in the world could Scott be telling her to keep secret? And what does Courtney not want Scott to do? Talk to me about their conversation, since I’m guessing I’m the subject du jour? The only other “her” I can imagine them discussing is their store manager.

“Hey, guys!” I force myself to be all happy-smiley as I approach. “Store looks dead tonight.”

They both shrug, then Scott says, “Sorry I’m running late. I had to restock plastic bags on all the checkout aisles. We’re going to have to hurry.”

“I think we can make it if we leave right now.” I give Courtney a quick look. Just to be friendly—since I’m determined to stick to the high road here—I say, “Catch you later, Courtney. Hope you and Mat are doing something fun tonight.”

“Just renting a movie with some of Mat’s friends. Mike Braga, Lucas Ribiero, all those guys.” She gives me a smile that looks hopeful, like she wants me to ditch my plans and come with her. “I heard Mike is
bringing some girl from Ashland, so we’re all going to torture her, just to see if she’s really good enough for him.”

“Sounds like it’ll be a blast,” I tell her. And I mean it—they’re all really cool guys. They don’t drink or do anything wild when they get together, but they’re all smart and funny and they laugh a lot. Nights with them are low-key and
fun.
But this one time, I’m just as happy to be missing out on one of their get-togethers. Courtney and I need to settle this on our own. No witnesses, no external influence. “Hope you have a good time.”

Scott zips his jacket and says good-bye to Courtney, and I feel my insides relax as we turn and head for the exit.

“Hey Jenna, wait up.”

So much for dodging that bullet.

“What’s up?” I pause, glance at Scott, then turn around and face Courtney, deciding to play dumb. Since I’ve never come out to her face and told her that I know about the nail polish—in fact, I’ve essentially covered her ass by not telling Mat straight out that she stole it—what can she possibly say to me? Is she
going to be brave enough to say she’s sorry for making up that bull about the guy in the CVS?

“I just … I missed getting to talk to you before Christmas. I went to Brookline to see my dad, and things have just been crazy with my parents announcing their news to all the relatives.” She rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe it. It’s like every aunt and uncle and cousin wants to take me out to make me feel better or something. So I’m sorry I haven’t called or e-mailed or anything.”

So. She’s gonna play it like that scene in Bennigan’s never happened. O-kay. But at least she’s sorry she hasn’t talked to me. It’s a start.

“Don’t worry about it, Court,” I say. “I figured things were insane, with the holidays and all.” I want to tell her I was worried about her, about how she’s doing with her parents. But I’m not sure I should. Not until we clear everything else up.

She plays with the strings on her deli apron, then glances at the clock that hangs over the sliding doors before looking back at me. I can tell she’s torn between letting us leave so we’re not late to the bowling alley—she can’t walk out with us, because she
clearly hasn’t been to her locker to get her coat or punch out yet—and trying to get me to stay and talk.

“Um, I still have your Christmas present,” she says. “It’s at home, but I’m dying to give it to you.”

So she did get me something. I wonder how long ago. “I have a gift for you too—”

“Maybe you guys can get together tomorrow and exchange, when you have more time to talk,” Scott interrupts. “I don’t mean to be rude, Courtney, but we’re going to miss our reservation.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Courtney looks completely sincere as she says it, and even though there’s not a hint of apology in her tone, I can see it in her expression.

“Okay.” Maybe things aren’t going to be as bad as I thought. I can’t see how we can be the kind of tight friends we’ve always been if the whole stealing thing is just left unspoken between us, and I’m hoping Courtney realizes it too. “Call before noon, though. I might be babysitting in the afternoon. I’m trying to take on as many jobs as I can over break.”

“Promise.”

Scott grabs my hand, and we hurry through the
glass doors. He stops just outside, under the store’s overhang, then looks at me. “Which car?”

“Yours. Definitely.”

He grins, and we scramble across the parking lot and into the Jetta as fast as we can, getting soaked with every step.

“I hate the rain,” he says as he yanks his door shut. “Especially on top of all the snow. It’s going to be icy and gross for the next week. You know it’s supposed to get cold again tomorrow and snow on top of all this rain?”

I didn’t know, but I don’t care, either. “Maybe after college we can get jobs in California. Or Florida. Someplace without Massachusetts weather.”

He doesn’t say anything, probably because he loves Boston and can’t even think about living anywhere else. And because he knows I don’t really mean it either. So I ask, “What was all that about with Courtney?”

He slides a glance at me as he pulls out of the parking lot and turns eastbound onto Route 9. “What do you mean?”

“When I came in, you were both at the front of
the store. Were you two talking long? I mean, did you say anything to her? You know, about the nail polish?”

“Nah.” He fixes a twist in his seat belt as he drives. “You didn’t seem to want me to, so I didn’t.”

“Oh.” Then what in the world were they talking about? Why didn’t he want her to say anything about whatever it was, on threat of being dead meat? And why was she telling him not to “do” whatever it was? Their whole conversation still doesn’t make sense to me, and what I saw was too intense to be about store-related stuff, like if she had to report Scott to their manager for not ringing up provolone at a sale price or something.

“She came up at the end of the shift,” Scott says, apparently able to tell from my mood that I need a better explanation. “I think she wanted to talk about you, but I thought it’d be better to not get in the middle of it, so I started talking to her about her college applications and stuff before she could say anything else.”