“You sure you'll be okay?” Finn asks, pausing outside the diner's front door.
“I'll be okay.”
“Okay, I'll see you around, Emily. Stay safe.”
“You too.”
He waves at me and then walks into the diner. Jack leaps over the counter when he sees Finn and pulls him into a giant bear hug. I watch them through the window, laughing and talking together. My phone pings, a new message from Ian on the screen:
I'm so jet-lagged but need to stay awake. :( Call when you can!
Before heading into the diner I text him back and tell him I'm meeting Mads and will call him later. I silence my phone and slide it into my bag; Mads would throw a fit if my phone kept going off when she's come to apologize and work things out—not that I'm expecting any calls . . . aside from Ian's and I told him I'd call him.
The inside of the bus has the standard black and white checkered floors you find in really old diners. Every year, at the town councils meetings someone will speak up and argue that Jack should update the floors to something more sophisticated, like hardwood, so it matches the newer buildings that now surround it, which only sends Jack into a rant about how this diner has been in the family for generations and you can’t just go changing something like that.
As I make my way to an empty table I notice a picture of Jack, a petite brunette haired woman, and Finn in the corner. I've been to the diner thousands of times. How have I not noticed it before?
They're all standing outside of Elvis Presley's house in Graceland in Tennessee. I stare at the picture intently, aside from the height difference Jack and the women look identical. I knew he had a sister, but I never knew he had a twin.
The diner is surprisingly empty for a Sunday night. I order one of Jack's famous strawberry shakes, while I wait for Mads to show up at the diner.
He makes the shake with homemade vanilla ice cream from Utterly Ice Cream two towns over and then mixes it with fresh strawberries. He then tops it with a very generous dollop of homemade whip cream and chopped strawberries. Whenever I come to the diner I have to order one, even if it's in the morning before heading off to school.
Harold and Walter sit at the counter swamping war stories and drinking black decaf coffees. I wave at them as I take my seat and Walter's eyes light up. “Miss Emily, why I knew you'd come back and marry me.”
A giggle escapes and I'm surprised at myself. What is wrong with me?
I shouldn't be feeling this nostalgic happiness . . . not after what Mason did. Maybe I should just cancel . . . I'm sure Mads would understand, once I tell her everything that's happened and how very wrong we were about Mason.
“Emily!” Mads calls, bounding over to me and hugging me tightly. “I've missed you so much!” She pulls away and grimaces. “What happened to your forehead?”
I reach up and touch my forehead. It’s scratched up and my hand comes away dotted with blood. “Uh, it’s nothing. I tripped on the way here.”
She nods like this is the only logical explanation. “Oh, okay. So how have you been?”
Mads sits down across from me and starts drumming against the table. She's acting as if nothing happened between us—like she didn't cut me out of her life after she tried to steal my boyfriend, but she is here . . . so maybe that means I should give her a chance. I tap my fingers against the table, take a long sip of my strawberry shake and then glance around the diner.
Mrs. Simmons is sitting in the corner, muttering under her breath about “Mr. Sprinkles” and “Hairballs” and how “Fluffy Wuffy doesn’t like when Mr. Sprinkles steals her salmon.”
Jack walks out from behind the counter, wearing his usual flannel shirt and a backward baseball cap. “For the last time, Mrs. Simmons, you can’t bring your cats into the diner.”
She looks up at him and gives him an almost toothless grin—she’s missing all but her two front and bottom teeth. “She's just a poor baby. All the other kittens pick on her if I leave her alone in the house. And, Fluffy Wuffy is a lady so she never fights back.”
I watch the fight brewing in front of me, halfheartedly; it’s nothing new. Jack always gets irate with the customers about something or another, but he never has the heart to actually kick anyone out of the diner. Beneath his tough-guy act, he really is a big softie and the whole town just adores him. There have been a few close calls though.
I clear my throat, looking back at Mads. “Uh, how have you been?”
“Great! Things have been amazing. It's been so much fun watching Sammy for your mom and I met this amazingly wonderful guy! He's such a dream.”
“Oh, that's really great Mads.”
She nods, sagely. “It is, isn't it?
Jack walks over to us, handing Mads a plate of cheesy loaded steak fries. He smiles at us, “It's nice having you back, Emily. I know Madison has been going stir crazy not having you around. She would walk around town like a lost puppy . . . anyway, enjoy catching up.”
He turns away. “Harold, hold down the fort while I take inventory.”
“Roger,” Harold says, saluting Jack. I smile to myself. Mads and I used to always bet against Harold and how long it would take before Walter started to nudge him awake and help him back home. When I turn my gaze back to the table, she's staring at me.
“There's something different about you.” She says, scrunching up her face in concentration. “You seem . . . more confident maybe?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Of course not! I was just thinking of when you left. You were so worried to be out in Los Angeles on your own, worried you'd meet another Brenda Jones and I know you met Suzy . . . or whatever her name was, but I don't know you just look like you're not going to take anyone's bull—”
The diner door swings open and Mason walks in. Blood rushes to my ears and my heart races in my chest. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat. Mason catches my eye and flashes me his twisted smirk. As much as I want to I can't tear my eyes from his.
“What are you staring at?” Mads asks, turning around in her chair. When she spots Mason she squeals with delight.
Did she invite him?
Mason starts walking towards our table and I freeze. It feels as if I'm trapped in jello; immobilized with no means to escape. I stare at the table and ask through teeth mashed tightly together. “What is he doing here?”
“We're kind of dating now,” Mads says, her voice is small. She refuses to look at me.
“What? No, Mads . . . Mason is a jerk. He isn't who you think he is.”
“Are you serious?” She scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Why can't you just be happy for me?”
Mason bends down and kisses Mads on the forehead. He sits down next to her, wrapping his fingers through hers. He says something to me, but my mind doesn’t register it. I’m still processing everything Mads said.
How can she be dating him?
“How long?” My voice comes out in a whisper.
She brushes her hair out of her eyes and bites her lips. She looks at Mason, he squeezes her hand.
“We’ve been dating since—” he starts to say, but I cut him off.
“No. You don’t get to talk to me. I asked her.”
“Don’t be like that.” Mason reaches across the table and strokes my hand.
“Get off me!”
Mads looks like she’s about to cry. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did and—”
“Oh, it just ‘happened’?”
“I-I—”
“Emily,” Mason says, reaching for my hand again. “Calm down. Do you really want to make a scene?”
“Don't. Touch. Me.” I say, my teeth are clenched so tightly my jaw hurts. My hands are balled into fists. I can feel his breath hot on my neck, the bricks pushing against my face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I need to get out of here.
“That's not what you said earlier,” Mason says and my eyes snap open. He winks at me. “You were begging me to t
ouch you, to caress you.”
A startled sound escapes my lips.
I glance around the room. Mrs. Simmons left the diner 10 minutes ago, poor Harold's head is drooping against his chest and Walter is staring off into space, so I don't think he'd be much help. Two teenagers are sitting in the corner playing an intricate board game with about a million pieces. Jack and Finn are still in the back counting inventory. I pull my arms away, crossing them tightly to my chest.
“What's going on?” Mads asks. “You said your plane just got in a few hours ago.”
I laugh bitterly. “Is that what he told you? Let me guess, he's been in Africa this whole time, too.”
“Yeah,” Mads nods. “His family came home to visit for Christmas, but this is the first time he's been back in the states.”
My jaw drops. “He's been lying to you. He was in Los Angeles over Thanksgiving break . . .”
Mads throws her hands up in the air. “Mason told me you'd act like this when I told you, but I didn't really think you'd turn out to be such a jealous bitch.”
She glares at me menacingly.
“I am not jealous . . . I'm just trying to look out for you. Mason isn't who you think he is.”
“You gave up on him.” Her voice fills with confidence and her chest puffs out. “He chose me.”
“Emily, you know you'll always be my favorite,” Mason says, leaning across the table. He runs his fingers through my hair and shivers dance up my spine.
“I'm calling the cops,” I say, leaping to my feet. My chair squeaks loudly against the floor as I push it back. Digging through my bag I start searching for my phone as Mason's clamps his hand around my wrist.
“Sit back down.”
“No,” I say, wrapping my fingers around my phone.
I slowly slide my fingers against the top of my phone. My dad might be a total dickwad, and things haven’t been okay with us in a while, but in this instance, I’m so grateful he insisted I have the latest iPhone. I rapidly push my fingers against the sleep/wake button five times. As soon as the call sends I run my fingers across the side of my phone and start to turn the volume down
A flash of worry crosses Mason's face, but he quickly recomposes himself. He lets out a deep laugh. “Is dating your best friend a crime?”
“No, but sexual assault is.” My body shakes as I rise to my feet. My legs are wobbly and I feel completely drained.
“Sexual assault? What does she mean Mason?”
Mason ignores Mads.
“Sit back down.” He says, grabbing my arm. “Now.”
Mads eyes flicker back and forth between us. She looks terrified. “What's going on? Mason, why are you acting like this?”
“I'm not afraid of you, Mason,” I say, yanking my arm away from him. The dining room is silent. No one wants to pay attention to our little dispute or even acknowledge it's happening, but I'd bet my whole Disney collection that come hell or high water we'll be tomorrow's gossip.
“You should be,” Mason says, his face twisting into a serene grin. He looks malicious; his body is rigid and tight. He looks like a lion getting ready to pounce its prey.
“Go screw yourself.” I grab my strawberry shake off the table and dump it over his head. Then I race behind the counter and into the kitchen as sirens wail in the distance, praying Jack is still there.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I barge into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind me. I stand on my tiptoes and peek out the oval window to the kitchen. A sigh of relief escapes as I see Mason storming out of the dinner, leaving behind a bewildered Mads. She glances towards the kitchen and I duck out of view.
“Is everything okay?” Finn asks, pulling earbuds out from his ears. He's sitting in front of a giant pot, two bags of potatoes on either side of him.
I ignore his question and instead ask, “Can I help?”
“Sure.”
Finn walks over to one of the utensil drawers and grabs a knife. I start peeling potatoes and Finn starts cutting them into skinny rectangular slivers. He looks at me carefully. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“No, it's not. I . . . can we just focus on this?” I point the potato peel at all the potatoes.
“Okay,” Finn nods. He holds an earbud out to me. “Do you want to listen?”
“Yeah, okay.” When I put the earbud in, the music flooding to my ear is the last thing I expected. “You like Les Misérables?
“Don't sound so shocked.” Finn grins at me.
“Sorry, it's just you're the first boy from Cedar Heights to openly admit to liking musicals.” I brush my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Who's your favorite character?
“I'm not from Cedar Heights,” Finn says, tapping his head the way you do when singing the song “If You're Happy and You Know It” to a little kid and want them to connect the word “know” to the brain. “They raise us differently in Tennessee.” He winks at me. “And, my favorite character is Jean Valjean.”
“Really?” I say, scrunching up my face.
Jean Valjean is my mom's favorite character, too, but that's mostly because she loves Hugh Jackman. I like Jean Valjean, but my favorite character is Éponine. She suffers so much, but she doesn't let that bring her down or stop her from being kind.
“Yeah.” Finn gives me a look like how do you not love Jean Valjean too? And then says, “I think he's the character that has the most growth throughout the story.
He starts out with nothing. He tries providing for his family and gets sent to prison for 19 years because of it, but instead of letting his sentence affect him negatively he seeks out the positive—which is partly due to the bishop who is another great character.”
He starts scooping the chopped potatoes into the pot on the floor. “I don't know I guess . . . Jean Valjean understands that your circumstances don't make you who you are, you get to decide your future. I really like that.”
“Huh, I never thought of that before.”
“It's something I think about a lot,” Finn says, standing and then he starts filling the pot with water so he can soak the potatoes. "Who's your favorite character?”
“Éponine.” I grab the dirty dishes, take them over to the sink and start filling it with soapy water. “She never gets rescued from her horrible parents, she never gets the man she loves, and then she dies—”
“She dies?” Finn looks shocked.
“Oh my gosh! I thought you said you've seen it! I didn't mean to spoil anything . . .”
He starts laughing and my voice drops. “I'm just joshing you.”
I roll my eyes and flick water at him. “Anyway, Éponine remains caring, loving and warm-hearted despite all she suffers. Her death is also one of the saddest scenes ever, well, except for the silent montage of Ellie and Carl from Disney's UP. That makes me cry every time.”
“I haven't seen UP,” Finn says.
Before I can reply, Jack walks back into the kitchen. He's looking down at his clipboard, scribbling down notes. His forehead creases in worry when he looks up and sees me. “Emily, what are you doing here? Is it your mom?”
“No—“ my voice catches in my throat.
I thought blocking out what happened earlier, would make it all go away, but seeing Jack looking at me, his eyes full of concern raises a lump in my throat.
“What's wrong?” He walks over to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and I sink into him.
“Nothing.” Guilt washes over me as I lie to Jack, but I don't want to talk about it. “Can I get a ride home?”
Rain splashes angrily against the windshield as Jack weaves his way in and out of traffic. The moon is barely visible as it dips behind clouds and then reappears in the dark night sky. I close my eyes, letting the pounding raindrops soothe me; the way a mother soothes a child with a lullaby.
Jack clears his throat. “I don't know what's going on, but you have seemed a little edgy tonight. Is everything okay?”
I open my mouth and then shut it aga
in. Mason is the last person I want to talk about right now, but maybe talking to Jack will help ease some of the apprehensiveness bottling up in the pit of my stomach.
“Look, you don't have to talk to me, but I think you should talk to your mom about whatever is going on. She loves you, Emily and I know she'll be able to help you through anything.”
“I'm worried about her.” I play with my hoodie strings and stare out the window.
Jack nods.
“I'm sorry, kid,” he says, reaching over and squeezing my shoulder. “She seems to be doing . . . better. I've seen her walking around town and it's almost like she's gotten her energy back.”
“Yeah, I know, but that's not why I'm worried.”
Jack's radio is tuned to an oldies station, a Billy Joel song my mom used to dance to with me while cleaning the kitchen blasts through the speakers and I smile at the memory.
“I mean, her cancer getting worse and her not being able to leave the hospital worries me, but she’s going to talk to my dad tomorrow and tell him she's leaving him and I can't stop thinking something is going to go wrong.”
Jack’s fingers are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are bone-white. “Did she say when she’s meeting with him tomorrow or where?”
I shake my head. “No, she just said she felt it was something she should do alone and asked if I could watch Sammy.”
“Okay,” Jack says, slackening his grip on the steering wheel as he turns into my driveway. “I’ll give her a call when I get back to the diner. She shouldn’t have to confront Christopher by herself . . . and if she insists I’d feel a lot better if she talked to him in the diner.”
“Me too,” I mumble.
Jack sighs.
“I'm sure everything will be fine,” he says, his words echoing my thoughts, but I can't help but notice the tension in his voice and I know he's worried, too.
The Missing Piece Page 27