by C. C. Hunter
“So we run with their first names,” Hayden says. “And Shane used her full name, and this Barbara attached her email address. So we might have more information on them than we think.”
“Wait,” I say. “Both of those women are selling wedding dresses. So what if he only goes after women with wedding dresses to sell? We could search it that way.”
“That would really narrow the search down,” Kelsey says.
I frown. “But what if he doesn’t just use this site? People list wedding dresses on Craigslist and stuff.”
“I think we should stick with just this,” Hayden says. “We can’t do it all. But I have another idea.”
“What?”
“I’ll list a wedding dress for sale. I can find a picture online somewhere and post it.”
“What if he tracks you down?” I ask.
“First, I won’t ever meet anyone. But we might have to use that information. Second”—he grins—“I don’t think I’m his type.”
We draft an email to send to Barbara and even the letter to send to the reporter. It’s after ten when Kelsey and Hayden leave. As I walk them across the street to Kelsey’s mom’s car, Kelsey moves in beside me. “We didn’t even talk about your dad.”
“For a reason,” I say. “I’m not ready.”
She nods, then asks, “Is he drunk inside now?”
I flinch. “How did you know?”
“We sat outside. I remember doing that myself in Dallas a few times when mom was partaking too much.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Me, too.” She bumps me with her shoulder. “When you want to talk, I’m here.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to school tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll pick you up. Oh, how’s your mom?”
“Okay. Sue’s there now. See you in the morning.” She heads around the car to the driver’s side.
Hayden moves in, barely using his walker. But I see from his eyes he’s tired. “Will you come over after school? I don’t have therapy, but we can go to the library, and I can send the email. And I’ll print up the letter to mail to the reporter.”
“We can’t mail it from here,” I say.
“I know. We can do another road trip.” He smiles.
“Okay.” As tempting as it is to lean into him, I don’t.
I watch them leave, and I admit I feel better, less panicked. We have a plan.
When I walk in, Dad’s not on the sofa anymore. His glass is gone as if he woke up and wanted to hide the evidence. When I get upstairs, I fall back on my bed. I go to set my phone down when I see the messages. I’m pretty sure they are all from Hayden and Kelsey, but I check. All the texts are from them, and they both called, too, but then I see a missed call from a number I don’t recognize.
I stare at it on the screen. My heart grips. Could it be from…my mom?
My hands shake when I swipe over to voicemails to see if I have a new one. I don’t.
Do I call the number back? See if it’s her? Do I talk to her? I remember something Dad said: I know you have every right in the world to meet her and hear her side of the story.
What did he mean by that? Is there another side of this story?
Am I ready to hear it?
I tossed and turned more than I slept. Still, at five-thirty, I’m wide awake, and my stomach is so empty it’s sucking on my liver for nutrients. Hunger aside, the first thing I do is check my phone. I never called the number back. Whoever it was never called me back, either.
I tell myself it could have been a wrong number, but I don’t believe it.
I get up and shower, then, staring at my reflection, I decide to skip makeup because I don’t think I have blush or lipstick that’d match the purplish shade of my eye.
I’m getting dressed when I hear Dad’s car drive off. Did he have as restless a night as I did? Is he hungover? Did he leave because he’s back to not wanting to face me?
I grab my purse and backpack and head down. There’s a note on the counter that reads, Went to work early. Remember to call or text when you leave the house.
Right, Dad, I need to do the right thing, when you are passing out drunk in nothing but your underwear on the sofa. Grrr. I wad the note up and make two points as it falls into the trash.
I go stand in front of the fridge. We’re out of milk.
I stand there and feel the cold creep out and surround me. It’s not the dead cold, but I think of Shane, and suddenly, I know what I want to eat.
In twenty minutes, I’m turning into Delicious Donuts. There are at least seven cars in the parking lot and four more waiting in the drive-through. I park facing the street. Even with my stomach sucking on the donut scent, I sit there and just stare at the building across the street.
I cut off my engine. The morning is still cold, and my car’s heater tosses out one last blast of warmth.
I don’t know what I hope to learn today, but if I can see the car to confirm its make, model, and color, I’ll be one step ahead. I’m about to get out when I see the same guy I spotted last night walking across the street. Did he come out of the gate? I didn’t see.
He’s wearing the same dark gray sweatshirt with a hood. I notice he has light brown hair and is medium height, like Shane described. Of course, that describes about half the men in this town. I remember him leering at my boobs. Then just like that, his gaze shifts, and he looks my way. I swear he’s staring right at me.
He could be looking at my car, I tell myself, but the feeling doesn’t go away. I wait until he’s all the way down the street before I get out and walk inside. The sweet scent of donuts, grease, and sugar makes my mouth water.
Standing in line, I keep turning to see if a car appears or that same guy comes back past. Finally, I’m at the counter, and I order three plain donuts—why mess with perfection by adding anything on them—and a large coffee and a milk. While waiting for the girl to bag my order, I feel someone standing behind me. Standing too close. Invading my personal space. I look back.
“Riley, right?” the man asks.
I know him, but it takes me a few minutes to place him. It’s Coach Ericson from my high school. He subbed in auto tech a few months back when Mr. Ash was out. The coach even brought his 2000 Chevy Impala into auto tech for us to replace his brakes. Jacob and I actually worked on his car.
“Hi. How’re your brakes?”
“Great.” His gaze goes to my eye. “I heard about what happened. I’m so glad Dex is okay.”
“Me, too.”
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he says. “You live around here? This is like my hangout spot.”
“No, I just like the donuts.” And I find it slightly odd that he’s asking me where I live. Then I remember kind of getting the horndog vibe from him at school. Great. They are everywhere.
Right then I see his gaze drop to my chest.
“Here you go.” The girl working the counter hands me a filled tray.
I barely look back at the coach. “Later.”
He nods. I take the bag, cup, and carton of two % and go park myself at the table that offers the best view of the street. Devouring the first donut in three bites, I wonder if it would be a sin to order three more.
Thankfully, once I drink the milk and down one more donut, my stomach is no longer calling me ugly names. I take my time finishing off the last donut and sipping the coffee.
“Can I get that for you?” I look at J.T., the manager, pointing to my empty bag. I recall being creeped out by him yesterday. Now after the coach and the sweat-shirt guy, he barely registers on the creep meter.
“Yes, thank you.” I stack everything on the tray and hand it to him.
He takes it but doesn’t disappear. “Who did that to you?”
And I realize he’s talking about my black eye. “It’s not what you think. I’m not being abused. I promise.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” I try not to get pissed. He’s just a c
oncerned citizen.
He nods as if he doesn’t believe me but walks away.
I stay there, nursing the coffee, and my mind eventually goes back to my mom.
Pulling my phone out, I stare at the number and contemplate what I’ll say to her and the questions I’ll ask. Like why? I remember what Brenda, my aunt, said about her hearing spirits, but I need to hear it from my mom. And I guess I need to understand how that was enough to abandon her daughter.
Realizing the time and not wanting to be late picking up Kelsey, I take off.
When I pull up in Kelsey’s driveway, my phone dings with a text. I grab it, thinking it might be from my mom. It isn’t.
It’s Hayden wishing me a good day.
When I look up, I see Kelsey is waiting on her porch. She crawls in, and I ask, “How’s your mom?”
“Okay.” She looks at me. “I didn’t sleep much, thinking about the whole serial-killer-on-the-loose problem.”
“It does kind of get to you, doesn’t it?” I tell her about going to Delicious Donuts and seeing the same guy walking down the street.
“You think it’s him?”
“He fits the description.” I back out of her driveway.
“But he’s walking, not driving an old car.”
“I know. He just… Seeing him twice makes me suspicious. And, oh, he was really impressed with my boobs.”
She chuckles. “He should be. You got great boobs.” Then she sobers. “Maybe you shouldn’t go there alone.”
“It’s daylight. And it’s a donut shop. How is he going to know?”
“I’m just saying…” She sits back. “I wish I could go with you to the library this afternoon, but my boss wants me to go in for a few hours to talk about some new promotion.”
When I turn out of our neighborhood, she shoots me the best-friend-woeful-concerned look. “You want to tell me about your conversation with your dad?”
I tell her, ending with finding him drunk, and even about the call I got from an unknown number and how I believe it’s from my mom. I’m proud I manage not to become weepy.
“You didn’t call the number back?”
“No.”
“You don’t want to talk to her?”
“I do and I don’t. I keep thinking about her stealing their savings, leaving Dad broke. How many times Dad begged her to come home. About her saying I was better off without her. And there’s a part of me that wonders if she isn’t right.”
“That’s how I feel about looking for my dad.” Kelsey leans back in the seat. “I don’t think I’m going to have kids.”
I look at her. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be responsible for screwing up some kid’s life. Both of us have issues with our parents. What’s to guarantee that we won’t make the same mistakes?”
“We know better,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says. “But while we have a right to be pissed, they didn’t do this on purpose.”
“I know.” And saying it hurts, but I think more about Dad’s mistakes than my mom’s. I shoulder back in my seat and stop at a red light. I remember finding her with Dex yesterday at the hospital. “Change of subject here. So…what’s up with Dex?”
She rolls her eyes. “I knew you were going to make something out of me being there yesterday.”
“I’m not making something out of it. I’m just asking. Maybe even hoping.” I grin. “I mean, he wanted to show you his lip-printed underwear.”
She laughs. “He was so high. If he remembers any of that, he’s going to die of embarrassment. He’s so funny.” Appreciation fills her tone.
And I like hearing it because it sounds like hope. Boy hope. And that’s good. We need that. It’s part of being a girl, being a teenager. “Are you going to go see him after school?”
Her smile pulls back a notch. “I doubt it.”
“You should,” I say.
She looks at me. “Well, since you brought up Dex. What’s up with you and Hayden? Has he ditched Brandy yet?”
I pull into my parking spot at school and put on my breaks a little too quick. The car jerks forward.
She glances over at me and makes a funny face. “I take it that’s a no.”
I slam the car in park.
“What I don’t get is why you don’t just tell him to piss or step away from the urinal. Better yet, just ask him, ‘Is it me or Brandy?’”
She looks at me in that X-ray girlfriend type of vision. The kind that allows them to see something in you that you haven’t even seen in yourself.
“Oh, hell,” she says. “You’re afraid he won’t choose you, aren’t you?”
Yup. X-ray vision.
Today’s lesson in auto tech is all about fluids. Brake fluid, transmission fluid, water, gas, and antifreeze. It makes me want to pee. It makes me want to get the heck out of school. There’s a killer out there. My mom’s out there. And instead of dealing with that, Jacob and I are checking a Honda for needed fluid and leaks. When I look up and back from checking the oil, Jacob’s smiling like he knows a secret. Or maybe he’s just looking at my ass.
“What?”
“Just thinking how sexy a girl looks with a black eye, wearing coveralls, and working on a car.”
Yup, it was the ass.
I might have been able to shake off the compliment if he wasn’t back to being handsy. Nothing that I could out-and-out call him on, just too many accidental meet-ups. A brush of his arm here, one there. His shoulder against mine.
“Stop, Jacob.” I grab a towel and clean my hands.
“Stop what?” he asks.
“This…” I wave a hand between us. “You and me. It’s not going to happen.”
“Right. We’re just friends.” The way he says it makes it sound like a joke or a lie. “So…as my friend, I was hoping you’d agree to go to prom with me.” He reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a yellow rose.
“No.” I don’t know if it’s my sharp tone or quick response time, but I think I’ve finally gotten through.
He frowns. “I don’t get you.”
“That’s because you don’t listen. Why do I have to keep saying it?”
“Saying what?”
“That you are a great guy”—other than talking smack about me—“but that it’s never going to happen. I didn’t mean to lead you on. That—”
“Well, you did. I broke up with Jamie for you.”
My mouth drops open. “I never told you to break up with her.”
“You kissed me.”
“No. I didn’t kiss you until you were broken up with her. And even then, I told you we had to take it slow because I wasn’t ready.”
“It really is someone else, isn’t it?”
I don’t say anything, so he takes it as an invitation.
“And now you’re buddying up to Carter. You aren’t—”
Did Brandy tell Jacob about the hug? I wait for him to accuse me.
He leans in. His scowl is a level above pissed-off. “Just be warned. I’m not going to let you hurt him.”
“I wouldn’t hurt him.”
“Like you didn’t hurt me.”
“I tried to tell—”
“Well, for the record, this hurts.” He tosses the rose down and walks off.
I feel bad, because whether it’s my fault or not, he’s upset. Looking around, I see several of the other students have stopped fluid-checking and are enjoying the Jacob and Riley drama. And from their expressions, they not only heard the argument, they’ve already picked a side.
And it’s not mine.
I’m hit again by how much is standing between Hayden and me. What are the chances of this working out for us? My own boy hope is dwindling.
After school, I drop off Kelsey and am about to pull out of her driveway when I put the car back in park and pick up my phone. While I don’t think Dad deserves for me to follow his rules when he’s misbehaving so unruly, I still send him a short text.
Me: Going to Hayden’s.
>
I do not say we’re going on a road trip. Dad would protest that, I’m sure. I can’t imagine him reading a text that says, Going to the library to send an email to a woman who’s on the to-kill list of a serial killer and afterwards going to another town to mail an anonymous letter to a crime reporter about said serial killer.
Yeah, not happening.
I get a text back from Dad. Thank you.
No I’m sorry about last night. Or for keeping you away from you mom all your life. That hurts.
Before I put my phone down, I text Hayden.
Me: On my way.
Hayden’s reply is almost immediate. Good. Miss U.
I stare at the message for a second and remember the argument with Jacob. Has he already spoken with Hayden—already talked crap about me? How long will it take until Hayden becomes aware that choosing to be with me may cause a rift with his best friend? Yup, it’s beginning to look like Hayden may not only have to choose between me and Brandy, but me and Jacob, too.
When I pull up at Hayden’s, he’s sitting on the curb, waiting, his walker parked beside him. He stands up and smiles, and just that sends a thrill through me, and my dwindling boy hope soars.
I park, turn off the engine, and get out to open the trunk.
He meets me at the back of my car. “Hey,” he says, and his voice is warm. So is his touch as he brushes my hair behind my ear. “The bruise around your eye is fading a bit.”
“Yeah,” I say.
His fingers linger on my chin, and his gaze shifts to my lips. I want him to kiss me so bad it hurts all the way down to my toenails. But I remember Brandy being parked on the street yesterday. I remember he’s still figuring things out. Whatever that means.
I look away. He puts the walker in the trunk.
“I got the letter.” He holds up a manila envelope he had tucked under his arm.
“Did you wear gloves?” I ask. “And you didn’t lick it to seal it, did you?”
“I did it like you said to. I even brought gloves to put it in the mailbox.”
I nod.
“Library first?” Hayden asks as he settles into the passenger side.