She Loves You, She Loves You Not...

by Julie Anne Peters

  Neither Finn nor I answer because we’re gazing into each other’s eyes.

  Grabbing the stilettos from Finn, Geena says to me, “Thanks, sugar.” She hustles inside.

  Finn steps back, and I clench her arm. “About what happened in the mine…”

  She shakes her head.

  “You caught me off guard,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  She peers over my head into the woods.

  “That’s a lie. I’m not sorry. I liked it.”

  Her eyes train on me again. They draw me toward her. The lights inside extinguish, and hooting destroys the moment.

  “I better get in there,” Finn says.

  “Yeah, so you can watch the show.”

  She expels a sigh.

  “You know you love it.” I push her shoulder playfully and head back to the car.

  As I’m unlocking the door, I glance over my shoulder and see that Finn’s still there, watching me. Watching me watching her.

  Logo is showing a sexy short film, two girls dancing in a bar, getting it on, and I can’t watch without thinking of Finn. The solitude in this house makes me want to tear out what’s left of my hair. I go around and amp up every radio and CD and TV until the crescendo of sounds splits my eardrums. It doesn’t help. I retrace my route and punch everything off.

  I go out onto the deck, where the air is so thick with smoke, I can barely breathe. I don’t care. I sit on a sling chair, hugging my knees while the gnats begin a feeding frenzy. Forget this.

  I remember my iPhone and head upstairs to get it. Bring it back down. I sprawl on the sofa. Wow, I could download a million apps. Out of habit I press 458, our code for I love you. Then 498, I want you. 458. 498.

  May

  A knock sounded on the door, and you freaked. You hadn’t shut and locked the front door because it was still light outside. Dad and Tanith had gone to a charity event at his law office and left you with Paulie. Paulie wanted to play Guitar Hero, of course, but you barked at him, “I don’t want to play your stupid video games!”

  Paulie looked like he was going to cry.

  The self-hatred and rage had seeped into all your relationships. “I’m sorry,” you told him. “I just don’t feel like it.”

  His shoulders drooped. “You never feel like it anymore.”

  He was right. Something was changing inside you, hardening, and you didn’t like what you were becoming. To redeem yourself, you popped popcorn for him and you, and then you curled up on the couch with a book while Paulie played alone.

  Paulie said something that took a minute to register. “What?” you asked.

  “Can I ask Ben to come over and play with me?”

  You snapped, “No!”

  Paulie pouted.

  Your cell was in your hand, where it was permanently attached. You’d been texting Sarah, 458. ILU. 498. IWU. Over and over, 458, 498, 458, 498…

  The doorbell rang, and you got up to answer it. Ben stood there.

  Paulie rushed over and flung open the screen. “Hey, Ben. Come play Guitar Hero with me.” He grabbed Ben’s hand and yanked him inside.

  Ben said, “Hey, Alyssa. ’Sup?”

  “Nothing.” Had Paulie called him anyway? Brat.

  Ben said, “We came to see you.”

  Sarah leaped out of the bushes. “Surprise.”

  The night exploded with stars. Sarah stepped inside and embraced you. A short hug, since Paulie was there. You’d both been so busy with finals and papers and projects, you and Sarah had barely spoken all week. You’d hardly spoken to Sarah or Ben since prom, three weeks earlier.

  “Hi, Paulie,” she called to him.

  He didn’t answer. He was too busy restarting the game and jabbering away at Ben or himself. Ben smiled at you. There was something in his eyes, and Sarah’s too. She said, “Where are your parents?”

  “Out,” you told her.

  Her eyes softened to a smoky blue. “Can we go to your room?”

  You hesitated, but you felt so needy. So lost without her.

  “We’ll be back,” she called to Ben and Paulie.

  Ben said, “Take as much time as you need.”

  You closed the bedroom door behind Sarah and switched off the light. She switched it back on. She went over to your bed and sat, patting the spot next to her.

  “I’ve been texting you,” you said. “I know I’m not supposed to, but I’ve missed you.”

  Sarah reached out for your hand and pulled you close. “You’re so great.” She sat you down, turned your face to hers, and smiled. “So amazing.”

  You held her hand in your lap and said, “I need you, Sarah.” You’d never felt the kind of desperate need you had for her. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

  Sarah swallowed. “Oh, baby.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  You kissed her. Looking back, she may have resisted, but it wouldn’t have mattered. You didn’t want to see. You took her in your arms and kissed her so urgently she had to feel the want and desire rippling through your body. She kissed you back. She wrapped her arms around you, and you both lay back on the bed.

  You lay together kissing, falling so far into each other, you’d never find your way out. You wouldn’t want to. God, she could turn you on. Sarah came up for air and whispered, “Remember the first time we made love?”

  “In the equipment shed.”

  She smiled. “It was so fucking freezing.”

  “I know.”

  You kissed her eyes, her face. Your hands moved up under her shirt, inside her bra.

  “Alyssa.”

  You pressed your mouth to hers, and time slowed. You wanted to consume her, take all of her inside of you. She responded. You rolled over on top of her, kissing her chin and neck.

  You never wasted time. You both removed your shorts and underwear and tanks. You spread her arms out on the bed and pinned her wrists. She smiled, that temptress gleam in her eyes, and you bit her neck. You nibbled down her arm, up her side, over her breast. You knew everything she liked.

  She was ready. She was going, “Oh God, yes,” and you were into it, your lips and hands moving, fondling her breasts while you licked around her belly button, then lower.

  A sudden change in temperature made you stop. Sarah gasped.

  Paulie slammed the door. Immediately, it opened again, and Dad was there. His eyes skimmed down Sarah’s naked body to your frozen face. You wiped off your mouth.

  Sarah was hyperventilating and trying to find her clothes, and you got up off your knees and stood there, paralyzed. You realized you were naked in front of your father. You grabbed something, anything to cover up. The beaded pillow. Too small.

  He was yelling about your sickness, your perversion, and how you weren’t his creation. Not in his house. Not this. You covered your ears, he was so loud. He stepped back into the hall, and Tanith eased the door closed, saying, “You’d better leave, Sarah.”

  Carly says, “What are you doing up so late?”

  The iPhone is still in my hand, and I’m clenching it to my chest, like the beaded pillow, trying to erase that horrible memory. I’ve lost track of time.

  “Thanks for bringing my shoes.”

  “Sure.” She hasn’t removed her stripper makeup or changed out of her red dress and fishnets.

  She makes me feel dirty. Because I’m a part of her. “Why do you do it?” I ask. “It’s so degrading.”

  She veers toward the wet bar. “I like it, okay?” She pours herself a glass of wine. “It’s harmless amusement. It helps me forget.”

  “Selling your body is harmless amusement?”

  She turns to stare at me. Make that glare. “If you have something to say, Alyssa, say it.”

  I thought I just did. “Stripping’s bad enough, but… why do you have to prostitute yourself?”

  It’s as if she turns to stone. “Who told you that?” Her voice is ice-cold. “Did your father say that?”

  “He
didn’t have to. All this stuff. The house. It must’ve cost a million dollars. No one makes that kind of money as a stripper. Or a massage therapist and personal trainer.” My heart is beating so fast, I think it might break a rib.

  Carly’s expression is completely blank. I can’t read her at all. Finally, she says, “I’m not a whore. And for your information, the house cost four million dollars.” She picks up the bottle of wine and heads toward the loft.

  Chapter

  18

  Driving in the dark scares me anyway, but the smoke decreases my visibility to a tunnel of soot. All the way to the Egg Drop, I recite, “Four million, four million, four million.” For some reason, the astronomical figure keeps my mind on the road and off what happened next with Sarah. The lights of the Egg Drop-In are a welcome relief. “Good morning,” I call to Arlo.

  He grunts. I don’t see Finn.

  I’m still raw from the encounter with Carly. She went straight to bed, as far as I know, and I slipped out early, before she got up.

  I slide on a cap and head out front to ready the counter and start the coffee. Before I know it, the restaurant begins to fill.

  Dutch comes early to grab his window table. “That fire near Kremmling is spreading fast,” he says to me, setting his hat on a chair. “If we don’t get rain soon, the whole state’s going up in flames.” He has deep worry lines on his forehead. He unfolds a newspaper and adds, “In my seventy-eight years, it ain’t never been this hot and dry for this long. It’s a sign, Alyssa. The planet’s in trouble. You young’uns better save it, you hear me?”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Like what? Recycle plastic?

  As I head off to put in Dutch’s order, I see that Arlo has moved his radio onto the order counter so people can listen to the news. The fire reports are interspersed with talk shows and news of suicide bombings overseas.

  I catch sight of Finn unpacking boxes of restaurant supplies, and she smiles briefly. A shock wave zings through me.

  Orders fly in faster than I can deliver them. I line up six plates along my arms, and Finn comes up behind me. “You’re getting good at that,” she says.

  I concentrate because if I look at her, my knees will collapse. “Thanks. I learned from the best.”

  “Who’s that?” she asks.

  I want to jab her with an elbow, but that would require a free elbow.

  The rush zooms by, and as the last customer leaves, I feel almost exuberant. That had to be a world waitressing record.

  Finn loads the dishwasher, and Arlo rolls right up to her. “If you’re done, get out. Who needs you, anyway?” He rolls away.

  “Geez,” I say to Finn. She starts the rinse cycle and heads for the exit. I hurry to catch up. “What was that about?”

  She turns. “You want to take a ride up to the lake? I need to talk to you.”

  My stomach twists. Talk to me? I’m back there again, frozen in time.

  Sarah texted you first: I CANT SEE U ANYMORE.

  You called her, but she didn’t pick up. You called and called and called. You texted CALL ME!!!

  She didn’t.

  You texted I’M COMING OVER.

  She texted you back: NO. DO NOT COME HERE.

  You curled up in bed, texting Sarah until her in-box was full. The house felt like carbon monoxide gas was filling every crack and crevice.

  The next morning you waited until you saw Dad drive away before venturing downstairs. Tanith was there, in the kitchen, sitting at the table reading the newspaper.

  “Why didn’t you tell him?” you asked her. She could’ve minimized the shock, at least. She’d seen what a coward you were, how intimidated you were by him. If she loved you, she could’ve softened the blow; dropped hints; laid the groundwork for the moment when Dad discovered the truth.

  She met your eyes square on and said, “I didn’t feel it was my place.”

  Or maybe she was as scared of him as you were.

  Paulie ambushed you on the porch, like he’d been lying in wait. He went, “Geeeeez.”

  “Shut up,” you said. “Forget what you saw.”

  “I already know you’re gay,” he said.

  “You don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means you love Sarah.”

  You looked at him, your little peanut brother. Who was older and wiser than you gave him credit for.

  Paulie said, “I was coming up to warn you that Mom and Dad were home. I didn’t know I’d find you guys—”

  You covered his eyes with your hand. “Erase the vision.”

  Dad had taken away your car keys when he called you “irresponsible.” When he said your little accident doubled his insurance, which he refused to pay, and he wasn’t sure you were ready to be a car owner. He always made you feel worse than you already did. Every time you fucked up.

  “Did Dad say anything else last night?” you asked Paulie. “Or this morning?”

  He answered, “No. He just ate breakfast and left.”

  Don’t ever come back, you prayed. You couldn’t believe you were wishing that.

  Sarah was at school, but she turned and ran when she saw you. You called her on your cell. You texted her. No answer.

  You spotted Ben in passing and caught up with him. “Please, Ben,” you begged him. “Tell Sarah I have to talk to her.”

  Ben looked pissed. He plucked your hand off his arm and disposed of it like lint. “Leave her alone,” he said.

  You wondered why he was mad at you. “I have to talk to her.”

  “Apparently she can’t handle that.” Ben veered into the boys’ restroom, and you almost followed him. He turned right around and came out. “Sarah was supposed to break up with you. That’s why we came over. To tell you the truth.”

  It was like the ground buckled beneath you. “What truth?” you said.

  Ben folded his arms awkwardly and shifted his feet. Looking off, he said, “Sarah and I have been going out for a while. At first I didn’t care about her doing both of us, but then it started to get to me.” Ben swallowed hard and met your eyes. “I feel like a jerk. I never meant to, you know, steal your girlfriend.”

  His words slowly penetrated your skull. This was Ben. Your best friend. “B-but-but,” you stammered, “you’re gay.”

  He blew out a puff of air. “Not entirely.” His arms dropped to his sides. “I’ll go as far as bi, but I ain’t no straight white boy.” He tossed you an offhand grin. Then he must’ve caught the fire in your eyes, because he said seriously, “Alyssa—”

  You socked him in the face.

  “Alyssa?” Finn says.

  I snap out of it.

  “Close up and I’ll wait for you out back.”

  I nod blankly.

  She tells me to follow in the Mercedes and then speeds off on her motorcycle like she’s trying to lose me. I stay with her, but the smoke is so thick, I have to use my headlights in broad daylight.

  We pass Carly’s mailbox and the access road. This isn’t the way to Caribou Lake, or at least not the way we went before.

  Finn’s taillights remind me of bouncing buoys in the ocean fog. Her blinker goes on, and I take a right where she turns off Highway 102 onto a side road. Finn stops, and I pull up beside her. I lower the window.

  “I need to let Boner out first. The road is narrow and rocky all the way up to the cabin. Put it in four-wheel drive and stay in the lowest gear.”

  Four-wheel drive. I see a button labeled 4WD and push it.

  She’s not kidding about the road. It’s barely passable, with the huge boulders and rough terrain. Plus the road is practically straight up Caribou Mountain.

  A jagged rock splits through the smoke, and I steer sharply to miss it. My left front wheel lifts, dangerously tilting the car until I’m afraid I’ll tip over sideways. The ledge drops off, and I crunch to solid ground.

  Ahead, I see a fuzzy shape—the cabin? Finn’s bike is parked at the door, and I pull in behind it.

  I get out, my knees shaking.
“You drive that every day?”

  She removes her helmet and smears the sweat and ash from her face. I’m not sure she heard me over Boner’s barking inside. “Wait here.” She opens the door, and Boner barrels out. He races around Finn’s legs, wiggling his butt, and then lifts a leg on her bike.

  “No!” She scoops him up. “Bad dog.” She sets him by a tree, where he finishes his business.

  There are three small cabins that I can make out through the smoke. “What is this place?” I ask Finn. It looks like a campground.

  “It’s a hostel in the winter,” Finn says. “Not many people here in the summer. Let me just change my shirt, and I’ll be right back.”

  “Can I use your bathroom?” Because all that jostling liquefied everything inside me.

  Finn stalls.

  “What? Are you going to make me use Boner’s tree?”

  She steps inside, leaving the door open for me. “Sorry it’s so messy.” She picks up clothes and junk on her way through. Boner’s chewed a chunk of sofa, and there’s stuffing hanging out. “Dumb dog,” Finn mutters again. “The bathroom’s that way.” She points.

  The metal sink is an antique, and so’s the toilet. It takes me a minute to figure out how to flush—with a chain pull—and the water pressure is low, so I have to pull it twice.

  When I come out, Finn’s changed from her Egg Drop tee into a muscle shirt with a sports bra. She’s opening a can of dog food for Boner, who’s jumping and pawing her leg. I check out Finn’s digs. A living room area with a plaid sofa (chewed-up corner), a fireplace, a faux furry rug. The kitchen is tiny. There’s a pint-size fridge and a gas stove.

  “This place is cool,” I tell Finn. I mean it. It reminds me of the GSA campout, held each fall. Another thing I’ll never get to do again.

  Through the open bedroom door, I spy a mattress on the floor. Finn’s Egg Drop tee is flung on top. There’s no sign of another person, but I ask anyway. “Do you live here alone?”

  “No.”

  I knew it. She was too good to be true.

  “I have a dog.”

  I curl a lip at her. She opens the door, and a gust of hot wind blows smoke and dirt through the room. Boner whines.

  “We don’t have to go to the lake,” I say. “We could hang out here.”