She Loves You, She Loves You Not...

by Julie Anne Peters

  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.”

  Chapter

  20

  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 w
hips 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.

  The front door opened, and Sarah’s mom appeared. She said something to Ben, and the three of them laughed. Sarah kissed Ben right in front of her mother, and then she disappeared inside. Ben zoomed away.

  You called Sarah. No answer. You called again. You threw the phone on the seat of the car and stormed up to her front door. You rang the doorbell; you fisted the door. Her mother answered. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to see Sarah.”

  “She’s not home,” her mother said.

  Liar. You saw Sarah inside. She slipped around the corner in the hall.

  “Sarah!” You trampled her mother to get in. You had hold of Sarah’s arm, and she was struggling, but you just wanted to talk to her. She screamed and tried to fight you off, and then her mother was on you and someone else too. Her brother? They dragged you out of the house.

  The door slammed. You rang the bell.

  “Go away,” Sarah’s mom shouted.

  You rang and rang and rang.

  You stood there ringing the bell and calling Sarah’s name until the cops came.

  The rest is a blur. Except the part where Tanith had to bring you home because your father wouldn’t even come and get you at the police station.

  I have no control over myself; not then, not now. Even though I knew it was over, I just needed to hear the words from her own lips. Is that so much to ask?

  My phone rings, jolting me to the present. I fumble around with it in my hand. What if it’s Sarah, checking to see who called her? Or Sarah’s mom?

  The ID reads CARLY. “Hello?” I answer.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. Her words slur. “I din mean to yell a’ you.”

  Where is she? When did she leave? There’s music and laughter in the background.

  “That’s okay. I’m sorry I went through your stuff. I’m sorry I called you a—”

  She starts crying, and I feel like crap. Geena comes on. “Arlo, is that you?”

  “No. It’s Alyssa.”

  “Alyssa. Sugar. Listen, Carly’s a wreck, so I’m going to take her home with me tonight. Are you okay up there alone?”

  “Yeah.” Not really. I hate it here alone.

  “I don’t know what set her off,” Geena says. “But when she gets like this, it’s best to let her work through it. I’m sure she’ll feel better tomorrow. She’ll call you then.” Geena hangs up.

  I know what set her off. Me.

  Good job, Alyssa.

  I go to the kitchen and stand at the French doors, gazing at my reflection. I look like a ghost. I am a ghost to Carly. She must see me as her past coming back to haunt her.

  I wonder if Carly and Dad too see me as the consequence of their stupidity.

  I trudge upstairs and flop on the bed. Shadows of fire-breathing dragons dance on the walls and ceiling, and I sense the fire all around me, engulfing me, burning me alive. I wonder, if I die, will anybody care?

  Chapter

  21

  I’ll care. I refuse to let self-pity rule my life. I switch on all the lights—from my room to the kitchen, dining room, living room, laundry room, and exercise room—to make it feel less eerie, more inhabited. I turn on the TV. No breaking news. I wish I knew Finn’s number. Does she even have a phone? What time is it? Midnight? One? She’s probably working at the club.

  I’m not going there. I won’t chase her. I won’t stalk her.

  Carly’s computer beckons, and I switch it on. The websites for the Denver news stations are all about the fires, but I don’t see Caribou mentioned. The Internet is distracting, at least. As I’m surfing online, checking MySpace and Facebook, I don’t feel so alone in the world.

  A sound overhead draws my attention. A flurry outside the window. I glance up at the skylight and see drops of water. Is that… rain? I run up to the kitchen and open the French doors. It’s raining!

  I step out onto the deck and breathe in the smell. Wet dirt and smothered ash. Mother Nature to the rescue. Leaving the French doors ajar, I dash down to the entrance and fling open the front door. The rain beats on the gravel drive, kicking up dust and dirt.
I step out and raise my face to the sky. Cold, glorious rain.

  It feels like I’ve been in a coma for months, and when my alarm bleeps, all my senses are reawakened. At four AM it’s still dark outside, and the rain is pounding outside my window, and I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.

  I take a shower and get dressed. Carly’s door is closed, and I have the strongest urge to go wake her up, take her hand, and fly downstairs to dance in the rain together. Then I remember she stayed with Geena.

  Stupid idea, anyway.

  As I back out of the garage, rain pummels the Mercedes so hard, I think it’s going to dent the metal. It takes me a minute to locate the windshield wipers. Even on the fastest wiper speed, my view is distorted. The headlights barely illuminate the access road. It’s a solid wall of water. I downshift to the lowest gear and inch my way along, glad to meet up with the highway.

  I drive slowly, carefully. When I get out of the car at the Egg Drop, my foot splashes into a puddle. Shit. I can’t believe I’m still wearing Finn’s shoes. Soaked now. Why haven’t I gone to buy shoes for myself? Because I wanted to keep a piece of her close? That sounds like Psych 101. I’ll go today. I should’ve worn my boots, anyway, with all this mud.

  Arlo’s van is here, the hood crushed like a soda can. I don’t see Finn’s motorcycle. She’ll have a rough ride down Caribou Mountain on those slick rocks, if she even tries. There’s nothing between us. Nothing. She’s leaving, and she doesn’t want a relationship.

  Arlo’s chopping onions, swiping tears off his cheeks.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “What’s good about it?” He rolls past me with a container of chopped onions on his lap.

  “It’s raining,” I reply.

  He says, “You think?” He sets the onions on the counter and returns for the peppers. “Where’s the traitor?”

  Is that how he thinks of Finn?

  She can quit if she wants. It’s her life.

  Finn blows in, bundled in an orange slicker. As she unties the hood and yanks it back, our eyes meet. “Wet,” she says.