Please, Pretty Lights (Pretty Lights #1)

by Ina Zajac

  CHAPTER 40

  NICK

  HE CAME UP the stairs and heard Matt in his bedroom. He was singing a song Nick had never heard before. It was a welcome change from the intricately depressing Tool basslines that had been pervading the house the past few days. The sharp smell of cleaning solution wafted out through the open door. He leaned in and saw Matt standing on the second highest rung of their eight-foot aluminum ladder. He was scrubbing the textured ceiling with rag. “She’s worse than hiccups, more like cancer.”

  Nick leaned against the doorframe and surveyed Matt’s bedroom deconstruction project. Since the incident with the Bambi in his bed, his need to clean had rocketed into a whole new level of absurdity. He had taken down his drip-drop painting from above his bed; it leaned against the far wall. He had scrubbed all of the walls, twice. He had given the same absurd level of attention to the light fixtures and window shades. After steam cleaning the carpet, he’d ripped it all up and washed the hardwoods underneath. This morning, he had gone off to rent a machine to refinish the hardwoods.

  Nick assumed that would be next on his list, after scrubbing the ceiling.

  “In my brain, in my bones, don’t want to shake her, but she’s killing me.”

  “Hey,” Nick said. “That’s darker than it was before, downright bleak actually, but it works. Taking a break from Sheryl Crow, huh?”

  He walked over to the window and looked down. He wished Matt would feel compelled to take two trips to the dump because it looked like a Bed Bath & Beyond bomb had gone off in the front yard.

  He moved back over toward the door and just blurted it out. “I just saw her.”

  Matt stopped. He dipped his rag into the bucket sitting on the ladder stand and rung it out. Nick could see his hands were red and cracked.

  “Matt.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Just, don’t.”

  “I have to.”

  “She probably looked super good, super happy,” he said. “Spare me.” He tossed the rag back in the bucket and made his way down the ladder. He ran his hand over the side of his new breakup beard.

  Nick knew this conversation wasn’t going to end well, but seeing Via had made him realize that secrets were the devil. “He hit her.”

  “Her fiancé?”

  “No, I think he’s still gone,” he said. “Carlos.”

  “When?” Matt squinted his eyes into slits. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she’s getting clean,” he said. “She’s got a prescription, to help with cocaine cravings. She’s serious, fessed up to her doctor and everything. Has an appointment to see a counselor—” He stopped when he saw Matt’s expression seize into a crazed sort of fury. He had hoped Matt would focus on the fact she wasn’t using. “Whitney is staying with her.”

  “How bad?” He drew his hands up, just under his ears, like he didn’t really want to hear the answer.

  “She’s going to be okay.”

  “How bad?”

  Nick couldn’t lie. “She’s got a black eye and her cheek is split open.”

  “He punched her? Like, full-on punched her?”

  Before he could answer, Matt grabbed the ladder, gripped it with both hands, and coiled it back like a baseball bat. The bucket of cleaner was the first to fall. Nick could only jump out of the way and watch as Matt swung it back around taking aim at his drip-drop painting against the closet door. Nick turned and heard metal hit canvas and plaster and sheet rock. Before he could look up, he felt Matt rush past him toward the door, toward the stairs.

  “No! No way,” he yelled after him. “Man, stop! He’s not even there. He’s still in Portland.”

  He was relieved to see him stop at the landing. He sat down and looked up at the orange painting on the wall. The eye in the sky.

  “I have to kill him.”

  Nick took a few tentative steps, because he didn’t want to spook him, and then settled against the banister. “He’s back in town tomorrow afternoon,” he said, his words slow and steady. “We’ll go together and quit then. Getting yourself arrested for assault—or murder—won’t solve anything. Tomorrow afternoon. Okay?”

  “This will never be okay,” he replied. “I can never make this okay.”

  Nick felt his own chest constrict into itself, but he couldn’t think too much about it. He had to refocus his friend. Stay positive. “Tomorrow afternoon. And we go together.”

  But Matt didn’t answer. He was off somewhere else in his head.

  “Okay, Matty?”

  “Nick?” he asked, and then was quiet again. He brought his hands together like he was about to pray, resting his chin against his fingertips. “Was it that night? When I cut her loose?”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  Matt put his face into his hands. “I didn’t tell her she was pretty.”

  CHAPTER 41

  VIA

  VIA HAD TO ADMIT, Whitney had been right; getting some fresh air was making her feel better. She had been clean just under two weeks, and while some of the emotional symptoms were subsiding, namely the desire to kill every living creature around her, she had been alternating between having chills and sweating like an NBA player after a game. Frequent waves of nausea seized her and her face hurt like hell when she chewed.

  She and Bella had brought some green apples over to the ponies next door. Her energetic little houseguest couldn’t stop clapping her hands together and jumping up and down. It should have been precious, but Via could have done without the dolphin-pitched squealing.

  “That’s my pony!” Bella shrieked. She stretched her arm out and tempted the chestnut pony with an apple slice. “That’s my Sparkles!”

  The pony was actually named Nutmeg, but she kept that to herself, not wanting to minimize a little girl’s imagination. The other two ponies didn’t seem as social as they hung back to nibble grass.

  She adjusted her sunglasses, then took off her coat and set it down at her feet. Puget Sound wasn’t visible from this side of the house, but she could smell it. She took in a healthy dose of fresh sea air. The gash in her cheek looked much better, and the bruising had evolved from black and purple to bluish green and yellow. She hadn’t bothered trying to hide it with makeup because she doubted the ponies would care. Her tank top was damp against her skin; there wasn’t enough antiperspirant in the world. She turned and stretched. Her arms were still tender. Her back was still stiff.

  “Matt said I could have a unicorn named Sparkles.” Bella giggled as her new friend extended his moist pony lips in her direction.

  The sound of his name made her stop in mid-stretch. “Matt told you he would get you a unicorn?” Sweat was building up on her forehead, along her hairline.

  Bella looked up and shook her head. She was adorable in her striped purple hat. Via was quickly learning that if it wasn’t pink or purple, Bella wasn’t wearing it. “No. He made up a story. I was a princess and my unicorn was Sparkles.”

  Bella’s sugar-and-spice energy was so bright that it must have been some story. Via’s heart flipped itself inside out. She was tempted to call him and ask about it—an excuse to hear his voice—but Whitney still had her phone on lockdown. And besides, Matt hated her. There were other things she ought to be thinking about.

  It sounded as though the garage door was opening. Via reached for her coat, but then stopped. Bella looked so little-girl happy that she decided to give her another minute or so before telling her it was time to go in. Sparkles was already munching down the last of the apple slices. They would bring more tomorrow. She looked over at Bella, so adorable, so innocent and expectant of good things. A spunky little girl lucky enough to be born to a confident woman with a plan and a support network. But what about those kids who weren’t so lucky?

  She thought about that volunteer gig at the domestic violence shelter—the non-existent one. An ugly sense of regret pervaded her chest. Beth would be home from that women’s retreat soon. Via hadn’t seen her since the day before Thanksgiving. It seemed so lon
g ago. She didn’t even feel like the same person anymore. The realization brought her a tinge of peace. A smile crept up her face.

  “Okay, let’s go inside and wash our hands,” she said. “Sounds like your mom is back, and she said she would get hot cocoa.”

  “And marshmallows,” Bella said, holding out her hand, moist with pony saliva. Via took her slimy little hand in return for a smile. On their way back to the house Bella stopped. “Come on,” she said, pulling Via by the hand. “Let’s skip.”

  She tried to keep up but she knew her drug-starved, heartbroken half-skip was pathetic. So she stopped.

  Bella stopped too and looked puzzled. “Are we playing a game?” she asked with a smile. Her rosy cheeks matched her coat.

  “I just remembered something, Bella. Wait.” Via closed her eyes and breathed in the bitter-cold air. The memory fell upon her, toasty warm, and tucked itself in around her. “My mother used to skip with me. When I was your age. We used to sing a little Swedish song.”

  “Ooh, I want to learn. Sing it, sing it.”

  “Okay, love.” Via began skipping again. Her grin was irrepressible. “Rida, rida ranka; hästen heter Blanka.”

  “You’re silly,” Bella laughed. “You’re making that up.”

  “Okay, English it is,” she agreed. “Ride, ride on my knee; The horse is named Blanka.”

  “Ride on your knee?”

  “No way, that’s for little kids,” Via said. “Bigger kids skip.”

  They heard the garage door close, so they skipped even faster, giggling all the way.

  ***

  MATT

  MATT COULDN’T BELIEVE this quiet wooded haven was her neighborhood. This was the life she had been hiding from all along? Walking up the driveway, he passed a little wishing well with a “Jesus Loves You” sign on it. Funny, he had always thought of Vashon as a hippie haven. He hadn’t realized there were pockets of conservatives, too.

  The day was clear and crisp. He zipped up his black coat, but left the hood down. His beard was keeping his face warm. If she liked it, he would keep it for the rest of the winter. The house wasn’t anything special, one story with eaves on both sides. But as he got closer, he realized it was built on a bluff overlooking Puget Sound. He passed into the side garden and stopped in his tracks. He saw the white and red radio tower down on the beach a couple hundred yards away. Across the water, he saw the over town bluffs and greenery. Via always called it “over town.” In the distance stood Mount Rainier, snow capped and beautifully situated. So, this was KVI Beach. She had said the fiancé’s parents owned the place.

  He felt his heart beating hard and fast, though he hadn’t done blow in weeks. He couldn’t just turn around, drive back to the ferry, and go home like a kid. He had to man up, had to see her. Even if she hated him.

  He noticed something bright pink out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked through the wooden split-rail fence separating her yard from the lot next door. On the other side, past a row of bushy trees, was a little girl in a pink coat and a purple striped beanie. He knew that hat. It was Bella.

  And there she was, too.

  They were with a brown pony with a white patch between its eyes. It nodded its head up and down and flicked its brown tail.

  He snuck up to the fence, leaned against it, and put his foot up on the bottom rail. The top rail ran across his chest; he folded his arms over it. He peered through a gap in the bushes. They were about twenty or so yards away. Close, but not close enough. He wished he could hear what they were saying. At first he just took in the satisfaction of seeing her. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a dark green jacket, jeans, and boots. She looked so good that he melted against the fence.

  She turned to the side to say something to Bella and he saw what The Skeeze had done to her. She was wearing big sunglasses, but her cheek was bruised; he could see that even from a distance. He had to look away, down to the frosty grass at his feet. His breathing was uneven. He had to pull it together. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he had expected it, but seeing her like that had jolted his senses anyway. She took off her coat, revealing a white tank top. Wasn’t she freezing?

  He saw her upper arms were marked up with what looked like black tribal armband tats. She stretched her arms up high and held them there a moment. The undersides of her wrists were bruised too. He imagined what position Carlos had had her in when he had done that. With all of his weight on top of her, he’d pinned her arms above her head.

  He looked away and up toward the scattered clouds. “He’s fucking toast,” he told himself. “Toast, toast.”

  She turned to say something to Bella and revealed the side of her neck. He steadied himself against the fence, closed his eyes, and breathed in the damp country air until he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to pull down that fence with his bare hands—one fucking rail at a time. But it wasn’t his fence. It wasn’t his to destroy.

  He heard an approaching car and looked back over his shoulder, surprised to see Via’s car turning into the driveway. It was Whitney. He needed to confront her and find out why she hadn’t told him about this. But first, he took one more look at Via. She seemed so happy. After everything that had gone down between them, her smile still managed to do something to him. He figured that had to mean something. Forever was still now.

  He turned around and made his way toward the garage door, which was rolling itself up. Whitney frowned when she recognized him. As she pulled into the garage, he hung back just outside the door. She got out, walked past him, opened the trunk, and started to unload two bags full of groceries.

  “Can I help with those?”

  At first, he thought she was going to ignore him and go into the house, but she stopped, put the bags back into the open trunk, and turned around. Looking perturbed, she said, “Via’s not here.”

  “I know, she’s next door with Bella,” he said. “I’ve called and texted her fifty times since last night.”

  Whitney smiled as she zipped up the black jacket she wore. “I know. I have her cell phone,” she said. “Church people call on the landline and she doesn’t need to be talking to anyone else for a while.”

  “Does that include him?”

  She put her hands on her hips like she meant business. She kept looking into the garage like she was in a hurry. “How did you even find us? This isn’t even her house.”

  He pointed down to the KVI radio tower. She had told him once that she could see it from the deck. She had also mentioned the wishing well in the front yard. He remembered.

  “How come I had to find out about this from Nick?” he asked.

  “You’re the last person she ever wanted to know.”

  “Nick and I are getting out. We haven’t been doing blow for a while anyway, but now we’re quitting Carlos too. Finally.” He stepped closer to Whitney and dialed down his volume from five to three. He needed her to believe him. “I’m so, so happy she quit, you know.” He leaned in and turned his voice down another notch. “I’m not Carlos.”

  Whitney’s expression was hard to read, sort of a stressed assurance. “You want another shot, but it can’t be right now. She has so much to work through; you have no idea. And, I know you do, too.”

  “Will you at least tell her I came? And tell her to come see us play the Showbox Sunday night? I’m leaving her a ticket at will call.” He knew he had moved past pathetic and decided to just own it and even advance to all out groveling. “I’ve written songs for her, just like I told her I would. I’m even singing one of them on Sunday.”

  She looked at the ground and shook her head. “Sunday. That barely gives her a week. Is it going to be a scene?”

  “No, not at all, it’s for charity,” he said. “The Kidz Rock kids are opening for us. And we never get loaded before shows. Besides, we’re not using at all, I just told you that. And somebody donated fifty thousand dollars to Kidz Rock. I’ll be singing a Sheryl Crow song. So I’ll be singing two songs, that one and the
one I wrote for Via. She’s got to come.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but he just kept talking, explaining, hoping to sway her. “There’s a band coming to check out Nick. Bigfoot Nasty. They need a drummer. And—”

  She put up her hand. “It’s a bad idea. Via needs to focus on her recovery first.”

  He looked back at the radio tower. It was mocking him now. So close yet still denied.

  “You have a pen?”

  She looked confused but opened her purse, pulled out a black felt-tip pen, and handed it to him.

  He leaned over and started writing on one of the bags, which wasn’t easy. It was reusable, probably made of hemp. She looked down at his message and gave him a stern eye roll. “How can you two be so cute? Seriously, you two are such a train wreck—have been from the very beginning.”

  “We’re like an opera,” he said. “About love potion.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “You do know that operas never end well, right?” she asked. “So, you need to scram.”

  “I’m going,” he said, reaching for the trunk and closing it for her. “You’ll make sure she helps you put the groceries away?”

  She tilted her head to the side. Was she wavering?

  He would beg. “Whit, please.”

  She grabbed the two bags from inside the trunk. He held out his hands, but she shook her head, turned, and walked into the garage. “Save it for your songs, Romeo.”

  He stood there in the driveway, wanting so much to follow her inside. “Not Romeo, it’s Tristan actually,” he corrected her as the garage door came down between them.

  CHAPTER 42

  MATT

  MATT CRUISED THROUGH the lobby, past Ben, as fast as he could without looking suspicious. He had just seen Nick’s truck pulling into the parking lot. He only had a minute. Wrist straight, he reminded himself. He couldn’t wait to fuck him up. He needed to feel his boss’s brains against his knuckles. Between his fingers.