Between Now & Never

by Laura Johnston

  I interviewed, performed onstage—actually went for something. And succeeded. And I won a thousand dollars in scholarship money. College. This taste of success is overwhelming.

  And then I remember Mama.

  She’s going to flip with excitement. Moisture gathers in my eyes as I imagine telling her. I have her to thank for this.

  Donna thanks everyone for coming. Then news reporters are on-stage, asking me questions. The night hurtles past in a haze of smiling faces, flashing cameras, hugs, and glitter.

  Mindy comes up onstage and gives me a big hug. “You looked beautiful, Julianna. And you won!”

  We share a girly moment complete with giggles that could certainly be classified as giddy, one of my least favorite words. Right now I don’t care.

  When I’m finally packing up my things, I realize how late it is. And that I don’t have a ride home. Dad never came.

  I check my cell phone, finding three calls from him. And one from Cody. No voice mail.

  I check my text messages, finding one from Dad.

  RUSTY BROKE DOWN ON THE WAY TO YOUR PAGEANT. COULD BE THE TRANSMISSION. WILL HAVE TO GET IT TOWED. CALL ME.

  I try to call, but it goes straight to his voice mail. Great.

  I look around the empty dressing room, just me and pieces of sequins on the floor. Some residual makeup on the counter. Even Mindy is long gone by now. I call Vic, hoping he’s still at RigaTony’s with Heidi, less than a half hour away.

  “Hello?”

  “Vic,” I say, relieved. “Hey, listen, I know you’re—”

  “Hello?”

  “Vic? Can’t you hear me?”

  “You didn’t honestly fall for that, did you?” Beep.

  I let out a grunt of frustration, forgetting how obnoxious Vic can be, even in his voice- mail greetings. “Vic, Rusty broke down. Dad couldn’t pick me up from the pageant tonight, so I’m stuck. I know you’re out with Heidi, but can you come get me?”

  I gather my things as best I can and head out. Some guy from the tech crew congratulates me as we pass in the hallway. I thank him, wondering how I’m going to get home. I’m sure Donna is still around, but how embarrassing is that? Her new Miss City of Maricopa doesn’t even have a ride home from the pageant.

  I reach a fork in the darkening hallway, feeling like a total loser as I accept the fact that I’m stranded.

  “Incredible performance.”

  I turn toward the voice, finding Damian and Fin.

  “Thank you,” I say, equal parts relieved and surprised to see them still here.

  Damian leans up against the wall beside me, his close presence over my shoulder reminding me of that day in the copy center when I first met him. We exchange small talk about the pageant and then they offer to walk me out to my car.

  “Actually”—this is rich—“I don’t have a car. Or a ride home.”

  “No problem,” Damian says. “We’ll give you a ride.”

  “Yeah?” Such a relief.

  They offer to help carry my stuff out. I gladly hand over my dress bags, the act of separating my things making me realize I forgot something.

  “My pageant heels,” I say. “Hang on. Sorry. I think I left them in the dressing room.”

  “We’ll buy you a new pair,” Damian says, which makes me laugh. Still, I note the impatient edge to his voice. He’s ready to get out of here. This night—this entire pageant—wouldn’t have turned out the way it did without Damian Acklen.

  “Just a sec,” I say and open the door of the dressing room.

  I call Vic one more time, not about to fall for his stupid voice-mail greeting this time. “Vic,” I say after the beep, bending down to look for my shoes under the counter. “Never mind. My sponsor, Damian Acklen, and his brother Fin are giving me a ride home. Thanks.”

  Sparkly heels catch my eye. I snag them from beneath the counter.

  “Julianna!” Donna catches me outside the dressing room, looking dead on her feet after such a long night and yet still keyed up from all the excitement.

  Crew members are packing up props and cleaning. I glance over my shoulder toward Damian and Fin and try to break away, but Donna fires up talk about upcoming events. A fund-raiser next week for the Children’s Miracle Network, speaking at a school flag-raising ceremony, possibly even having me sing the National Anthem at sporting events. The list goes on, reminding me of how very real this is. So much responsibility and yet so much potential. I’m grateful. It’s like a whole world of possibility has been opened to me.

  “Sorry it’s such a long drive,” I say to Damian and Fin as we finally make our way into the parking lot.

  “Nah,” he says over his shoulder. “It’ll give us time to talk.”

  About what, I’m not sure. It dawns on me how very little I know about Damian and his brother. Two strangers, really. And they’re giving me a ride home.

  When I spot Damian’s black sports car—a Jaguar—I recall what he said about Cody going to Acklen Motors. Why? Damian told me Cody has a thing for Jaguars. And yet Cody didn’t want me anywhere near these two. So why would he go to Damian’s luxury car lot? Because he loves Jaguars or because he was suspicious? Just how much of his dad does he have in him?

  “Something wrong?”

  I look up, realizing I’ve stopped walking. I force a smile.

  They’re trouble, Cody told me. He thinks they were involved in the accident.

  “No,” I say. “I’m fine.” But it’s a lie. Suspicion creeps in, constricting my throat.

  Cody said he remembers a drug deal—with Vic—and he remembers running into that mall scared. I discounted it, told him he was foolish. Yet now I recall the way he was at the mall that night, his eyes darting around, his forehead perspiring. He wasn’t the cool, confident Cody I’ve come to know since.

  Is it possible that Damian and Fin know Vic?

  I didn’t trust Cody, just as he didn’t trust me. He believed Candace’s story.

  Thoughts ricochet in my mind, driving me crazy. Fin asked me how Cody and I met. Did he already know? I shake the ludicrous thought away, but more thoughts flit to the surface in its place.

  Damian had heard all about Cody’s injury—from a news article, he said. It made sense then, but now I can’t shake this unnerving feeling that something doesn’t add up. And it makes me wonder: Why exactly is Damian Acklen here?

  I pin my gaze on him as he opens his trunk. To support me, yes, but why? Out of the goodness of his heart? To be a good sponsor, adding another charity to his list? Or does he like me?

  This possibility is so farfetched it nearly makes me laugh. Rich, attractive, successful Damian Acklen certainly has a dozen beautiful women after him. What is his motive?

  Denica’s warning shuffles back to memory, all about the worst part of winning being the creeps that follow you around afterward. But Damian is no creep. He’s the wealthy businessman, the owner of a luxury sports car lot who donates to animal and cancer charities.

  All the more reason for me not to trust him, Cody had said when I told him that very thing. What’s he trying to cover up?

  And here I am, about to get in Damian’s car. I tell myself off for being so distrustful. I’m beginning to remind myself of Cody.

  “I’m going to call my brother real quick to make sure he isn’t on his way,” I say anyway.

  “No need,” Fin says, extending a hand to take my things from me.

  Suddenly, something about this situation has me wanting to back away. Find another ride home. Run.

  Tires squeal. A flash of headlights blind me as a car whirls into the parking lot. A Corvette.

  Cody.

  His Vette screeches to a stop and he jumps out, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed in on Damian. The sight of him makes my heart stagger, skipping a beat in its already erratic tempo. He’s here. The relief pouring in makes me realize how nervous I am.

  Damian and Fin have turned their attention, too. Cody takes three measured strides to Damian before punching
him in the face.

  I scream as fists start flying, and my heart catapults into my throat. Fin dashes around the car to get in on it. No words, just fists.

  Someone is on the ground now. Cody? I’ve dropped all my things. Call the police? Yes. I scramble for my cell phone before someone behind me yells. A woman. Donna.

  She and members of the tech crew are across the parking lot. Fin pauses. Now I see blood on his fist, and I realize it must be Cody’s.

  My gut sinks.

  And yet Fin’s face doesn’t look so good either. Damian turns his attention to Donna as well. Blood gathers on his lower lip.

  Fin backs away, making his way to the passenger door of the Jaguar in a flash. Then another car zips into the parking lot. The Buick. Vic pops open the door, but Heidi stays inside.

  “Fin,” Vic calls out, the name putting my pulse on hold. They do know each other. Which means Cody was telling the truth. He does remember. A drug deal gone bad. Vic got Cody into this whole mess.

  “It’s gone.” Cody’s voice.

  I bite down on my lip as I round the Jaguar to see him on the ground. Blood drips from his nose, weaving a red trail over his lips and down his chin. I gasp and cover my mouth.

  “The recording,” Cody says. “The phone. It’s gone. I threw it away. Now leave her alone.”

  Damian looks satisfied with this as he gets to his feet and steps back to his car. A smile slithers over his lips.

  The recording? The phone?

  The Jaguar pulls out of the parking lot before Donna even reaches us, its deep rumble fading into the distance along with its taillights. Cody gets to his feet.

  “What happened?” Donna is at my side now. “Are you okay? Oh my—”

  Color drains from her face as she takes in the sight of Cody’s bloody nose. “I’m calling the police.”

  Her phone is already drawn out.

  Cody wipes the blood away with the back of his hand. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

  “You need medical attention,” Donna counters.

  “We’ll get him to a hospital.” Vic. He’s at Cody’s side now, his hand clasping Cody’s shoulder like a best friend as he urges him back to his car.

  Cody shrugs him off. “We wouldn’t have been in this mess if it weren’t for you.”

  “Cool off,” Vic says, keeping his voice low.

  “Did you know?” Cody asks. “About the recording? That’s why you’ve kept your distance ever since the accident, huh? You claimed you didn’t know me and you were glad I’d lost my memory.”

  Vic glances our way and so does Cody. Vic steps toward his car, facing away. Heidi stands outside the open passenger door.

  “His dad is FBI,” I say to Donna, as though a link to the FBI lends some credibility to Cody, the one who started the fight. The thought of having police show up has my nerves on edge. I want to leave, to pretend none of this happened. At least give my mind some time to assimilate the events of the night.

  Now that Vic and Cody are done, Donna won’t stop talking, and yet I struggle to process a single word she says. Something about being a witness if we need one, and will I be all right?

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I say as Donna helps me pluck my dress bags from the ground. Cody is here, too, bending down to help. Donna flinches at the sight of him.

  “I’ve got this,” he says and gathers up everything, easily carrying three dress bags, two pairs of heels, and my makeup tote in one arm. My bouquet in the other.

  “Jewel, get in,” Vic says, gesturing to our car.

  But Cody is already putting my things into the back of his.

  “I’ll take her home,” Cody says.

  I dither back and forth between the two cars before hopping into Cody’s. The familiar leather seat and close confines of his car calm me, the purr of the engine comforts me. Once we’re in fifth gear on the freeway, Cody takes my hand in his, and it feels good. Safe. Before long, however, the silence between us that was once relaxing becomes uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, still baffled at the confirmation that Vic knows Damian and Fin. Vic must have come as soon as he heard my last message, the one when I told him I was getting a ride home with Damian Acklen and his brother Fin. “I didn’t believe you—your story—and I should have.”

  Cody glances down at our clasped hands with a hint of a smile before returning his gaze to the road. “It’s okay.”

  I wish he’d say more. Damian and Fin are drug dealers, rich drug dealers. And Vic knows them. This reality spins around in my head, part of my mind refusing to accept it.

  “Are we—” I pause—“in danger? Me, you, Vic . . .”

  “No.”

  Said with such assuredness.

  “Without the recording, I’m no real threat to them,” he says.

  “What recording?”

  “Of the drug deal,” he explains. “That night, with Vic. I told Vic I didn’t want any part of it, but I didn’t get away in time. They showed up; Fin and some other guy. I recorded it all.”

  “And Damian?” I ask.

  “He showed up later that night during the dust storm. He hit me with his car—that Jaguar. I recognized his license plate when I drove up just now. He searched my pockets for my phone, but it was already gone.”

  “So you remember?” I say. “The accident . . . the mall?”

  He shakes his head, the muscle beneath the five o’clock shadow on his jaw clenching in frustration. “I don’t remember much between throwing my phone away in the mall and getting hit by his car.”

  “You threw it away?”

  “It was damaged,” he explains. “Totally shattered.”

  “Oh,” I say, but so much of this still doesn’t make sense. “But I don’t understand why Damian would come back around. Wouldn’t he want to stay away from you? Wouldn’t he worry about jarring your memory?”

  “Thing is,” he says, “I gave him a reason to worry that my memory was already coming back. I stopped by his car lot. The Acklen Motor logo caught my eye, and it looked familiar.”

  “And he recognized you.”

  Cody nods.

  Did he give you anything else? I recall what Damian asked me at the Night with the Arts, and my shoulders deflate. It seemed like an odd question then. Yet I realize now what was behind it. What was behind everything he did.

  “Damian thought you might have given your phone to me,” I say. “At the mall.”

  Cody nods again, and it all clicks. Here I thought I did some amazing thing by landing a wealthy sponsor on my own.

  “Damian was getting close to me to get information, to tie up loose ends,” I say, receiving another silent nod from Cody.

  “He’s one of the smart ones,” Cody says. “The smart drug dealers. Their distributors don’t even know who they are. I’m pretty sure Vic didn’t know Damian, not before tonight at least. During the drug deal he asked Fin when he’d get to meet ‘Ian,’ meaning Damian, and Fin said he wouldn’t.

  “If one of the lower drug dealers gets caught, they’ll almost always rat out the higher-ups to get time off their sentences. The smart dealers insulate themselves. Having a perfect cover-up business to account for mounting income is a smart move, too. An owner of a luxury car lot like Damian would have an easy time spending lots of dough without getting flagged by the government.

  “But he was also stupid because Fin is his brother, and I got him on camera. A recording like that is perfect evidence. Irrefutable. If I somehow still had the recording, or access to it from you, Damian would have every reason to be worried.”

  “But you don’t,” I say, obviously bringing his enthusiasm down a notch.

  His deep exhalation is almost a grunt. “No.”

  “But you remember, Cody,” I say. “You remember the accident. Can’t you tell the police?”

  “Yeah, I can. But the accident was more than four months ago, and I did get a serious concussion. Memory loss. My memories are worth nothing, especially in court. Can y
ou picture me taking the stand, a kid who’s had amnesia, testifying against guys like Damian and Fin without any solid evidence? Defense attorneys would have a royal laugh at my expense, and they’d have every right to.”

  “What about Vic?” I ask. “Couldn’t he testify?”

  “Yeah, but would he?”

  “Good point.”

  It’s only eleven o’clock when we pull up to my house but it feels so much later.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” Cody says with a smile, his eyes dropping to the boxed crown in my hands. “I knew you’d win.”

  I certainly didn’t. I didn’t see any of this coming. The interview, the pageant, the fight between Damian and Cody—it’s hard to believe so much happened in one day.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he says, the porch light from my house illuminating his green eyes in the darkness. “I trust you. That whole thing with Candace and the sweater story—I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  He lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles, holding my gaze as he repeats, “I’m sorry.”

  In light of everything that’s happened, Candace’s twisted story and the fact that Cody might have believed her shouldn’t matter, but his apology means the world nonetheless.

  Did he give you anything else?

  The lingering excitement of the night refuses to leave me alone long enough for me to fall asleep. Damian’s question won’t leave me alone either.

  The glittering crown rests on my dresser in the darkness. I stare at it, thinking back to that visit with Mama at the beginning of the summer when all of this started. I recall the sweltering Arizona heat as we left the prison, the brown landscape dotted by cactus reminding me of how trapped I felt. I see this place differently now, see myself differently.

  Did he give you anything else?

  The question repeats in my mind as I toss around in bed.

  I’m not sure which Dad was more surprised to see earlier tonight when I returned home: the crown in my hands or Cody Rush helping me bring my things in, his nose still carrying a trace of blood.