They hadn’t spoken for three whole days after that, but eventually Becky answered his messages, and they’d found a compromise. She’d go to prom with Ricky Belsen, and Scott would meet up with her at Brian’s for the after-party.
The night had been torture, waiting for her to come back, imagining what might be happening between Ricky and his girlfriend, but by the time she’d made it to Brian’s, that look of impatience she got when she was annoyed was all over her face.
Impatience to be away from Ricky. Impatience to be with Scott.
That was all he’d needed to put everything back to rights.
The party had been like all of Brian’s other parties, and Scott forgot every messed-up thing in his life as he chilled with his friends. He even managed to convince himself he hadn’t just missed the main event. Becky had never looked more beautiful than that night, dressed in shimmery peach. Strands from her fancy hair had shaken loose and were dangling around her face, brushing her creamy shoulders when she’d parted the crowd in Brian’s living room to find him.
And then Scott had gone home to find his dad waiting up to greet him with his fists, and the peach night turned red.
*
Scott pulled into the back employees’ lot at Café Flores and turned off the car. Now that things had returned to an even keel with Becky, he didn’t want to risk another fight, so he settled on a text message.
Becks, change of plans. Will meet you at Brian’s. Figure on 10:45ish.
He hadn’t so much as settled his time card back in its slot when his phone pinged.
Where r u?
He considered lying. Screw that. It was just for a couple of hours. She probably wouldn’t be ready much before ten anyway.
Seconds after he hit SEND, he received a new message: I’m coming there. We need to talk. Be there around closing.
He kicked the garbage can. “Fuck.”
Whatever she wanted to talk about, it couldn’t be good.
11
WINNY
TWENTY-SIX MINUTES AFTER CLOSING
I have no idea what Scott is looking at, but all I can do is trust him. The cell is a sickly weight tugging at the skirt of my dress. I don’t know how I’m going to tell them it’s useless, but I’ll worry about that when I make it back out there.
If I make it back out there.
Scott’s palm appears in the slit of light coming from the ladies’ room and I tighten my grip on the door handle as my heart skips a beat. His palm is replaced by three fingers.
He folds one down.
Then the second.
And the third.
I pull the door open, smashing it against my hip in my rush, but I don’t care because all that matters is making it to the door and Scott, which are both only two-and-a-half steps away. I clench my eyes, readying for a gunshot and the flash of pain that will signal the men saw and our plan failed, but the only thing I feel is warmth wrap my body. Gentle strong warmth that pulls me against it.
Scott’s arm around my waist.
Scott’s body pressing against mine.
When I open my eyes, it’s his shoulder I see, clad in his green Café Flores polo, and I lay my head against him as his hands smooth up and down my back.
“I’m so sorry, Winny. I’m so sorry. I never should have suggested—” He buries his face against my neck and shakes his head from side-to-side, his misery a caress to my skin, and when his lips move, they flutter against my pulse.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” My breath hitches, but I manage to coax out the rest of the words. “I made it.”
He pulls back to study my face, one hand skimming over my back and up to my neck, the other resting against my cheek. “Are you sure?”
I nod and he rests his forehead against mine. His heat ignites the cologne and soap lingering on his skin, and I breathe him in, letting my muscles relax when I exhale. “I wish we could just stay in here, lock ourselves in, and forget everything else.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Even though at least two inches of air separates us, I can feel his lips when he speaks, can feel them brushing mine in a ghost of a caress. In a memory.
Or maybe a promise.
He withdraws a second later. “Shit!” he hisses, glancing at his watch. The door bursts open, and we both jump.
“I said five minutes.” Toto grabs my arm and drags me from the restroom.
“I can walk.” I tug out of his grasp.
“You can? Then how come you didn’t walk your ass out here ten minutes ago?”
“I was . . . sick.”
“Well, you best be feeling better, because no one’s leaving my sight again.”
Toto’s words sink into my brain like a prediction instead of a threat, a dark pledge to vanquish the last spark of hope I held.
Before I reach the stools, Sylvie rushes me, practically knocking me over with her hug. “Don’t you ever do that again. Promise?”
“Okay. I’ll never use the bathroom again.”
She’s crying and laughing at the same time. “Good.”
“That was a very brave thing you did, young lady.” The corner of the old man’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.
Oscar half hugs me with one arm, using the gesture as a fake-out so he can whisper in my ear. “Did you get it?”
I nod and take a deep breath, because the words don’t want to come. Right this second, these people are holding on to hope that they’re the survivors in this story, but what I have to tell them will turn them back into hostages in a hopeless situation. “There’s just one problem.”
“We didn’t have time to make the call,” Scott says.
“That’s okay.” Oscar lays a hand on my shoulder. “You guys did good. We’ll get our chance.”
“No, that’s not it.”
I’m pinned by their stares. Making sure our captors are focused on something other than me, I pull the phone from my pocket and show everyone the blank LED screen.
Scott’s back goes rigid.
“But you had it on my charger under the counter for two hours,” Sylvie says.
He thrusts his hands in his pockets and kicks at nothing on the floor. “It’s a piece of shit. Damn!”
I want so much to hold him the way he held me in the ladies’ room. The way he looked at me, it made everything okay for a little. I want to do the same for him.
“Not now,” Oscar says “Winny, hide that!”
I jam the phone back into my pocket, its cold weight pulling at the skirt of my dress.
It’s Ryan, he’s coming.
And he’s looking right at me. He knows. Oh my God, he knows. The phone seems to grow heavier. Can he see it? Does my skirt look uneven where the phone’s weight drags it down? Can he see the black case through the white cotton? I clench my hands together so they won’t betray me and feel for the cell through the eyelet fabric. Or do something worse: hand it over, turn myself in, face the consequences.
Ryan stops right in front of me. “What are you talking about over here?”
Sylvie checks Oscar’s wound again. “Oh, let’s see. We’re just trying to figure out how to keep your brother-in-law from dying on the café floor.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “That thing still bleeding?” He doesn’t even bother to try to sound concerned. But at least he’s not looking at me anymore. He’s bending over Oscar, acting like he knows what’s going on with the injury. Suddenly, I want to laugh. Who’d have ever thought I’d be the go-to girl? Call Winsome Sommervil for all your bullet wound needs. This situation has just hit a new level of surreal.
But it hits me. I’m calmer, more grounded, and way less scared than I was before.
If you need a way out, search for the door yourself.
I’d never tell her so, but my mom’s right. It’s better to do something, stay moving, than just sit around and wait for someone else to fix my problems.
“It’s slowing down,” Oscar says. “Don’t worry, Silv. The bullet is s
till in there. It’s helping.”
It may be, but any bleeding is too much. Sylvie has at least two of those white bar towels by her feet and a third in her hands, and they’re all soaked in blood. I won’t look at her hands. The wound is one thing, but Oscar’s blood on Sylvie’s palms, under her fingernails . . .
“Looks fine to me,” Ryan says.
“It’s not fine.” Everyone jumps, as though they’ve forgotten I know how to speak. “Well, it’s not. If it’s been bleeding like that this whole time, he’s only minutes away from passing out.”
Toto lifts his chin to peer over the counter from his corner by the main entrance.
“Do you have a first aid kit?” I ask.
Ryan returns to Sylvie’s side, and—totally weird—he talks to her, not me, like I’m invisible. “I said, he looks fine.”
“Ryan, please—”
“And I’ve had EMT training.” I hate to cut Sylvie off, but I have an idea, and if I’m going to try it, I just want to get it over with. I may not be panicking anymore, but my hands tremble, and when I speak next there’s a tremble in my voice, too. “I can stop the blood, but I need a few things. First aid kit. Plastic wrap.”
“No.” This time Ryan aims his words at me, and they’re a full-on growl.
“Think about it, young man,” Pavan says.
“It’s okay, man. I’ll be fine,” Oscar says.
“No, this is important.” Tension marks Pavan’s age-lined face. “What if we need to move again suddenly? If this man is immobilized . . .”
Ryan sighs. “We’ll have two stiffs to deal with.”
“Ryan! What the hell is wrong with you?” Sylvie gapes at him, and I can’t believe that anything he says can surprise her at this point.
Would I react with excuses and denial if it were my family here—my mom or dad, or my cousin Gracie—holding the guns, barking out orders? Maybe. Then again, how someone can deny a problem that has literally drenched her hands with blood is beyond me. “If you cover a fire, you still have a fire,” I mumble.
Sylvie’s crying again. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Let me get the supplies to help him.” Sylvie reaches toward Ryan almost as if she wants to give him comfort. “Please.”
“The girl can do it,” he says. “I’m not letting you back there. You might pull something.”
Oscar’s large, warm hand cups my shoulder. “The first aid kit is under the counter,” he slurs, struggling to force the words out, and it’s no wonder with all the blood he’s lost.
“Okay.” Scott’s cellphone is a reassuring weight in my pocket.
“You’ve got three minutes,” Toto says.
The way behind the counter is a narrow passage, mere feet from the vestibule. I skirt the counter and slip between the wall and the black stone counter top.
A lump lodges in my throat, one I can’t swallow down because, phone aside, if I can’t stop Oscar’s bleeding, he might die.
“One thing at a time,” I whisper as I squat down to examine the contents of the shelves.
“You see it?” Sylvie sounds near panic, but she needs to keep it together so I can do this.
“Not yet,” I call.
“Let her focus,” Oscar says.
I find the kit right away, but pretend I’m still looking. I need to find the phone charger. As I move along the counter, I push the kit with me. Okay, we’ve got plenty of take-out containers. I dig through the items, inspecting the wall at the back of the shelf for the tell-tale outlet plate. More towels, plates, bowls, a huge box of plastic wrap. I tug that out and stand to plop it on the counter. Squatting again, I find some silverware, including old-school wood-handled steak knives. Should I grab one? It’ll be too long to fit in my pocket without sticking out, and with a pang of despair, I let the idea go. I snag a few pairs of rubber gloves, shoving them in my empty pocket with one hand while the other caresses the lump of plastic I need to plug in. Then I grab some scissors and a few bottles of water from the cooler.
“Still not finding it.” Hopefully someone will realize that I’m really asking about the charger.
“Try closer to the register,” Oscar calls.
There it is! But I need to stay calm. “Let’s see.” I let my voice trail as though I’m not sure what I’m looking at. A glance at the men could give me away, though not looking makes my skin squirm as though there are eyes all over me. Doesn’t matter though, my front is shielded by my crouched position and the shelf itself. If I move fast enough, they’ll never see, even if they do happen to be looking my way.
My hand has already crept into my pocket, and I close my fingers over the plastic. It’s warmed slightly from being so close to my skin. So I can be certain where the plug goes, I rub my thumb along the sides and edges while I use my free hand to rifle through the objects on the shelf to mimic a search.
“Hurry up back there,” Toto says. A squeak tells me he’s wandered nearer the beverage cooler by the front window. Not a bad vantage point if he wants to check out what I’m doing.
I need to be fast. Closing my hand in a fist around the phone, I whip it from my pocket and thrust it into the shadows under the shelves. “I think I found it,” I say to keep Toto from getting any closer. When I tug the thin wire, a cup with extra pens topples, and the contents scatter on the tile floor. “Shit,” I hiss, but the plug end comes into view. I maneuver it, but at first it just skitters around the opening in the phone, scratching the plastic. Finally, it slips home with a click.
“I said—”
“I’ve got it!” Reaching for the kit, I shove the cell to the far back of the shelf behind a box of business cards, just in case they decide to check, and bounce to my feet so fast, not enough blood makes it to my head, and I have to grab the counter to keep from losing my balance.
“Then get back here,” Toto snaps.
After a second, the dots fade from my vision, and I grab the plastic wrap and the other items I placed on the counter before scooting through the pass-through to rejoin the others.
“You ready?” I ask Oscar.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I’ve never tended a gunshot victim, but I think I can manage.” I dig in my brain for the steps, and find they’re there waiting for me. I can do this. “Among the blind, the one-eyed is king.”
“What?”
“Just something my mother says. Trust me.”
Then I get to work.
12
WINNY
TWO HOURS AND FIFTY-TWO MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING
Winny scanned the street beyond her bedroom window again. Dark and quiet. Janey wouldn’t be coming for over an hour, not until after Winny texted her that the coast was clear. Winny’s parents still hadn’t left yet, though she expected them to any time now. She sighed and flopped back onto her pillow. The stack of acceptance letters still sat on her desk. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw them away, and they glared at her from across the room, whispering warnings to her in voices that sounded too much like her mother’s:
The world is a dangerous place, Winny.
You won’t have us to take care of you.
We’ve always supported you, but we don’t have to, you know.
Winny had been itching to get out of here an hour ago. Her only plans for the evening were to avoid any more family time, so she’d been hiding out in her room since her parents went to get ready for her mom’s work party. She snorted. Family time. Translation: listen to her parents talk about everything wrong with her life choices and why Winny would be a failure.
She clicked to a new track on her playlist and cranked up the volume, trying to relax and get in the mood for a party, but she couldn’t keep still. The evening’s lecture had blown her mom’s from this morning out of the water. The words kept playing in her head.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t follow through with the second part of the EMT training,” her dad had said after her mom
filled him in. “You did such a good job in the first course.”
Yeah, until she almost passed out on the last day. So much blood, it had been everywhere—a bike accident victim. The guy’s calf had been shredded, and it had totally undone her, but she’d never told her parents, because for them, there was no such thing as can’t.
“I wanted to do something different, okay? I’m sorry I lied.”
“Your father and I work very hard for you to have those opportunities. First, you let us believe you sent in an acceptance to Johns Hopkins, now this. Ou wè sa ou genyen, ou pa konn sa ou rete. Bourik swe pou chwal dekore ak dantèl.”
Super, Winny was in for her mom’s snark. Could this day get any worse?
“Jeannette, don’t,” her dad had said.
“David, she can’t even begin university until the spring, and here she is, wasting time with painting.”
“Thanks, Mom. I guess you’re right. I’m just a lazy freeloader who isn’t good at anything.”
Her dad had slammed his coffee mug onto the counter. “Now, come on. You know that’s not how we feel.”
“That’s basically what she said this morning. When she threatened to kick me out.”
“Winsome, I merely said—”
But Winny had stormed out of the kitchen and away from whatever explanation her mom was going to try to use to downplay her threats, and she’d been hiding in her room ever since. They’d be gone soon, and when they left, she’d text Janey. Until then, she just needed to chill and get rid of her jitters.
Maybe she should dance; that usually worked. She hopped to her feet and checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. Just sweats for now, though her hair and makeup were all set. The white sundress waited for her in the closet.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s get ready to party.”
She searched for a good song, made sure her earbuds were in tight, and hit it. This had been the right choice. The music was loud enough to drown out her mother’s voice, and when it started to seep in again, Winny simply clicked the volume up a few more notches.
If only everything could be this simple: get moving, close your eyes, and follow the music until the song ended.
Ten After Closing Page 7