What the heck did she do with herself all day now that school was done? He searched his brain for any mention from their phone conversation the night before but came up blank. Something must seriously be wrong with him if he was that clueless about his girlfriend’s activities.
He had no idea what he’d have said to her if she were home, anyway. They didn’t exactly have a drop-in kind of relationship—not that he’d invite anyone to drop in at his house. But now that he considered it, she’d never given him an open invitation at hers either. He could count on two fingers the number of times he’d eaten dinner at her place in the six months since they’d started dating. She’d been interested in his family at first, but he’d brushed her off so many times, she’d stopped asking about his home life. Maybe she’d stopped caring, too.
What the hell kind of relationship was that?
It didn’t matter. They had this one last summer to enjoy before she went off to school and he either left too, or didn’t.
His time with Becky had been his only chance he had to unplug, to laugh, to be a regular senior. It was when he got to forget everything else—bills and work and college offers he was too afraid to accept—and let his guard down for a little. Even if she had been here right now and they had the kind of relationship that came with unannounced visits and a spot at the table for Sunday barbecues, he wouldn’t screw up what they had with his drama.
As he drove away, a breeze blew through his windows, loosening a scrap of bright paper that had been tucked in the passenger visor, dropping it to the floor. Keeping one eye on the road, he snatched it up and turned the sheet over.
“Shit,” he said. “I almost forgot.”
He’d be cutting it close. The little gallery on Howe Street was only about ten minutes away, but with early rush-hour traffic, it was taking way longer than it should have. Luckily, there was a spot right in front, and he pulled up to the curb as the clock passed 4 p.m. He’d just make it.
Sunlight streamed through the huge Victorian windows, playing across the exposed brick of the gallery’s entryway. The reception area opened up to the main showing room, which, though small, felt spacious with its gleaming white walls.
Gleaming, empty white walls.
A handful of people still milled around, but he’d clearly arrived too late for the main event. He turned to beeline back out to the street when a small gasp caught his ear.
“Scott?”
Pivoting, he scanned the room again and smiled. “Hey! There you are. I thought I missed it.”
Winny stood on the far left, next to her canvas. “Well, the showing is kind of over.”
“Sorry.”
She stood with her shoulders slumped, and a flat expression on her face, not at all what he’d expect of an artist on the day of her debut. Not at all like Winny. Maybe it was him. Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed that she’d be okay with him coming unannounced, and only sort of invited. He’d been with their friends when she told everyone about the show at school, but that didn’t mean she wanted him here. God, he couldn’t get anything right today.
He shook his head. “I guess I’ll go then. Let you get on with . . . whatever you’ve got to do.” He turned away for the second time but paused. “I almost forgot. Congratulations. It came out incredible.”
He was two steps from the doorway when her voice made him freeze.
“Wait, Scott. Stay. Please. If you want to.”
That was all he needed to hear.
29
SCOTT
ONE HOUR AND TWENTY-SEVEN MINUTES AFTER CLOSING
This is our chance,” Oscar whispers. “While he’s distracted, maybe we can sneak out back.”
“Oscar, he has a gun,” Sylvie says. “He killed Maggie, and he’s clearly unstable. What are you thinking?”
“We can’t just leave,” I add. “They’ve got Winny. If they call, and we’re not here . . . You heard them. I won’t risk her life that way.”
Oscar shakes his head. “I’m not talking about running. I’m talking about going for my gun.”
“Yes. Let’s talk about this gun.” Sylvie crosses her arms.
“Here it comes,” Oscar mumbles.
“I thought you got rid of your service weapons after your discharge.”
“I did,” Oscar says.
“Since when do you have a gun, then, and what on earth moved you to bring it here?”
“Since last week. Look, Ryan has been showing up here, twisting your arm about selling the café. What is that?”
“You know I’d never sell.”
“Yeah. Everyone who knows you knows that. So why is he all gung-go about this restaurateur friend of his? And where does he get off brokering offers for a business that isn’t his?”
Suddenly, something that made zero sense to me a few weeks ago is clear. Ryan and Sylvie arguing about this very thing, selling the café. Only, the dishwasher had been running, and it was loud in the kitchen. I thought I must have heard wrong. Then there was Ryan’s comment about bringing Sylvie a deal that would have set them up good. And what Toto said when I was hiding behind the counter: Why do you think they’ve been all over you to get your sister to sell this place? We were raking it in back then.
“Ryan uses our property as a front for his drug ring, then he tries to sell it off? You tell me that’s not sketchy as hell. So yeah, I got a gun. I wanted to be prepared.”
“Good thing, too,” I say, but that only earns me my own scowl from Sylvie.
“I was going to tell you, I swear. And teach you how to use it. I just never had a chance.”
She nods her head in Twitch’s direction. “And what if he finds it?”
“Don’t worry,” Oscar says. “It’s hidden. There’s a secret shelf underneath my desk.”
“I don’t want firearms in my café.”
“We can discuss the security plan for our café later, after the armed gunman is gone, okay? Right now, we need to do something. I’m going to see if I can—”
“Are you kidding me?” Sylvie’s voice grows louder.
“Shh.” Pavan throws a worried glance over his shoulder at Twitch, but he’s still in a state of digital hypnosis.
“You can’t even stand, Oscar,” she says, quieter. “How do you think you’re going to just nonchalantly waltz through the door to the office and back here?”
“I’ll do it,” Pavan offers.
Sylvie shakes her head. “I can’t let you.”
“Sylvie, my dear,” Pavan says. “I appreciate your concern, but you are my friend, not my mother.”
We can’t sit here arguing over this. I’m done waiting.
Dropping to a crouch, I crawl back around the counter to reduce the amount of time I’ll be exposed. Hopefully, Twitch hasn’t noticed that I’ve snuck away, and since he’s still quiet over there in his corner, I don’t stop until I slip through the swinging doors into the kitchen. A peek through the window tells me Twitch is the only person in the room unaware that I’m missing. I need to get back out there with the gun before that changes.
Oscar said it’s hidden in a secret compartment under his desk. Probably would have been good to find out where the hell that was before I came back here, but it’s not like I can just pop back into the café for instructions.
The space is tight and dark, and I have to roll the chair aside so I can squeeze in to kneel between the wall and the desk. I grope around on the right side. No sign of the hidden compartment, no suspicious groove or button or anything. What if I find it, but there’s some special code? I could be here all night.
Why did I storm back here without waiting for the details? They call, and you jump. Your mom. Your boss. Everyone except me. You don’t even ask any questions. You just do it. Becky was right. I just risked my life—their lives, too—and it might be for nothing.
I can’t find any hint of a hiding place on the back wall of the knee hole either, but when I slide my hand along the left side, my fingers brush against cold metal. The hand
gun’s weight surprises me, but it’s also kind of reassuring. Okay, I’ve got the gun. Now to make it back into the café without Twitch noticing.
Back in the kitchen, I scope out the scene through the window and immediately duck, my heart racing and my limbs going numb.
Twitch is no longer in his corner. He’s pacing the room, carrying on a conversation with thin air, waving his gun like it’s his car key fob and he can’t remember where he parked. Does he know I’m gone? Oh, shit. What if he comes looking for me?
Or hurts someone else.
“Get it together, Bradley,” I say, imitating my cross-country coach. “You’ve got the gun now. If you need to, you can defend yourself.” Except, with my lack of experience, I’m more likely to put a hole in Oscar and Sylvie’s wall or shoot myself in the foot.
My best bet is to get the pistol to Oscar.
I inch up to peer through the window again. Twitch is still in the middle of his freak-out. Ready to drop again, I notice movement by the counter. Sylvie ducks as the gun points in her direction. Pavan winces. Then Oscar turns. But he isn’t focused on Twitch. He’s looking my way. At me. Before lowering his gaze, he holds up one finger—stay put, not yet—then brings his attention back to our captor.
I move out of sight again. I can do that. I can wait. For a change. Too bad we didn’t have time to discuss a contingency for this scenario before I got the bright idea to come back here.
But if the asshole realizes I’m gone, why hasn’t he come to get me?
Twitch keeps groping his pockets like he’s looking for something, and when he comes up empty, he resumes delivering his rant.
I might be able to sneak out of the door and at least get behind the counter, a little closer to Oscar. The only problem is, Twitch isn’t pacing in anything like a predictable path. It’s more like he’s wandering aimlessly around the room, but at top speed. The only way I can tell when to go for it is if I look through the window, which means I need to be standing.
I watch the guy for another full minute. Oscar motions again for me to wait. Are they planning something? It’s hard to tell. My view of Sylvie and Pavan is blocked by Oscar’s back and a rack of fair-trade chocolate bars on the counter, but it looks like they’re whispering.
After a fast, heated exchange, Pavan stands and shuffles in Twitch’s direction. “Young man, excuse me,” I hear him say.
Twitch spins around, freezing right in my line of sight.
For a second, I swear we make eye contact.
“Shit!” I hiss and hit the floor again. “Damn it.” He could have seen me, could be coming this way right now, sweaty gray face turning red. I need to know what’s going on out there, but every time I think about standing up again, my muscles feel as though they’ve been replaced with marble. Then I catch snatches of Pavan’s words.
If they’re still talking, Twitch can’t be closing in.
Most of what Pavan says is muffled. “. . . okay, young man? . . . help you . . . any way?”
He didn’t really go up and talk to that guy?
“They know!” Twitch shouts. “About the inversion control. They found out, and now they’re coming. Who told them? Did you?”
Sylvie gasps, followed by Pavan’s gentle voice. “. . . nice cup of coffee? Come, my friend. Have a seat, and I’ll brew you a perfect espresso.” From the clarity in Pavan’s voice, he must be facing this way now.
I have to look again. I need to know.
Twitch’s hand hangs by his side, the gun dangling like a dead weight. Pavan snakes his arm around Twitch’s shoulders. The dude’s actually letting Pavan lead him to a table and seat him with his back to me.
Pavan is my new hero.
This is it. I may not have another chance. I hit the floor and crawl through the swinging double doors, only opening the gap wide enough to squeeze my body through. The soothing tones of Pavan’s voice guide me.
“Everything will be just fine, son. You’ll see.” I make it to Sylvie’s feet and stand just as Pavan turns back in our direction. “One espresso, coming up.”
Twitch is still on his tirade, but now only mumbles reach my ears.
As I shove the gun into his hand, Oscar takes my shoulder and gives me a shake. “If you ever do that again, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Sorry, Dad,” I grumble.
Sylvie grabs me, too, but instead of shaking me, she throws her arms around my neck, almost knocking me to the floor. “And if he doesn’t, I will.” It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her all night.
“Wait a minute,” Oscar says. “Where’s the ammo?”
Sylvie’s smile disappears.
You jump.
“Ammo?” I say.
Don’t think twice.
“Scott, please tell me you grabbed the box of shells?”
The room tilts under my feet and little black spots dance in my vision. “Shells?”
Oscar lets out a stream of Spanish that cuts through my gut.
“So, the gun’s not loaded?” Sylvie asks.
“Oh, God.” Not loaded?
“Okay, everyone.” Pavan whispers to us as he comes around the counter with Twitch’s coffee. “Just calm down. Those guys will be back soon. If you’re saying we’re still defenseless, we’d better come up with a way to remedy that.”
I’m such a stupid, useless ass.
Everyone’s martyr . . .
Except it’s the martyr’s job to die. With my rash decision, I may have killed us all.
30
WINNY
SIX HOURS AND FIFTY-EIGHT MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING
I hope they get here soon, Winsome,” Jackie, the gallery curator said. “There’s only an hour left before we have to shut down the exhibit.”
Winny forced a smile and checked the door again. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon, if they can. Things just come up with work, you know. Weekdays can be hard for them.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll make time. They’ve got to be so proud of you.” Janey rolled her eyes, but Jackie didn’t catch it. She was too busy beaming at nothing in particular—the room or the day or life, maybe. “There are so many talented kids in our area.”
“It’s a very nice show,” Janey replied. She’d put on a dress for this special occasion, something she hated unless it was Halloween or a dance, but she didn’t even complain when Winny told her she couldn’t come in her usual jeans.
So far, only a couple of the other exhibitors’ parents had commented on Winny’s work, both with expressions on their faces that said, Poor girl. No one here to support her. After only a few minutes of small talk, they’d returned to their own children’s sides to gush about how proud they were. A couple of local art bigwigs were here, too. They gave Winny her fair share of sincere admiration, but of course they had to devote an equal amount of time talking with the other artists.
When Jackie moved on, Janey said, “You didn’t tell her that your parents don’t know about this?”
“Actually, my mom found out.”
“No!”
“I have no idea who said something. She said someone from school this morning, but yeah. I knew it would be a problem when Mrs. Simms announced it in class. Word was bound to spread.”
Before her ride arrived, Winny had knocked on her mom’s office door, all dressed in her suit and her black patent leather pumps, so much like the ones on her mom’s feet. “Hey, I know this didn’t all go down in the best way,” Winny had said, trying to ignore the expression on her mom’s face that said she was in the middle of something important despite her midday sojourn home. “I know I wasn’t supposed to be in this show, but I am. And since you’re already here, you know, not at work, it would be really nice if you could drop by the gallery. I mean, it would really mean a lot to me if you’d come.”
Winny got a full thirty seconds of silence before her mom answered.
“They’re expecting me back by one-fifteen. Maybe next time.”
The rejection sizzled her throat. “Sure.
Of course. I understand.”
The underlying message hadn’t been lost on Winny, either. Next time. There wouldn’t be any next time if her mother had her way.
Still, Winny hadn’t been able to keep from scanning the face of each person who entered the gallery showroom. After two hours, she realized how deeply she’d tricked herself into thinking that her mother was going to surprise her and put in an appearance. By the time Janey arrived half an hour later, she’d given up all hope.
A tall, balding man in a blue suit approached them from across the room.
“Ahh!” Janey whispered in Winny’s ear.
“Stop it.”
Janey ignored her and continued tugging on Winny’s arm. “But check out the old-school ’stache.”
“Shh! That’s Dean Hollis from the Connecticut Art Institute.”
“Oops. But you have to admit, that Selleck job he’s got going on is incredible.”
Janey was right, but Winny couldn’t say any more because Dean Hollis was standing in front of them, one hand extended to shake Winny’s. “Congratulations, Ms. Sommervil. I had a sneak peek of the projects, you know, and I’m immensely impressed with what you’ve accomplished here. I’m still waiting for your acceptance letter.”
“It’s . . . I’ll be sure to decide soon.”
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Good. Enjoy the rest of your debut afternoon. You’ve earned it.”
“You’re going to that school?” Janey asked, eyes wide. “What did your parents say?”
“Nothing, because I haven’t told them yet. And I haven’t decided yet, either. Not really.” She blew out a frustrated puff of air. “They’re going to say no, I know it.”
“But that’s where you want to go?”
“It doesn’t matter. If I don’t pick a school from the parent-approved pile, they’ll disown me.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Janey took a sip of her sparkling cider. “This is flat, you know. Must have gotten a dud batch.” The foot of her plastic champagne glass kept falling off, but Jackie’s attempt at festivity was still nice.
“I’m not being dramatic. My mom basically said as much before I got here.”
Ten After Closing Page 15