by Jenna Rae
“What? No way, baby. You can’t pin that shit on me.”
“I won’t get mad if you did. Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe—please, tell me who’s after you, who’s after Lola. How do I protect both of you?”
“You can’t,” Janet said, pulling the mug away and laughing at the look on Del’s face. “Once a monster has you in their sights you’re a goner.”
Del struggled to think. “No, baby, that’s not true. I can save Lola and I can save you. Please talk to me. Tell me who and what and where, please?”
Janet shook her head. She was a little girl now, stubborn and precocious and adorable.
“Nuh-uh.” She licked the rim of the mug, a sexy vixen now. “There’s something else I’d rather do.”
Del shook her head. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
The sexy vixen disappeared and was replaced by a morose child. Tears coursed down Janet’s face, and she looked suddenly naked and more vulnerable than Del had ever seen her. Was this finally the real Janet?
“Janet, talk to me.”
Janet shook her head. “All I can say is good night.”
“Tell me what you want.”
Janet laughed as she walked away. Del heard her calling out as she headed toward the front door.
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. You.”
Del awoke to find she was crying.
“It was just a dream,” she insisted to herself. Feeling ridiculous, she nonetheless remained unconvinced until she’d checked the kitchen. No teabag, no vodka, no mug, no evidence of Janet’s presence at all. Del sniffed the air. Was that a remnant of Janet’s perfume? She sniffed again. This was silly. She was alone. Still, she checked the rest of the house just in case.
“Knock it off,” Del told herself. “She was nothing but a ghost.” Restless suddenly, Del started to head for her bike and swung abruptly to dash toward her truck. “Time to get outta here.”
She meandered south, hardly knowing where she was going, in a daze and still not entirely sure she was awake. It wasn’t until she sat parked for a while that Del felt roused. The sun had long since sunk behind a thick bank of fog over the beach at the south end of Pacifica, but Del still sat with the windows down and soaked in the fresh, crisp, dampening breeze that flowed through the truck. She was starting to love the truck. The camper shell had a little leak in it, but that would be easy to fix. The truck itself felt solid and strong and timeless.
The Ranger was not a macho truck. It was an automatic. It had bucket seats. It had air conditioning and was surprisingly comfortable. But underneath it was still a truck. Driving it made her feel like she was back in Texas with Daddy, and Nana and Momma were back at the old place, and she was still Daddy’s best pal, and nothing was wrong, nothing in the whole world, that her daddy couldn’t fix.
“Stupid,” Del said aloud, but the cold, wet air soaked up the sound, and she still felt good.
“I’ll figure it out,” she told herself, as she watched the lone straggler on the beach, an older man bundled up in a heavy jacket and wool cap. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, and he trudged along the upper part of the beach, avoiding the jagged wet line that marked the edge of the surf. He looked like a grim traveler driven by force to some terrible destination, and Del had to laugh. The beach was tucked into a little cove and went nowhere. The man had chosen to come to this place in this weather for no apparent reason, yet he wasn’t enjoying the walk at all.
“Maybe he is, though,” she muttered into the mist-spotted windshield. “Maybe he likes it more than it seems.” She pushed her hair off her forehead. “Maybe he likes having something to complain about. Maybe he wants to suffer.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“She never called me back.” Lola froze at her own words, fingers over the keyboard, and felt a rush of panic.
“She always calls me back. Well, almost always unless she’s mad. Eventually.”
She ran downstairs and fished out Tom’s card again.
“Tom?”
“Hey, Lola. You okay?”
“Yes. Is Del okay? Did something happen?”
“No, why? What’s up?”
“She didn’t call me back.”
There was a long silence. “Well, okay. Is it possible that she just hasn’t called you back yet?”
Lola made a face. “It’s been hours! And why could you answer your phone and she couldn’t? That’s weird.”
“She’s off the job for now, because of her shoulder. Maybe she’s at physical therapy or something,” he offered.
“I don’t know,” she started. “It just—”
“Tell you what,” Tom interrupted. “My daughter programmed Del’s new phone. I’ll ask her if there’s a way to find out where she is, where her phone is.”
While she waited for Tom to get back to her, Lola tried to talk herself out of panicking.
“She’s a cop,” Lola told herself. “She carries a gun. Sometimes two. She’s more aware of her surroundings than anyone I’ve ever known.”
She paced around the house for a good twenty minutes, trying to imagine reasons Del wouldn’t call her back, ones that didn’t involve her being dead, maimed or injured. After a while, she could only think of the worst possibilities. She snapped into action, jogging to Del’s house and using her key to get in.
She took the gun Del kept in the drawer in the entry table, hoping she was holding it right. She tried to imagine what Del would do, if their roles were reversed.
Okay, just look around. Be quiet. Hold the gun in front of you. It’s a revolver, right? Del explained this, remember? It’s got no safety, no hammer. All you have to do is point it and squeeze the trigger if there’s a good reason to. No worries. Probably no one’s here, anyway. Del maybe went off to a bar or something. Or she’s with Janet. Lola went from room to room, seeing nothing and no one out of place. Del’s keys and wallet were gone, her boots too. There was a lingering scent of perfume in Del’s bedroom, and Lola realized it was probably Janet’s.
“Oh.”
That was it. Del and Janet were together. After all, Janet was the damsel in distress now.
“That’s why she was interested in me before,” she told the living room furniture. “She likes to save people. She only liked me because she saved me.”
“Now she’s saving Janet so she likes Janet,” she told the kitchen appliances. “Maybe that’s the only way Del can like a woman, if she saves her.” That didn’t feel like the truth, but Lola was as always unable to trust the accuracy of her perceptions.
Her gaze was caught by something sparkly on top of the fridge.
“It’s none of my business.”
Even as she told herself this, she was reaching up. It was a tiny bracelet, very fancy, probably Janet’s—no one else would wear something so fancy or be able to fit it around her wrist. Lola fingered the string of blue and green gems separated by lovely silver beads with small diamond chips on them. She draped the bracelet over her own wrist. It wouldn’t fit Lola, of course.
“Even my wrist is too fat,” she muttered. “No wonder Del likes her better.”
But why was it here? Was Janet staying over? There hadn’t been any tiny, fancy clothes or shoes anywhere. No extra toothbrush, no extra shoes, no makeup anywhere. So why leave only one thing behind, aside from the scent of perfume? Why leave the fancy bracelet on the fridge? Was Janet laying claim to Del’s space? Or was that paranoid? Only Del would have put an expensive piece of jewelry atop a refrigerator and forgotten about it.
“Del must have found it in the bedroom or somewhere. And she put it up there so it wouldn’t get lost.” That made sense, didn’t it?
She was about to put the bracelet back on the fridge when her attention was caught by a picture stuck on the fridge. It was an old photo from Del’s early days on the force, and she was barely distinguishable from the other gangly youngsters in their stiff new uniforms with their hats pulled low to shield their eyes. The photo caught her eye because D
el had objected when Lola wanted to take some photos and put them in magnetic frames on the fridge. Lola couldn’t believe that, after making such a stink, Del had allowed this picture on the fridge. Maybe it was because Janet had done it. Maybe there were things she let Janet do that she would never let Lola do.
“You really do love her, don’t you?”
Lola couldn’t help but wonder where Janet found the photo. Del hated having her picture taken. Lola had almost no photos of her life, and she’d begged to see Del’s albums, to no avail.
“Oh, Del.” She stood and tried to read the expression on young Del’s face, tried to imagine being that scrawny young woman surrounded by all those hard-eyed, broad-shouldered young men.
“You had to be so tough, didn’t you? Just to survive.” Young Del was stony-faced, flinty-eyed, like the other rookies. She had the same perfect posture, the same wide stance, the same lifted chin as all the boys. The earnest stiffness of all the young cops made them seem somehow younger, like they were trying to prove how grown up they were. A sob escaped Lola’s lips.
“Oh, love. Why would you go back to her? After she hurt you so much?”
Suddenly Lola needed to get away from Del’s house, Del’s picture and the knowledge that she did not belong in Del’s life. She fled, almost forgetting in her haste to lock the door. It wasn’t until she’d gotten home that she realized she was still carrying Del’s gun and Janet’s bracelet. She was about to head out to return them when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lola, it’s Phan. Tom. It’s a no go on the phone. But I really don’t think there’s any reason to worry. She’s very able to take care of herself.”
“Uh-huh.” Lola tried to keep the doubt out of her voice.
“Listen, if neither of us can get in touch with her by about ten or so tomorrow morning, then we’ll do something, okay?”
“Well, actually, I was just about to call you, Tom. I stopped by Del’s—really, I shouldn’t have let myself in, but I did—and it looks like maybe Janet was there earlier. So I’m thinking maybe they’re together.”
There was a short silence, and Lola stifled a nervous laugh.
“Listen, as far as Del’s concerned, we’re broken up, so there’s no drama here. I just wanted to make sure she was okay, and I’m pretty sure Janet didn’t overpower her or anything, so it’s fine.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks for the update.” Tom cleared his throat. “If you do hear from her, no matter how late or early, just give me a call if you can.”
“Sure thing, Tom. You too?”
“You bet.”
“You sound a little worried.” Lola frowned into the phone, wishing she could see Tom’s face. “Because she was shot when she was with Janet?”
“Well, yeah.” Then she heard him rub his chin. “Listen, she’s probably trying to find out who shot her, but we haven’t really made any headway on that. I’m sure she’s safe.”
“Yes, I agree.” The doubt in his voice came through loud and clear, and Lola wasn’t sure which she was really agreeing with—his words or his concern. Dissatisfied by Tom’s response but not sure how exactly she could get a better one, Lola set down the phone harder than was necessary when the call ended.
“I don’t want her to be with Janet. Or with anyone who’d hurt her.” Lola swallowed hard. “I want her to be with me. But mostly I just want her alive and safe. That’s all that really matters.”
“And for yourself? What do you want for yourself?” Who was that? Not Orrin, certainly. Was it her own voice? Lola wasn’t sure.
“What do I want for myself?”
Lola sat on the couch with the gun and bracelet still in her hand. She laughed and put both on the coffee table. They looked so incongruous together that she laughed again.
“Where do I put you two?”
Together, obviously.
When she saw Del, she’d give her both. Looking at Del’s gun and Janet’s tiny, pretty bracelet made Lola smile. How could she really worry that Janet would be dangerous to Del? It was ridiculous! Not only because Del was clearly stronger and savvier than most people, but also because Janet obviously loved Del. It had been written all over Janet when she’d come by, hadn’t it? Lola’s smile slid away.
“Dear, I believe I asked you a question.”
“What do I want for myself? Good question.” Hot pressure built behind her eyes. “I don’t remember anymore. If I ever knew.”
The silence around her grew oppressive. It was broken, finally, by a sure, confident voice that seemed to taunt her with its dulcet, even tones.
“I want freedom, peace, respect, fun, quiet, comfort, love, support, passion, humor, challenges, achievement, to make a difference and a really great wardrobe.”
“Well, Olivia, that’s just great.” Lola heard the bitterness in her own ugly squawk and made a face. “But, seriously, you can have whatever you want. That’s who you are!” She pushed her eyes open and strode over to drop the gun and bracelet into a cloth shopping bag by her purse. “That’s why you exist—to have all the things I can’t have. I want you to live the life I can’t live.”
The truth of this hit home only as Lola heard her own words. She reeled, catching herself with a steadying hand on the wall.
“That’s why your life is so perfect.” She was murmuring now, not entirely sure if she was speaking aloud or not. “But you’re not real, are you? You’re the heroine in the world’s most boring fairy tale. A shiny princess who’s perfect and flawless and totally unreal.” She covered her mouth with her hand and mumbled to herself. “That’s why I can’t figure out where your story is going. Because there is no story. You’re too perfect to need a story.”
She looked around, suddenly aware of her aloneness. There was no Olivia, was there? No Mrs. Sutton either. Was there a Del? Was there, had there ever been, an Orrin? How about Tami? And Sterling? Was she real? Was anyone real? Or was everyone just a figment of someone’s imagination?
“No!” She heard the firmness and certainty of her voice and was glad of it.
“I’ll fake it, if I have to,” she told her reflection in the mirror, as she straightened up and shook back her hair and tried to reassure herself that she was real. “I’ll fake being a real person until it comes naturally. No problem.” But her voice had lost some of its certainty, and she turned away from her reflection. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
Her reflection stared blankly back at her and offered no solutions.
“Maybe I just can’t fix it.” She listened for an answer, wondering who would respond, then braced herself when she heard Mrs. Sutton clear her throat.
“Have you considered the possibility that there is nothing to fix?”
Mrs. Sutton could, Lola thought, be just a bit annoying at times. She was imperious, certainly, and far too free with her unsolicited advice.
“What do you mean?”
“If Miss Mason prefers the company of a woman of Miss Hahn’s character, perhaps she is not the woman for you.”
Lola considered this. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Besides,” Mrs. Sutton began, and Lola snapped her fingers.
“Enough,” she hissed. “I don’t need anyone else telling me what to do.”
Del was apparently safe. And Marco was fine, at least for now. And she was fine, at least for now. There was no imminent crisis, there was no fire, there was no horrible problem with her as a human being.
“I’m not defective,” she whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
She thought about this for a while. “I’m not perfect, but so what? Being a real person means being imperfect, and I’m not mean or worthless or a bad person. I’m just as bad and just as good as anyone else.”
Staring at her reflection, Lola tried to marry her image with what she was feeling inside. Who she was and how she looked didn’t match and the dissonance was suddenly unbearable to her. She yanked a pair of scissors out of a drawer and started hacking at her h
air.
“I should’ve planned this haircut,” she mumbled into the mirror. But she kept going. There was no plan, no picture of where she was going with this, and there was a secret thrill in that. Lola had been careful—no, more than careful, paralyzed by uncertainty and an inability to choose a particular path—her whole life. She’d dithered and deliberated and tried to anticipate the consequences of every possible choice and minimize the risk and maximize the positive. Where had her efforts gotten her? Mostly nowhere good. Trapped in Orrin’s house, for one thing. Afraid and unsure and desperately lonely and disconnected.
“Fuck it,” Lola sang out, grinning at herself. She examined her reflection. Her hair was short, shorter than Del’s or Marco’s, short like Phil’s. Her face looked different. Her outside matched her inside, finally, and she couldn’t stop staring at her own grin. She’d always thought of herself as a fat, frumpy lump, and the woman beaming back at her was almost entirely average in height, weight, and features. Almost entirely average was a big step up from hideous, repulsive beast, wasn’t it?
She went to her appointment with Margaret the next morning, enjoying her therapist’s raised eyebrows and slow smile.
“Lola, you look amazing!”
“Thanks. I feel amazing.”
Margaret cocked her head to the side a bit. “Accepting a compliment without arguing with it?”
“Can you believe it? I don’t know what happened but I feel like a new person.”
“Tell me about that.”
Lola searched her mind. “It’s like, my whole life I thought there was something wrong with me. Nobody loved me, nothing good ever happened—all that self-pitying, self-loathing junk. I didn’t deserve parents or to be safe or loved or happy. I didn’t deserve friends or fun or anything. I really believed I was worthless and unlovable. And if anybody was nice to me I would do anything for them. I couldn’t trust for a second that somebody might actually like me for me. Like that was impossible.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m a hundred percent over that, but I do finally see it’s pretty ridiculous. I don’t have to kiss anybody’s butt. I don’t have to accept being treated like I’m second best. I don’t have to make somebody feel good to earn my place. I’m worth more than that.”