“You’re running the show.”
“We’re almost there. I can feel it. We’re this close.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together.
Donnie’s doubt gave way to a goofy expression. He pursed his lips and made a funny noise. “This close.” He held up his hand, mirroring Morgan’s gesture.
CHAPTER 30
MORGAN: 16 Years Ago
On the floor Morgan’s yellow phone drew her attention as she packed the last boxes. She was waiting for Fay to call. Tomorrow was move-in day, and Morgan was giddy with anticipation. With shorter days, it was already growing dark. She hadn’t seen Fay today, but Morgan suspected she had chores to do. Some nights Fay didn’t call till after eleven, when her mom had gone to bed.
“Do you need any boxes?” Morgan’s dad stood balancing three more in his arms, then set them outside her room.
“No, I don’t think so.” She placed a folded towel in the bottom of an empty box beside her knees.
“Dinner’s almost ready. How’s it going?” Dressed in jeans and an old IU sweatshirt, he stuck a foot inside the door.
“It’s going,” she answered. Piles of towels and bathroom supplies, books and bedding, surrounded her. Morgan surveyed the area. The scent of fabric softener wafted toward her from brand-new, light-blue sheets that had just been washed and folded.
His gaze swept the room. “We need to load the car tonight. Check-in at the dorms is between nine and three. I thought you’d want to get there early.”
“I do.” Morgan stood up and massaged her legs. “We have to drive to Fay’s house first so we can caravan. Fay and I have this planned out.”
He grinned, seeming full of pride. “I know you do. Are any boxes ready for me?”
Morgan looked over her right shoulder. “Should we load the papasan chair first?”
“Sure. I’ll take that to the car.” The floor was so covered with college supplies, there wasn’t room for her dad to enter. He took one more step between books and bottles, then reached out. “Can you hand me the pillow?”
Morgan stepped between the sheets and another half-filled box to reach the papasan. She loved the lime-green color that Fay had chosen and imagined Fay curled up in it with a book. She folded the heavy pillow in half and heaved it toward her dad.
“Got it! I’ll be back for the rest in a minute,” he said, and disappeared down the hallway.
Morgan checked her watch. Six o’clock. Fay would be home by now. Her shift ended at five. To Morgan’s left, a super-sized suitcase filled to the brim stood open. She tucked the remaining shampoo bottle and two bars of soap into the side. She didn’t think there was room for anything else so flipped the lid closed.
“Is that ready to go?” Her dad was back.
She struggled with the zipper. “I think so.”
“I’ll take it next,” he said. Sidestepping through the room, he forced Morgan to dive out of his way and onto her bed. After making sure the suitcase was tightly closed, he hefted the bag onto its end. “What have you got in here? An entire library?”
Morgan couldn’t suppress her smile. “Something like that,” she giggled.
He groaned, exaggerating the weight of the bag. Morgan laughed. As he carried it out of the room, her phone rang.
She leaped off her bed. Expecting Fay’s call, she answered cheerfully, “How was work?”
“Morgan?” It was Fay’s monster-mother, Victoria Ramsey.
“Yep, it’s me.”
“Where is she? Is Fay at your house?”
Morgan took the phone to her bed and sat down on the edge. “Why? Isn’t she home?”
“I swear, if you’re hiding her …”
“Mrs. Ramsey, I’m not hiding Fay. Didn’t she come home yet?” Morgan checked her watch again. 6:05 PM.
Victoria kept strict curfews and expected Fay to come home directly from work. Her tone grew shrill. “This is her last night at home, Morgan Jewell. If you don’t send her home right now, I’ll request a dormitory switch in the morning.”
Morgan considered this an impossibility. Mrs. Ramsey’s overreaction was nothing to sweat over. “If she were here, I’d bring her home. I’m sure she’s been delayed at work or the buses are running late,” Morgan stated, although unsure.
“When you hear from her, tell her to get home.” Mrs. Ramsey hung up.
* * *
Morgan didn’t hear from Fay. After her parents had loaded the car, Morgan told her parents she needed mascara and face-wash from the drugstore to complete her last-minute packing. It was the first of many lies. Instead, she got behind the wheel of Thomas Toyota and pressed her foot down on the accelerator. “We’ve got to find Fay, Thomas,” she said to the car.
Victoria had called back again during dinner to tell Morgan that the kids at the Hamburger Stand said Fay hadn’t come in. So Fay had lied too.
But Fay never lied. Something was wrong.
Dead set on finding her friend, Morgan sped past the drugstore and tilted the rear-view mirror to deflect the glare of the setting sun behind her. First, she would drive to the Hamburger Stand and interrogate the people Fay worked with. Maybe they knew something. Fay didn’t have any other friends—besides Morgan and Morgan’s friends, Fay had no one. Was that really true? A pang of self-doubt shot through Morgan at the arrogant thought.
Morgan had stood up for Fay in the lunchroom at school. Jules Tanner had turned rage-red after Morgan threw a chunk of apple at her back. But Jules had taken a handful of Fay’s French fries. So uncool. Morgan had felt sorry for Fay then. But the more she got to know her, the more she liked her. Really liked her. And ever since, they had become allies. Partners in crime.
Traffic was light tonight. Morgan ran an almost-red light. “Come on, Thomas. We’ve got to find Fay.” She remembered that just last weekend, Fay had named the car Thomas for being reliable and dependable. Like Morgan, she had said.
Tomorrow would be the start of a new life. Morgan had already planned her breakfast, a tall cup of coffee with cream and extra sugar. Then she’d caravan to Fay’s house followed by her parents. Morgan smiled in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to start this new life with Fay.
But first, she had to find her. In the empty parking lot of the Hamburger Stand she parked near the door and noticed that Fay’s bicycle wasn’t locked on the rack. Morgan opened the door, triggering a ding-dinging doorbell. The smell of greasy fries turned Morgan’s empty stomach as she sped to the counter. Fay had said she was covering for Dmitri tonight. Yet there he was, with his back to Morgan, his frizzy dreads hanging to his shoulders and a yellow cap on his head.
“Hey!” Morgan said.
Dmitri spun around. “What’s up?” He smiled.
“Where’s Fay?” Morgan planted her feet near the register.
“I don’t know. She didn’t come in tonight. I covered for her and did a double shift.”
“No, she was supposed to cover for you.”
Dmitri shook his head, jiggling his dreadlocks. “Shouldn’t you know where she is? You’re always with her.”
Cold realization cascaded down Morgan’s arms. It was exactly what she feared. “Fay didn’t come in?”
“That’s what I told her mom. Looks like she gave you both the slip!” Dmitri smiled, which made Morgan angry.
“What do you mean?” Morgan couldn’t fathom Fay wanting to deceive her.
“I just mean, she …” Dmitri squinted at Morgan, who squinted back. “Never mind. Can I get you something?” He stepped closer to the register.
“No thanks.” With that, Morgan darted toward the door.
Back in her car, Morgan’s heart ached. Fay never does anything without telling me! The blow hit hard. Last weekend Fay said she’d met a guy. Had she really? Morgan couldn’t imagine her best friend with anyone else. Raw emotion heated her neck. Embarrassment? Anger? Betrayal.
Putting the car in reverse, Morgan backed out of the parking spot. Trying to guess where Fay went, she turned left into the late af
ternoon sun. A million questions went through Morgan’s mind. What guy? Who was he? Where did they meet?
Then, green-eyed jealousy surfaced. Why didn’t Fay tell me?
After parking on the street, Morgan walked to the bicycle locking area where dozens—blue ones, red ones, and an old rusty Schwinn—leaned against the bar. None of them was Fay’s yellow Trex. Morgan jogged through the building to see if Fay was sitting at one of their favorite tables. A half-hour later—after looking in every corner and at every table—she panted hard, like having just run a race for the track meet. Fay wasn’t here either.
More anxious, Morgan walked down the street to a bookstore and coffee shop where she and Fay told stories and drank chai tea lattes together. These were their favorite places to hang out together. Would Fay take someone else there? The mere idea stabbed Morgan in the heart.
Lights were turned off in the bookstore. Of course, it was past seven on a Thursday night. As she looked around, most places were closed or closing. So where could Fay have gone? One possibility after another raced through Morgan’s mind but she dismissed them all. Where would Fay have gone without telling her mother and without telling me! Where did we go to get away from the world?
Jackson Creek Trail. Yes! The creek was quiet and secluded. If Fay went anywhere, it would be near the water. She loved being beside the creek with the trees rustling overhead. This summer she’d told Morgan that she felt safe there.
She had considered telling Fay her true feelings that day. They had shared a joint and begun talking about what they loved best about each other. They had been sitting beside the creek bed on a red plaid blanket. Morgan remembered the heat from Fay’s thigh against her own. The touching memory made her kick herself for not having told Fay then.
Now she regretted it.
Morgan had seen female lovers on TV but never met any other girls who were gay. And that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Now Fay was missing, Morgan’s true feelings for her friend surfaced. She wished she’d told her sooner.
Jealousy ate at Morgan’s heartstrings all the way to the trail head. With plenty of time to think about what she wanted to say, she decided that when she found her, she would tell Fay she loved her. I’ll say, I love you, Fay. Don’t ever run away from me again. Then I’ll take her hand. I’ll hug her.
The setting sun reflected in Thomas’s rear-view mirror. Morgan tipped the mirror and imagined Fay’s reaction. Would Fay hug her and be so happy? Fay loved her too, didn’t she? Fay would understand, Morgan hoped.
Thomas slowed down behind the city bus. Atop the back of the bus a sign read “Jackson Trail Head.” Fay would have had to take the bus to come this far out of town because it was too far to ride her bicycle. Morgan passed the bus, and when she arrived at the trail head parked beside two other cars. From the driver’s seat, she waited for the bus to arrive. A few minutes later, it stopped beside the parking lot. The doors opened. No one got off.
After several minutes the doors closed. The bus turned around and drove back to Bloomington. Where is she? Morgan wondered.
Head hanging, Morgan got out of her car. She didn’t know if Fay would be here or not, but she had to go looking for her. She wanted to tell her she loved her before tomorrow. Before they moved into the dorms. It was the fair and honest thing to do. The fast beating of Morgan’s heart couldn’t be wrong.
Morgan’s red high-tops carried her to the trail head, where she looked out across the field. Fay had a canary-yellow pair just like them. Where are you, Fay? I have to tell you. I have to tell you I love you! In the last light of the sun, the field ahead was devoid of people. A long line of old oaks and weeping willows bordered the trail to her left. On the other side of those trees the creek meandered through the woods. On the path near the trees one jogger in a bright green T-shirt moved toward her at a quick pace. Beyond him, two people were walking together … was that Fay’s tan jacket?
Yes, she was sure it was Fay’s long brown ponytail. Those were definitely her yellow high-tops. She’d found her! Longing to tell her the truth, she rushed toward her best friend.
CHAPTER 31
CARYN
Caryn climbed the steps to her apartment, counting each one along the way. When she reached her doorway, she heard music playing and smelled food cooking. She didn’t have a sound system and sure as hell hadn’t invited anyone over. She pushed the door. Inside, the thunderous guitar sounds of Korn’s heavy-metal band rocked her condo.
In the kitchen, Mack fussed over a skillet. Wearing faded, ripped jeans and a tight, long-sleeved black T-shirt, Mack’s shoulder muscles rippled as he bobbed to the beat.
Caryn set her purse and laptop case on the kitchen desk, wondering how he had gotten inside. She hadn’t given him a key.
“Hi, Caryn. I wanted to surprise you with dinner.” Mack approached for a kiss, as though they were married or living together.
Without accepting his invitation, she pushed him away with both hands. “What are you doing here?” she shouted over Jon Davis’s dark vocals.
Mack darted into the living room, where a brand-new set of speakers was hooked to his laptop. He turned down the music. “Check it out. We could use some music in here to lighten the mood. So I bought these.” Mack swung his arm around pointing to the speakers, then rocked his air guitar, strumming with the song. “Sound great, don’t they?”
Caryn hadn’t budged from her spot since she walked in. Her arms remained crossed over her rib cage, and on her face was a stoney scowl. Did he take my extra key?
Something on the stove boiled over. Mack leaped toward it to control the damage. “What’s wrong?” he asked, turning off the stove and removing the pot from a burner.
“Wrong?” Caryn asked. “What’s wrong is you broke into my apartment. What’s wrong is you didn’t tell me you were coming over, and what’s wrong is you invaded my home with your … music.”
Mack looked like she’d slapped him in the face. “I did this for you.”
As if chewing a saw blade, she spat, “Why aren’t you home with your wife?”
“Erin drove to Merrillville to see her mom for the weekend. I wanted to see you.”
“How did you get in?” Stuck on this detail, she thought he had picked the lock.
“Oh, that was easy. You know that maintenance guy? The one that’s always stalking you?”
“Brad?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Brad let you in?” Another strike against that loser.
“Yeah. So what? Jesus, Car, I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“Only if you have something for me.”
“I always have something for you.” Mack’s hand slid to his crotch.
Caryn warmed up to him. Her arms came unbound from her chest and she slid them around him. “Next time, call me. Then I can be ready for you.” She kissed his rough, stubbly chin, not minding that it scraped her lips. She liked rough sex. In fact the more it hurt, the better.
Jon Davis screamed to announce something terrifying. “Are you ready?” followed by fast drums and bass guitar.
* * *
An hour later, an open bottle of wine stood on the red-tile counter. Caryn held a glass in her hand and breathed the warm cherry tannin. “Got any bourbon?”
Mack held a steaming plate, and the aroma of roast pork filled the kitchen. “When did you start drinking bourbon?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. I was just kidding.”
Mack put the covered plate in the oven and stirred a small pot simmering on the stove. “I think I saved dinner. The sauce didn’t curdle.” After tasting it, he danced toward the sink, washed and broke the ends off a handful of asparagus spears, then tossed them on a plate.
“How was work today?” In her pajamas Caryn sat on a counter stool, relaxed and wearing an after-sex glow. She sipped the wine.
“Okay. Not too stressful. How about you?” He arranged the spears on a white plate and sprinkled Parmesan cheese over them.
&
nbsp; She ran her fingers through her hair and rated her day from one to ten. It was a nine. “I had a pretty good day.”
He put the plate in the microwave. “Got any new clients?”
“No, but …”
After a several-second pause, Mack said, “But, what?”
The blood-colored wine stained the sides of the glass as she swirled it. “It’s nothing.”
“It must be something. I recognize that look on your face.”
Caryn shot a glance at him. It continually surprised her how observant he was. It was an unnerving trait. “What look?”
“That look.” For the moment, he stopped cooking to pick up his glass. He swirled, sniffed, swirled again, and then sipped and swallowed. “Your going-in-for-the-kill look.”
The microwave beeped, signaling that the asparagus was done. Mack winked and smiled at Caryn. “Dinner’s ready.”
Feeling exposed, Caryn stood. “So it’s something I’ve done before? This … look?” She couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. She thought she held a tight rein on her emotions. His observation made her curious.
Mack handed her a plate. “There’s béarnaise sauce on the stove and,” with a flourish, he lifted a linen napkin off a bowl, “baked potatoes.”
Caryn loaded a potato, pork, and asparagus onto her plate, then sat down at the kitchen counter set complete with a burning taper candle and red linen napkins. “Tell me more. I didn’t know I …” gave myself away like that, was her thought.
“Remember that night last summer? We went to dinner at an Italian restaurant. Martinelli’s.” He smoothed out his clothes, then joined Caryn at the counter.
“No.”
“At the restaurant there was a woman who knew you. Said she went to high school with your brother, Edward. Don’t you remember?”
She almost corrected his mistake but decided against it. She shook her head.
“She kept calling you Ceecee. That woman was positive she knew you. She went on for ten minutes about it. I’m surprised you don’t recall.” Mack took another sip of his wine.
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