by Tess Oliver
Bret Harper had his truck parked at the side of the river with speakers blaring out some tunes. Bret's truck was only three years old, practically brand new, as he liked to brag, but he hadn't put one dime into the thing. It was all his old man, a guy who thought he was rich because he could buy shit like three-year-old trucks. Bronx and I had been friends with Bret in elementary school until we both decided we really couldn't stand the guy. If he wasn't bragging about some dumbass thing like his mom's new washing machine, he was lying about shit, like how he'd copped a feel of Rachel Unger's boob, only it turned out he'd accidentally got pushed into her in the lunch line and his hand just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He only grew more obnoxious through the years, so we never hung out. He also seemed to think that Kenzie was secretly crushing on him, which was about the stupidest thing he'd ever said. I made sure to tell him so, letting him know it was even stupider than the story about Rachel Unger's boob.
This time, Bret, with his nearly new truck had gotten to Kenzie before me. It was enough to make me grind my teeth together as I watched him put his grubby hands on her to help her onto the inner tube. Every other guy stood on shore, watching the scene, and wishing they were the one about to have Kenzie land in their lap in the middle of an inner tube.
"Fuck," I muttered as I kicked a good-sized rock out of my way. What I really wanted to do was kick the thing into Bret's nearly new windshield. I headed along the rocky shore and sat on one of the outcroppings where water sprayed through a cluster of rocks, wetting down anyone sitting on the jutting granite.
Over the sound of the water slapping the shore and pounding the river rocks, a voice floated out from the trees. She was singing along with the rock song on Bret's radio, and it sounded pretty fucking awesome. I had no idea who was singing, but the voice intrigued me enough to leave the cool spray and head through the trees.
Green eyes, familiar jewel green eyes stared up at me.
"Oh, it's you," I said without thinking.
Sutton laughed. "Love you too, asshole. And who told you to come in here and invade my space."
"Last I heard, this riverbank didn't belong to anyone." I sat down defiantly. Sutton and I had always had a contentious relationship. But most of the combativeness came from her side. At least that was the way I saw it. I supposed I was biased about it.
Sutton had the same silvery, shiny hair as Kenzie, but she always had it pushed back by a plastic headband. Sutton dressed in oversized t-shirts and faded jeans. She never wore the pink gloss on her lips, the gloss that Kenzie was always licking teasingly with her tongue. Everything Kenzie did, wore and said was to get attention, whereas, her twin sister went out of her way to fade from view. Sometimes it was a joke because she still had the same green eyes, creamy skin and incredible beauty as her sister, but it seemed she despised being pretty. Almost as much as she despised me.
She stretched her legs out and leaned back on her hands. "Guess you came too late to ferry Kenzie down the river to the clearing. You better get that old truck of yours running again because now that the guys are all starting to drive, my sister is going to be looking for the guys with cars. No more of this bicycling around town bullshit."
I looked over at her. "What the hell do you know about my truck anyhow? And it's working just fine. Just needs gas is all."
She stared at me for a second. It almost seemed as if she didn't mind having me sit there after all. Then she pulled her green gaze away.
"You sounded good," I said, hesitantly. "You've got a nice voice."
She laughed lightly.
"Shit." I raked my fingers through my hair. "Guess I should have said you sounded like crap. No, you know what? Why do you hate me so much? I mean, is it because I have a thing for your sister? Hell, every guy in town has a thing for your sister, but you single me out as the one to hate."
She pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Do you remember that time in third grade," she started. "It was my day to present my solar system model. I worked so hard on that stupid thing, painting those foam balls and measuring everything to get the scale right. Getting As that's what I had. Kenzie was happy to just pass, but I had to be the head of the class. Even in third grade, even with my stupid solar system model. I was carrying it up to the school. It started raining, not just a little rain, a full-blown downpour."
I was confused by the start of her story but then it came to me. "Those foam planets were falling everywhere," I chuckled.
"Yep, even Saturn with those darn rings that I'd worked so hard on. You helped me carry the broken pieces inside the classroom. You even tucked Jupiter and Earth in your coat so they wouldn't get soaked."
I nodded. "I remember. As I recall, it was still a good project, even if it was a little wet."
"Ugh, I was so embarrassed about it. Kenzie had taken the easy route by drawing the solar system on a poster board. She came in after me with her poster all rolled up and ready to display. She never has to try hard, my sister. It's like some shiny halo of luck-filled light follows her around. I admire her for it." She rubbed her feet back and forth a few times in the dirt. "Everyone admires her for it."
Down below, past the sound of rushing water, I could hear Kenzie laughing wildly somewhere along the river. "You have it all too, Sutton. You just like to keep it wrapped up inside."
"It's not wrapped up, just displayed differently." There was a pause in the conversation, and it was filled with Kenzie's laughter bubbling up from somewhere downstream.
"Tony, where are you? Come down to the river." Kenzie called.
"Be right there, Ken," Sutton called back.
Sutton stayed put, not making any move to join her sister. She looked over at me. "She's playing you. She's playing all of you," she said quietly. "Kenzie has the special ability to make everyone she is with think that they are the one and only. Every guy is convinced that she loves him back the way he loves her."
It was something I didn't want to hear, even though deep down I knew it was the truth. "Yeah, maybe," I said half-heartedly. "At least she doesn't go out of her way to hate me." I looked pointedly at her. In the light streaming through the trees, I could easily have convinced myself I was sitting next to Kenzie.
"I don't hate you, Kingston Bristow." She stared down at her feet as they gently rubbed the ground beneath her sandals. She stood up and brushed off her jeans. "I just thought you were different than the other guys. Or maybe I just hoped you were." She pushed through the trees and left me alone, feeling entirely confused and a little sad.
8
Present
I'd thought about the damn pancakes and eggs through the whole band contest, but when things took a dramatic turn, my stomach turned with them. I went straight home, downed another two beers and fell asleep on the couch watching some stupid ass zombie flick. My dreams were a wild mix of flesh eating zombies and scenes from my childhood, like the time I raced downhill on my bike and crashed at the bottom, earning myself a broken wrist and a concussion. That part of the dream, the bike crash, jolted me awake.
I poured myself a cup of coffee. I'd brewed it extra strong, like tar, hoping it would knock the hangover out of me. The whole night, or more precisely, the end of the night had flashed through my brain a hundred times. All of it was too surreal, and I needed to bounce that craziness off the one person who might help me understand. I picked up the phone. Kaos, Angus and Mixx had been trying to figure out just what the hell was going on, but it was too complicated to tell them the whole story. I told them to just forget about me and go have eggs and bacon. You didn't need to ask those guys twice when it came to food. I needed to talk to someone who already knew the whole history. I wasn't in a state of mind to retell the story of my scandal plagued hometown.
Bronx sounded sleepy as he answered. "King? What time is it?"
"Uh, past my breakfast, and I was hoping I could take you both out for some food. There's something I need to talk to you about, something only you wou
ld understand."
He yawned directly into the phone.
"Guess I woke you after a long, event filled night," I teased. "Is Layla still sleeping?"
"Nah, she's up. She's an early riser even when she's not working. Actually, you might be in luck about the breakfast offer. I smell bacon. Why don't you pop over here? Then you can tell me all about your adventures and woes. Does this have something to do with last night?"
"It sure does and it's a doozy. Let's just say, I did see a ghost in the coffee shop. I'll be there in thirty. I'll stop and grab some bagels."
"Great, get me one of those ones with the jalapeños and Layla likes whole grain."
I clucked my tongue. "Guess you really know you're a couple when you know her bagel preference. See you soon."
Layla hadn't moved in officially with Bronx. They were afraid to rush things, and Layla's apartment was just a short walk to the hospital she worked at. She was reluctant to give it up. Nonetheless, her nice feminine touches were apparent all over Bronx's rental house. Two potted ferns flanked the front door, and there were actual curtains in the front window. Another obvious but not necessarily feminine addition was actual plates and not the paper kind. Layla piled mine high with fluffy scrambled eggs and strips of bacon.
Bronx was slicing the bagels. "I only see one jalapeño bagel," he complained.
"Turns out that's a popular flavor. I thought I was going to have to fight a woman for it. She was ordering right next to me, but the girl helping me got to the basket first. The customer made quite the scene. If she'd been nice about it, I might just have let her have it, but she stomped and told the kid helping her that he was too slow. So I kept my offer to myself. Didn't want to disappoint my buddy." I winked at Bronx.
"I'll bet there were plenty of whole grain bagels." Layla put down the other two plates and turned to the fridge for the orange juice.
"Yes, whole grain is not as popular as jalapeño on a Sunday morning." I picked up a slice of bacon. "My compliments to the chef. This bacon is just how I like it."
"Good, I'm glad." Layla handed me a glass of juice. "Bronx mentioned you had somewhat of an adventure last night. I heard about the drummer and how Angus made a dramatic exit from the stage."
I laughed thinking about Angus belting out the "Sympathy for the Devil" lyrics before jumping off stage. "Not sure if it could be called dramatic, but it was definitely memorable."
"It was pure Angus style." Bronx came to the table with the sliced bagels. "I'll bet the winning performance wasn't nearly as good as Angus's short, a cappella performance."
"The boy does have an amazing voice." Layla reached for a whole grain bagel.
"He does, but the winner was awesome. Wasn't the first time I've heard her sing either," I added cryptically at the end.
My comment got Bronx's attention. "No way, was she that girl you dated after high school, the one in the alternative rock band? What was her name again?"
"Daisy," I said, "and last I heard she got married and has three kids, so I think the rock and roll life is over for her. This was someone from my past too. The last time I heard her sing, we were sitting on a patch of forest floor overlooking Westridge River."
Now I really had Bronx's attention. He put down his fork. "Oh shit, here we go again with the ghosts of our past. You're not going to tell me that you saw Kenzie Jensen up on stage last night. I know for a fact she can't sing a note. I had to stand next to her at the fifth grade winter program. She sang in my ear, and frankly, she might have had everything else going for her but she was as tone deaf as a tom cat in heat."
Layla laughed. "Now you've got him talking in deep south analogies. Who is this Kenzie and what does she have to do with ghosts?" She looked at Bronx. "And, speaking of tone deaf, have you heard yourself in the shower? It's a good thing you're handsome."
Bronx shrugged. "Huh, thought my rendition of "Brown Eyed Girl" was pretty fucking sweet, and I thought my brown eyed girl would like it. Guess I was wrong."
Layla reached over and pinched his cheek. "You're so cute when you're feeling sorry for yourself. Now shush, I want to hear about the ghost and this woman, Kenzie. Is she someone who could be considered special on King's list of friends?"
Bronx and I both fell quiet and exchanged looks, which Layla caught. "What? Did I hit a nerve or something?" she asked.
"Kenzie is dead," I said it out loud for the first time since I ran into her sister in the coffee shop. "Kenzie was a girl I—we grew up with. Although, Bronx wasn't in Westridge during our teens, so he didn't know her as well."
"She committed suicide when she was seventeen. Jumped off a bridge into the river," Bronx added
"That's so tragic. I know you've mentioned that your hometown had more than a few tragedies." Layla picked up a knife to butter her bagel. "How does this dovetail into last night?" She pressed her fingers to her lips. "You know what? I'll shut up and listen, so you don't have to keep filling me in on the historical details."
Layla was always so damn intuitive. I wouldn't have minded filling her in, but not at the moment. I needed to get the whole thing off my chest. I needed to hear what Bronx thought.
"So, the guys and I are sitting at the table up front waiting for the last band. Angus wanted to stick around to see the singer, Tony Brooks, perform. There had been a lot of talk about her. Plus, as he mentioned to those of us more anxious to head out for diner food, she was hot. And she was." I looked at Bronx. "The Jensen twins were so pretty, they never fit in our dreary, gray town."
Bronx sat forward. "You've lost me. You just said Kenzie was dead. You saw them pull her body out of the river."
"Yep, I did. A day I'll never forget. But the woman on stage, Tony Brooks, was not Kenzie Jensen."
Bronx had already figured out where I was going. "It was Sutton." He took a second to fill in Layla who was patiently listening and trying to follow the story. "Kenzie and Sutton were identical twins. Really identical, at least in appearance. Their personalities and the way they dressed could not have been more different." He turned back to me. "I always thought Sutton was the nicer of the two."
"She hated me," I said. "And that was extremely evident last night when she all but accused me of being responsible for Kenzie's death. She said we killed her, all of us who were so obsessed with Kenzie." My words were finally hitting home with Bronx. It seemed he was still thinking it had all been a case of mistaken identity.
Bronx sat forward and put his fork down. "So you talked to her? She said that about Kenzie?"
"Yep, like I said, she blamed all of us for her death."
Bronx sat back looking stunned and confused, the same way I'd felt the first time I saw her in the coffee shop. "But her dad told everyone Sutton died too, suicide like her sister. Didn't she leave town after Kenzie's death?"
I nodded along with all of his comments. "Sheriff Jensen told everyone that Sutton went to live with an aunt. That it was too painful staying in Westridge after Kenzie took her own life. He said she couldn't handle Kenzie's loss. That was why she took her own life a year later. But there was no funeral. It was all too weird."
"So the twins' father was the sheriff in your town?" She smiled. "Sorry ill-timed grin but I'm picturing a guy with a big silver star, a gun on each hip and a long droopy moustache."
"Nah, he wasn't that cool. He had a badge and a gun, but he was mostly bald and mean as a rabid dog as I recall." Bronx grinned at Layla. "Another deep south analogy. Kind of liking this new way of talkin'. Just need a corn cob pipe to chew on."
I cleared my throat. "Focus, pal. You're the only other person I know who remembers the Jensen twins. You had just moved to Vick's when their mother left town." I added in air quotes.
Layla was intrigued by the gesture. "Do you mean you think she never left? Was she murdered? Oh wow, that hometown of yours really is something," she said to Bronx.
Bronx shook his head. "Those are just rumors. Some people thought she left a little too abruptly, and she was a doting mom to th
e twins. It seemed strange that she would leave them, especially with their dad being such a first class asshole."
"A lot of it didn't add up. And, obviously, he lied about Sutton's death," I said.
"I can't believe Sutton is still alive. But why Tony Brooks? Stage name?"
"Probably," I agreed. "You probably don't remember this, but Kenzie and Sutton had nicknames for each other. Kenzie called Sutton, Tony and Sutton called her sister Ken."
Layla washed down a bite of food with orange juice. "Maybe she is using another name because she is hiding from someone. Or, at the very least, she doesn't want to be recognized."
I snapped my fingers. "You're on to something there. When we clashed gazes in the coffee shop, she looked stunned at first, then this fear washed over her. She was upset that someone from her past had recognized her."
"Or maybe it was because, as you pointed out, Sutton Jensen hated you," Bronx added just a little too glibly.
"You're taking a lot of joy in this whole thing, but it has me really stirred up. And now she's gone. I won't see her again. I'll never find out why we were told she'd committed suicide a year after Kenzie when she is clearly still very much alive." I plowed my fork into my eggs and ate a bite. "Really good eggs, Layla."
"Thanks. They're one of my specialties." She got up to get the coffee pot. "I'm with you, King. The whole thing is sort of mysterious. Why would a father tell people that his daughter had committed suicide when she hadn't? I mean what kind of ghoul would lie about a thing like that? And then his wife leaving behind her beautiful twin girls and with a mean father. Sounds like there's a lot to the story that's not been revealed."