Tonight the Streets Are Ours (30 page)

“You don’t,” Arden says.

“What was that?”

Arden pauses. She could just let it go. It would be easier for her not to ask for what she wants.

But she has come this far.

“You don’t know what’s gotten into me because you’re never around,” she says.

“That’s ridiculous. Of course I am. You’re sounding like your mother.”

“No,” she says. “You’re at the office all the time—”

“I have a job.”

“—and when you’re home you’re always holed up in your study or watching TV or doing your fantasy football. You’re always too busy for us.”

“This isn’t about me,” he says. “This is about you, disappearing without so much as a text message.”

“This is about both of us,” she says. “If you want me to act more like your daughter, then you can start by acting like more of a father.”

“Arden,” he says, and his voice is brittle. “Do not get on your teenage high horse and try to lecture me. I need you to come home, and we are going to talk about consequences.”

“I’m coming home,” she tells him, “but we need to talk about a lot more than consequences.”

It’s not that her mom was the bad guy and her dad was the victim, she realizes. They were both bad guys. They were both victims.

“I love you, Dad,” Arden adds. “I love you so much. This was something I needed to do. But I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Her mother taps her on the shoulder. “May I speak with him for a moment?”

Arden passes over her phone. Her mother takes it and closes herself in the small bedroom, so Arden can’t hear her parents’ conversation. She stares out the window while she waits. There’s an ambulance trying to drive down the one-way street, its siren wailing, but a moving van is parked in front of it, blocking its passage, so the wailing just goes on and on, and presumably someone is dying right this moment while the EMTs try to figure out a way forward. None of the pedestrians seem at all disturbed as they continue walking absurdly quickly and texting on their phones. Watching this scene, Arden feels very, very glad that she does not have to live in this city.

A few minutes later, her mother emerges from the bedroom and hands back Arden’s phone.

“He’s mad,” Arden says.

“He was scared, Arden. We need to get you home. Not least because you have to be at school in about eighteen hours,” her mother says.

Arden grimaces. “One problem. The Heart of Gold is dead. I left it parked on the street somewhere in Brooklyn.”

“Where?”

“Outside of Jigsaw Manor?”

Her mother sighs. “Do I even want to know?”

Arden shakes her head.

“To be honest, I don’t want you driving that hunk of junk all the way to Cumberland, anyway. It’s dangerous. I can’t even believe your car made it here in the first place. I can book you a train ticket now, and your father can pick you up from the station.”

“No. I want to get the Heart of Gold repaired. I’ll pay for it; you won’t have to worry about it, I promise. Mom, I’m not leaving my car.”

Her mother relents a little. “Let’s go look at it. We’ll see how bad it is, and we can work on getting it fixed, but there might not be time to do that today and still get you home at a reasonable hour. Does that sound fair?”

Arden nods. “We need to find Lindsey, too,” she says. She calls her now, but it immediately goes to voice mail. She texts her, as well, though if Lindsey’s phone is off, then she doesn’t expect a text message will help with matters. She wonders where Lindsey slept last night. She wonders if she’s okay. And she thinks that there is a big difference between sacrificing everything for another person and just doing your best to keep that other person safe.

“Where is Lindsey?” asks her mother.

“I have no idea.”

Her mother rubs her eyes. “This is getting complicated. Okay. Let’s start with the car, and then go from there.”

Arden picks up her purse, and they head out together.

“By the way,” her mother says as she locks the door behind her, “what are all these marks on your arms?”

Arden glances again at the words on her arms.
I miss you I miss you I miss you
and
the only one
. “They’re lies,” she says simply. “But don’t worry. They’ll wash off.”

They walk down the four flights of stairs and out into the late afternoon sun. And there, standing on the sidewalk right outside her mother’s apartment building, is a person Arden recognizes.

“Hey,” says Peter. “I’ve been looking for you.”

A garden of gardeners and flowers

“Where did you go this morning?” Arden asks Peter.

They have left behind her very surprised mother. “Who is this?” she asked when they emerged from her apartment building, looking back and forth between Arden and Peter with confusion, maybe suspicion, and a hint of amusement.

“No one,” said Arden.

“Peter,” said Peter, and he shook Arden’s mother’s hand firmly. He gave her a broad smile while simultaneously adjusting his glasses, a move clearly designed to set a mother at ease, communicating
I’m charming
and
I’m a studious boy who would never take your daughter to bed with me
all at the same time. Arden wasn’t having it for a second. Maybe her mother was, though. Today Peter is wearing fitted jeans and a black-and-white checked button-down. He looks just like someone you would trust with your daughter. He’s a good-looking guy. Arden doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to unsee that, no matter how much she learns about him.

“Peter and I need to talk,” she told her mother. “Just wait here for a few minutes. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Her mother didn’t ask questions. She just sat down on her stoop, pulled out her phone, and reminded Arden, “Not too long. We have to figure out how to get you home.”

Peter and Arden walked in silence for a number of blocks. She had thought it likely that she was never going to see him again. She hadn’t really
wanted
to see him again. Funny that she could spend so long searching for him, and it’s only once she’s not looking anymore that he turns right up.

Now that he’s here, though, she wants an explanation. She wants him to explain
everything
. And when he doesn’t answer her question right away, she repeats, louder, “Where did you
go
this morning?”

“To the library,” he says.

“Why?”

“I needed to return a couple books. And I really like it there. Have you ever been to the main branch of the New York Public Library? It’s massive. If you have time today, we should totally go.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I meant,
why did you leave me?
”

He adjusts his glasses again and doesn’t reply for a moment. Then he says, “Let’s go in here.”

She follows him into a little garden crammed between buildings. The sign on the gate identifies it as the Elizabeth Street Garden. She realizes that it’s the first time her feet have touched the grass since she arrived in this city. The space is filled with marble statues, human busts and cherubs and Grecian columns, that sort of thing. It’s not big, but it’s substantial enough for the city sounds to fade to a low rumble in the background.

They find a gray stone bench and sit down.

“How did you find me?” Arden asks when she realizes that he’s not about to tell her why he left her earlier. The thought that Peter would track her down, as she did to him, is flattering. But confusing. What does he want from her? Why abandon her, only to come back?

“You said your mom’s address last night,” he reminds her.

“You have a good memory for details.”

He shrugs. “I’m a writer.”

“But how did you even know I’d be there?”

“I didn’t know for sure. I just figured you’d wind up there eventually.”

“Why?”

He blinks at her. “Because she’s your mother?”

Arden doesn’t argue with that. After all, he’s correct.

“I was waiting out there for a while,” he offers. “If you hadn’t shown up soon, I was going to take off.”

“Okay,” she says. “So you found me. Why did you want to?”

“I heard from Bianca,” Peter explains. “She said she talked to you. So I … yeah. Just wanted to see what you two talked about.”

A slight breeze ruffles the tree leaves. Arden opens her mouth, but then Peter barges on.

“Did it sound like she might want to get back together? Did she say anything like that? Do you think she misses me—could you tell?”

“What?” Arden asks.

“This afternoon was the first time she’s texted me since we broke up. Did you say something to her, maybe, that made her change her mind? Did she talk about changing her mind?”

“No, Peter.” Arden shakes her head. “No. That’s not what we talked about, and no, I don’t think she’s changing her mind.”

“Oh.” He deflates. “I thought … you know, sometimes girls talk about those things. Never mind.” He pulls Leo’s flask out of his back pocket and takes a long swig.

“You know it’s the middle of the afternoon,” Arden says, watching him drink. “On a Sunday.” She pauses before adding, “And we’re in a park.”

“What’s your point?” He doesn’t look at her. “Just because
you
don’t drink, you’re going to judge everybody who does?”

“I’m not judging you!” she retorts. “You don’t know me, so please don’t assume that you know what I’m thinking.”

Now
he looks at her. “Sorry.”

“You want to know what Bianca and I discussed?” Arden asks. “She told me about Leo. She told me what the two of you did to him. She told me why he left.”

“Really?” Peter raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know she talked about that with anyone. Well. Congratulations, Arden. Bianca trusts you. That’s a big responsibility, but I guess you’re the girl for the job.” He flashes her another winning smile.

“Is this all some big joke to you?” Arden snaps. “Other people’s lives are just here for your amusement? This person—your
brother
—he ran away because of what you did. Oh, and he’s home now, by the way. So, thanks for mentioning that.”

Peter’s eyes widen; he’s surprised that Arden knows all of this. And she thinks
, I’m smarter than you gave me credit for.

Peter isn’t smiling anymore. He takes another sip from the flask. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt my family in ways that we can’t just get over. I face that guilt every day.”

No, you don’t,
Arden thinks.
You get drunk. You make a joke. You tell a story. You run away.

Then again, what else could he do? If he looked in the mirror and saw himself for what he is and what he’s done, how would he be able to stand himself?

“You
lied
to me,” she says.

“Did I?”

“You know you did! You purposefully acted like Leo was just some dumb jock who you were casually friends with. You said you didn’t know the reason he left, except that probably it was your parents’ fault. You said that you and Bianca were soul mates, you were meant to be. You purposefully let me believe that your brother was still missing, that he might be
dead
, for God’s sake. You said—”

“Arden, I never lied to you.” He pauses. “Maybe I just lied to myself.” She starts to speak, but before she has time to respond, he goes on. “It had nothing to do with
you
. I didn’t know who you were before yesterday. I didn’t even know you were reading Tonight the Streets Are Ours.”

“But you knew that
people
were reading. And you led all of them to believe that you’re someone you’re not.”

“It’s my life,” he argues. “It’s
my
story about
my
life. And this is who I say I am. This is what I say happened. If Bianca wants her story about my life to be different, then good for her. Let her write her own version.” His hands curl into fists.

Arden snorts. “You just loved getting all those comments from girls fawning over you, strangers sympathizing with you, telling you how
unfair
your life is.”

“So what if I did?” He jumps to his feet, too agitated to sit still. “So what if I wanted that? And furthermore, what I wrote online basically
is
what happened. I said that I fell in love with a girl who had a boyfriend, which I did. I said that she cheated on him with me, which she did. Have you stopped to ask yourself why you were okay with that when Bianca’s boyfriend was just
some guy
? Why is it, now that you know he’s some guy who is my brother—now that you know he freaked out over it—suddenly it’s not okay anymore? Suddenly I’m a
monster
?”

She stands as well to look him in the eyes. “I don’t think you’re a monster. But why do you do these things? And seriously this time, why did you take off this morning, when I had no idea where I was or how to reach you? That was an asshole thing to do, Peter.”

And all of this is making her know even more that she really, really needs to find Lindsey, like, right now. She shouldn’t even be wasting her time on this guy, trying to find answers that don’t exist to questions she can’t even express, when she should be out scouring every block and every building for Lindsey.

“You got me,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’m an asshole. I do asshole things. You’re right, Arden. You see right through me. That’s exactly what I am.

“I woke up this morning and I looked over, and you were lying there, and I felt terrible—I mean, stomachache, headache, everything-ache. And I remember a
lot
about last night, but just the very end of it is fuzzy. I remember visiting that doll store on Fifth Ave. I just don’t remember how we got home from there, or if we … you know, if anything happened after that.”

“You don’t remember if we had sex,” she says flatly.

His cheeks flush a little. “And I know you have a boyfriend, and I opened my eyes and there you were, fast asleep, and I felt so terrible and everything just seemed so terrible, and all I could think was,
Not this again, I can’t believe you did this again, what is wrong with you, what is wrong with you?
”

“So you left,” she supplies.

“So I left. I know I shouldn’t have. But I do a lot of things I shouldn’t do. I don’t know why. I can’t help myself. I just hope I didn’t do anything to mess up things with … What’s his name again?”