Reclaimed (6 page)

The men looked me up and down, although I had no idea what they thought they might be looking for. “Ian McAlister,” I said, sticking out my hand.

“Jimmy Dempsey,” the man replied, gripping my hand firmly. “And the peanut gallery,” he added, letting go and jerking a thumb at the two other guys at the table. “Now, you tell your grandma I said hi,” he told Jenna.

“Sure,” she promised. We had started back to the counter when he added, “And watch out for Commies.” He threw her a wink and she laughed.

“They went to school with my grandparents,” she explained. “Mr. Dempsey’s almost as full of shit as Pops was.”

The girl behind the register smiled as we walked up. “Hey, Jenna.” Her eyes slid over me, and her grin became suggestive.

Jenna ignored her and turned to me. “I always get the number seven. It’s the best thing on the menu.”

I glanced up at the large board on the opposite wall. Number seven—shrimp pizza. Nope.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” I told her. “Sorry.”

“Really? That sucks.” She looked like I’d just admitted to having the clap or something.

“I manage.”

“Okay, you pick,” she told me. “I eat anything.”

The girl behind the counter snorted, and Jenna grinned. I ordered something with lots of sausage. The girl handed me a number.

“I’m Amber,” she said.

“Oh, sorry about that,” said Jenna. “Amber, this is Ian. He just moved to town. Ian, Amber. She’s a junior.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Definitely,” she answered.

We took our drinks and sat in the back corner. Photos covered the wooden tables. Under thick layers of shellac were old black and white pictures of guys in basketball uniforms, showing way too much leg, surrounded by cheerleaders who weren’t showing enough. There were colored pictures where everyone had huge hair, and several yellowed newspaper articles. Almost all of them had something to do with sports.

“Hey,” I told Jenna, “this girl kind of looks like you.” I pointed to a cheerleader in one of the older color pictures. She was laughing, her head thrown back in a squeal, as a football player lifted her up in the air. She had Jenna’s nose and freckles.

Jenna didn’t even look over. “That’s my mom.”

“No way.” I leaned in closer. Jenna didn’t seem the least bit interested in the picture, but I couldn’t imagine being so familiar with a place—or having one that was so familiar with me. The longest we’d ever stayed somewhere was five years. “Is this the only picture of her here?”

“She’s on tables thirteen, seven, and twenty.” She pointed around the room. “She was Solitude’s sweetheart,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Who’s the guy?”

“My dad.” Jenna’s voice was steel. “They’d just won the state championship.”

“You don’t get along with your dad?” I asked.

“I’ve never met my dad,” she said. “He left when my mom was pregnant.”

I was such an idiot. “My parents just got divorced,” I told her, hoping to make her feel better. Like my family’s dysfunction plus her family’s dysfunction equaled no dysfunction at all.

“That must be hard,” she said. “Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes.” That was as close to the truth as I could get. “My dad is complicated.”

Jenna’s expression changed from pity to understanding. “‘Complicated’ is the exact word I would use to describe my mother.”

But she seemed unwilling to say anything else.

“Look, about the other day,” I began.

Jenna held up her hand. “You already apologized. Besides,” she said, her voice dropping, “a lot can happen in seven months.”

Seven months. So I met her just after my three-month blackout period. For some reason, I was afraid to ask about it.

“Let’s just start over.” She stuck her hand out. “Jenna Oliver.”

Starting over was all I had. “Ian McAlister.” I shook her hand, holding it a bit longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you.”

She smiled, which made me feel lighter than I had in months. Talking with her gave me this feeling of the sun coming up—like my memories might come out of the dark. I could just see a vague outline, but at least there was something there. It was enough.

Kyle Couty and his crew pushed through the doors. I tried to disappear inside the shadows, but in Solitude there was no place to hide. Mr. Hoffman stopped the boys and asked about the upcoming season. Kyle went on and on about shotgun formation and a bunch of other things—football was a language I didn’t speak. Then it was our turn.

“Looking good, Oliver.” Kyle only used last names.

Steven and Chris were with Kyle, along with Amy, Steph, and a bunch of juniors. They all pulled up chairs to the table.

“Do you need something?” I asked.

Kyle feigned innocence. “I just wanted to see how your summer was going. You haven’t been around,” he said. “And I wanted to introduce myself to our new student.” Gossip broke speed limits in Solitude. Kyle turned to Ian and smiled. He didn’t look very welcoming—it was more like he was showing his teeth in some kind of juvenile display of dominance. Ian didn’t seem to notice.

“Ian McAlister,” he said.

“Kyle.” He sounded friendly enough, but I wasn’t fooled. I was sure Kyle wanted something. He turned back to me. “We’re going to the lake on Sunday. You coming?”

“No,” I said. I’d made the mistake of dating Kyle when we were sophomores, and even though we were all friends, I avoided hanging out with him—and his ego—as much as possible.

“I guess you could bring him,” he said, jerking his thumb at Ian.

“Generous, but still no.”

“Relax,” Kyle said, reaching over to rub my shoulders, “you might surprise everyone and have a good time.”

“If you are even remotely interested in continuing to play football, I suggest you stop touching me.” I hoped my smile suggested violence.

Dani Peters looked at me like I was out of my mind for talking like that to Kyle, much less objecting to him having his hands on me. She didn’t strike me as the type to complain about Kyle Couty’s hands.

“Jenna, your order’s ready.” Amber’s voice cut through the chatter.

I got up, leaving Ian to defend himself against the wolves. He was going to have to deal with them sooner or later anyway.

I watched the boys. They kept eyeing Ian, like he’d just trespassed on their property, probably because all the girls were cutting glances at him. I half-expected the guys to pee on the wall to mark their territory. It would have been easier.

“Okay,” I said, sliding the pizza on the table. I slapped Chris’s hand out of the way when he reached for a piece, and he grinned at me. “Find your own table.”

“Aw, did we interrupt your date?” Kyle asked.

“Actually, yes. And you have to be taken in small doses.”

“Whatever. If you change your mind about the lake, we’re meeting at ten o’clock.” Kyle slung an arm around Dani Peters and left. She was obviously his flavor of the week.

“They seemed nice enough,” Ian said.

“They are.” I slid a large slice of pizza onto my plate, burning my fingers. Cheese strung back to the pan. “Kyle just gets on my nerves sometimes.”

“I’d like it if you went to the lake with me,” Ian said.

“You’re going?” That was fast. But I could tell just by looking at Ian that he was going to get major attention when school started. Which was probably why Kyle was trying to act human.

“It sounds like fun. He said they’d have a couple of boats and some Jet Skis. Plus,” he added, grinning, “my status would be elevated from new guy to stud if I showed up with you.”

“When you put it that way,” I told him, “it’s so much easier to say no.”

He laughed. “Cut me some slack, all right? You’re the only person I know around here. It’s your responsibility as a loyal citizen of Solitude to acquaint me with the town and all of its amenities.”

“That won’t take long,” I assured him, grabbing another piece of pizza. Ian was on his third. He’d piled so much

Parmesan cheese onto it that I couldn’t even see the toppings.

“Then you’ll only be rid of me sooner,” he said.

“You promise?”

“Yes.” There always seemed to be a smile behind his eyes. “But I should warn you,” he added, “I’m a compulsive liar.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was surprisingly easy to be with Ian. He wanted to be an architect, and I had to appreciate the way he had it all planned out. It was so hard for me to settle on any one thing, since I wanted to do so many. I only knew one thing for sure—whatever I did, I wasn’t going to be doing it in Solitude. I was dying to know about all the different places he’d lived, but Ian was much more interested in hearing about me—and Solitude.

“There’s not much to tell,” I said. “I’ve lived here my whole life. My family has lived their entire lives here.”

“But that’s so cool,” he insisted. “I can’t imagine that. Everything here must have a memory for you.”

Sometimes that was the problem. “There are some good things about small towns,” I said. “But it can get boring. I see the same people every day. They’re even starting to look alike.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s because they’re all married to their cousins, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” Almost everyone else in the restaurant had filtered out, but we hadn’t moved. We were both leaning forward, our hands resting on the table. If I moved my pinkie a little to the left, I could’ve touched him. I wanted to. I remembered the way he’d held my hand in October. I never dreamed I’d see him again. I kept staring at the line of his jaw, and the curve of his lips, and the way his hair curled against his collar.

He looked around the empty room. “We’d better go before they make us help clean up.”

“I was thinking about it,” Pete yelled from the back. He and I were going to have a little talk about eavesdropping.

Ian took my hand on the way out the door, like it was the most natural thing in the world. My cheeks flushed, and I was glad it was dark.

He walked me to my car. “I had a really nice time,” he said.

“Me too.”

“Do you want me to pick you up Sunday?”

“That’s fine,” I told him. “Here.” I wrote down my address on the back of a receipt I found in my car. “Think you can find it?”

“It’s Solitude, right? How hard can it be?”

He opened my car door, but he didn’t try to kiss me. He pulled out of the lot ahead of me, and I watched his taillights disappear into the dark.

On Saturday morning, I was in the shop ringing up Mr. Dempsey when the bell over the door jingled. Two customers in the store at the same time was practically a rush. My face grew warm when Ian walked in, but he didn’t return my smile.

I handed Mr. Dempsey his change. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

He winked at me. “Now you tell your Mops I stopped by.”

“Will do,” I promised, although she already knew. It was why she was hiding in the back. We were both pretty sure Mr. Dempsey was after her, but Mops said taking care of Pops had been enough and she wasn’t about to sign up for that again. Plus, Mr. Dempsey had a lot of ear hair. He couldn’t have handled Mops anyway. She would have eaten him alive.

I stared at Ian’s back, at the width of his shoulders and the way his muscles pushed against his T-shirt. The way he seemed to be pointedly ignoring me.

“Do you need help finding something?” I asked. I sure wasn’t going to stand there while he pretended I was invisible.

“How much for the lathe?” He didn’t even turn around. What was with him?

“Two hundred dollars,” Mops said, slinking out of the back room. “But I might be able to cut you a deal.”

Ian nodded and moved into the back of the store. He continued to ignore me and I pretended it didn’t bother me as much as it did.

“Is Jimmy gone?” Mops whispered.

“All clear,” I told her.

“Good.” She wiped her hand dramatically across her forehead. “It’s hard being this good-looking.” She giggled, a laugh that should have been out of place on anyone older than twelve. But it worked for Mops.

I rolled my eyes and pointed at Ian, who was now holding a couple of books. Mops brushed her hand through the air, like she was dismissing a fly. Mops didn’t get embarrassed.

Ian dumped his books on the counter, finally forced to look at me. There were dark half-moons under his eyes, which today resembled gray storm clouds rather than blue sky. “Is everything okay?” I asked. He really didn’t look like himself. “Did something happen last night after you left?”

His face darkened. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, handing me a five. Then he was gone.

I was aggravated at myself for letting the rejection hurt. I had way too many things to deal with already without adding in moody boys. But what had happened to the guy I’d gone out with the night before? The one who was funny and sweet and always seemed to be smiling? This Ian didn’t seem to have smiled in a long time.

“Piss poor personal skills, but I bet he’s got abs that would put my grandmama’s washboard to shame,” said Mops, leaning against the counter.

“Mops!” Not that anything she said ever really shocked me.

She winked. “Just calling it like I see it. Pops had a pretty nice butt when he was that age.”

I did not want to be having this conversation.

Mops laughed at the trapped look on my face. “You want to help me go through that box?”

“As long as we don’t have to talk.” I was surprised my ears hadn’t started bleeding already.

I kept having the same dream. I was in my room, sitting on the bed. Sometimes I was reading, sometimes I was staring at the picture of Ian and me that was on my bedside table. I heard a grinding noise, like rusty gears, and at first I couldn’t be sure where it was coming from. Then I noticed the walls of my room getting closer. It was subtle at first, but then the books started to move toward the center of the room, followed by the bed. I jumped up and ran to the door, but I couldn’t open it. I stood in the middle of the room—sweating, breathing hard. I wasn’t sure what to do. The walls just got closer and closer. I put my hands out to try to stop them, but I couldn’t. I started to imagine how bad it was going to hurt when I was smashed between the walls—except when they finally pressed together, I didn’t feel a thing. Because I wasn’t there. That was when I woke up, sweating and thrashing. Maybe I was just trying to remind myself that I did exist.