She Loves You, She Loves You Not... (21 page)

The front door opened, and Sarah’s mom appeared. She said something to Ben, and the three of them laughed. Sarah kissed Ben right in front of her mother, and then she disappeared inside. Ben zoomed away.

You called Sarah. No answer. You called again. You threw the phone
on the seat of the car and stormed up to her front door. You rang the doorbell; you fisted the door. Her mother answered. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to see Sarah.”

“She’s not home,” her mother said.

Liar. You saw Sarah inside. She slipped around the corner in the hall.

“Sarah!” You trampled her mother to get in. You had hold of Sarah’s arm, and she was struggling, but you just wanted to talk to her. She screamed and tried to fight you off, and then her mother was on you and someone else too. Her brother? They dragged you out of the house.

The door slammed. You rang the bell.

“Go away,” Sarah’s mom shouted.

You rang and rang and rang.

You stood there ringing the bell and calling Sarah’s name until the cops came.

The rest is a blur. Except the part where Tanith had to bring you home because your father wouldn’t even come and get you at the police station.

I have no control over myself; not then, not now. Even though I knew it was over, I just needed to hear the words from her own lips. Is that so much to ask?

My phone rings, jolting me to the present. I fumble around with it in my hand. What if it’s Sarah, checking to see who called her? Or Sarah’s mom?

The ID reads
CARLY
. “Hello?” I answer.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Her words slur. “I din mean to yell a’ you.”

Where is she? When did she leave? There’s music and laughter in the background.

“That’s okay. I’m sorry I went through your stuff. I’m sorry I called you a—”

She starts crying, and I feel like crap. Geena comes on. “Arlo, is that you?”

“No. It’s Alyssa.”

“Alyssa. Sugar. Listen, Carly’s a wreck, so I’m going to take her home with me tonight. Are you okay up there alone?”

“Yeah.” Not really. I hate it here alone.

“I don’t know what set her off,” Geena says. “But when she gets like this, it’s best to let her work through it. I’m sure she’ll feel better tomorrow. She’ll call you then.” Geena hangs up.

I know what set her off. Me.

Good job, Alyssa.

I go to the kitchen and stand at the French doors, gazing at my reflection. I look like a ghost. I am a ghost to Carly. She must see me as her past coming back to haunt her.

I wonder if Carly and Dad too see me as the consequence of their stupidity.

I trudge upstairs and flop on the bed. Shadows of fire-breathing dragons dance on the walls and ceiling, and I sense the fire all around me, engulfing me, burning me alive. I wonder, if I die, will anybody care?

I’ll care. I refuse to let self-pity rule my life. I switch on all the lights—from my room to the kitchen, dining room, living room, laundry room, and exercise room—to make it feel less eerie, more inhabited. I turn on the TV. No breaking news. I wish I knew Finn’s number. Does she even have a phone? What time is it? Midnight? One? She’s probably working at the club.

I’m not going there. I won’t chase her. I
won’t
stalk her.

Carly’s computer beckons, and I switch it on. The websites for the Denver news stations are all about the fires, but I don’t see Caribou mentioned. The Internet is distracting, at least. As I’m surfing online, checking MySpace and Facebook, I don’t feel so alone in the world.

A sound overhead draws my attention. A flurry outside the window. I glance up at the skylight and see drops of water. Is that… rain? I run up to the kitchen and open the French doors. It’s raining!

I step out onto the deck and breathe in the smell. Wet dirt
and smothered ash. Mother Nature to the rescue. Leaving the French doors ajar, I dash down to the entrance and fling open the front door. The rain beats on the gravel drive, kicking up dust and dirt. I step out and raise my face to the sky. Cold, glorious rain.

It feels like I’ve been in a coma for months, and when my alarm
bleep
s, all my senses are reawakened. At four
AM
it’s still dark outside, and the rain is pounding outside my window, and I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.

I take a shower and get dressed. Carly’s door is closed, and I have the strongest urge to go wake her up, take her hand, and fly downstairs to dance in the rain together. Then I remember she stayed with Geena.

Stupid idea, anyway.

As I back out of the garage, rain pummels the Mercedes so hard, I think it’s going to dent the metal. It takes me a minute to locate the windshield wipers. Even on the fastest wiper speed, my view is distorted. The headlights barely illuminate the access road. It’s a solid wall of water. I downshift to the lowest gear and inch my way along, glad to meet up with the highway.

I drive slowly, carefully. When I get out of the car at the Egg Drop, my foot splashes into a puddle. Shit. I can’t believe I’m still wearing Finn’s shoes. Soaked now. Why haven’t I gone to buy shoes for myself? Because I wanted to keep a piece of her close? That sounds like Psych 101. I’ll go today. I should’ve worn my boots, anyway, with all this mud.

Arlo’s van is here, the hood crushed like a soda can. I don’t
see Finn’s motorcycle. She’ll have a rough ride down Caribou Mountain on those slick rocks, if she even tries. There’s nothing between us. Nothing. She’s leaving, and she doesn’t want a relationship.

Arlo’s chopping onions, swiping tears off his cheeks.

“Good morning,” I say.

“What’s good about it?” He rolls past me with a container of chopped onions on his lap.

“It’s raining,” I reply.

He says, “You think?” He sets the onions on the counter and returns for the peppers. “Where’s the traitor?”

Is that how he thinks of Finn?

She can quit if she wants. It’s her life.

Finn blows in, bundled in an orange slicker. As she unties the hood and yanks it back, our eyes meet. “Wet,” she says.

“Extremely.” I can’t suppress a smile.

Arlo rolls by, retrieves a carton of eggs from the fridge, and says to Finn, “Why don’t you just go now? I’ll cut you a check, and you’re on your way.”

“I’ll go when my time’s up,” Finn tells him.

He looks from her to me, and I know what he’s thinking. I also don’t care. I’m out now, and so is she.

Finn says, “I’ll get the coffee started.”

“I’ll help.” I follow her.

Two boxes of doughnuts are stacked on the counter, and I start unloading them. “If it’s still raining when we get off, I’ll give you a lift home. Do you have a phone? Let’s exchange numbers in case you need to call me.”

Arlo yells, “Is this the pancake batter you mixed yesterday?
Who made this soupy shit? And why are there still order tickets on the spindle?”

Finn gives him the finger, which he can’t see.

“He loves you,” I tell her. “He just doesn’t know how to express it with a Hallmark card.”

She snorts.

Without thinking, I encircle her braid and run my hand down it.

I see the goose bumps rise on her skin.

Arlo cranks up his radio to earsplitting volume. “We interrupt this broadcast for a bulletin from the National Weather Service.”

We both turn to listen.

“A flood watch has been issued for Eagle, Pitkin, Summit, and Park counties, including the towns of Heeney, Silverthorne, Dillon, Frisco, and Breckenridge and homes and businesses along the Blue River.”

I ask Finn, “Does that include us?”

She says, “It’s only a watch.”

A weathercaster comes on. “We’re keeping an eye on two converging weather patterns that could bring heavy precipitation for the western slope over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The good news is the Eagles Nest fire was eighty percent contained, and the firebreaks have held. Those living east of the Divide will benefit from the rain, but flash floods are possible with this much rainfall in so short a time.”

Arlo shouts out the order window, “Open the joint up, Alyssa.”

Me? Wow, I’ve never been the one to open. I mean, BFD. You unlock the door and flip the sign from
CLOSED
to
OPEN
. Can I handle that much responsibility?

People are lined up outside in the pouring rain. The first one in is Rufus. He says, “Arlo here today?”

“Yeah.”

He hollers to everyone behind him, “Arlo’s back!”

There are cheers and applause. I hope Finn doesn’t catch it. She’s standing at the cash register, breaking open rolls of coins. If her feelings are hurt, she doesn’t show it.

It’s amazing how neither fire nor rain can dampen Arlo’s popularity. In fact, the rush extends an hour longer because customers stay to chat about the weather or keep dry. I don’t get to flip over the
CLOSED
sign until after two.

I’m wiped. Finn and I clean up and get ready for tomorrow without exchanging a word. There’s so much electricity in the air between us, though, one spark and the whole place would explode. That’s what it feels like to me, anyway.

Arlo doesn’t leave before us, the way he usually does. He rearranges his pots and sharpens his knives. I roll my eyes at Finn, but she’s avoiding looking at me. She opens the fridge to put away the carton of creamer and calls to Arlo, “We’re going to need butter before tomorrow. Do you want me to stop at Safeway?”

“No!” He points a knife at Finn. “You go away.”

She reaches for her rain slicker, and I snag the hood before she can pull it up. “You can’t ride your bike in this,” I tell her. “Let me take you home.” I call to Arlo, “I’ll stop at Safeway for supplies, if you want.”

Finn opens the back door. Outside, it’s a curtain of water, and the parking lot is a river of mud.

Right behind us, Arlo goes, “Where’s Noah when you need an ark?”

His voice in my ear distracts me, and Finn pulls away, taking off in the rain.

“Finn!” I holler. I hear the bike engine roar to life. “She can’t drive in this. It’s dangerous.”

Arlo says, “Finn does whatever the hell she wants.”

I whirl on him. “Why are you so mean to her? You’re the one who’s driving her away. What’s wrong with you?”

Arlo deadpans, “You want a list?”

I expel exasperation. He’s so deliberately irritating. I can understand why Finn would quit at the first opportunity.

“Do you need a ride?” Arlo asks.

All I can think is,
I hope Finn makes it home
. Why didn’t I get her number? I’m obsessing again, but I can’t help it.

“Alyssa?”

“What? Oh. No. I have Carly’s SUV.”

Arlo goes over to the bread drawer and pulls out a loaf of sourdough. He says, “That’s not Carly’s.”

“What do you mean?” I fill in my hours on my time sheet and see I’m not scheduled for tomorrow. Finn is. I write in my name. Maybe Arlo won’t notice. Sure, and mold is a digestive aid.

“The Mercedes. It’s not Carly’s.”

“Whose is it?”

Arlo saws off two thick slices of bread. “I’m making myself a grilled cheese. You want one?”

I’m famished, of course. “Sure.”

“Grab the butter and cheese. Get mozzarella, cheddar, Swiss, and Asiago.” He saws another slice. “It was Jason’s.”

I look at Arlo. Carly’s letting me drive Jason’s car?

“Bring it over here.” Arlo motions me to the grill. He moves to the side and says, “You’re going to do it.”

I dump my armload of cheeses. “But I don’t know how to cook.”

“It’s never too late to learn. Spread butter on each slice of bread. Usually I just dunk ’em in melted butter, but we’ll keep it low-fat.” He holds a hand over the grill. “Do lesbians care about their figures?”

I just look at him.

“I’m just askin’. Is that a priority with your kind? The whole beauty-queen routine?”

How do I know what lesbians’ priorities are? I don’t even pretend to represent. “I shower occasionally,” I tell him. “Twice a week I run a comb through my hair.”

He chuckles. “I can tell.”

Something bothers me about what he said earlier, before the homosexist remark. “I thought Jason and Angelica… I thought it was a hit-and-run.”

“Stack the cheeses yellow, white, yellow. For presentation and flair.”

A toasted cheese has flair?

“I guess Carly got the Mercedes fixed?” I say.

“They weren’t in the SUV,” Arlo says. “Turn the grill down so you don’t burn the bread before the cheese melts.”

I follow his instructions. “They were in another car?”

“Now the top slice of bread. And… flip.”

The first sandwich falls to pieces.

“That’s okay. Get the cheese back on the bread. Flip faster, like this.” He demonstrates with a flick of the wrist.

I try.

“Beautiful!” he cries.

I feel like I just won
Top Chef
.

“Jason was taking the baby to day care, and he got a call from Carly, raking him over the coals about taking her car because his had a flat. They’d been fighting; she knew he was cheating on her.”

My eyes widen at Arlo.

“Anyway, he’d taken the little girl out of the car seat and was locking the door when she ran out into the street. Jason ran after her, but a car came tearing around the corner going way over the speed limit, according to witnesses, and hit Jason. He’d just gotten to the girl and picked her up. Jason died instantly. The little girl lived for a day.”

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Angelica.”

“Huh?”

“Her name. It was Angelica.”

“Right. They called her Angie.” He holds a plate, and I use the spatula to slide the wrecked sandwich onto it. Another plate for the good one. “You gotta slice it diagonal.” He hands me a serrated knife. I saw through the bread, and he goes, “Beautiful. Now you can cook.”

Yeah, sure.

Arlo takes a bite out of the messed-up sandwich, which I would’ve eaten. His eyes roll back in his head like,
rapture
, and it makes me smile.

The grilled cheese is good. Better than good. So much better than the grilled cheese Dad used to make for me. I pull up a step stool and sit, so I’m eye level with Arlo. “Was Carly… I mean, I know she must’ve been devastated afterward.”