The Sweet Dead Life (14 page)

in front of Texas Nail Salon, which didn't open until ten. We sat with our doughnuts. Well,
they
did. I'd lost my appetite.

The gist of the conversation was this: Of course Amber knew Casey had told me. That was Amber's job. The AIC

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was real. Casey wasn't making it up. Initially there had been a majority vote to keep the angel thing a secret from me. It was Amber who had argued that if he didn't clue me in, I would eventually mess up Casey's attempts to help solve everything that had been going on.

The more I listened, the more pissed I became.

Who was running the show up there in angel land? The same people who believed that WWF was real wrestling? My brother had a 33 average in Teen Leadership, but
I
was untrustworthy? Casey would remain on a sort of probationary period for awhile. That was the only part that made sense. The results of Mom's blood work were still pending.

"But something's not right," Amber concluded. "My friend at the lab wants to run more tests."

I wondered if the AIC sat around playing cards or harps or whatever and decided,
Hey, I know what'll perk things right up. Let's screw with the
Samuels family. It'll help pass eternity
. "Y'all are holy beings, right?" I wasn't quite sure if I could extend this to my brother, but I put it out there in general terms. "If you're angels doesn't that mean you just
know
stuff? Why does it all have to be a mystery? I mean, can't you just tell us who's been poisoning me and what's going on with Mom and what happened to Dad?"

Amber slurped another gulp of coffee from the Styrofoam cup. "No," she said slowly. "That's not how it works." She twitched her mouth. "When I'm--when we're like this," she motioned to herself and Casey, "we're bound by Earth rules. Human form. Human rules. There's a little more to it, but that's the basics."

I glared at her. "The basics?" My brother might have used his A-powers to mess with the neighbors' holiday décor. We needed the advanced course.

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She met my gaze. "Think about it, Jenna. You wouldn't really want a world where everything was predetermined, would you? What fun would that be?"

Suddenly we were in a staring contest. I blinked first. Now I was cranky again. The guarantee of free will aside, I knew that Amber and the AIC were convinced that my father's disappearance was not just a random event, and that Dad was somehow tied into everything else, including my poisoned boots. Casey was back because he was best suited to connect the dots. But she was still lying to me. I was sure of it.

"Throw this stuff away, would you?" Amber pressed her napkin and empty Styrofoam cup into my brother's hands. Obediently, he trotted toward the garbage can. I stifled a grin. Okay, maybe she wasn't
evil
. It was sort of a kick to see someone bossing around my brother.

Plus honestly, she had told me stuff I'd wanted to know. I didn't like her any better, but I could tolerate her. For now, at least. For Casey's sake.

"They didn't want to send him back, Jenna," she whispered. "But someone, I can't say who, argued that your brother had potential."

"And you're telling me this because?"

Amber lowered her voice. On her utility belt, her cell phone gave a soft little beep. The red light started blinking. Someone needed her. I wondered if it was someone human. "Because I think you deserve to know. Because we all heard you praying for him in that car."

"I don't pray." This wasn't entirely true, but I felt like pissing her off. She still thought she knew me. She still absolutely did not.

"Things happen for a reason, Jenna."

More bullshit. Or maybe she'd read my mind. Maybe she

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knew about Maggie's philosophy of life, too. I thought longingly about my boots.

"So what happened to you?" I asked. "How come you're an A-word? I figure it's only fair I know since you seem to know so much about
us
."

She blinked at me. For the first time ever, she was at a loss for words. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. "It doesn't matter," she muttered. "Listen, Jenna. I get it. I really do. You heard what I said last night; I know you did.

Angels aren't always infallible. The world is set in motion and sometimes things happen. Scientists call it chaos theory; philosophers call it free will.

My explanation? It's just the way Nature works."

Yes, I understand. Once again, you are telling me that 'shit happens.' You've
just given it a fancier set of names
.

"Your brother's friend Dave is the type who brings extra chaos. It's like dominos, Jenna. Casey did something kind for his friend. He loaned him your car. But Dave's behavior while in the car ... that was the wild card."

"Are you telling me that a bunch of advanced supernatural beings couldn't predict that loaning a guy who smoked his breakfast--and lunch and dinner--

was going to turn out badly?"

Amber opened her mouth, then closed it

Casey had paused by the garbage can. Then I saw why. He was chattering away on his cell phone again with that same dumb grin he'd worn last night with Lanie Phelps.

"Listen, you asked why I'm here," Amber whispered furiously. "There was this angel from A&M. We got into a little, um, debate about football. I mean, who doesn't believe that the Longhorns are the better team? Turns out there's a lot of Aggies after, you know.
After
. Who would 120

have thought? They're a bunch of self-righteous sons of bitches, by the way."

I laughed in spite of myself. Okay. I may not have trusted her entirely yet, but I'd clearly underestimated this woman. Because finally, Amber Velasco had said something that made some sense. The A&M/UT rivalry was legendary.

In Texas, almost everyone sided with either the Aggies or the Longhorns.

Even when they weren't playing in the same conference. The Aggies weren't much for Austin, said it was filled with hippie-types and liberal tree-huggers.

Longhorns dismissed College Station as a rinky-dink country town.

I was generally neutral about the whole thing, but my favorite asshat (or not), Mr. Collins was an Aggie through and through. I wouldn't have held this against him, but Aggies were sticklers for their football traditions and Collins had tried to put an Aggie guilt trip on my brother when he quit the Spring Creek team. "You were always there for me, Samuels," he'd growled. "Even if you weren't playing. You were my 12 th Man. Now you're nothing."

Here's how the Aggie 12 th Man thing worked: Only eleven guys went out on the field to play, but the whole student body was that twelfth. A win for the team was a win for everybody. You didn't leave in the middle. Of course it had never occurred to Mr. Collins to wonder if
he
was the one who was quitting on Casey. It sure as hell hadn't occurred to Lanie Phelps. Or had it, finally?

"You got stuck with my brother because you went to UT?" I managed.

It did sound like the lamest possible excuse. On the other hand, it was highly entertaining. But I still didn't know how she had died.

"Casey!" Amber hollered before I could ask any more 121

questions. "Stop acting like a jackass and take your sister to school!"

WE WERE PULLING up to Ima Hogg when Casey turned to me. His well-groomed brows pinched toward each other. He made a "hmm" sound. For a second, he looked kind of constipated.

"Casey," I warned. "You can't show your wings in the Ima Hogg driveway."

"What? No. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"You."

This was not the answer I'd expected. I figured he was daydreaming about Lanie Phelps and how maybe they could do it in the locker room or something. (I meant no disrespect to either of them, but let's face it. I had recently heard Dave describe Casey's situation, in between bong hits, as such:
"You couldn't get laid if you were a load of cement."
Neither could Dave, but that wasn't the point. The point was that this was an accurate description of my brother until the day he died and came back like this. It took some getting used to.)

"What
about
me?" I rested my hand on the door. I needed to get to class.

Someone behind us honked a horn. We were messing up the drop-off rhythm.

"Who would want to hurt you, Jenna? No one. You're a pain in the ass sometimes, but you're in the eighth grade. You're not exactly a threat to mankind. Who would want to hurt Mom? Same answer. She's not someone people hurt. She's Holly Samuels, a speech therapist at Oak View Convalescent Home. At least she was. And a mom. No one hurts someone like that. I mean, look at Dr. Renfroe. He still looks out for Mom and she doesn't even work for him anymore.

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So here's what I'm thinking. Dad's disappearance must be connected somehow. You heard what Mom was saying. I know we both figured she was rambling nonsense, but what if she wasn't? What if Dad is alive? What if wherever he went or whatever happened to him is the same reason someone went after you? What if it's the same reason Mom's so wacked out? Like we were thinking--not just depressed, but something else, maybe."

Goosebumps rose on my arms. The Merc was still idling in the middle of the drop-off lane. More people had started honking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the school cop plodding toward us. (For the record: Officer Jenkins weighed in at about two-eighty. If we had a real emergency here at Ima Hogg, he would probably bust a clot before he actually caught up with anyone.) But Casey wasn't done. He rested a hand on my shoulder to calm me.

"Jenna, I keep going over and over what Mom said. Like, that he's been trying to contact her, but he has to stay hidden. What if all that's true? What if something's been keeping him away? What if he's
scared
to come back? So I asked myself: If a guy--if Dad--is totally terrified of something, what's the one thing you can threaten him with to make him do what you want? What would make him come back? Only one thing as I see it. Something that would make him even
more
terrified."

"Like what?" I asked.

"You," he said.

My heart was beating too fast for me to speak.

"What I mean is: Like someone he loves, in danger. Like someone trying to poison you. Think about it, Jenna. Maybe whoever poisoned you figured that if you got sick enough, it would make Dad come home to try to save you.

Maybe they're

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even trying to make Mom sick, too, for the same reason. Maybe they're trying to ambush Dad when he comes to save us all."

My goosebumps turned to boulders. Was this possible? I had convinced myself that our father didn't love us. That he'd run off to some new place or new life. In my worst moments, I sometimes even thought that it was partly because of me. I didn't know why, but it had to be something. Why else would he disappear after promising to ride Magic Mountain with me at Disney World?

Back then, Casey already played football. He had promise. Hard to believe, but he did. I was just a hyper nine-year-old who liked to come with her father when he scoped out the different restaurants to review. I liked going to the sports games, too, sitting with him in the press boxes at Minute Maid and Reliant and Toyota. But I loved the restaurants most of all. Casey never wanted to go, but I did. Dad would order brisket or ribs or--for the sequel he'd started on classic Tex Mex--street tacos and refried beans and fresh guacamole and enchiladas with gooey cheese and sauce. He'd share his plate with me and we'd confer. Were the ribs smoky enough? Was the brisket too fatty? How about that guacamole? Had the avocados been fresh?

It was just me and Dad and the three meat platter. Or Combination Number Two with an extra cup of queso because my father liked to dip his chips in the molten cheese. Or fresh salsa studded with jalapenos that made me sweat after the first bite ... After five years without him, though, I had come to

the conclusion that my memories were mistaken. My father hadn't enjoyed those times. I'd just "projected." Maybe I'd eaten too many enchiladas. Or given him a lousy opinion about the tacos al carbon.

I willed my heart to beat like a normal person's instead of

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dancing in my chest like a lunatic. "You think that could be true?" I croaked.

"Yeah," he said. "I do."

Something inside me that had felt sad and broken knitted itself together just the tiniest bit. And Casey wasn't even touching me anymore.

Officer Jenkins tapped on my window. "Get a move on," he grumped through the glass.

"I'm gonna find him, Jenna," Casey whispered, opening the door for me. "I'm gonna bring him home."

"It's been five years, Casey."

"It's okay," my brother said. He lowered his voice. Officer Jenkins was right outside the Merc. "I'm a you-know-what now. That's how we roll."

"Don't ever say 'how we roll' again," I told him. "Or I'll report you to that AIC."

The bell rang. Nice. I was late for Algebra. Again.

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"How you doing today, Jenna?" Mr. Collins asked, pausing during aisle patrol while we were solving for x. "You had me worried."