Twisted (20 page)

CHAPTER 33

I
'm still standing in the same spot staring at Liam's empty chair when Erin waves her fingers in front of my face.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I was going to tell him,” I whisper.

She pats my back sympathetically.

Her touch causes a bunch of emotions to stir inside me. “I'm a horrible person!” I cry. “I totally suck!”

The few people scattered around the room look up.

“Simmer down, woman,” Erin says, pushing me into the back office.

“But it's true. What was I thinking?” I drag my hands through my hair. “I should have just told him. I shouldn't have been such a coward.”

“Look, I know. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, but it's —”

“Really?” I cut her off. “Great words of wisdom. Makes me feel loads better.”

Erin folds her arms. “I'll choose to ignore your shitty attitude. What I was going to
say
was, it's not too late. They haven't sent out wedding invitations or anything. If you really want to tell him, find him and tell him.”

I stare at the floor for a second, my mind racing. “Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll go find him and tell him.” I grab Erin's shoulder and squeeze. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She smiles. “It's kinda what I do.”

“Where do you think he went?” I say, yanking the ties on my apron. “Do you think he went home? Where should I look?”

“Good question,” she says thoughtfully.

“You know him.” My emotional roller coaster gears up again, and my eyes fill with frustrated tears. “You must have
some
idea where he'd be.”

“Just calm down. Let me think. Okay, he's finished exams, so he wouldn't be at school or the library … he's a simple guy.” She stops and looks at me. “I don't mean in the head, I mean like his wants and needs, you know?”

I nod.

“So if he's not at the university or here, he's either home, at Dalplex — he runs the indoor track — or … maybe down at Taz Records.”

“Taz Records?”

“Yeah. Picture the comic book store on
The Big Bang Theory
, but with records. He spends hours down there. He thinks he's a hipster.”

I close my eyes and press my fingers against my temples. “I don't know where any of these places are.”

“Relax.” She reaches for a napkin and pulls a pen from her apron. “I'll draw you a map.”

I stand behind her and watch.

“Worst-case scenario, you come back later tonight. He has clos- ing shift.”

“He does?” I shake my head. “I don't want to wait that long.”

“No problemo. You go. I'll cover for you.” She keeps drawing. “You're lucky I'm an expert map-maker.”

When she's finished, she hands me the napkin. “Okay, so this is the coffee shop, here.” She points. “Walk up to Robie —”

Just then the bell on the front door jingles. We both glance up from the drawing to see Rosalyn coming in. As she strides across the room, she keeps pausing and looking back over her shoulder. “Is Liam here?” she asks, her tone curt, her mouth barely moving.

“Darn. You just missed him,” Erin answers, mock sad.

Rosalyn checks over her shoulder again. “I really need to find him,” she says.

Erin tilts her head and squints at Rosalyn. “Hey … you look different. Did you change your hair? Your makeup?”

“No …” she says hesitantly.

“Because you're positively
glowing
!”

Rosalyn's eyes get really wide. She breathes in deeply through her nose, then turns to face me. “Did he say where he was going?”

I crumple up the napkin map and shove it into my pocket. “No. He didn't.” I don't bother to hide the dislike I'm sure is plastered all over my face.

Rosalyn gives me a look like she doesn't believe me. “He said he was coming to pick up his cheque.”

“They're not ready,” I say. Our eyes lock, long enough that it becomes uncomfortable.

She drops her gaze first and begins to dig through her purse. I see her hands are shaking. “I'll take a medium Colombian to go, then,” she says.

“Decaf, I presume?” Erin asks sweetly, punching it in on the register.

“Never mind,” she snaps. “Cancel my order.”

As she spins around to leave, the bell on the front door jingles again. When I see who it is, I let out a tiny gasp.

“Shit!” Rosalyn hisses.

Erin sidles up closer to me, sees the look on my face and Rosalyn's face, sees the guy coming in the door. “What? What did I miss?”

“Kyle,” I say.

“
That's
Kyle?” She gives him a once-over. “Not bad.”

Meanwhile Rosalyn's head is whipping around like the kid from
The Exorcist
. I know she's looking for an escape route.

“Rosalyn!” Kyle yells, stomping toward us.

“I
knew
it!” she yells back. “You're following me, aren't you?”

“Yes!”

She seems thrown that he openly admits it.

“I don't have much choice now, do I?” he continues. “You won't return my calls, answer my texts!”

“Then take the hint!”

The people sipping their coffees try to pretend they're not listening, but they totally are.

He glances over at me. We make eye contact. Red starts to creep up his neck. “Rosalyn, can we please go someplace private?”

“No,” she says, stepping closer to the counter, closer to us.

She better not be thinking I'm gonna protect her.

“I know you're …” Again Kyle's eyes meet mine before swinging back to Rosalyn. “
Pregnant
,” he says in a whisper.

“Wow.” Erin leans sideways till our heads are touching. “Did not see this one comin'.”

Rosalyn puts her hands on her hips and faces Kyle. “Oh, and I suppose Heather told you that.”

Kyle sticks his chin out. “Yeah. As a matter of fact she did.”

“Christ, Kyle. Heather's been trying to get with you since frosh week. Don't be such an idiot.”

He looks confused. “How is telling me you're pregnant going —” He puts up a hand and takes a deep breath. “It doesn't matter. You know that this baby is probably mine, Rosalyn.”

Erin leans sideways again. “You just can't make this stuff up.”

Rosalyn violently zips up her purse. “Stay away from me, Kyle.”

He steps between the counter and Rosalyn, turning so his back is to me and Erin.

“Can we please go someplace that's not
here
, and talk this through?” He fights to keep his voice low, but we can still hear him.

She shakes her head. “Liam's the father of this baby.”

“Really? Are you positive?” he says sarcastically. “Because I'm pretty sure you were having sex with me a hell of a lot more than with him.”

“Liam's the father of this baby,” she repeats firmly. Is she trying to convince Kyle or herself?

“Are you fuckin' kidding me? You have no way of knowing that.” He tries to grab her arm.

Flinching, she shrieks, “Don't touch me!” And practically runs out the front door.

Kyle makes a move to follow her but then stops and comes back to the counter. He swallows. I see his Adam's apple bob up and down. “Where's Liam?” he asks me.

“I — I don't know,” I stutter.

He curses under his breath and then leaves too.

The room is filled to the brim with an uneasy silence.

“Well,
that
was entertaining,” Erin announces loudly. She picks up a coffee pot, goes out, and circulates around the tables as if nothing happened.

But something definitely did happen. Something that makes me realize I'm not the only one who's desperate to talk to Liam.

I snatch my coat off the hook, reach for my bag, and loop it over my head. “I'm outta here,” I call to Erin. “I'll be as quick as I can.”

“Good luck.”

THE NEXT HOUR AND
a half is a total bust. There's no answer at Liam's apartment, no sign of him at Dalplex or that Taz Records place either.

My feet are aching. It feels like I've walked a marathon.

I find myself sitting on my stone wall again. I wonder if the family inside ever notices me, notices there's some strange girl with a weird attachment to their front yard.

I rub my hands over my face. My gloves are wet, and I see traces of mascara on the leather tips. I must look like crap. Staring at the streaks of black, I fight to organize my thoughts.

My suspicion is that Rosalyn knows Kyle is going to tell Liam everything. Kyle seems pretty sure that this baby is his. Rosalyn is going to be hell-bent on getting to Liam first so she can spin it to her advantage. There's no way she can squirm her way out of this un- scathed, though. I can't even
imagine
what her defence will be. Unfor- tunately, I can't ignore the fact that if she goes down, there's no doubt in my mind she's taking me with her. Why wouldn't she? I would.

A group of people come down the sidewalk carrying coffees from Tim's. I tuck my legs in closer to the wall, out of their way, and watch the parade of brown cups go by. Later tonight I'll go back to the coffee shop, get there before Liam's shift starts. I'll talk to him. Tell him everything. It'll be what it'll be. Maybe for once things will go my way. Maybe Rosalyn or Kyle won't get to him first. But if they do, it's not going to matter what I say. The shit will have already hit the fan.

An ugly thought creeps into my brain. In all my strategizing, it's like I've forgotten who's going to be most affected, most hurt by all this. Liam. It only reinforces the things I said to Erin earlier: I'm a coward, and I suck.

When I finally gather enough energy, I get up and head for home.

I DON'T REALIZE HOW
tense and on edge I am until I round the corner and see the empty driveway. My muscles relax, my body goes limp. I know I left a note for Aidan saying I wanted to talk, but I'm just not sure I have it in me anymore. I unlock the door and go directly to the kitchen to put the kettle on for some tea. The light on the answering machine is flashing. I notice it right away — mainly because no one ever calls here. I listen to the recording.

“Hi. This message is for Aidan Mackenzie. This is Dr. Evans's office calling. Aidan, you missed your last appointment. As this is the second time, Dr. Evans would like to reschedule as soon as possible. Could you call us back at 420-4408, extension 135, to set something up? Thanks.”

The tea forgotten, I take the phone into the living room, curl up on the couch, and wait. The fact that I don't feel like facing Aidan at the moment doesn't matter anymore — I don't have much of a choice. Some time later I wake to the jingle of Aidan's keys being tossed on the hall table.

I sit up, wipe some drool from the corner of my mouth.

“Hey,” he says.

The phone is still clutched in my hand. For a second I can't figure out why, then I remember the message. I jump right in. “Your doctor's office called,” I say.

“Oh?” He shuffles through the mail and doesn't look up.

“Yeah. They say you missed some appointments.”

His head stays down, seemingly enthralled by some grocery flyer.

“Well?” I demand.

“It's nothing,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

Turning slowly, his face all tight, he says, “Yeah, I'm sure. Why? Were you and her talking about me? Was she telling you stuff?”

I frown. “Who? Your doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course not. It was a message on the machine.”

“Because she doesn't know what she's talking about. These so- called therapists — I think most of them are just trying to work out their
own
problems.”

I don't say anything.

He takes a deep breath. “I told you. There's nothing wrong with me. Never was.”

“I don't buy that anymore, Aidan.” Time to cut the crap. “You wouldn't be under a doctor's care if there wasn't anything wrong with you.”

“I explained all that. I go through the motions, do what they want, tell them what they want to hear, whatever it takes to keep me out of that hospital.”