Read Tango with a Twist (Smashwords edition.) Page 42

  #scenebreak

   

  I woke up with a spasm, which hurt more than it should have, but I’d fallen asleep on a deck chair which was dumb, dumb, dumb. My throat felt raw and every muscle hurt. Rain poured out of the sky. In a dream, it would’ve been the perfect symbol of my emptiness and sorrow. Except it was actually raining, and I was awake.

  I hurried to the covered porch. Where was Dad?

  Deep breath.

  Probably sound asleep in his bed.

  It’s always weird to describe a nightmare that leaves you sweating in terror, because they’re often lame in the telling, but the memory of standing alone on that horrible, empty floor left me shaking.

  How had I ended up asleep in a deck chair?

  Oh, yeah. After my talk with Dr. Mike, I’d jumped in the pool. At one point, Dad came out to check on me. I’d lied and told him I was great, which he bought, so Dr. Mike hadn’t shared my tale of woe. Dad laid out sweats and a hoodie for me and reminded me that if I fell asleep in a deck chair in my condition, I’d have only myself to blame in the morning when my entire body ached.

  After my swim, I’d dried off, dressed in fuzzy sweats and promptly fell asleep in a deck chair. Note to self: no whining to Dad about the aches and pains.

  All caught up.

  Rain drained off the roof.

  I bounced like a bunny, shaking out my stiff muscles. I had to talk to Tango. I couldn’t wait twenty years to make things right. Reaching into my damp jeans’ pocket for my cell reminded me it had been with me when I jumped into the pool. Fuck. It was dead.

  Oh well, Tango’d had no qualms about visiting me in the middle of the night. Turn-about was fair play. Rushing through the house, I found Dad’s keys on the kitchen counter and ran out to Auntie Mac’s car.

  Mike’s was parked on the street, now.

  “Go, Dad,” I muttered and sped off into the twilight.

  The streets were deserted at Oh-my-God o’clock in the morning. Tango’s driveway, too. Could only mean one thing, so I made a u-turn and drove to the studio. The rain had already stopped by the time I pulled into the parking lot. Success! Her mom’s beat up Toyota idled by the door with the lights on.

  Once I parked, I ran to her car and reached through the open window to kill the engine and steal the keys. If we were going to thrash through what I’d done, she shouldn’t have a running car as an excuse to escape.

  The studio was gloomy, the only light a slowly turning disco ball. It filled the space with thousands of white traveling dots. The quiet whir of the box that turned the ball was the only sound.

  I stopped near the bar. “Tango?”

  No answer.

  “Katy?”

  No answer.

  “It’s Foxtrot, Tango. I know you’re mad at me, but I have your car keys and you’re not leaving—”

  Bam! Something hit the back of my head.

  The disco ball blew up white hot. . . then everything went black.