Driving out of the parking lot, she asks, “Why don’t we pick up your pills, then grab something to eat. You barely touched your lunch.”
“Sorry. I was nervous. As a matter of fact, I’m still not hungry.”
“How long have you not had an appetite?” Mom asks in her my-daughter’s-dying tone, which stirs up painful memories that I push back.
“Since I’ve been thinking about someone cranking open my vayjayjay. Stop worrying.”
Mom laughs and pulls into the drugstore. While she takes the doctor’s order back to the pharmacy, I walk around. Yeah, I figure I’ll just let the pharmacist think the pills are for Mom.
I end up in front of the store’s small book selection. I don’t need one. I had six delivered to my Kindle last night, but I prefer a real book. Running my fingers along the spines, I find one that looks interesting. The blurb on the back makes it sound light, and I just know it needs a home.
And after a pap smear, I could use some humor.
I’m paying when Mom walks up.
We are halfway home when Mom drops the bag in my lap. “Here. There are directions, but if you have questions, just ask.”
“Thanks.” I pull out the bag’s contents. I pick up the first box, read it, squeal, and then throw it in the backseat.
Mom giggles.
I don’t.
I look at her. “Why … why did you buy me condoms?”
“Because … if you decide to have sex, you need to protect yourself from more than just pregnancy. And … the pill won’t protect you for at least a month.”
I gasp. “You think I’m having sex tonight?” First Brandy and now my mom?
“No,” Mom says. “I just want you to be prepared when it happens.”
I sit there shaking my head in disbelief.
“I know sex is difficult to talk about, but if you need to talk…”
“We had that talk, remember?”
She nods. “You know your grandma was a little too forward thinking with me.”
I look at her, unsure what Grandma has to do with the sex talk.
“She took me shopping for condoms on my sixteenth birthday. I thought I’d die.” Mom focuses on the road. “Turned out, I was glad she did because I … had them when the time came. The condom the boy had in his wallet was one he’d carried around before puberty. There was no way I was letting him use that thing.”
I put my hands on my ears and start humming the birthday song like I’m brushing my teeth. When she stops talking, I look at her. “I do not want to hear about you having sex.”
She laughs. We keep driving.
Curiosity hits. “That boy? Was it Dad?”
Her expression answers the question before she does. “No.”
“How old were you?” I ask. So I guess I do want to know.
“Too young,” she says.
“How old?”
“Sixteen. A week after my birthday, which is why I hesitated putting you on birth control. It felt as if my mom had given me her blessing, so I didn’t wait.”
We’re close to our house, but I’m wishing we were closer. I’m imagining my mom having sex with someone and I can’t look at her. It’s all just too gross.
I stare out the passenger window as the cars pass. A feeling hits. Emotion. Not being-disgusted-by-my-mom’s-sex-life emotion, this is like …
A motorcycle pulls beside us. I stare at the passengers.
I gasp. The girl who has her arms wrapped around the driver’s waist is Cassie. That’s when I know for sure that Eric can make me feel things. I want to jump out of my skin. Chills run down my arms, up my spine, and do a choreographed tap dance on the back of my neck.
Then I remember what Matt said about Cassie seeing a guy who drove a motorcycle.
A guy with … dark hair and tattoos. This guy has black hair, but he’s wearing a leather jacket so I can’t see if he has tattoos, but … but … Shit shit shit!
I’m back to feeling Eric’s emotions. I’m sad. I’m mad. I’m jealous.
We come to a red light. I don’t want to look at them, but I keep glancing sideways out of the corner of my eye to make sure I’m right.
I am.
That’s Cassie Chambers. And there’s a good chance she’s on the back of a bike with a killer.
The light changes. The motorcycle turns onto South Pine Street. My panic is playing full volume. I look at my mom and almost blurt out, follow that motorcycle!
I don’t. And I’m relieved because then Mom would ask why. And there’s not one feasible explanation I can give her. Not even the truth. Especially not the truth.
My heart is thump-thudding in my chest. I’m doing my deep breathing to calm down, but it’s not working. The light changes. Our car moves forward.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
“Just traumatized by all the sex talk.” I try to smile, but I can’t.
Mom chuckles again. I sink deeper in the seat and try to think. If Cassie’s still hanging out with the guy who possibly killed Eric, then maybe Matt’s right.
Maybe she’s not so innocent.
I’m itching to call Matt. But I can’t with Mom listening. I consider texting him. I grab my phone out of my back pocket. I type, Just saw Cassie on a motorcycle.
I stare at it, then realize what he’ll do. He’ll leave school and try to find them. Matt said he won’t confront this guy, but I know how angry he is. I know anger makes people do stupid things.
And if this motorcycle-driving, dark-haired tattooed guy sees Matt, and if he did kill Eric, he’s gonna want to shut Matt up. Maybe permanently.
Just like that … I know what I have to do.
27
Twenty minutes later, I park my car and play with my silver hoop earrings because I’m so nervous. I’m not parked directly across from Cassie’s house. I don’t even look at her house, but I hear her guard cat meowing. I ignore it. My blood’s whooshing through my veins so fast I’m almost dizzy. I do the breathing exercises.
If motorcycle guy is here, he won’t recognize me. There’s no reason for anyone to think I’m here to confirm a guy with a motorcycle and tattoos lives here.
I get out of my car and walk to the house on the left. It’s fifty degrees outside, but I’m sweating when I get to the door.
I knock.
I hear a television.
I hear footsteps.
I hear the lock on the door turn. Fear curls my stomach, and I want to puke. I take a deep breath. In. Out.
Oh, shit. In one second, I might be face-to-face with a killer. And this isn’t fiction.
The door opens. A woman stands there. She’s blond and about forty. “Yes?”
“I’m … I’m looking for your son.”
“You mean my stepson?” she asks.
I inhale. “Drives a motorcycle?”
She rolls her eyes. “Jayden’s not here. He ran away about seven months ago. Just disappeared. Worried his dad sick.”
Which is right about the time Eric died. I swallow and try to find my voice. But it’s gone.
“I wasn’t so upset, until I found out that my husband is now helping the no-good delinquent pay for an apartment.”
“Apartment?” I ask.
She takes a step back and eyes me up and down.
“God, don’t tell me you’re pregnant?”
“No! Promise. I…” I need a lie and need one fast. “We went out a while back and he has my driver’s license. I forgot to get it back.” I’m proud of that answer. Sounds legit.
“Well, I don’t know what apartment. One off Pine Street. But I can tell you this”—she slips a hand on her hip—“it’d behoove you to just get another license. Jayden’s trouble. I know he has that bad-boy charm, but he’s twenty-one, already spent a year in prison. Is that really who you want to hang out with?”
Chills run down my spine. Nope. Don’t wanna hang with him. I shake my head.
She stares at me, unconvinced. “Ahh, shit. I’ll take your number and ask
my husband to give it to him. But God’s my witness, you’re gonna end up pregnant. And don’t think his dad and I are going to raise it.” She turns around to a side table and grabs a pen and paper. “Your number?”
“No, I … I’ll just go to the DMV.”
“Smart girl!’ She shuts the door in my face.
I hurry across the street. My hands are shaking. My knees are shaking. My freshly cranked-open vayjayjay is shaking.
But I’m smiling.
I did it.
I got something that will help Matt. Jayden’s already been in prison. The detective would be a fool not to check it out.
I’m crossing the street when Cassie’s guard cat nearly trips me.
“No. Get out of the street,” I wave the cat off. It purrs and wraps itself around my leg.
“Go!” I shoosh him away. He purrs harder. I could just leave, but if it gets killed, it’s on me.
I pick the thing up. Keeping it away from my body, I take it to Cassie’s yard. I turn to go back to my car. And freeze. A cop car’s pulling into the driveway.
Shit shit shit!
But since I’m not doing anything wrong, I continue to my car and start the engine. I’m putting it in drive when I see him walking to my car.
Fracking hell! I’m going to puke.
I’m not doing anything wrong, I tell myself. I don’t need to be afraid.
So why am I afraid? Sure, the detective warned Matt to stay away, but I’m not Matt.
I roll my window down.
“I’m Officer Yates. Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
I swear my heart, Eric’s heart, is beating so loud the officer could hear it. “I was looking for Jayden?”
“Jayden Soprano?”
“Yes, sir.” Then I cringe, realizing I just admitted to a cop I’m looking for an ex-con.
He frowns. “Can I see your license?”
My hands are trembling and it takes me forever to pull it out of my wallet, but I finally hand it to him.
“Leah McKenzie.” He reads my name aloud.
“You were here last week. I saw you.”
My heart stops, drops, and rolls. “Yes, sir.”
“So why are you lying about why you’re here?”
“I’m not, sir.” I reach deep for a convincing lie. “Last week I wanted to see her because I thought Cassie might know where Jayden was.”
His dark eyes tighten. He doesn’t believe me. And here I thought it was good.
“Look, someone’s stalking Mrs. Chambers’s daughter. Calling her at all times of the night. She’s upset, can’t sleep. It’s hurting her. It has to stop. If you’re part of that?”
“I’m not.” I only called her twice, and it wasn’t late. Shit shit shit. I came to help Matt, and I might have gotten him in more trouble.
“Don’t lie to me. Jayden doesn’t even live here anymore.”
“I … know. I just found out when I spoke with his stepmom.”
“You talked to her?” He almost smiles.
I nod, realizing the man probably saw me leaving Cassie’s yard. “The cat followed me. I was getting it out of the road before it got … killed.”
“If I ask Ms. Soprano right now, she’s going to tell me you just spoke with her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait here.” He looks right at me, then drops my license in his front pocket.
He takes a step, then turns, bends down, and reaches into my car. He removes my keys. I flatten myself against the seat so his arm doesn’t brush across my breasts. They’ve already been examined today, and once is enough.
He stands up. “I’ll hold on to these.” He starts toward the house. With my license and my keys.
I am so caught. He’s going to show the stepmother my license, and she’s going to tell him I said I lost it. Is lying against the law? I didn’t lie to the cop. Just …
I feel that one bite of lunch crawl up my throat. I consider calling Mom.
But how would I explain?
The officer knocks so hard I can hear it.
The same blond woman answers his knock. He points to my car. They exchange a short conversation. He starts back, walking slow, as if saying he doesn’t value my time.
He stops at my window. “Looks like you’re not lying.” His dark eyes stare at me in a way that makes me nervous. Probably the official police-regulated look. Or does he get off intimidating people? “But why do I not believe you? Let me say this one more time: if you’re bothering Cassie Chambers, it has to stop. She doesn’t deserve this.”
He hands me my license. I take it.
“Can I go?”
“Not without these.” He dangles my keys from his fingers and expects me to reach for them.
I reach. But he pulls his hand back just a little, and I miss. He’s a jerk.
He dangles them again. Yup, my internal jerk meter is dinging right now.
I get the keys, but I don’t look at him. I put the car in drive, drum my fingers on the wheel, and wait for him to step back so I don’t run over his feet. Truthfully, if I didn’t think he’d hunt me down and shoot me, I’d love to take out a few of his toes.
* * *
I’m hot-date ready at 5:45. I texted Matt and told him to bring his notebook. I didn’t say anything else. I’d rather tell him about my afternoon calmly over pizza.
And I am calm. Now. I was shaking when I got home. But I knew how to take care of that. I found the scariest book I had on my Kindle and dove in. In the beginning of my heart failure, when I was scheduled for some scarier-than-hell, life-or-death procedures, I discovered that nothing chills me out more than murder mysteries.
When a heroine is being chased by a bad guy in a parking lot, trapped in the house of a serial killer, or hunted by a guy with a knife, my brain sends the message to my nervous system: See, your life isn’t that bad.
And it’s not. Although I know Matt’s going to be pissed at what I did. Then he’ll be happy. Hey, I got what he needed. More than he needed. I know his name, Jayden Soprano. I know he’s still seeing Cassie. I know he lives in an apartment on Pine Street. I know he’s an ex-con.
I know Matt doesn’t need to be near him.
I dab on lip gloss and look into the drawer where I’ve hidden the box of mom-blessed condoms.
I don’t need one. I don’t. I don’t.
But considering Mom thinks I’m possibly having sex, Brandy thinks I’m possibly having sex, and I don’t know what Matt thinks, I wonder if putting one in my purse wouldn’t be wise. What if we kiss again? What if this time I don’t want to stop? What if his condom is one he carried since puberty?
I open the box. I’ve never held one. The slick foiled plastic feels liquidy inside.
Racing back to my room, like I’m stealing something, I find the secret zipper in my purse and hide it inside. I feel naughty. I feel brave. I feel like a nervous twit.
What if I drop my purse and it falls out? I make sure I zipped the pocket closed.
Then remembering something else I have to worry about, I check to make sure I have my medication. How I’ll manage to take them at nine without Matt knowing is a mystery. But if we’re in the movie, I can always go pee.
Maybe I should just tell him I take pills. Maybe he won’t care that I’m not normal, that my body could reject his brother’s heart, that I’d die and take his brother’s heart with me? That’s a big freaking maybe.
Feeling out of breath, I sit on my bed. Then bam, I worry. I shouldn’t be out of breath. Is this…? It’s not my heart. I’m just nervous.
The doorbell rings. I shove my notebook in my purse. I rush out. My phone dings. I look down. It’s Brandy. Her text reads, Call me.
She’s gonna have to wait.
Dad, who popped into my bedroom briefly when he got home, is already at the door. I tell myself he likes Matt and I don’t have to worry, but then again I also bet Mom told him why I went to the doctor today. She probably told him she bought me condoms.
/> I’m not so sure Dad likes Matt anymore.
“I’ll get it,” I yell out.
“Nope,” Dad says in his stern-daddy voice. “I got it.”
Oh, damn!
* * *
Leah looks fantastic. She looks hot. She looks nervous.
Matt’s with her on the nervous part. Mr. McKenzie’s order of treat her right and with respect was father speak for don’t you dare even think about having sex with my daughter.
Matt answers with a big yes, sir, but it’s too late. He thought about having sex with her when he first saw her in her jeans and a fitted shirt. Not that he planned on them going that far tonight.
They crawl into his car. Matt smiles at her. After losing control at the park last Monday, he felt like a horn dog. He’s not a horn dog. Yes, he wants to have sex with Leah. He wants to have lots of sex with Leah. He wants to lie in bed and laugh about having sex like the couple did in the romance novel.
Late at night, if he’s not dealing with an Eric dream, sex with Leah is all he thinks about. But he’s not going to push her. He needs to at least tag a few bases first. What was it Eric had said, “Base jumping with a girl you like will likely lead to a foul ball or a complete strikeout.”
Matt almost smiles. Eric had a sports metaphor for everything. Sometimes Matt wonders how he’s ever going to make it through this life without his brother.
He starts the car.
“I’m sorry,” Leah says. “My dad’s acting like a jerk.”
“He’s your dad. Protecting you is his job.” Matt means it too. And saying it has him remembering where he learned the term “horn dog.” He had been working with his father and Eric in the garage, door open, changing oil in their cars. The neighbor’s college-age daughter was gardening in her bikini, and Eric made a comment about how he’d like to get her to handle his tool.
His dad gave Eric a thump on his head and said he thanked God he didn’t have a girl because he’d never trust any guy with her. “We’re dogs,” he said. “No offense, sons, but we are. It’s our basic instinct.” Then he gave them a stern look and said, “Try not to be too big of horn dogs.”
His dad had been pretty good at advice too.
“He doesn’t have to be rude,” Leah says.