Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  “Of course not. Why would he be? The place was full of girls like Gibbs who flirted with Sean every chance they could get.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I went as often as I could and talked to him until I found out he liked to play pool. So I bought a table and put it in the garage of the house my roommates and I rented.”

  “You bought a pool table. Wasn’t that expensive?”

  “Yes, it was. But I’d just received the money my parents left me after they died.”

  “Did you hope to invite him to your garage?”

  “Certainly not. I decided to study the physics of pool. My professors were impressed with my paper and my demonstrations. I kept visiting the bar and talking to Sean while I practiced pool until I was very good. Then one Friday night, I challenged him to play at one of the two tables in the bar. He was hesitant until I offered $20 for each game of 8 Ball he won. That whet his interest, so he agreed. Since he is at heart a gentleman, he let me break. I ran the table.” She chuckles. “He never took a shot until I felt sorry for him and let him break for the fifth game. He didn’t pocket any balls, so I took over and won that game too. By that time he was the subject of lots of ribbing, but he took it well. To escape his chagrin, he said he needed to get back to the bar and tried to find $100 in his wallet. I told him he could keep his money if he’d go out with me, my treat. He said yes, which was, of course, the entire point of my hustle.”

  I am amazed at her planning and determination. “Did he figure out your scheme?”

  “No, I told him later. I wanted him to know I was serious about having a relationship with him, that I wasn’t like the other girls.”

  We stop at a light. She is leaning back, her eyes looking at the ceiling, relishing her memories with a smile. The light turns and I drive into the store parking lot.

  Once I’ve found a spot, I ask, “How did the date end?”

  She glances at me, her smile forcing wrinkles into the corners of her eyes. “In my bedroom. How else would it end?”

  My eyes nearly pop out of my head as she opens the door and heads for the store. I have to jog to catch up with her.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me more?”

  She stops at the big wooden doors and pulls one open. “You’re sixteen, not eighteen, Delaney.”

  I want to tell her I’ve pilfered her toy drawer, that I’ve used her vibrator and probably her ropes. “I don’t need the details, Mom, but you can’t leave me hanging like this.”

  Her eyes fix onto mine as she raises one brow above a wry smile. “Remember what I’m telling you. The fastest way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach.”

  All my blood seems to gush toward my head.

  She holds my elbow and pulls me into the store. “Come along, Delaney. We have shopping to do.”

  13

  I’m still in a daze as we move past the greeters handing out sale flyers. Mom stops to flip through one.

  “You didn’t go to all that trouble for a one-night-stand, Mom.”

  She folds back a page and circles an item with her pen. “No, dear, I did not.” She shows me photos of jackets on sale. “Do you like any of these?”

  I point to one. “Did he fall in love with you after one date?”

  She lifts her eyes away from the flyer and into the gap between her glasses and her forehead. “Be suspicious of any man who claims that, Delaney.”

  “So did he want a second date?”

  She shows me fleece jackets. “Which color do you like?” I point to a couple. “He did when I told him he could pick the restaurant we’d go to after he helped me pick out a fishing boat.”

  “You bought a boat?” I blurt. People stop and look.

  “Yes, I did, and we had a lot of fun on the water. I knew he loved fishing.”

  “Did you?”

  “Before Sean? I’d never gone fishing. Or boating.”

  “But you enjoyed doing them with Dad?”

  Her face softens as she looks at me “I loved every minute we spent together.”

  “Did he stop seeing other girls?”

  She sucks in her cheeks. “Certainly not. We weren’t engaged at the time. I couldn’t spend every day or weekend with him, so he still had his fun with Gibbs and others.” She folds the flyer back to reveal boots. “Check out these North Face boots, and I’ll gather the other items. I don’t want to spend forever here. You still need to study and pack.”

  Something clicks in my brain. “Mom, when did you start dating Dad?”

  “I don’t remember the exact date. Why does it matter?”

  Because the date would explain me.“Then pick an approximate date. What month did you beat him at pool? Or first go boating?”

  “Sometime in May 2002. Now go get your boots.” She walks toward the women’s clothing section.

  I was born in February 2003, which means Sean and Hannah conceived me in May, perhaps during their first time in Mom’s bedroom. They married in late August. They always told me they married in 2001, but I discovered the truth when I flipped over some of their wedding photos when I was twelve. They never knew, and I never told them.

  I was the main part of Mom’s plan to hook Dad. Get pregnant and approach him with the news, after she’d already revealed she had lots of money. I’m sure the timing of her first pool challenge coincided with her ovulation. She’s a scientist, after all.

  I shake my head in wonder at Mom’s scheme as I walk toward the shoe section near the back of the store.

  And then I realize she wanted me to figure this out. She said May 2002 when she should have said 2001. She’s too smart to screw up a date like that.

  Why would she want me to know?

  She thinks Dad will tell me?

  Or maybe Gibbs will say something. I remember the angry look on her face when she said Gibbs is manipulative. There’s more to this story, which Mom’s afraid I’ll find out.

  I stop to look at the moose and deer standing in the koi pond. Real fish, stuffed everything else, including the geese flying in a V above the pond. Dad could spend hours here, going through the aquarium and museum, or trying out a new bow. I turn around slowly, scanning the entire store, remembering all the times he and I spent together at Cabela’s.

  I did point out to him that though this place projects a love of nature and the great outdoors, every product for sale is used to directly or indirectly kill animals. Every type of gun and fishing pole imaginable is sold here, along with archery equipment, vehicles and boats to get to the animals, bait, lures, duck and moose calls, and . . . camouflaged hunting blinds. I see the display on the other side of the walkway.

  A girl’s voice grunts just before I hear something fall to the ground with a metallic clang and a human thud. Then a muffled, “Shit.”

  I take two steps across the walkway then hear a violent slap against hanging plastic. My steps quicken until I see beyond the nearest blind and watch a girl walking briskly toward the boat section. Her hair is short but the same color as mine and is my height. She stops about sixty feet away, pulls out her phone, and reveals her profile to me. My insides quiver as I stare harder, trying to disbelieve what I’m seeing—me. Or someone who looks very similar. I raise my arm and try to call to her, “Hey,” but the word catches in my throat. She glances back then hustles to the front of the store where she exits.

  I’m tempted to run after her, but what would she think? My brain races as I turn back toward the hunting blinds. I’m not sure if she came out of one of these, but one blind looks familiar—square, imprinted with leaves and branches. I walk toward it and touch the side. I find the opening and see that the interior is black, which, the sign says, is to prevent animals from seeing your silhouette. Evidently, you can have a light inside without anyone outside the blind knowing you’re in here.

  Could this be what I saw Dad and Gibbs go into?

  A chair is toppled on the cover cloth. I walk inside, pick up the chair and sit, closing my eyes, trying to pict
ure the tent I had seen in my mind so many times.

  My mind spins with images until my arms drop to my sides, and my calves press against the chair legs. I hear Eddie laughing behind me. A scarf drops over my head onto my eyes. I feel him tugging the ends to tie a knot.

  “Just remember, Eddie, whatever you do to me, I’ll do back to you.”

  “Can’t wait!”

  I hear his voice in front of me now, then a pulsing, whirring sound moving closer. Whatever he has touches the seat so it vibrates. I grit my teeth and strain against the ropes around my legs and arms as Eddie yells, “Yeah? How’s that?” I think my body will explode.

  A hand grips my throat and squeezes. This isn’t Eddie. I can’t breathe. “Please . . . please.”

  The hand releases my throat then slams against my face. I crash to the floor.

  “Hey, are you OK in there?”

  I scramble to stand up. The chair is on its side.

  “Hello?”

  Someone outside the blind is calling me. What the hell happened?

  “I’m OK,” I call back.

  Something happened to me inside the tent. Dad and Gibbs didn’t go inside. I did. Why? And Eddie? In one universe we must’ve played kinky games in the chair while both our parents were gone.

  But someone else choked and slapped me inside a blind like this one.

  And that girl was here just before me, falling to the ground in the same chair.

  I spread the panels of the blind and step outside into the bright light.

  I see a tall young man smiling at me. “What happened? I heard a crash.”

  I give an embarrassed smile. “I tripped over the chair. It was pretty dark in there.”

  “You OK?”

  “Yeah. Just embarrassed.”

  “Do you hunt?”

  “Huh?” I touch my cheek. Surely, it’s blood red from the slap.

  “Do you hunt? I used one of these during deer season.”

  “Really? Did you get one?”

  He flashes a big, beautiful smile, showing amazingly white teeth. “No, but the deer never saw me.”

  I think he expects me to laugh with him, but I can’t. My brain is swirling with Eddie and the chokehold. But they’re not real. Just events that happened to another me.

  I focus on the boy. My God, he’s handsome. Olive skinned, blue eyes, well over six feet, probably an athlete. I realize I’m staring, but I can’t break the trance.

  He gestures toward another blind, also camouflaged. “Now this one is a little less expensive and a little smaller. A friend of mine has one of these, and he shot a good-sized buck.”

  I move toward the other blind. “Do you think this is a better blind, or is your friend a better hunter?” My eyes devour his face—long, narrow nose; high cheekbones; eyebrows like bushy bird wings, swooping down toward the temple; wide mouth with curved lips; and wavy, black hair stylishly mussed. I don’t know if he’s African-American or possibly Middle Eastern, or a mix of both, but he’s definitely gorgeous.

  “Maybe a luckier hunter,” he says. “But he’s not here tonight, so I’m luckier now.”

  His eyes haven’t left mine since we started talking. “How are you luckier?”

  “Because I got to meet you.” He offers his hand. “Hey, I’m Jagger Ray. Friends call me Jag or JR.”

  I shake his hand, which swallows mine. “As in Mick Jagger?” Dad loved the Rolling Stones.

  His smile widens, revealing a hint of dimple. “My dad loves the Stones.”

  I almost bark a laugh.“Hey, Jag. I’m Delaney West.” We’re still shaking hands, and I’m hoping my palm doesn’t sweat. I can barely focus on my words because my hand is on fire.

  “What a great name. You could be an author or a movie star with that name.”

  I’m sure I’m blushing. “Maybe an author. I’ve written lots of stories.”

  He still holds my hand. “Really? Maybe I could read some. I’ve never met an author before.”

  “I’m not an author. Just a girl who can’t stop writing stories.” I let go of his hand and immediately regret it.

  “I know the feeling. ‘Cept I write songs. Just can’t stop making up melodies.”

  “What do you play?”

  “Keyboard, guitar, drums.”

  “All at once?” My cheeks hurt, I’m smiling so much.

  “Sometimes! That’s when they vacate the house and call the Fire Department.”

  This time I do laugh with him.

  “Do you play anything?” he asks.

  “No, but I always wanted to learn guitar.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Other . . . things got in the way, I guess.”

  “I could teach you.”

  No, you can’t because I’m leaving for Alaska tomorrow. The heart that was thumping furiously just a moment ago aches. I bite my lower lip and stare at his beautiful face, knowing that one version of me is going to say yes to him, stay in Austin and see him again, maybe kiss him, but the real me can’t. And both me’s will be smitten to the core, which is more than mere entanglement.

  How ridiculous is it that I meet Jag only because I’m leaving for Alaska tomorrow and possibly never coming back? This time I hope I’ll dream of what my other self feels and sees, even if experiencing it from a distance makes me long to be somewhere else.

  I’ve already made one choice I can’t change, but I can choose what to say now.

  “I’d like to learn guitar, and I’m so happy you offered, but I’m leaving for Alaska tomorrow to see my father. I came here to buy clothes and boots for the trip.”

  His smile weakens, his lips relax until they pucker into an O. He exhales.

  His tongue wets his lips. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. Through the holidays. Maybe through January.” Maybe forever.

  His smile returns and he pulls out his phone. “Got one of these?”

  “Sure.” I show him mine.

  He taps his screen with his thumbs. “OK, Delaney West, tell me your number.” He looks up and raises his brows. “That is, if you want to.”

  “Yes, and please call me Laney. I’ll save the full name for my book.” I tell him my number, and he sends me Hey, Laney. I add the contact.

  His eyes fix on mine again. “You’re looking for boots?”

  “Yes, North Face insulated.”

  He moves next to me and offers his arm. Are you kidding me?

  “Allow me to escort you to ladies’ footwear.”

  I reach through the crook and hold his very large bicep. “Lead on, Jag.”

  We pass the first blind as we make our way over to the main walkway. I shudder and pull his arm closer to me.

  “Isn’t Alaska very cold and dark at this time of year?” he asks.

  “Dad said it was twenty below last night and colder this morning. I forgot to ask about darkness. I hope it’s not dark all day.” What if it is? Normally, I would pull out my phone and check Google, but I don’t want to let go of his arm. Then I see him thumbing his phone with his right hand.

  “Don’t you even think of releasing my arm, Laney. I’ve got this. OK, where does your dad live in Alaska?”

  “Some place near Fairbanks.”

  “Fairbanks. Here we go. The sun rises at 10:56 and sets at 2:39, making the day three hours and forty-three minutes long.”

  I stop walking. “Are you kidding?” Twenty hours of darkness?

  “However,” he glances at me and smiles, “twilight starts at 9:31 am and ends at 4:04 pm, so that means there’s some kind of light for about seven hours. AND by the end of the holidays, you’ll have an extra half hour. Woo-hoo! Maybe we should find a flashlight after the boots.”

  We start walking again.

  He pats my hand. “It won’t be as bad as you’re thinking, Laney. I used to live in Michigan. When the moon’s out on a clear night, the snow lights up. It’s really pretty. And you should see some Northern Lights.”

  “Have you seen them?”


  “Once. Kind of. When I was little.”

  I stop and allow my eyes to roam from feet to head. “Were you ever little?”

  He smiles back. “Maybe at eight months. But I still have a ways to catch up with my dad. Speaking of dads, why’s yours in Alaska?”

  I feel the ache of regret Jag had kept at bay for a few minutes. “Because I wouldn’t see him on weekends.” I glance sideways and see him looking at me with just a touch of frown. “It’s a long story. I haven’t seen him for three years. It’s been difficult for both of us. So I’m excited to see him tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you.” We stop near a rack of socks. “What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Ten and a half.” I release his arm and look for my size.

  “Here’s a good brand.” He hands me a pair of Smartwools. “You should try on your boots with thick socks.”

  “Are you as expert with boots and socks as you are with hunting blinds?”

  “Naw. I mean I do know something about boots. I just saw you cross in front of me and go inside that blind. Felt like someone sucker punched me. Took all the breath out of me. So I moved over to the blinds and read the info as quick as I could.”

  “Do you hunt?” I ask with a little smile.

  “Not really.” He looks to the floor. “I’m sorry I lied to you. At least I didn’t brag about shooting a big buck.”

  “No, you didn’t. Your lucky friend did that.”

  “And that’s the truth. My friend Jake caught a deer a week ago.”

  Even his sheepish look is amazingly cute.

  “I guess I could’ve told you I think you’re beautiful, probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and please can we talk. But maybe you would’ve walked away and called me a creep.”

  I’m lost in his eyes—dark blue iris with a black ring around the edge and a tiny flare of yellow-gold around the pupil. “I felt the same way when I saw you. I’m glad you came over and talked to me.”

  He nods. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen. You?”

  “You look much older. I was afraid . . . I’m seventeen. A junior.”

  “Sophomore.” His eyes fix onto my lips.

  He swallows and pushes his eyes back to mine. “Great. Let’s get your boots.” He moves toward the display along the wall as I follow. Jag picks up two Northern Face boots and holds them out for me. “Which one?”