I Love You Like That

by Heather Cumiskey

  “Watch the house?” she asked incredulously. “No one wants what we have here. Trust me.”

  “Oh, Charles, remember last time . . .” her mother whispered this last part as if her daughter had a fatal disease. Hannah watched her father’s face pucker with disapproval. Her eyes flicked back to her mother.

  Well played, Mother. You mean the weekend I nearly died?

  “We’ll give you one last chance. Don’t disappoint us,” her dad said like he was on the set of Father Knows Best.

  How the hell did asking to attend my writing workshop turn into your vacation, Mom?

  She closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned her head against it. I should be grateful, she told herself. Her mom was becoming herself again, no matter how dysfunctional that person was. Maybe this time her recovery would work.

  Seeing her father cow to her mother, though, only solidified the permanency of his role with her. Her parents would never change.

  She could, though. Maybe she could be braver than she’d ever thought possible.

  CHAPTER 44

  South beach, Miami

  DEACON MOVED QUICKLY, TRYING TO BEAT THE SUNRISE as he took the long way back to the men’s shelter. His body, buoyed by adrenaline, kept him alert for Chalfont’s car as he darted down alleyways and crossed over streets.

  He’d closed his eyes when Claudia died—not from grief but from shame combined with a sense of relief. He felt nothing; just another day in Miami and another dead body of a girl he never really knew. At least she’d be with her son now.

  Why her and not me?

  None of it made sense.

  Hannah’s final words did, however, along with the foolish hope that once sustained him.

  She hates me. She’s known all this time and doesn’t care. Fing Jade. She must have told her.

  He cringed at his stupidity in thinking his time in Miami would one day be worth it, in believing he’d see her again and gather her up in his arms and never let go. She doesn’t want you, asshole.

  How many more dead bodies was it going take for him to get the balls to disappear from this world? He should just let Kodak and Eastman shoot him in the back with one of their shiny guns as he runs away. Not another day, he swore. I won’t spend another day here.

  Deacon stopped.

  His shiny gun . . .

  The manila envelope with the flags and the tiny ducks had been on the table at the diner with Kodak and Eastman, just before he met Claudia. The envelope had contained his new IDs as Xavier Coyne. Why would Chalfont have in his possession the same envelope as the Feds? Had he been sending him a message that he knew his real identity? If that were true, he’d be dead already; Deacon was sure of it.

  His shiny gun . . .

  His heart sank.

  He traveled another block, then stopped on the corner to make a call.

  “Yeah, it’s me . . . yeah, stop yelling and listen. Chalfont took Claudia out and he’s headed for me next. My cover has been compromised. I have to get out of here. Yeah, I’ll talk. Tell you whatever I know, which isn’t much at the moment . . . Calm the fuck down! I’m the one living on the streets, not you!”

  He pulled the handset away from his ear and let Kodak go off. The guy was headed for a heart attack, and now would not be a good time for it. Deacon was reluctant to contact him at all, but he knew he needed the Feds with Chalfont still out there.

  “Are you done? Chill, ‘Kodak Camera’ . . . I can get you someone else that will be of great interest to you, with connections to the cartel. No, I alone have to do it. This one is personal and needs to be carried out on my terms. I know . . . I realize that. I’ll be in touch.”

  Deacon held onto the handset like it was a lifeline. He thought of another person who would be up this early. He sucked his lips into his mouth and fished up the faded, ripped phonebook from where it dangled. He flipped through it until he found what he was looking for, then fed the phone another quarter and dialed.

  “Miss Ida? Yes, hello. I’m . . . I’m a . . . well, I was a friend of Paul’s . . . Xavier . . . that’s right. Paul always said you were an early riser. I’m real sorry for your loss . . . I miss him, too . . . yes, Paul and I talked cars . . . that’s right, I remember him telling me that.” He released a cordial laugh, even though he wasn’t following what she was saying. “Miss Ida, I was wondering if you could use some help with all the crime happening in the city . . . yeah, it’s been terrible . . . maybe some protection now would be good? Yes, I’d be happy to. Uh-huh. I understand. Well, I’m sort of in between places right now . . .”

  Deacon looked around. The only two places he was in between was remaining the Feds’ indentured servant and being Miami’s most dangerous drug lord’s next boy toy.

  “That would be great . . . thank you. See you soon.”

  August 1985

  CHAPTER 45

  darien, Connecticut

  HANNAH’S ALARM RATTLED ACROSS HER NIGHTSTAND BEFORE the sun had a chance to crack the earth’s horizon. Her heart started pounding as soon as her feet touched the carpet. She packed her clothes and a small bag of toiletries and makeup, along with a separate cooler she found in the attic, and filled it with soft drinks and whatever snacks she could scrounge up. With Kerry away, there wasn’t much in the cabinets.

  Just get something at the mall, her mother had told her when she asked about groceries before her parents left for Maine.

  She wrote a note to her parents explaining why the writing workshop at Simon’s Rock was important to her. She made up another bit for good measure—that she’d already paid her tuition for the workshop and it was nonrefundable. She added that she’d be home in a couple of weeks (in case they returned earlier than planned). She signed it just as a pair of headlights traveled across the windows in the front of the house.

  She heaved one bag over each shoulder and let herself out through the garage.

  “Whose car is this?” she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat. Toby was already drinking a Coke. He passed her a cold one.

  “Ole man Kingsley’s.” He smiled and patted the steering wheel. “A ’63 Corvette Stingray Coupe.”

  “It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed. She had never ridden in a car this beautiful. “Is it gray?”

  “Baby blue . . . cream interior.”

  “And tinted windows to boot. Very nice. Got some balls there, Toby. I feel like we’re in the Batmobile with the split window in the back. Where’s your car?”

  “Parked in town. I figured our search mission needed a cool getaway car.”

  “That’s assuming we’ve got this right. We may be way off.”

  Toby tilted his head to one side. “Worst case, I’m getting to see a few states. I’ve never been to Florida before. You?”

  “Never. This is another pretty reckless thing I’m doing. What’s with these Giroux boys . . . always making you do stuff and take chances.”

  Toby chuckled. “Yeah, we’re a dangerous bunch.”

  She leaned back and immediately missed having a head-rest. They had a sixteen-hour drive ahead of them, and sleeping was definitely going to be difficult in this car.

  By the time they turned onto the highway, Toby’s left leg was already bouncing like crazy.

  “What is it?” Hannah gestured to his leg.

  He glanced down. “Nervous, I guess. It’s a bad habit of mine . . . I never stop moving. Used to drive my mom and especially my teachers nuts. I was a pretty rambunctious kid.”

  Can’t imagine that. “Everyone’s got something,” Hannah said, shaking her head.

  “I feel good about what we’re doing. We deserve some answers. Making us believe he was dead . . . that’s bull.”

  “You know, we’re putting a lot of trust in Jade. She’s not exactly reliable.”

  “Yeah, but she sounded scared, and you’ve said she’s been acting funny about him. It sort of makes sense that there’s more we don’t know.”

  “If he’s really the one making those cal
ls, why couldn’t he tell me what was going on?”

  “I dunno. Maybe he thought your phone line was tapped. You said Peter told you—”

  “Don’t . . . don’t say that name, ever again!” she screeched, covering her ears. Her outburst surprised even her. “Sorry . . . I . . .” She grabbed her forearms and pressed them tight to her chest.

  Toby shrugged. “Okay, the tall skinny guy who pounced on me that . . . err, night . . . told you that two cops showed up and took Deacon away before the ambulance got there. Maybe they weren’t who they said they were.”

  “I think you’ve watched too much TV,” she said, arching her brow like a pirate.

  “Then again, I may be spot on.”

  Hannah stretched her arms over her head, yawning. “How long have I been asleep?”

  Toby was busy squinting at the map he’d folded over the steering wheel.

  “I’ll read the map. You drive,” she offered.

  “I want to get us at least to South Carolina; then we’ll pull over so I can sleep a little.”

  “I have a driver’s license, too, you know.”

  “No can do. I’m a terrible passenger.”

  “Jumpy?”

  “The worst. Hey, I ate a bunch of your snacks, now I need something more like a sandwich. I should have warned you, I eat all the time.”

  They stopped at the next rest stop and ordered. Hannah took a big bite of her burger, surprised by how hungry she was. She saw Toby eyeing her as she ate and tried to slow down.

  “Don’t take this wrong, but—”

  “What? I’m starving,” she said, grabbing a napkin to catch the juices flowing down her chin.

  “No, not that. After everything that’s happened, why do you even trust me? I wasn’t exactly nice to you when we met.”

  “No kidding. You were a stuck-up prick.”

  “Geez. Don’t hold back now.” He grinned.

  “It’s true. I thought you were one of those popular kids, some jock who’s full of himself. You were dating Taylor, for God’s sake.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I wasn’t popular. Deacon was the only one I knew at Darien.”

  “Why do popular people always say they aren’t popular, when you guys know that you are.”

  “I never felt that way. If anything, I never felt like I fit in at Darien.”

  “Join the club.”

  Toby laughed.

  “After summer ends, what are you going to do? Are you going to college?”

  Toby wrinkled his forehead and looked down at his food. “I still need my GED. Then I don’t know what I’ll do. Can’t exactly waste time at the mall for the rest of my life.”

  “Deacon didn’t know either. Hmmm, you two really are related.”

  “You’re quick.”

  Hannah smiled. “It’s weird that we’re sort of friends now.”

  “And going on a mission together to find my asshole brother!”

  “The soap opera never ends.”

  “I’ve been thinking. We haven’t a clue where to start looking. For all we know, Xavier Coyne, aka Deacon, could be long gone.”

  “I thought of that.”

  “We need to come up with a plan . . . like how to narrow down all the places he could be.”

  “I’m more worried what happens if we find him.”

  CHAPTER 46

  “THANK YOU MIAMI HERALD!”

  “What is it?” Hannah asked, looking over Toby’s shoulder. She was carrying a cold six-pack of Diet Coke, along with a large bag of chips, up to the man behind the counter at the small bodega. The steady diet of junk food they’d consumed over the last few days was wreaking havoc on her stomach. Between the scorching temperatures of Miami in August and the endless queasiness she’d been experiencing since they’d arrived, she would need a real meal soon—one with some vegetables.

  “This says that our boy, Xavier Coyne, was believed to be in the vicinity when a shooting occurred on Monday. A woman was fatally shot. It doesn’t mention her name. It happened in South Beach near the Ocean Drive Promenade . . . not far from here. How big could it be?”

  He grinned at her, but Hannah couldn’t bring herself to smile back; her stomach had just dropped at the mention of him being with another woman. Then her brain filled with dread, imagining what kind of trouble Deacon had gotten himself into. Assuming this Xavier guy was even him.

  The store clerk eyed them suspiciously and placed Hannah’s change on the counter instead of in her outstretched hand. “You’re looking for Coyne?” he asked quietly, leaning over the counter.

  “I see the change, thanks,” Hannah replied, waving her hand.

  “No,” said Toby, “he means Coyne as in Xavier Coyne.” He looked excited. “Have you seen him?”

  The man’s eyes darted to the entrance and the aisles behind them before answering. “No one sees him. You just know when he’s been around. People talk in this neighborhood.” The clerk pushed off the counter and stepped back.

  Toby glanced at Hannah, then back to the store clerk. “I don’t follow you.”

  The man leaned in again. “He comes in here late at night . . . I know it’s him from what others have said. He doesn’t say much. But I can tell. Keeps a low profile. Young, cocky . . . movie star looks.”

  That sounds like him, Hannah thought. “Do you have a picture?”

  The man gave a subtle headshake and gestured for them to move along; another customer was waiting. He didn’t look at Toby and Hannah again, acting like the conversation hadn’t happened. Their chance to ask him more questions was over.

  “What do you think?” she asked Toby as they stepped outside the bodega. She tied up her wild, humidity-loving tresses in a loose bun and wiped the back of her neck. “Sounds like we’re looking for a reclusive rock star.”

  “My brother’s always been a charmer,” Toby said, lifting his face to the bright orb in the sky. “Geez, it’s hot, the sidewalk is frying my feet. Let’s jump back in the car and drive around.”

  “Deacon hates the heat.”

  “Guess we can skip the beach, then.”

  “He likes the water, though my gut tells me he wouldn’t be hanging out there,” Hannah said. “We should keep going store to store, see if he’s made any recent visits. Maybe someone knows where he’s staying.”

  “We never said how long we were going to give this witch hunt. Guess this was a dumb idea,” Hannah said, yawning into her oatmeal. It was Friday morning, and they were eating breakfast at a diner near their motel. They’d arrived the Friday before, late in the evening. After six days of searching, they were both tiring of Miami—especially the tourists and the unbearable heat.

  At first it was weird spending stretches of time with Deacon’s brother. Hannah noticed that the more Toby joked around with her, the more relaxed he got, and his nervous energy stilled a bit. He wasn’t so bad to hang with then.

  The first night he’d slept in the car, giving her the bed. She’d offered to switch the next night and he wouldn’t have it, though he’d finally agreed to sleep on the floor. Hannah found it surprisingly gallant of him, and sort of sweet. She got the feeling he was doing it out of respect for Deacon, and that made her like him even more.

  “Let’s go to the beach today, take the day off,” Toby said before shoveling another forkful of eggs with ketchup into his mouth. Between bites, he flipped through the newspaper. Every day he scoured it, hoping for another news story that would give them a clue to Xavier Coyne’s whereabouts.

  “Or head back home?” Hannah asked tentatively.

  He threw the newspaper off to the side, looking discouraged. “Yeah, you’re probably right. No one wants to talk to us. You can tell they’ve all heard of this Coyne guy. He’s like a celebrity around here, but at the same time they’re scared of him. How about that club owner who wanted to know if we were cops?”

  “We should place a personal ad in the paper like in that Madonna movie, Desperately Seeking Susan,” Hannah said. “DESPERAT
ELY SEEKING XAVIER COYNE: meet your former girlfriend and the stepbrother who shot you at the corner of blah, blah, and blah.”

  “That’d be good . . . if my brother ever read a newspaper in his life.”

  “Yeah. Not his thing.”

  Toby and Hannah spent half the day at the beach without saying much. She could tell Toby was feeling as deflated as she was that their search had come up empty. Part of her didn’t want to give up hope in finding out what had happened to Deacon that night, while the other part prayed that Xavier Coyne would call her house again. This time, she’d know what to say.

  “These old fogies move so slow, how do people live here and get used to this?” Toby said, tapping the steering wheel, as they waited for a crowd of senior citizens to cross the intersection.

  “Some of them are cute. I love seeing the couples still holding hands,” Hannah said, resting her elbow against the window.

  “More like racing their walkers at a snail’s pace. But the streets by the Promenade were really nice with those colorful buildings.”

  “The Art Deco district,” Hannah said, nodding. “I like that area too.”

  “This part is so poor,” Toby said. “Crawling with beggars and homeless people. It’s sad.”

  “Totally.”

  Toby laughed and pointed at the last stragglers crossing in front of them. “See that skinny guy wearing the floppy hat and sunglasses? He’s going to lose those plaid pants any minute.”

  “Aww, he’s pushing his grandmother. Don’t make fun—” Hannah gasped.

  “What?” Toby’s eyes flew to her.

  “Look at him. He can’t stop staring at the Corvette.”

  “Yeah, so? I’m sure one doesn’t see too many baby blue ’63 Stingrays around here,” he said smugly.

  “No one can see us through these tinted windows, right?”

  “No, but—”

  “Look at him . . . his height, the way he walks . . . Toby!” she whispered.