by Debra Doxer
“Hardly.” I snorted.
When he returned to where I was waiting, he said, “You thought I’d have a different reaction to your story?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Most guys wouldn’t be so fast to see my side of it.”
“Do I seem like most guys to you? I like strong women who aren’t afraid to stand up for themselves. Any guy who doesn’t is just plain weak.”
My eyebrows inched up my forehead. Whoa. Did he really just say that? As I stood there repeating his words in my head, liking them more each time, Jonah casually walked over to the door.
“You’re welcome to join me here for lunch anytime, although if we’re both missing from the cafeteria, Parker may get ideas.”
Grabbing my bag, I walked with him back into the main school hall by the chemistry labs. “Do you care?”
“Do I care what Parker thinks?” He pretended to ponder the question. “I probably care more about recycling.” Lifting his arm, he tossed his empty plastic water bottle into a trash can filled with non-recyclables.
I shook my head and laughed.
“See, Seaborne? There’s an example for you. I don’t recycle. I’m not a nice guy.”
Crossing my arms, I rolled my eyes. We were back to this again? Every time we were together, he was trying to tell me he wasn’t nice. “Future generations forced to search for a more habitable planet to live on would probably agree, but I’m not convinced.”
Jonah shot me a lopsided grin. “I’ll convince you one of these days.”
“I hope not. I kind of like knowing your secret.” I gave him a sassy smile over my shoulder as I headed in the other direction, toward my locker.
I’d been teasing him, but he didn’t grin like I thought he would. In fact, his good humor evaporated. He stood there expressionless for a moment, long enough for me to halt and squint in his direction. When he saw I’d stopped walking, he snapped out of it, putting a careless smile on his face.
“See ya, Seaborne,” he called, like he always did, making me think I’d imagined his odd reaction.
Tossing a wave over my shoulder, I headed to class but stopped walking when a notion popped into my head. Turning, I backtracked and then hid myself in a doorway and watched as Jonah fished his bottle out of the trash and tossed it into the recycling bin.
Ha! I knew it. With a big grin on my face, I stepped out of the doorway and continued on to class.
***
Theo: The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.
I yanked my last tissue from my pocket and blew my nose again. Staring into my open locker, I tried to remember why I was standing here but my head was in a fog. What started as a slight case of the sniffles when I got home from school yesterday had developed into a bear of a cold this morning. My eyes were watering, and I figured I had a fever too. Having a head cold was the worst, and I couldn’t take decongestants because of my fingers. They constricted the blood vessels, which was great for stuffy noses, but not great for circulation-challenged hands. So I just had to suffer. But I didn’t have to suffer in silence.
Closing my locker, I loitered in front of it for a few minutes, waiting for my locker neighbor to arrive. He was a slight nondescript kid I didn’t know and had never spoken to. I only took notice of him this week because his hacking cough had been loud enough to echo off the walls. When he practically coughed in my face the other day, I figured he’d probably gotten me sick, but I’d hoped I was wrong.
When he finally appeared and began turning his combination, I scowled at him. “You gave me your cold.”
He faced me, obviously surprised I’d spoken to him. His nose was red and his eyes were glassy.
“Oh, um, sorry.” He blinked at me.
“You’re supposed to stay home when you’re sick so you don’t get everyone else sick too. It’s called common courtesy.”
“Well, I had some exams this week,” he mumbled, turning back to his locker.
Taking a step closer, I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Teachers let you make up exams when you’re out sick.”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “I said I was sorry. How do you even know you got it from me?”
My shoulders tensed. He should have admitted he was wrong and apologized because his not giving a shit was only pissing me off more.
Taking a different tack, I smiled at him. “It looks as though you’re feeling better today. I notice the cough is gone.”
“It’s a little better, I guess.” He shrugged.
“Well, I feel like crap. I wonder if I could pass the cold back to you again. That would be ironic, huh?”
“I don’t think it works that way,” he replied as he closed his locker door, his expression indicating he thought I was a moron.
Pulling out my damp tissue again, I blew my nose loudly, adding to the collection of mucus already collected there, and then I slapped the tissue against his locker door with my open hand, rubbing it up and down, watching the wetness streak across the metal before thoroughly wiping it over the round combination lock.
“Hey!” he called out.
I turned to face him, and he took a step back. “Next time, think about someone other than yourself and stay home.”
His mouth fell open and he sputtered in disbelief, his gaze shifting between his locker and me. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Believe it.” I glared at him one last time before stalking away. I’d already decided to go home for the afternoon so I wouldn’t be a hypocrite, and so I could wallow in bed like sick people were supposed to do.
I was disappointed I’d miss lunch period today since I was looking forward to another auto shop rendezvous with Jonah. I’d even made him his own sandwich. But I didn’t want to get him sick, and I’d just used my last tissue as a bioweapon.
When I stepped outside, the cold air surrounded me. Winter weather was finally settling in for a long stay. My nose cleared for a moment in the fresh air and I enjoyed a deep, satisfying breath before my sinuses closed up again. I didn’t want to call my father to pick me up because I knew he was working. My only other choice was to walk. So I hunched my shoulders, brought my chin down into the collar of my coat, and set a brisk, determined pace.
I was less than a block away from the house when I heard the screech of an alarm. Glancing around, I wondered where it was coming from. It was a reflexive response, because seconds later, I realized it was our alarm was going off.
I jogged the rest of the way, pulling my phone out of my pocket so I could call my father. By the time I reached the front lawn, his voice mail had picked up and I left him a breathless message.
“I’m outside the house. The alarm is going off. Should I call the police? Tell me what you want me to do.” I couldn’t assume my father would automatically want the police. It was more likely that he wouldn’t.
Other than the blaring noise, our house appeared fine, completely undisturbed. Glancing around the neighborhood, I didn’t spot anyone coming out to see what the noise was about. Since it was the middle of a weekday, most driveways were empty.
Holding my phone, waiting to hear from my father, I decided to walk around to the back and take a look. Short bushes separated our yard from our neighbors’, but no tall trees or fences obstructed my view as I walked around the house. When I reached the backyard, it looked neglected, but I didn’t notice anything suspicious.
It was sad how barren the yard was, with sparse yellowed grass leading down to dense woods. My old rusted swing set was still there, and a table-and-chair set that had seen better days. Even when my mother was alive, we weren’t the kind of family that fired up the grill and hung out in the backyard. My mother often talked about having a garden back here, but she’d never gotten around to it.
Gnawing on my lip, it suddenly seemed silly to stand out here growing colder by the minute when whoever broke in was likely gone by now. Maybe no one broke in at all and the alarm was malfunctioning? There was no sign of anythi
ng or anyone.
I debated for another minute before my uncomfortably cold and numb fingers decided for me. Walking toward the back door, I fumbled with the key, trying to get a good grasp on it before inserting it into the knob and turning. It took a moment for me to realize the door was unlocked when it should have been locked.
As I lowered my hand, a shiver of fear ran through me. It was then that the door was yanked back, and I was run over by a truck. At least that’s how it felt as I went down hard, my back hitting the firm, rocky ground just before my head did.
Scrambling to sit up, I spotted the man who’d plowed into me running away toward the woods. He was dressed in all black, tall and as broad as a linebacker, with wavy salt-and-pepper hair that touched his shoulders. Within seconds, his feet were crunching dead leaves as he disappeared into the trees.
I heard my phone ring somewhere. Scanning the ground, I spotted it lying a few feet away. Reaching for it with a shaky hand, I saw it was my father.
“Don’t go into the house,” he snapped, his voice booming through the speaker. “Walk over to the Quick Mart and wait for me.”
“It’s too late. The burglar or whoever he was is gone. He just ran me over on his way out.”
He started hollering, and since I thought I heard “Are you okay?” in there somewhere, I answered that I was. Then he ordered me to go to the Quick Mart anyway in case the intruder wasn’t alone. That thought hadn’t occurred to me since my brain was pretty scrambled from the shock and the fall.
The soreness was already setting in along the back of my neck and my hip as I walked the three blocks to the Quick Mart convenience store. I kept picturing the man, and all I could see was his barrel of a chest encased in a black long-sleeved T-shirt, and the back of him running away. I hadn’t seen his face, and I knew that was the first question my father would ask me, to describe him.
I bought a coffee and went outside to sit on the bench by the entrance and wait. The hot cup felt good in my hands, but the cold wasn’t a problem at the moment with my heart still racing and the adrenaline pumping through me.
It was nearly twenty minutes later when my father’s car pulled up to the curb. Grabbing my things, I walked over and got inside. His hand landed on my shoulder, and he leaned in to look at me. “You’re okay,” he stated, as though he was telling himself more than asking me.
I nodded, but when I reached over to put my coffee in the cup holder, we both saw my hand was trembling.
Taking the cup from me, my father set it down and then turned my arm to look at it. The back of my sleeve was covered in dirt.
“Sorry,” I said, knowing the back of my coat had to be filthy too.
“I’m not worried about dirt in my car, Candy.” He turned off the motor. “What were you doing at home? You were supposed to be in school.”
“I’m sick. I just wanted to go home and go to bed.”
He rested his hand against my forehead for a moment. “You feel warm.”
“Did you go to the house?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Did you call the police?”
Sighing, he shook his head. “I get alerted when the alarm is triggered. I was already on my way there when you called.”
For the first time, I noticed how exhausted he looked. Then I remembered Pumpkin and my eyes grew wide.
Before I could ask, my father said, “Pumpkin’s fine,” and then followed up with, “Did you get a look at the guy?” He eyed me expectantly.
I released a heavy breath. “Not really.” Picturing the man, I ran my hands over the rough material of my jeans, trying to steady myself and stop the shakes. “He was tall, maybe six-five or so, with really wide shoulders, built like a football player or a boxer. He had longish hair. It was black with streaks of gray. I only saw the back of him as he was running away. He ran into the woods. Maybe he had a car parked on the street behind us.”
He’d been listening closely, but if he recognized my description, he didn’t say anything.
His gaze shifted from me to the windshield. “It was a mistake. Letting you live with me again.”
My stomach dropped. I had a terrible feeling he’d say that or something like it eventually. “If you kick me out, I have nowhere else to go.”
He gave me a sharp look. “I’m not kicking you out. I want you with me, Candy, but being with me has never been the best place for you.”
Shifting in my seat, I waited for his next words as anxiety crawled up my spine.
“I’ll put you in a hotel for the night. We can reevaluate tomorrow.”
A hotel? That obviously wasn’t a permanent move, but the idea of not being able to go home increased my anxiety. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
I placed my hand on his arm. “You stay in the hotel too.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Then let me come home with you. I’m not afraid.”
He gave me a look of disbelief that I couldn’t argue with because I didn’t believe me either.
“I wish you’d talk to me so this would make some sense.”
In the silence that followed, I looked at him. Something in his face, a hesitation, had me holding my breath. He wasn’t wearing his usual stubborn mask. While I waited for what he was about to say, he exhaled loudly.
“It’s the company I work for doing this. They don’t want to hurt you, Candy, but you’re in the crossfire.”
My eyes grew wide. “Why?”
His lips pressed together as he broke eye contact.
“Do they want to hurt you?”
Glancing at me, he shook his head. “No. They want something from me and we’re negotiating now, but if they can find it themselves, they no longer need to deal with me.”
“What do they want?” An image of the safe sitting beneath my mother’s clothes flashed in my mind. When he didn’t reply, I asked another question. “Is it in the house?”
“Buckle up,” he said impatiently, as though my question wasn’t hanging in the air.
“Are you still working for them?”
He exhaled once again, his patience gone. “That was your last question, and the answer is yes, I am. The answer to your follow-up question is, it’s complicated. Seat belt, Candy.”
Once I’d fastened my seat belt, he started the car and pulled away from the Quick Mart. Now I knew who was doing this, but that didn’t make me feel any better. Glancing in the backseat, I saw my suitcase was already there, and I felt the pressure of tears, but I wouldn’t give in to them. I clenched my jaw and swallowed them down because I didn’t want him to see me cry. We’d get through this like we’d gotten through everything else.
As he checked me into the same hotel I’d seen Parker’s father standing in front of, I took in the fancy lobby decorated for Christmas with a tall tree covered in red bows and round gold ornaments. Stepping up to the counter, I asked if they could sell me some aspirin. When my father assumed it was for my cold, I didn’t contradict him, but it was for the aches and pains settling into my muscles from my fall.
My father turned down the offer to have my bag brought up for us and ushered me toward the elevator. We rode up in silence but the tension crackled between us, making it hard to take a deep breath. Even though he seemed calm, I could almost hear the wheels in his head spinning, or maybe those were my wheels because I was anything but calm.
“This is just for one night, right?” I asked once we were in the room that had a king-sized bed, a desk, a flat-screen television, and a slider leading out to a balcony.
“I don’t know, Candy,” he answered, distractedly looking around.
I’d stayed in hotels before, a long time ago when we used to travel as a family. We went to California once, and another time we drove up to Niagara Falls. “How many nights here can you afford?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that.”
But I was worried. He hadn’t driven to the Motel 6 in Claymore, which was obviously less expen
sive than this place. I couldn’t recall my parents ever talking about money or arguing about it, but when they needed it, it was there. New cars were never a problem, although they didn’t buy showy, expensive ones. And I knew without asking that no matter what college I got accepted into, it would be paid for.
“What is it?” he asked, standing in front of me now. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach must have shown on my face.
“Nothing,” I said because I couldn’t outright ask him if he was a thief, and I didn’t believe he was anyway.
Sighing, he sounded tired as he picked something up off the round table by the slider and handed it to me. “Order anything you like from room service. We’ll talk in the morning to see if you’re up to going to school or not.”
When he turned away, I grabbed his sleeve. I had nothing to say; I just didn’t want him to go.
He eyed me knowingly with none of the impatience I expected. “Please trust me,” he said quietly. Then he kissed me lightly on the forehead. “And feel better, little one.”
A moment later he was gone.
By the time I downed a few aspirin, took a shower, and pulled on the pajamas my father packed for me, it was nearly dinnertime. I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was in knots, and I wouldn’t be able to taste anything since I still couldn’t breathe, but I went ahead and ordered some food.
While I waited, I found my phone still in my coat pocket and saw I had texts from Theo, Lea, and Jonah too. I looked at the one from Jonah first.
Jonah: You were MIA at lunch and math. Did the girls’ field hockey team get to you? I held them off as long as I could.
I read it twice, smiling to myself before texting him back.
Me: Got a cold. Felt like crap and went home.
I wasn’t actually at home, but I knew without my father having to tell me that what went on this afternoon needed to stay between us. It might have been nice, though, to have someone to talk to, even nicer to have someone hug me the way Jonah had at the diner that night.
