I refold every garment lovingly. I never wanted kids, but I’m starting to rethink that. A crunching sound from the driveway alerts my senses, and I shove the box back into the closet.
The garage door doesn’t open, the way I expect for Carly to drive in and park. She must’ve forgotten something. The doorbell chimes, and I about jump through the ceiling.
Silence, but I can see a shape through the tempered-glass door panel. I tiptoe upstairs to the first landing, then stealthily make my way to the main level and peer out the front picture window. A guy holding a bowling ball is heading back to his motorcycle. Wait. That’s not a guy. Or a bowling ball.
I rush down the stairs and fling open the door. “Finn!” She’s already on the bike, making a wide arc in the driveway. I windmill my arms, and the bike grinds to a halt. She putters back to the entrance.
I step outside. “You got it.”
She removes her helmet, beaming. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” She props the motorcycle with the kickstand, or whatever it is, and steps back to admire the bike.
Fireball red. Enormous. It’s no scooter or ATV. “Sweet,” I say. Then I say what I’m really thinking. “Tell me you’re not a dyke.”
She pretends not to hear, moving to the other side of the bike, putting space and steel between us.
“What kind is it, again?” I ask.
“Kawasaki Concours. Dual overhead cams. It’s a 1998, but it’s in pristine condition, and I got a dream deal.” She fondles the front bumper. “Gets about two hundred to a tank.” She rubs off a smudge. “Want to take a spin?”
“Oh my God. Really?”
“Put shoes on.”
I’m barefoot. “I’ll be right back. Oh”—I pivot—“you want to come in?”
Finn eyes the house.
“She’s not here,” I say. I don’t know where Carly is. Personal masseusing, I assume.
Finn doesn’t make a move, but I leave the door open. Behind me I hear footsteps. Finn whistles.
“Yeah, it’s a mansion,” I say.
She stands in one place for a moment, soaking in the AC or the panoramic view of the interior.
“There’s soda and Vitaminwater in the fridge. Help yourself.” I lift the basket of clean clothes. “Oh, wait. You like the hard stuff.”
“Shut up,” she growls.
I sprint up the stairs to the main level with Finn on my heels. This jittery excitement bubbles in my blood, and I try to suppress it. She just came to show me her bike. How cool. Biker dyke. I smile as I dump the basket of Carly’s clothes and mine on my bed, slip on Finn’s shoes, and run a brush through my hair.
As I thump down the stairs, I see her standing at the French doors peering up the mountainside. She’s cradling her helmet under her arm.
“Not much of a view,” I say, opening the fridge for a bottled water. I snag two. “If it was me, I’d have built the deck facing south. This way it feels like the mountain’s right on top of you.”
“They probably wanted privacy.” Finn waves off the water. “I don’t do plastic,” she says.
That makes me feel guilty, like I’m polluting the planet, so I return both bottles to the refrigerator. “What do you mean ‘they’?” I ask.
She meets my eyes and then averts hers. She heads for the front door.
Behind her, I say, “You said ‘they.’ Do you mean Jason and Carly? Did you know him?”
“Ask Carly,” Finn says.
“I did. She kind of lost it.”
Finn says, “I’m not surprised.”
“Why? Where is he?”
She stops suddenly, and I almost plow into her. “It’s not my place, and I don’t know all the facts. Ask her.”
I’m afraid to even bring up the subject.
Outside, I shut and lock the door. The smell hits me again. “Do you smell smoke?” I ask Finn.
She sniffs the air. “No.”
“I swear I smell smoke.”
“There’s a fire near Georgetown, but that’s on the other side of the Continental Divide.”
My nose never lies.
Finn opens the cargo bag and pulls out a helmet. She hands it to me. We climb onto the bike, and I clamp onto her waist as we putter down the winding access road. She puts a hand over one of mine and yells, “Hold on,” as we hit pavement.
All at once we’re flying, and I hold her tight, pressing my front to her back. The world skims away.
I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. The noise is deafening. Every bump and thump in the road rattles my teeth. The wind rips at my knees and shoulders and head, so I burrow into Finn’s back. She holds up two fingers, which means absolutely nothing to me.
The engine vibrates, and my butt buzzes. She holds up three fingers, and I brace against her, my helmet to her back, my arms so tight around her middle I can feel every rib.
I shout, “We’re going to die!”
Finn leans into a curve on the outskirts of Majestic and we nearly tip over. Then she steers us onto a straightaway and accelerates again. Once her hand covers mine in front, and she taps with a finger. Does that mean hold on or loosen up?
At the stoplight for Summit Boulevard, Finn idles. She twists around and says, “You all right?”
All I can do is grin like an idiot.
The light turns green, and Finn hangs a right, accelerating to, like, Mach 1. Ten or fifteen miles down the road, she turns onto a dirt trail and through a copse of pines. She downshifts. Then again. She maneuvers the bike up a steep bank and onto a narrow path, over washboard ruts in the hard-packed dirt. We ride up and up, over a hill. The trees clear, and we draw up to the mouth of a cave, where Finn cuts the engine.
We both remove our helmets at the same time, and I ask, “Where are we?”
“The old silver mine,” Finn says. She gets off the bike and holds out a hand to help me.
Warning signs are posted everywhere: DO NOT ENTER. DANGER. NO TRESPASSING.
Finn starts for the entrance.
“We’re not going inside, are we?”
She says over her shoulder, “It’s cool. You’ll like it.” She ducks under a crossed pair of planks, where orange painted letters spell out DO NOT ENTER.
“Finn,” I call.
“Alyssa.” Her voice echoes in the mine.
I cup my hands around my mouth. “I have to pee.”
She calls back. “Pick a tree. Hurry up.”
God. I hate going in the woods, especially knowing there are snakes and mountain lions and wasps. I finish in a rush and then duck in under the planks, the way she did. Almost immediately the temperature plunges ten degrees. A hand reaches out to grasp mine. “It narrows pretty fast,” Finn says. “Watch your head.”
I don’t let go, and she tugs me forward. The walls and ceiling close in.
She’s right; there’s room for only one body, like someone chiseled out the entire route by hand. I have to let loose.
“Keep talking so we don’t lose contact,” she says.
“This is insane.”
“Watch your head here.”
A spiderweb tickles my face, and I squeal, flailing my hands across and over my head. A movement catches my eye. “What was that?”
The shape of a hand appears, and I grab it. I latch onto Finn’s arm.
“They’re just bats,” she says.
I scream.
Finn claps a hand over my mouth. “You’re scaring them. You’re scaring me.”
I claw her hand away. “I’m not going any farther.”
She keeps going.
“Finn!”
“Go back, then.” Her voice reverberates.
Damn her.
I hurry to catch up, stumbling and scraping my elbow against a protruding rock. The light is dim and growing dimmer, but I catch up to Finn climbing over a heap of rubble, and I quickly scramble up behind her. Then we’re up and over.
On the other side is a clearing with a fire pit.
Hazy light seeps in from somewhe
re above, a kind of frosted, skylight effect. The clearing is tall enough for us to stand, at least, and I rise slowly. It’s like a secret hideaway. And it would be totally cool if there weren’t bats glomming onto every ledge.
“I hate bats,” I say in a small voice. I’m scared of flying, creeping, crawling creatures of any kind.
“They won’t hurt you,” Finn says. “They’re sleeping. At least, they were before they were so rudely interrupted by someone’s screaming. You probably woke up the vampire bats, and now they’re thirsty.” She makes a slurping noise.
“Shut up.”
She creeps up behind me and goes, “Boo!”
I jump. “Stop it.” I reach out to slap her, but she’s gone. She’s lowered herself to a log at the fire pit, which is the only place to sit. “Scoot a little,” I say.
Even though she makes room for me, our hips and thighs touch. I can’t help but feel her body heat sizzling my whole left side. She extends her legs toward the pit.
“How did you find this place?” I ask.
“There are lots of hidden treasures if you know where to look.”
I get the feeling she’s explored every nook and cranny of this entire area.
“How did you get here from Canada?” I ask.
“You ask too many questions,” she says.
“Well, excuse me if I want to know about you.”
She swivels her head and meets my eyes. “Why would you want to know about me?”
Is she kidding? She seems serious. “I’ve just never met anyone like you.” My whole life has been lived in a closed environment, like an ant colony. I’ve never been exposed to anyone outside of school or home or my father’s circle of acceptable influences. “You’re interesting,” I say. “You’re mysterious.”
She laughs.
“Well, you are.” Heat rises up my neck, and I hope she can’t see the blood infuse my cheeks.
She picks up a stick from the fire pit and draws in the dirt. The electricity between us is almost visible, and if we don’t talk or something soon, I’ll just start rambling and she’ll find out how boring and stupid I am.
“So, are you in a relationship?” I ask. Oh, nice. Be blunt, Alyssa.
She looks at me. “I don’t do relationships.”
What does that mean? “Ever? You’ve never been in a relationship?”
“They’re messy,” she goes. “It’s better not to get involved.”
“That’s the truth,” I murmur.
“Tell me about her,” Finn says.
I hesitate. “Who?” But I know who. It always comes back to Sarah.
She adds, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Finn’s the only person I’ve felt remotely close to in so long. This cave, or silver mine, seems like such a private, intimate space, and I need to release all my bitterness, let the memories go. Carly’s right. I can’t keep it bottled up inside. “She cheated on me with my best friend. I thought he was gay—I thought she was. Hell, I thought we all were. Apparently, he and Sarah didn’t define gay the same way I did.”
Finn stops dragging her stick through the dirt and gives me her full attention. I summarize the events leading up to my being disowned. For some reason, I can’t relive the bedroom scene yet.
“Pathetic, huh?” I say.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m the one responsible, that I didn’t see it coming, and they played me like the blind, deaf, and dumb idiot I am?” My eyes well with tears.
Finn says, “You shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She snakes an arm around my waist, and my head falls onto her shoulder. She’s right. What did I do wrong? I chose the wrong girlfriend. The wrong best friend. Finn’s the first one to say it wasn’t my fault. But how can she know?
“You’ve never been in a relationship?”
She lets out a deep breath. “It’s just easier to avoid all that crap,” she says.
I can see every sinewy muscle down her legs. In comparison, my legs are like flabby chicken flesh. “Haven’t you ever fallen in love?” Because, yeah, it would’ve been easier if I hadn’t gotten involved with Sarah. But knowing love? Having been loved? I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
I face Finn and see something new in her eyes. Need and desire and want.
She jumps to her feet. “We should get back.”
“Wait.” I snag her wrist.
Suddenly, she’s pulling me up and holding me, her arms around my back, and she’s kissing me. There’s a magnetic force so strong, I can’t break free, or don’t want to, and her need pulses through me as the earth quakes under my feet, and I’m losing control—
With all the strength and willpower I can summon, I push away from Finn. “Don’t.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Then she stumbles back and scrabbles up and over the rubble.
“Finn,” I call. My voice echoes. “Finn, wait.”
She caught me off guard, that’s all. Which is partially a lie. Do I want her? Yes. Am I ready? No. I don’t know.
I clamber over the rock pile and find my way in the dark, scraping my arms against the jagged edges of the mine’s wall as I weave toward the exit. In the open, the bright sunlight bleaches my vision.
Finn is yanking on her helmet. She slings a leg over the motorcycle and guns the engine, tossing me my helmet. I catch it, put it on.
Without warning, she shifts into gear, tears off toward the dirt road, and leaves me behind. I yell after her, “Hey!”
She’s going to leave me here.
She’s almost out of sight before she makes a wide arc in the pine trees, motors over a mound of rocks, and roars up beside me, idling.
She revs the engine. Again. Louder. Again.
She’s scaring me.
She revs until my ears hurt, until I get on, and then she tears out of there at top speed, recklessly heading straight down the mountain. I have to close my eyes and smother the shrieking inside my head because I know we’re going to crash and die.
Chapter
17
Finn drops me off at Carly’s and leaves in such a hurry, she doesn’t even say good-bye. What happened? I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings or make her think I didn’t like kissing her.
I did. I’m just… why didn’t she warn me? Work up to it?
I hate hurting people’s feelings. The week before prom, Sarah and I got into a huge argument. I wanted to meet her at prom, go together without actually having to explain to my parents. My whole life has been plotting ways to avoid the inevitable.
Sarah wanted it all: the limo, the date, the meddling mother fussing over her daughter’s dress and hair, the proud papa taking photos. She wanted to go with Ben so she’d be seen as a “normal” person.
Everything was so fucked up. I yelled at Sarah, “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult? Bitch.”
I’d never called anyone a bitch. I made her cry.
I cried myself sick the night of prom. Then I chopped up my hair—don’t ask me why. I stayed in my room all weekend, feeling I’d had a relapse of mono. When Dad saw me for the first time, he got pissed about my hair, and I shouted at him, “Stay out of my life!”
He grabbed my arm and whirled me around. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that!”
He terrified me.
I apologized meekly.
Tanith said, “Oh, Alyssa, why did you cut off all your beautiful hair?”
Because I hate myself, okay?
I still can’t do anything right.
I fill the whirlpool and then slide down to let the jets pulse my back and neck and arms. My arms burn where they got scraped in the mine. The stress of the last few weeks and months has lodged in my bones and muscles.
I don’t want to hate Sarah. Or Ben. Or Dad. I don’t want to believe I have the ability to hate anyone. I don’t know how I feel about Carly. I hate her for abandoning me. I hate her for who she is and what she doe
s for money. But I love her too. She’s my mother. She took me in when no one else would, and she’s trying to make up for the past. She is trying.
This is nice, letting all my anxiety bubble away. I don’t know how long I lie there, just numbing out.
An unfamiliar sound jerks me to awareness.
My iPhone. It’s ringing. I stand and slosh out of the whirlpool to retrieve the phone from the dresser. “Hello?”
“Alyssa, are you at the house?” Carly’s out of breath.
I’m a shriveled apricot. “Yeah. I’m—”
“Thank God. I broke a heel, and I’m supposed to go on in five minutes. Do you think you could get my silver stilettos from my closet and bring them to the club?”
“Um… sure.”
“Come to the back door. I’ll have someone meet you.” She disconnects.
I dry off and get dressed, and then I go to her room and open the closet. She has at least a dozen pairs of stilettos. Two are silver. I grab both and take off.
A gauzy haze dulls the headlights, almost like fog rolling in off the ocean. It’s not fog, though. It’s smoke. Thick and acrid. My throat burns.
All the muted lights through town are eerie.
Cars cram the parking area around Wet Willy’s, so I circle the perimeter, bouncing over old tire ruts. In back I see Finn’s motorcycle propped by the exit door. She’s standing under the bug light, drinking a longneck beer as I pull up to the building.
When she sees me, her spine stiffens, and I think she’ll dart inside. But she doesn’t. She lowers the beer to her side.
“Hey,” I say. “Can you smell the smoke now?”
“What smoke?” She coughs.
At least she’s joking around. I hand her the stilettos and say, “Looking for these?”
Finn hooks her fingers through the straps, eyeing them like they’re alien creatures. Geena rushes out. “Oh, hi, Alyssa.” She covers her mouth and coughs. “What’s all this smoke? Did the wind shift or something?”
She Loves You, She Loves You Not... Page 13
