Kill Me If You Can apam-2

by Nicole Young

  “Well, good night,” I said, hesitant to break his trail of thought.

  “Good night, cuz.”

  “So, you’re not really worried anyone’s going to hurt us, are you?” I edged closer to the warmth.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe, what?”

  “Maybe someone will try to hurt you, but I’m not going to worry about it.”

  “Great. Thanks. I’ll sleep better now.”

  “You asked me a question. Don’t expect me to lie to you just so you can sleep better,” he said.

  “Of course not. Just so long as you don’t fall asleep,” I replied.

  “Good night, Tish.”

  “Night.” I padded upstairs and hopped in my snuggly twin bed. I marveled at the incongruity of having a drug dealer for a bodyguard. A good long time passed before I fell asleep.

  Morning came and I felt like a flu pandemic survivor. The events of the past days had settled into my very bones.

  I lay in bed listening to thumps and bumps in my normally silent home. A little voice drifted up the staircase. I flung back the covers, antsy to see Hannah’s smiling face and cuddle Andrew’s pudgy body. I stuck my feet into fuzzy slippers and headed downstairs. Coffee hit my nose the instant I opened my bedroom door. I heard laughter. Smelled bacon. Felt the love that only being part of a family could bring. My smile grew broader as I approached the kitchen. Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a houseful of guests. I kind of liked the feel of happy chemicals floating around in my brain.

  “Morning!” Samantha’s hundred-watt smile lit the room.

  The stove clock read 7:30. “You guys are getting an early start,” I said.

  Melissa fed a spoonful of something white and lumpy to Andrew. “The kids are always up by six.” The bags under her eyes seemed to darken as she said it.

  “And I’ve got my first official full day of work today.” Samantha slipped on a button-up tunic with “Silvan Bay Grille” embroidered beneath a flopping perch.

  “How’s that working out for you?” Gerard asked from a stool, sipping on coffee and blinking hard.

  “I love it. I don’t have to worry if I ordered enough food, if the wait staff is feuding, or if we served enough Coneys to pay the bills. At the Grille, I just help customers feel like I’ve got nothing better to do than make their experience extraordinary.” She gave a crooked smile. “Which is pretty much the truth. Bye, all!” With a wave and a fling of the kitchen door, she was gone.

  Sam’s absence left a gash in the continuum. Without her, we all drifted our separate ways, Missy and the kids to their second-floor haven, me to work on getting one more bathroom up and running. At some point, I heard a car arrive and Gerard’s diesel depart during the changing of the guard.

  Midafternoon, I hit a remodeling “wall” and had to quit my efforts for the day or end up dumping water or breaking a lightbulb on account of brain fatigue.

  With the sun shining and temps in the upper sixties, I decided it was the perfect day for a pony ride. The thought of my new horse brought a gush of excitement.

  My grandfather waved to me from the front porch as I pulled in the circle drive. He and Olivia sat in a double swing together, taking life at a leisurely pace.

  “Hi, Grandma Olivia. Hi, Puppa.” I walked up and leaned against the rail.

  “Off work so early?” Olivia asked in her quavering voice.

  “I finished cleaning and I thought I’d take a break.” I leaned close to her and gave her cheek a kiss.

  “Oh? So you’re a housecleaner?” she asked.

  “She doesn’t have a job, Mother,” Puppa explained. “She’s fixing up the old lodge.”

  “Doesn’t have a job?” Olivia sounded indignant. “Don’t seem right to me.”

  Her criticism wiggled its way through my armor. “Well, technically, that is my job. I fix houses and sell them for a profit.”

  “Sell the lodge?” Olivia turned and gaped at my grandfather. “Did you know that when you let her buy the place?”

  “Calm down, Mother. No one has used the lodge in years. I figured Patricia was the best one to get a hold of the place. At least she’s family.”

  Olivia cocked her loaded finger my way. “That was my father’s lodge, young lady. That stays with blood. I didn’t hand Belmont property over to the Russos just to see it get sold off before I’m even dead.”

  “You’re a Belmont?” I couldn’t believe in some roundabout way I was related to that jerk Drake.

  Puppa squeezed his mother’s shoulders gently. “The Belmonts and Russos have always been big names on the peninsula.” He met my eyes. “When Olivia Belmont married Philippe Russo, two families that had been divided by hatred were now united in marriage.”

  “Yes, I only wish someone would have told Philippe the feud had ended.” Olivia’s eyes teared up even as she smiled.

  My grandfather held her closer.

  She struggled free. “Don’t change the subject. That lodge belongs to my father. You are not to sell it, young lady.”

  “Mother, your father built a shack that stood where the kitchen stands now. Dad built the lodge as it is today.” Puppa kept his voice slow and steady.

  “All the more reason for it to stay with the Russos. And if that girl”—she jabbed her finger at me—“isn’t going to have children, then it should go to Joel or Gerard.”

  “That girl is my direct descendant and has more right to the lodge than anyone else, with or without children.”

  Olivia’s jaw set. “The worst day of my life was the day your son brought that Beth girl around. If it hadn’t been for her, Sid would still be here. And so would Jake.”

  “That’s too dramatic, Mother.” Puppa helped her to her feet and began the walk inside. I followed behind.

  “Besides,” he said, helping her into the living room glider, “you liked Elizabeth from the moment you met her.”

  “Maybe so. But I changed my mind since.”

  “I’m taking Patricia outside for a while. I’ll check back on you in a bit.” He kissed the top of her head.

  We scooted out the side door.

  “My goodness, you’re patient,” I said laughing as we veered toward the barn.

  “It took years to hone my ability to stay out of her drama. Poor Mother feeds on gossip and criticism. I don’t get mad at her for it anymore because I realize she doesn’t know any different. And I can’t make her change. Only she can do that.”

  I hopped on the bandwagon. “My grandma Amble was the same way. It was as if she had to hate everything. Nothing was good enough for her. I’m afraid I took it personally. I think I’m still getting over the way she tore everything, including me, to shreds.”

  He nodded. “It’s a pretty widespread phenomenon, actually. It’s a family condition—or should I say a human condition. If you don’t get treatment, you stay sick.”

  “Are you joking?” I stumbled in a rut on the lawn.

  “Nope. I couldn’t be more serious. I’ll be in treatment for the rest of my life.”

  I couldn’t catch what he was getting at.

  “How do you get treated for a human condition? It’s not like there’s a cure for that or anything. I mean, we’re human. Period.”

  “Technically you’re right. But there’s a loophole. Christians call it salvation. ‘For God so loved the world,’ and all that.” His voice dropped lower, as if he was shy to speak of his faith.

  Grass swished against my shoes as we cut past the garage. “Yeah,” I said. “Thank God for a loophole.” Goodness knew, people like me needed a Get to Heaven Free card in their wallets. I frowned as I kicked the fluff off dandelions with my feet. “Except I have a hard time believing that I only have to believe. It seems like I should have to earn my salvation.”

  “I used to feel the same way. Because of my upbringing, it took a twelve-step program to get the smoke out of my eyes.”

  I tensed. Twelve-step program? Didn’t that have something to do with drug addiction? I kep
t quiet, like I hadn’t really heard him.

  “It saved my life, Patricia. It could change yours too.”

  So he thought I needed “treatment.” I cleared my throat as we reached the barnyard, trying not to be offended. “I’m doing really good right now. Things are under control. God and me have it all covered.”

  He nodded. “Let me know if you ever want to know more.”

  “Sure. Absolutely.” I bolted through the white fence and raced toward my horse. “There’s my Goldie Locks,” I said, rubbing on her face. Behind me, I could feel my grandfather’s stare. I brushed it off. There was nothing wrong with my way of seeing things. I didn’t need twelve steps. Life was great just the way it was.

  But somewhere at the back of my mind, a little voice whispered, Liar.

  27

  Through a fog of sleep, I heard Sam calling my name.

  I jerked awake. “What’s wrong? What happened? Who’s here?”

  “Come on. Time for church.” Sam yanked the covers off, exposing my boxer jammies and very white legs.

  I tried to sit up. I crashed back onto my pillow. “I can’t go today.” Every muscle in my body screamed in protest.

  “Get up. You’re going.” Sam grabbed my ankles and swung them off the edge of the bed.

  I yelled my pain. “Knock it off! I’m too sore.” Yesterday, after our talk, my grandfather had saddled up Goldie. In my excitement, I’d ridden her in the round pen for hours, carefully listening to Puppa’s instructions and attempting to execute them. Now, I was paying for my enthusiasm.

  “It’ll hurt worse tomorrow if you don’t move around today.”

  The woman had no mercy. She sat me up and walked me down the steps, past a snoozing bodyguard, and to the bathroom where she started the shower.

  “Okay, okay. I think I can take it from here.”

  She shut the door behind her. I moaned as I struggled out of my nightclothes. I had no idea so many muscles were involved with riding a horse. I stayed under the spray extra long, letting the hot water relax my tendons. I toweled off and went for my toothbrush. Gone. Not like I could have found it among the jars and bottles Sam had left all over the countertop. I opened the medicine cabinet. Evidence of Sam consumed every shelf. I opened the drawer. Sam. Everywhere.

  “Sam!”

  How could this have happened? She’d agreed not to move my stuff.

  She poked her head into the misty bathroom. “Yeah?”

  “My toothbrush. Where is it?”

  “Oh. I put all your stuff in that basket under the sink.”

  “What do you mean? We talked about this and you agreed to leave my things alone.”

  “I said I didn’t want to put you out. But by the time I got everything unpacked, there just wasn’t room for your things on the countertop and I didn’t want them to get mixed up with mine. So I stuck them underneath.”

  My face must have flashed fifty shades of red. I opened and closed my mouth so many times I must have looked like a silent Tourette’s sufferer. My chest felt like a hundred-pound weight got dropped on it. Gradually, the pressure decreased. I spoke.

  “Okay. Whatever, I guess.”

  “Great.” Sam gave a fling of her hair and disappeared.

  I opened the lower cupboard. The door smashed against the wall.

  “You okay in there?” Sam called.

  “Yep.” I yanked out my basket of essentials and slammed the cupboard shut.

  “You all right, Tish?”

  “Hunky-dory.” I brushed up and put on a dab of makeup. Finished, I stomped back to my room.

  A few minutes later, I was dressed and downstairs.

  “Ready?” Sam asked, looking like a knockout in her tall leather boots, short denim skirt, and white ruffled blouse. Sheesh. All I had on were tennies and jeans.

  “Stand right there,” Sam said and disappeared into her room.

  I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. She emerged carrying a fluffy white scarf.

  “Put this on. It’ll look great with that T-shirt.” She wrapped it once around my neck. “Perfect.”

  I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. “Sam, this is so not me.”

  “Come on. You need something that screams, ‘Here I am!’”

  I stared at her. So. Brad was through with me. He was just using our friendship to help his sister. And in return, she was going to help me find a new boyfriend? Thanks, but no thanks. I didn’t need Brad. I didn’t need any man.

  I pulled the scarf off. “Enough. Let’s get to church.”

  “I’m driving,” Sam said, heading out the door.

  “Wait a minute. I’ll drive.” I had to run to keep up with her.

  “No. I want to drive. I love the highway up here. There’s no traffic. Besides, my vehicle gets better gas mileage.”

  I bit my tongue and got in the front seat of the bus. The thing lurched into drive, nearly hitting the back end of Joel’s parked car. Then off we went, feeling every pothole in the road as if the tires were made of wood.

  We made it to church, vertebrae intact. Once in the pew, I phased in and out of the service, too distracted by grumping ligaments to hear more than the main idea, something about loving your neighbor. If it had been about loving your roommate, I would have zoned out entirely.

  Afterward, Sam flat out refused to leave without schmoozing the crowd. It seemed she had the whole coffee klatch sidling up to her, hoping for attention from those baby browns.

  I stood to one side, smiling politely, wondering how I grew up to be wallflower stock, coming from a beauty like my mother.

  I thought back to my conversation with my grandfather last night. We’d put Goldie back in the pasture. Above the white fences, stars popped out against the blue-black sky. The slow croak of a frog came from the direction of the lake.

  “Let’s take a walk, Patricia,” Puppa had said.

  We crossed the lawn and took the shore.

  “I want to tell you about your mother.” Rocks clicked under our feet. “She came into our lives like a beam of light shining through a wall of death. Jacob had lost his mom so young. I’d done my best, but it was tough going. Raising him required skills I didn’t have.” He rubbed at his temple. “By the time Jake was a teenager, he was out of control. He met your mom at a community-college dorm party. She was a student, he was tagging along with friends. I’m not sure what she saw in him, but there’s no doubt she was in love.”

  I tried imagining my parents slow-dancing in a crush of college-aged kids.

  Puppa continued. “She did everything for him. Even pretended she’d been driving when he crashed into a tree. She took a ticket for careless driving that night. But Jake had been drunker than a skunk.” He shook his head. “They were both lucky to walk out of it alive.”

  My grandfather stopped and stared at the bay. The moon’s reflection swam on the water. “Jake was a better person when your mother was around. But he couldn’t stop the drugs. He grew marijuana right here on my land. Every summer I’d take out the gas torch and destroy any I found. I was a cop, for heaven’s sake. What was he thinking?”

  He turned and trekked back toward the house. I stayed beside him, careful of my footing in the near-darkness.

  He finally spoke. “Then news got around that she was pregnant. I told him to marry her, but Jake had been in trouble with his ring boss. Got the headlights on his new truck smashed out. They’d even threatened Beth. She’d had enough. She was going to run on account of the baby. But I convinced her to stay. Bribed is more like it. But I didn’t care. You came along and soon Candice was in my life. It was heaven on earth. But Jake couldn’t keep clean. I cut a deal with his associates, my own brother one of them, to get Jake out of the loop. It cost me my job when the captain found out.”

  We walked silent before he started up again.

  “Jake was out of the ring, but the higher-ups didn’t like him running loose. If he ever decided to talk, more than one neck would hang. Next thing you know—”r />
  “Tish. Hello? Are you going to stand there daydreaming or are you going to get in on our jam session?” Samantha’s voice pierced the cloud around my brain.

  “Jam session? I’m not hungry.”

  Sam laughed like I’d just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “You crack me up. Come on. We’re meeting at the altar.”

  She dragged me down the aisle like a reluctant bride.

  I looked around at the group huddled on the riser. A couple of guitars, a stand-up bass, a piano player, some fiddles . . . I looked down at my hands. And a pair of maracas.

  I shook my rattles to the beat, hoping if I put on a good enough show they’d let me go home.

  They were singing some song I’d never heard of. In my mind, I snuck back down to the beach with my grandfather.

  We cut across the lawn toward the house. A few windows glowed with lights. What had Puppa been saying? Oh, yeah.

  “Jake was out of the ring,” Puppa explained, “but the higher-ups didn’t like him running loose. If he ever decided to talk, more than one neck would hang. Next thing you know, my brother Sid and Candice’s husband Paul are stinking up the sky in that big fire. They’d been the ones covering for Jake all those years. When she heard about their deaths, Beth panicked that the goon squad would be after Jake next. He’d been keeping a low profile. But they’d been keeping an eye on Beth, figuring sooner or later, she’d lead them to Jacob. I was the one stupid enough to tell her where he was.”

  “Gosh, that was fun.” Samantha’s voice broke into the dead-of-night drama playing out in my head.

  The maracas left my hands and I stumbled clueless after Sam. We got back in the VW and were at the cider mill before I even realized we’d left the church.

  “Yeah. That was a good time,” I said.

  “Tish, are you okay? I said how fun it was back at the church, and I feel like you’re just now responding.”

  I looked at her. Her brow was scrunched with concern.

  “Wow. I’m sorry. My brain is definitely somewhere else.”

  “I can tell. You’ve been a zombie all morning. Anything you want to talk about?”