“Morning,” I throw it over my shoulder, casually.
“Actually, I’d say we missed that.”
I angle myself so that I don’t actually face him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s almost two o’clock.”
I grab my phone from the desk. 1:52 pm. I’ve been snuggled up next to him for how many hours? I wonder if he noticed? Maybe I wasn’t the first one awake. If I wasn’t, then that means he must know I was practically clinging to him. But if he does, then why didn’t he get up? Did he want to cuddle with me? Of course not. He made it pretty clear it was the vodka talking last night. And he was pretty drunk. And I was pretty tired. So we slept in. Big deal. Totally normal.
Ray sits up in the bed, the sheet falling away from him, revealing the finest set of abs I have ever seen on person.
Oh, my good lord. I turn my back again.
“Gonna jump in the shower.” A nice cold one. “Then we can head out. We can even get better coffee on the way if you want.”
“And doughnuts,” he says through a yawn.
I smile. “Right.”
I spend a good thirty minutes in the bathroom, scrubbing every inch of me. I brush my teeth three times and even take the time to wash my hair, then douse it with this volumizing stuff Reese bought me. It makes me smell like cherries and gives my locks a nice shine. I decide to apply a little mascara too. It’s the clear kind, the only thing I own, but it still makes my lashes look longer and little fuller. I top it all off with vanilla flavored lip balm, just in case he decides to make another move. If he does, I’ll be ready this time. If he doesn’t…well, at least I smell nice.
It’s eight o’clock by the time we arrive in Moscow. I only managed one hour at the wheel before the side effects of my late night fantasizing did me in and Ray took over. I wake up to a stiff neck and squeeze on my knee.
“We’re here,” Ray’s voice rouses me.
I squint at the scene ahead of me and rub my eyes. “Where exactly is here?”
The passenger door is open and he’s leaning in toward me, his hands gripping the roof of the truck. We’re in a driveway. It’s dark, but floodlights illuminate the house in front of us.
“Is this it? Is this where Mariah lives?” I ask.
“This is where we’re staying,” he replies. “Not exactly the cheap motel I had in mind, but every other room in town is taken. Some event at the university. It’s a nice place. Huge. You should see inside.”
“You rented the whole place?”
“Didn’t have much of a choice, like I said, every other room was taken.”
“And no one wanted to stay here? Should we be worried?”
The house looks perfectly normal on the outside. Kind of picturesque in that New-England-postcard kind of way. It actually, looks more like a barn. It’s painted red and has an oddly shaped roof—the entire right side of it juts out like arrow. On top of the roof is another mini one with a window so tiny I can’t imagine what’s behind it. The entire place has a serious authentic country feel to it—isolated and surrounded by trees. So maybe more of an authentic horror movie feel if you think about it.
“Canceled reservations. It’s almost like fate,” he winks and steps aside to let me out.
“I don’t know, Ray. This is kind of…”
“It’s nice. Trust me.” He takes my hand, sending a jolt through me.
“Uh, fine. Okay.”
Inside is even creepier than outside. It’s beautiful. Everything from the walls, to the floor, the rafters and the counter tops are made of wood. It reminds me of a log cabin. Kind of like Ray’s house only far more modest. That and tacky furniture—a plaid sofa set, a multi-colored woven rug, mismatched lamps, a stove and fridge that look like they’re from 1955, oil paintings and embroideries hanging on the wall. Just like Grandma’s. So perfect it can only be the scene for a grisly double murder to be.
“Are you going to go in?” Ray asks, humor in his voice.
“Sure, just taking it all in,” I say, stepping through the threshold. “So have you located your sister?”
I put my bag down near the sofa and cross my arms. Then change my mind and pick it up.
“Not yet. I figured we could do that together. I mean, if you don’t mind. The owner said he’d meet us here in about ten minutes so if you want you can go lie down. I know you’re tired. You didn’t get much sleep last night. There’s a bed up top. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m good.” And I’m not exploring this place on my own. Especially the freaking attic.
A guy named Pete arrives exactly ten minutes later. He literally looks like a farmer. And to be honest, a little bit of a serial killer. Utterly normal. Unassuming.
He wears a pair of denim overalls, knee high rubber boots and trucker hat that says Moscow Bears and has an image of the head of a bear sticking out of the letter M. A short, salt and pepper beard covers most of his face. When he shakes my hand, his rough calluses scrape against my skin and I catch a glimpse of dirty fingernails. It’s like I’ve been transported back to Sweetwater and I can’t help but smile back.
This is how they get you. Looking all nice and neighborly. This is how it all begins.
Clutching my bag, I wander around the cabin as Ray and Pete fall into easy conversation. I stare out the back window at an open field. It’s so dark I can’t tell how far it goes back, but I’m pretty sure if I had to run, I’d be running for a while. I shake my head slightly.
Get a hold of yourself, Syd. You watch too much damn TV.
“I sure have,” Pete is saying as I listen in from my far corner. “She works over at John’s Alley. It’s a pub up on 114th.” He lets out a low whistle. “Boy has she got voice on her. Sings in that band with the Long boy. What’s his name? Can never tell the difference between the two. Jake or Jeremy. One or the other. She lives out at the Long place too.”
He’s holding Ray’s cell phone in front of him, peering at a picture of Mariah.
“She’s a little older now,” Ray says. “You sure that’s her?”
“Absolutely, breezed into town about a year ago. Can’t miss those eyes. She’s young and pretty but looks like she’s lived a life double the one she has.” He slaps Ray on the back. “And didn’t say a damn thing about StingRay Carlson being her big brother. Can’t imagine why anyone would sit on that.”
Ray shrugs. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“So what’s it gonna be?” Pete winks. “You got your heart set on the Steelers or the Seahawks.”
“Doesn’t really matter to me,” Ray says. “They could send me to Dallas and I’d be happy. I just want to play ball.”
“Well, my money’s on the Seahawks. You know, if I was a gambling man and whatnot.”
“We’ll see,” Ray catches my gaze and smirks.
“Well, you two lovebirds make yourself at home and, if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away. Tonight’s open mic night. If you hurry you might get a chance to hear your sister sing. She always goes on first. Brings down the house every time.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ray
It takes everything inside of me not to run out of here in search of that bar. I half-expected to hunt this town for her and come up empty. For this to be nothing but a wild chase with a disappointing ending. Just like it’s always been. What are the chances I’d find her on the first try?
“We can go now if you want,” Sydney says. She’s perched on the edge of the sofa. Her gaze is shifty and she’s still clinging to her duffle bag.
“That’s okay. I…you…maybe we should get some rest. Besides I don’t want to interrupt her while she’s working. We could just crash now and try in the morning. If we go now when she’s about to—”
“You’re scared aren’t you?” She hugs herself, her gaze flitting from wall to wall, then back to me.
“Is it that obvious?”
She shrugs.
I don’t know w
hy I am. I should be excited. But I don’t know what to expect. My little sister. She’s okay. She’s well. Singing in a band. Working in a pub. The last time I saw her she wasn’t even old enough to drink. I wonder if she’ll remember me. Have I changed as much in four years?
“I’d be scared too.” Sydney sighs. “But the truth is I’m kind of hungry. A good burger at a local bar sounds tempting.” She smiles and I force one back.
I can do it. I can walk in there, walk up to my sister and apologize. I can tell her how sorry I am for not looking harder. How I want her to come home with me, so I can take care of her.
“Let’s just go.” Sydney is at my side. Her hand rests on my arm and she rubs it softly. “Just rip the bandage off. You’ll feel better. I promise. Before the night is over the two of you will be joking around about old times.”
I turn to face her, forcing myself not to pull her into my arms. Instead, I take her hand in the most casual way I can. It’s so soft against my own and I swear I can feel her pulse racing. Or is it mine? I can’t even tell. “You’re right,” I say. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking about your stomach.”
Sydney chuckles. “It’s cool. I probably should have had some of those eggs you made before we left anyway.”
“If I’m ever in your neighborhood again, I’ll be sure to hook you up.”
She smiles, raising both eyebrows.
“Not that I’ll, you know, drop by unannounced or anything. Just that—”
“I’ll tell you what,” she cuts in, saving me from myself. “You can cook me eggs tomorrow.”
John’s Alley is the local hangout from what I can tell. Completely casual, with people so friendly I feel like I’m back home. Then I remember, I practically am. The music is loud when I arrive and the lights dimmed. The live music hasn’t started yet, but people are milling around, whooping and laughing. I don’t even feel out of place. But part of me wishes I’d bothered to bring Sydney along. She fell asleep on the sofa, while I was changing and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. It’s probably for the best. Meeting my sister for the first time in four years is probably something I should do myself.
I pick up the Styrofoam container that holds the burger and fries I ordered for Sydney and grab my mug of beer. I scan the bar in search of a table near the stage.
I’m wearing my hat low, over my eyes, and my hair swept back under, so it looks shorter. I’m grateful I haven’t had access to a razor for the past twenty-four hours and I hope it helps. It was almost surreal how quickly Pete recognized me, something I suppose I’ll have to get used to. But tonight isn’t the night for that kind of thing. I need all my attention to be on Mariah. When I finally face her, I don’t want anything getting in the way of our overdue reunion.
I settle into a chair right next to the speakers. A bad choice, but I won’t be here for long. As soon as her set is done, I’ll walk up and…re-introduce myself. Then we’ll find a quiet place to chat. I’ll ask her how she’s been, even though I know. And I’ll buy her a drink. I can’t believe I’m going to buy my little sister a drink. Once we’ve spent the appropriate amount of time catching up, I’ll take her back to the cabin to meet Sydney.
For now, I’ll just sip my beer and keep my head down.
Someone starts tapping the microphone and I jerk my gaze upward. A guy with blond hair, buzzed on one side and flipped over the other, is adjusting the stand.
A shrill whistle resonates above the hum of the crowd and a girl yells out, “Lookin’ hot, Jake. Save me some for later.” Followed by a gaggle of high-pitched giggles.
I focus on the guy center stage. Jake. That’s what Pete had said. Mariah’s in a band with a guy named Jake. She lives with him too.
My heart begins to race and I take another gulp of beer. I stare at my hands. Is he the boyfriend? I wonder if he’s good to her. Better than I’ve been, I hope.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly dulls to a buzz of whispers and I turn my attention back to the stage. That’s when I see her.
My sister—and the spitting image of the woman who gave birth to us and the one who gave up her life to raise us. She’s got Mom’s nearly black hair, like me. But her eyes are like the man in the picture from my wallet—our father. When she was little, they were bright blue like mine. But over the years they changed, as though reflecting her darkening persona.
Gray and smoldering. Wide and shrouded by long lashes. And threatening a natural disaster. Sad. Just like Pete described.
She stares ahead, not looking at anything in particular and, when the music starts, she grips the microphone between her hands, tilts the stand toward her and begins to sway to the beat.
Her eyes are closed now and a sugary sweet, high-pitched hum fills the room. I rest my beer down, leaning forward, my gaze fixed on her like everyone else in the room.
A piano solo begins to back her up along with the slow beat of the drums. The bass follows and Jake joins in, his voice blending perfectly with hers. They watch each other while they sing. And I stare at her.
I can’t make out the words of the song. All I can do is search her face. Nothing else in the pub is registering anymore, like there’s a spotlight just on her. I sit there in my dark corner, mesmerized. Imagining what she’ll sound like when we speak. What she’ll say. Whether or not her smile is still the same. Wide, mostly teeth, with a deep dimple in her chin.
It isn’t until a teardrop hits the back of my hand that I realize I’m crying. I quickly wipe my face and the world comes back into focus.
The song ends, soon after, and I shift in my seat as Jake thanks the crowd and Mariah gives a little wave. Then I gather my things and follow them back stage.
I push through the crowd, shouldering my way toward the back. In one hand, I grip Sydney’s food; the other is jammed into my pocket. I’ve completely lost sight of her and the noise in the room has risen to an all time high. Music begins to blare from the speakers again and voices compete. Someone steps on my toe. A girl with heels and, because it hurts so bad, I have to stop for second. I force myself to limp through the pain until I’m finally on the other side, where only a trickling of people mill around huddled together.
“Name?” A guy with long brown hair, parted down the middle holds out a clipboard.
“Uh…” I decide to keep it to myself this time. “I’m looking for someone,” I say instead. “She was up on stage.”
He rolls his eyes. “Dude, not tonight all right? I’ve already had a shitty day.”
“I’m sorry about that but if you could just point me in the right direction, I’d—”
“Look, I get it. She’s cute, she can sing and with a body like that it’s no surprise you’ve got balls enough to try and—”
“Mariah!” I call over his shoulder. She’s appeared out of nowhere. Her back is to me but she’s wearing the same dress—it looks more like a button down man’s shirt, but she’s got a thick black belt wrapped around her waist and black stockings that come all the way up to her knees. She doesn’t hear me, so I step forward.
The dude with the clipboard halts me with his arm. “Like I said, not tonight.”
I stand very close to him, realizing I’m a couple inches taller and much wider. “I drove all the way out here, just for her,” I say between clenched teeth. “If you think you can stop me, then you must be insane.” I shove him with my forearm, knocking him backwards.
A few people notice and the chatter and attention soon turns to me, but I keep looking down and continue forward until I’m standing directly behind my sister.
“Mariah,” I say.
She turns around slowly, her gaze still locked on her cell phone. “Yeah.”
“I can’t believe it’s really you. Are you…?” I reach out to touch her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She jerks away, her gaze darting to my face.
I put up my hands in defense but I stay just as close as I am. Inches from her. “I’m sorry. I…oh, my...” My breathing is suddenly erratic, like
I’ve run all the way here and my hands are beginning to shake. “You look…you’re beautiful.”
Mariah frowns. Then scoffs a laugh. “You one of those college boys?” she asks. “Looking for a townie to fuck? News flash. She’s not me, so keep looking.”
She moves to step around me, but I stop her, holding onto her arm. “No, you don’t understand.”
“Seriously?” she snaps, shaking me off. “Get the hell away from me.”
“Em, it’s me. Please. Just look at me.”
She does, but there’s only a hint of recognition in her eyes. So I reach up and remove my hat, running my hand through my hair once.
Her eyes widen and her lips part. She drops her cell phone and I bend over to pick it up. When she takes it from me, I hold onto her hand.
“Hey, sis.”
Mariah shakes her head and her eyes instantly water. But she doesn’t say anything. Instead she begins to back up, even though I refuse to lessen my grip.
“It’s me,” I say, though I’m pretty sure she’s already made that distinction. “It’s Ray. God, Mariah. Where the hell have you been?”
I pull her toward me into a fierce hug. At first her entire body is rigid, then she begins to relax. I can feel her heart beating against mine and I squeeze tighter. But she tenses up again, pushing away from me.
I let go, holding her at arms length. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you. I…I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”
Her head moves slowly back and forth again, her brows knitted together. Then, with an unexpected force, she shoves me away and runs past me.
Her reaction nearly topples me and I blink several times, grasping my bearings before I run after her. She easily disappears into the crowd and this time, for me, getting through is tough. I’ve dropped my hat somewhere along the way and Sydney’s food. It seems as though everyone in the bar is working together to keep me away from her, even though none of them seem to do it intentionally. As another band begins to play, I am pushed further back, away from the exit and back toward the stage, until I am right back where I started.
Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1) Page 11
