His head jerked up, so startled the pencil scarred the paper with a jagged line.
“So, remember that you must die, huh? Morbid.” I sighed, feigning boredom. “A little clichéd, no? I mean, you being Goth and all.”
“Hey, if it’s a good philosophy, it works. Death is imminent. Live every day like it’s your last.”
“Well, yeah, the Romans should have taken that to heart, what with their lead poisoning and all. But did they have to sign all their sculptures with MM?”
“Alright, Control Freak,” he said, “then we need a new name for our team.”
Our team.
“So what do you want to call ourselves?” he asked.
“The reformed Goths?”
“Speak for yourself.” He glanced heavenward, captivated by whatever he saw. He pointed overhead. “You know, Venus was out last night. Did you see it?”
I followed his gaze to the sky, now lightening to a vivid pink. “No. To tell you the truth, stars and planets look the same to me.”
“You just have to look at them carefully.” Then, that mischievous grin again. “Did you know that every landform except for one is named after women and goddesses on Venus?”
I thought for a second, guessed, “Everything except mountains?”
“Yeah.”
“How very phallic.”
Jacob laughed. “Yeah, and all the continents are named after goddesses. Aphrodite Terra. Ishtar Terra.”
“Ishtar?”
“As in the Babylonian one who was celebrated for her sexuality. And Lada Terra.”
“Which goddess is that?”
“The Slavic —”
“Sex goddess?” I guessed.
“Love goddess,” he corrected.
“Men obviously named everything on Venus. Am I right or am I right?”
He smirked, not denying it. Then, either he noticed me shivering or he was trying to distract me, because he said, “Let’s warm you up before this becomes your memento mori day.”
If this had been Erik, I knew what he’d be talking about, warming up the two of us in the backseat of his truck. Or sneaking into his bedroom while his parents were at work.
But this was Jacob. And he asked, “Is anything open yet?”
I glanced down at the GPS, checked the time. Just before six thirty. The entire economic mecca that is Main Street consists of three realties, a half dozen restaurants (only one serves healthy food), a brewery, a bookstore owned by a man who loathes browsers, and a half-stocked grocery store where the chances of finding out-of-date batteries were greater than finding a decent apple — and this in a valley flush with orchards. So there was really only one option. “Snagtooth Coffee might be.”
“They have coffee?”
I nodded.
“Is it decent?”
“It’s drinkable.”
“Good enough,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As Jacob charged down the hill, me following, I had to admit, even the spiny sagebrush that my mom abhorred, the bane of her spring and summer gardening, looked beautiful snow-glazed.
“Come on!” he called.
I picked up my feet and flew down the rest of the hill until I almost caught up to Jacob. I leaned down, balled a handful of snow, and threw it at him. Laughing hard, I sprinted away, feeling the snow kicking up my back.
And then in case he was contemplating retaliation, I spun to face him, raised my hand in warning. “I’ve got two older brothers who taught me everything there is to know about snowball fights.”
“Duly noted. But if you’re planning on having coffee with me, you need to go this way.” He pointed in the opposite direction where I belatedly made out his car on the street. “Last one there treats.”
I veered to the left, cut my own path through the snow. It was a minor correction, but even with Jacob’s head start, we reached his Range Rover at the same time.
“So, did your Christmas get any better?” I asked Jacob when we settled in for the short ride to Snagtooth Coffee. It was so cold I could see my breath, but the seat warmer was already doing its job. I leaned all the way back, blissfully warming in the passenger seat.
Jacob rolled his eyes and put the car smoothly into drive. There is something terribly sexy about a good male driver, especially a driver with impeccable navigational skills. It must be something about being in control, the guy knowing where he’s going, that appealed to me.
“That good, huh?” I asked.
Jacob started to answer but as he leaned down to change the radio station, he grimaced and gazed in pain at me as if to ask, Country music? For real?
“We’re lucky to even get this station,” I told him, laughing when he reached wordlessly for his stack of CDs and thrust them at me.
“Put me out of my misery,” he begged. “Please.” And then, as though he trusted me eminently, he said flat out, “Dad announced he was getting remarried over spring break. Merry Christmas, right?”
“Ouch.”
“To the barista.”
I winced. “Double ouch.”
“Tell me about it.”
Whether it was our discussion or being in a truck with an actual working heater, I was starting to sweat. So I stripped off my mittens, unzipped my jacket. “How’s Trevor taking it?”
“He’s too young to get it. Mom, on the other hand . . .”
“How’s she doing?”
“Doing what she does best.”
“Which is?”
“Denial.” Then, as he parked in front of the bakery, he said, “Your turn. So just how good was your Christmas?”
I was going to say, “Fine,” but we had pledged honesty. Jacob glanced at the GPS, fiddled with one of the buttons. I got the sense that he would wait as long as it took me to tell him.
I sighed. “You really want to know?”
He didn’t say a thing, just nodded.
So as the dawn colored the sky first pink and then blue and the lights at the Snagtooth Coffee bakery switched on, I told Jacob about how Dad decided Elisa wasn’t good enough for Merc and how he went after her. And how Merc left an entire week early. And how Claudius hurt his hand and how I had never noticed that he injured himself any time a fight escalated. I was on a roll, and this was my chance to tell him about Erik and how he had given me lingerie, a present that made me want to cry because what did it say about me? What did it say about my relationship with Erik? But something kept me from revealing that to Jacob. Maybe it was because in Jacob’s presence, I didn’t feel a few degrees off from the girl Erik wanted me to be: the sexy one, the mouthy one, the available-when-it-was-convenient-for-him one. And maybe it was because I was afraid of what Jacob would think of me.
Talked out, I stopped, sighed, and expected Jacob to say something pat, commiserate with a “God, can you believe parents?” or “Are you sure your dad wasn’t just trying to be funny?” But he stayed completely quiet as though he were listening to my silence, processing what I was saying without words. And finally, he said, “Even geniuses can be Class A assholes.”
I stared at him, not believing I heard him correctly. That he would dare to use those words to describe my dad.
I thought about how Dad rushed Claudius to the hospital. “He’s always there when we need him. He pays for everything.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying?”
I did. I sounded like Mom, making excuses for Dad’s bad temper, rationalizing that his pointed comments were simply the truth, blaming herself when he lashed out.
Jacob was right. Even a genius like Dad could be an asshole.
“Exactly,” I said, surprised, and then emphatically. “Exactly.”
Somehow, admitting that to Jacob was freeing the same way it must have been for an alcoholic to admit he had a drinking problem. Or a battered woman to acknowledge that she was not to blame for her beatings.
“This one’s on me,” I insisted as we approached the coffee-stained counter.
“Coffee, black, for here,�
� Jacob ordered, and then turned to me. “Lucky for you, I’m a cheap date.”
That was a good thing, considering the shelves were empty of a typical coffee shop’s usual arsenal of blueberry scones, buttery croissants, chewy bagels, and doorstopper-sized muffins. With Snagtooth Coffee, all you could count on was the door being open and coffee served mouth-burning hot.
Still, I made a point of looking over my shoulder at his Range Rover, sleekly expensive and virtually in mint condition, except for the dent I had left on the back bumper. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t judge a man by his vehicle.”
“So how do you judge a boy?”
“Ouch. Hasn’t anyone told you about how delicate a man’s ego is?”
“Maybe men, but boys are all bravado.”
“I can’t catch a break from you, can I?” he asked gruffly, but I could see the amusement glinting in his dark eyes.
Laughing, I turned to order and recognized the girl behind the espresso machine: Alicia, my first bully and former prima ballerina from Miss Elizabeth’s. She had long abandoned mocking me, just as she had wearing tutus and the color pink, except for her naturally pink lips that were hanging open.
I couldn’t tell what surprised Alicia more: to see me out in public without makeup or to see me with a Goth in full makeup. Even with hiking boots and a jacket crafted for climbers, Jacob didn’t fit into this Western joint any more than a cactus in Mom’s cutting garden. I decided I didn’t really care what Alicia thought of either him or me, and smiled brilliantly at her. “Hey, Alicia. Caramel macchiato, tall, non-fat, please.”
“Did you just order what I think you did?” asked Jacob.
“So?”
He looked altogether too pleased with himself. So much so that I started to regret my caffeine-deprived impulse. Out of habit, I headed to the table set flush against the store windows. As soon as I sat, I regretted it. Even though it was too early for the usual parade of winter tourists — the buff couples wearing his-and-hers cross-country ski outfits, the out-of-shapers who for inexplicable reasons chose to vacation in the athlete-packed Methow — the town was small. Someone other than Alicia was bound to see us. No doubt, by this afternoon, Erik would be calling, wondering why I was hanging out with a Goth guy at Snagtooth Coffee.
Jacob swung around on the chair, leaning against the window and stretching his crossed legs out in front of him. With any other guy, sitting cross-legged might have looked somewhat effeminate, but not Jacob. He looked like a coiled snake, ready to bite me. I wouldn’t have minded.
“Just so you know, speed isn’t a priority here,” I warned him.
He glanced at Alicia, who was still watching us like we were some traveling zoo exhibit, freakishly odd yet eminently fascinating. “I wouldn’t expect it.” He nodded at her. So he had noticed her staring, too. Nonplussed, Alicia suddenly busied herself with our order. “A friend of yours?”
“Former tormentor.”
“Damned barista.”
I laughed so hard, I snorted. That’s when Alicia called my name. I jolted, having forgotten that we were waiting for our coffee.
“I’ll get it.” Jacob pushed back his chair.
“No, I’ll get it.”
As I strode over to retrieve our drinks, I could feel Jacob’s gaze on me, speculative. Whether by design or sheer accident, Alicia screwed up our order, turning my caramel macchiato into a soy latte.
“My mistake. I’ll make you another one.” Alicia cast a wistful gaze over at Jacob as though she wished she were with a boy who could make her laugh uncontrollably, too. Before I could return to Jacob, she leaned over the counter and said conspiratorially, “So . . . you guys are having fun.”
“Yeah.” I smiled broadly. “We are.”
I spun around, spotted a familiar gleam of blond hair outside the door before a blast of cold air preceded Karin’s entrance.
“Terra, it’s you, thank God!” she cried, leading her family inside the coffee shop. Parked behind Jacob’s truck was their mud-splattered RV, no doubt holding her dad’s latest haul of artificial decapitated heads and miscellaneous body parts from a special effects studio in Los Angeles. The next time I went over to her house, her dad would no doubt be eager to show me his newest ghoulish treasures, inventoried in his database and ready for display come Halloween.
All of the Mannions looked bleary-eyed and travel-worn, except for Karin, who was gorgeous and chic in her new outfit: skirt, boots, jacket. I caught her brief look of relief after she scanned my face before she launched into her update. “So you know how Dad’s college roommate used to be the executive producer for Entertainment Tonight?”
She may have rambled on with her news, but I was still stuck on her relieved, self-satisfied expression. It was almost as if she had looked deep into the magic mirror of my face, assured that she was still the prettiest of them all. Unconsciously, I touched my cheek, aware of it now in a way I wasn’t when Alicia had openly stared at me.
“Isn’t that great?” Karin asked, beaming, my assent a foregone conclusion.
“No. I mean, yes.”
She didn’t notice my ambivalence, her attention having turned to her parents, who were still dithering in front of the chalkboard menu as if Snagtooth Coffee had actually changed its offerings once over the last five years. “God, that’s how they’ve been this entire trip,” she whispered, exasperated. Then, her practiced journalist gaze, searching for news in the making, rested on Jacob. “Oh my God, Terra. Look, your soul mate from Halloween.”
I knew all too well who she was talking about. So, apparently, did Alicia. She handed me two replacement coffees, so I was double-fisting it. “Your caramel macchiato for you, and a fresh black coffee.”
“Alicia, I ordered a latte.” Karin looked annoyed.
“It’s for my friend,” I said softly. “I’m going to get back to him now, okay?”
As I started for Jacob, I could hear Karin spluttering behind me. My insecurities reared their ugly, multiple heads. What was I doing with him? Karin, not me, looked like his type. But from across the room, my Goth guy smiled at me as if there was no one he wanted at his table more. I couldn’t contain the lurch in my heart.
I took my seat across from Jacob, slid his coffee to him.
“She another barista?” he asked softly.
“No, a friend.”
“Could have fooled me.”
As Karin stalked toward us, paparazzi chasing down secrets, I could have been fooled, too. She didn’t bother to wait for an introduction, not while she slipped into full reporter mode. “And who are you?”
“Terra’s friend,” said Jacob bluntly.
“Well, Terra’s friend,” said Karin, dragging out the chair beside Jacob, “that makes two of us.”
No answer.
Unaffected, Karin plunged into her interview. “So how did you guys meet?”
I started to run down the pertinent details — how I nearly crashed into him in Leavenworth — when Jacob reached over for my mug and drank deeply. That stopped Karin’s inquisition more effectively than any longwinded explanation of our meeting. Her eyes widened comically, unintentionally, and then she angled me a look: how long have you known this guy? Jacob set the mug back down. His diagnosis: “Too much caramel.”
“Geez,” I said. “What happened to sipping and smelling?”
“Smelling and sipping,” he corrected me, and then smirked. “Sometimes, a guy just has to have it.”
“God!” I leaned over to slug him in the shoulder.
I didn’t like that pinched, judgmental expression on Karin’s face, as if she disapproved of me hanging out with any guy other than Erik. Jacob didn’t look like he wanted to have a conversation with Karin any more than I did. He picked up a sugar packet and began tapping it on the table. Lucky for him, he got a reprieve. His cell phone rang, a sprig of classical music.
“Classical?” I asked him, lifting my eyebrows.
Neither Karin nor I missed his squeez
e of my shoulder when he left to take the call outside. The door had barely swung shut when Karin demanded, “So what’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“Come on, I just met him.”
“I didn’t figure him to be your type.” Her mouth pursed so sanctimoniously I almost forgot that she managed a stable of guys who were forever fawning over her.
“We’re just hanging out.” True, Jacob and I hadn’t done anything other than talk. And talk. And talk. But Erik — I hadn’t even mentioned him to Jacob yet. Or vice versa. Still, something about Karin’s implication bugged me. And then I pinpointed it. “And what exactly is my type?”
“Not him,” she said, jerking her head toward Jacob, who was pacing outside, talking on the phone.
“Why not him?”
“Because . . .”
“He doesn’t care about my face.”
She blanched guiltily, but recovered fast. “Well, yeah, because he’s got that” — she touched the smooth skin between her lip and her nose — “thing there.”
“It’s a scar.”
I looked longingly at the front door, wanting so badly to leave. But as I sat there under Karin’s gaze that judged and weighed and found me lacking, I realized I could. There was no reason to stay, no more to say. Or explain. I didn’t need to be the one who always remained at home, waited for Karin’s return, charted her progress in the land of opportunity. So I left the dregs of my coffee, left Karin at the table. I waved goodbye to her parents and slipped out of Snagtooth Coffee into a gust of fresh air and a posse of tourists. For once, I couldn’t care less that these strangers took the scenic route of my face — glissading from my temple to chin with long, lingering looks. There was Jacob, and he was waiting for me.
“Our moms have beckoned,” he said, folding his phone in half before slipping it into his pocket.
“Now what are they up to?” I asked.
“Candle-Making 101.”
North of Beautiful Page 16
