by Tish Cohen
To be honest, Nigel not having it in him to accompany Joules when she’s being led toward a squad car in the middle of the night, it kind of makes me sick for her.
Maybe I don’t know everything when it comes to Nigel Adams.
Outside, the black of the night explodes with camera flashes. I blink as I climb into the police car and realize in horror that this episode is going to be on Perez Hilton by sunrise.
Joules. Is. Going. To. Kill. Me.
Finally. Once I’m in the interrogation room—this tiny gray cell with no windows and a glaring light over my head, where I sit on one side of a small table and a cop sits on the other—I find out what happened. My family was out, and someone gained entry through the side door by punching through the window and reaching in to undo the lock.
I’m so relieved no one was home I could pass out. “What was taken?”
“Not much,” the cop says. “Took the mother’s engagement ring from a dish by the sink and a big TV from the back room.”
I feel sick when I think Mom’s ring might be gone forever. Anyone who’s lived in our house for a month knows the story about that ring. Even when they were dating, Dad knew Mom wasn’t a shiny new jewelry kind of girl. New gold has no history, she told him. No emotional value. She’d always, since she was a little girl, loved her grandmother’s engagement ring. It’s nothing flashy, just a plain platinum band and a small round diamond.
When Dad was ready to propose to Mom, her grandmother had just died and left the ring to my Gran. Without telling Mom, Dad went to Gran and asked for the ring. He took it to a jeweler and had Lise & Gary inscribed on the inside. Mom cried when she saw it. And she only ever takes it off to wash dishes.
Anyway, doesn’t much matter now. It’s gone. And of course it was in the little dish by the sink. That’s where Mom puts it when she has to wash dishes without gloves.
And guess who took the gloves?
Me.
“Perps knew just where to head,” one cop says. “I mean, how many crooks would think to check the chipped dish where the SOS pad dries out? Most would ransack the bedroom.”
Not when they’ve just spent the afternoon at that very house and probably saw the diamond ring sitting right there while Mom washed up Kaia and Kaylee’s 4:30 bottles.
It was Bray’s friends—Tomas, Dillon and Ace.
“You’ll get off easier if you tell us who brought you into this.”
“No one brought me into this. I am not ‘in’ this!’”
He leans back in his chair and smirks like he doesn’t believe me for a second. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. And shouldn’t I have a lawyer present? Or at least my dad?”
“You want them here? I’ll make a phone call.”
I think about it. No. I’d rather be on my own. Besides, Nigel can’t possibly leave the house. It could kill his career. “No. I’m a big girl.”
“So the neighbor just happened to see you squatting behind a mailbox watching the place the very day it’s busted into and I’m meant to believe you weren’t involved?”
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.” It’s not like I can start telling him about magic gloves right now. That would only get me locked up in a psych facility. “I, well, this is kind of embarrassing.”
He tries not to roll his eyes. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”
I smile nervously. “I’m kind of, well, I have a crush on one of the boys who was playing basketball in the driveway.”
He sighs hard and leans forward again, sips his coffee. “You willing to name the boys in the driveway?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, I kind of like this one guy …”
“It’s either that or we hold you tonight.”
I pretend to wrestle with the idea of turning in my lover. He prods me a bit more, brings in a plateful of donuts and a small coffee in a paper cup to cure this Joules headache I’m developing. Then I spill it. “Ace Curzon. Dillon Gee. And Tomas Mendocino, he’s the cute one.”
The cop stands up. “You did a good thing here tonight, Joules.” He sets his business card on the table in front of me. Officer Carl Beasley.
He goes out the door and I hear him say to someone, “Round up Ace Curzon, Dillon Gee and Tomas Mendocino and bring them in here, pronto.”
When I’m alone, I whisper to no one, “This is all my fault.”
Well, shock of the night. Or I guess I should say morning, since it’s after two. Nigel, the man himself, is on his way to come get me. Well, not me, exactly, but his daughter. I’m so glad for Joules I could almost cry. Nigel called a few minutes ago to say his career isn’t enough to keep him from his Jujube. He was actually on his way into the garage, into the Model T, no matter what the consequences. Sue, of course, would drive. And Sue, of course, had a plan that would keep him from torpedoing her carefully orchestrated Nigel Adams comeback. So he’s been texting me for the last twenty minutes from beneath a blanket in the backseat.
I see Brayden sitting on the bench in a hallway. Which makes no sense, since his friends haven’t even been brought in yet.
From the look on Bray’s face, he’s pretty surprised to see me, too. Here’s my chance. Bray might not have any respect for Andrea Birch but he sure does think Joules Adams is cool. Maybe, just maybe, I can influence him enough to make sure my family is safe.
I sit down beside him and stretch my legs out in front of me, saying nothing for a while. When he starts to fidget and look around like he might leave, I say, “Whatcha doing here?”
“My house was busted into.” He motions down the hall. “My, um, parents are here looking at suspects’ photos or whatever.”
I fight the urge to run down the hall and look for them. Must remain casual. Detached. Joules-like. “They’re here? But what about the Ks?”
“My Gran came over.” Bray squints at me. “But how do you know about Kaylee and Kaia?”
Huge error! I struggle to find a reasonable explanation. “No. It’s … no, I don’t. I just … Andrea mentioned them once. You’re from Sunnyside, right?”
He blushes worse than I’ve ever seen and right away starts to fix his hair. “Yeah.”
“What’s your name? Byron? Brian?”
“Brayden.”
I nod and pretend to process this. “Weird. I could have sworn it was Byron.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see him puff air into his palm and sniff to make sure he doesn’t have bad breath. “It’s Bray, actually.”
“Cool.”
I let a minute pass. “I see you around school with your friends. Those guys are a bunch of losers. Why do you hang with them?”
He’s shocked, no question. He probably thought a girl like Joules would approve of Tomas and his posse of idiots. “I don’t know. They’re around.”
“Pretty lame reason.”
“What’s it to you?”
“It’s nothing to me. Why would it be anything to me?” I kick at something that isn’t there.
“What are you doing here anyway?” he says.
I miss our crazy family so much I can’t see straight, I don’t say. I’m actually not sure how to answer this. I can’t give him the story I gave the police—that I have it bad for Tomas. I can’t tell the truth. And I don’t want him to think Joules Adams gets into trouble or he’ll think it’s the cool thing to do.
“Did you see all the photographers following me today?”
“Yeah. Who didn’t?”
“I was just filing a report. One of them dinged Nigel’s car.”
“That’s so cool.”
“That his car got junked?”
“No, that Nigel Adams is your dad. He’s, like, the greatest.”
I think of Brayden’s room back home. Of the Nigel poster on his door. The one on the wall behind his bed. We may fight, Bray may drive me out of my mind and insult my body on a regular basis, but he’s basically a decent kid who’s had a crappy life. He caught a break bei
ng sent to Mom because she loves him about as much as any natural mother could.
The way he’s looking at me now, with such awe, it wouldn’t take much to give this little guy the thrill of a lifetime. “You like Nigel?”
He reaches into the backpack at his feet and pulls out Nigel’s CD. “What do you think?”
I take it from him and look it over. The designer has airbrushed the rumpled bedding look off Nigel’s face. I grin at Bray. “Want to get it signed?”
“Seriously?”
I stand up. “Follow me.” I take him outside to where Sue and Nigel are about to pull into the driveway.
“He’s here? I thought he was in, you know …”
I look around as if making sure we’re alone, then bend down to whisper in Bray’s ear. “Can you keep a secret?”
The kid seriously looks like he might burst. “Yes.”
“You’ll be the only one outside of the family who knows it. So if it leaks I’ll know exactly who to blame.”
“I swear. I won’t say anything.”
I bend down to whisper in his ear. “He’s been home the whole time.”
Bray looks shocked.
“Swear you won’t tell.”
“I won’t.”
“Good. Because only you and his family knows. Only really close people.”
The look on Bray’s face at being told he’s practically family is priceless. An upside-down smile crosses his face and he stands about six inches taller.
Just then the Model T pulls up and Sue leans over to crank open the passenger-side window. Nigel’s head pops up from beneath a blanket in the back. He grins when he sees Bray holding his CD. “You want that signed, mate?”
Bray’s jaw drops. He can’t even speak as he hands over the case with shaking hands. Nigel signs and passes it back to him. “Stay cool, dude.”
Bray nods. “Yeah. Thanks!”
As I climb into the front seat, I shake a finger out the window at Brayden. “Remember. Get yourself some better friends and you’ll be a half-decent kid.”
Still stunned, still standing tall, he watches the car pull away and waves. I turn around and give Nigel a smile. “Hey, Dad? Thanks for coming.”
Nigel leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.
chapter 20
It’s Will’s idea to meet in the cabana out behind the garage just after I get back to Joules’s place. It’s late, very late, nearly three in the morning, but he insists. Says that after a depressing day of losing to the Chino Wildcats, after being rudely interrupted in the bushes earlier, that he needs to see me. And that he has something to say to me.
I should go straight back to the bridge. I could have stopped the break-and-enter if I’d made the wish earlier this morning, and I’m crazy with guilt and determined to right everything and everyone I’ve wronged.
But I’m tired after the interrogation. I promise myself to head back there first thing in the morning. Even though Sue and Nigel are still up, I tell Will to come on over.
A girl like Andrea Birch doesn’t get an invitation from Will Sherwood every day. What possible harm can come from waiting a few more hours at this point?
I, of course, have a very short commute from my bedroom window. I go around behind the pool so Nige and Sue won’t see me. They’re in the living room, lying on the couch pretending to watch something on TV. Sue’s hand is up Nigel’s shirt.
What I didn’t count on was the cabana door being locked. I have absolutely no idea where to find a key, and asking Nigel is not an option. So I sit on the patio, leaning against the door, and wrap my sweater around my knees as I wait for Will.
The moon is huge tonight. Not quite full but in another night or so it will be. It seems hung so low I could reach up and touch it. Pluck it from the sky and use it as a pillow. Aware that I might not be as hidden as I think, I shift farther into the shadows.
He doesn’t take long—he appears from behind a row of cypress trees on the far side of the yard, with a big grin on his face. Without a word, he pulls me to my feet and rattles the cabana door. “Locked?”
I shrug. “I don’t have a key.”
He glances around the backyard and nods toward the pool, which is steaming in the cool night air. “Skinny-dip?”
I point to the window, through which we can see Sue climbing onto Nigel’s lap. “Too risky,” I say. I try the rear door to the garage and it opens. “In here.”
The moonlight pouring in from the garage window is bright enough that we can see fairly well. I pull a tarp off a shelf and spread it on the floor in a darkish corner, crawl across it and wait.
But Will is standing agape in front of the Model T. He runs his hands along the door. “Are you kidding me? Nige has a Flivver?” The window is rolled down and he touches the cracked leather seat the way I wish he would touch me. “This is gorgeous. I mean, seriously great.” He looks over my way. “Have you been in it?”
I nod. “The other night. We took it out to Balboa Island. Also …” It would be too complicated to explain I just had a ride home in it half an hour ago. “Also another time.”
“Well, tell the old man if he ever needs anyone to wash it, wax it, love it … I am so willing.”
“Good to know.” I lean back on my elbows. “Will, maybe we should … it’s getting pretty late.”
He grins again but doesn’t move. “Come here, Joules. I want to kiss you in the light where I can see you.”
I get up, walk over to him and pause, not sure if I should take him in my arms like I want to, or wait and see what he does. Every fiber of my being wants to get closer to him, to become part of him even, but the Andrea Birch in me makes me hesitate.
He tugs on my crossed arms and pulls me in. “Should we check under the car in case Andrea is about to jump out and climb between us?”
I’m horrified—once I switch back I’ll have to get used to him thinking I’m some kind of insane stalker chick—but smile. “She’s not so bad.”
He nods toward a tarped vehicle. “How freaky would it be if she popped out from beneath that blanket right now?”
“She wouldn’t. Today was weird. I think she wasn’t feeling well or something.”
“What’s under that blanket anyway? Don’t tell me it’s an even nicer antique car.”
I should know what cars we own. A daughter would have to be an idiot not to know. “It’s been a long day. I forget the make.”
He walks across the garage and pulls back the tarp to reveal a huge fat wheel of a truck. Then, with a mighty heave, he uncovers the entire front end. The dented front end with smashed windshield. It’s not a truck.
It’s an SUV.
Black.
With a damaged front end.
Exactly what the police are looking for.
Will is thinking the same thing. I can see it in his eyes. We both look from the dented bumper to each other. Horrified. Frightened. Stunned stupid.
The truth is pretty hard to ignore, but each of us knows a different version of it. To Will, Nigel Adams is the Disneyland hit-and-run driver. To me, he ran down Michaela’s parents and left a four-year-old girl to weep alone in the street.
Just then there is a grunt from the doorway to the house and the lights flick on overhead.
Nigel himself stands in the doorway. Without saying a word, he crosses the floor and stands between us, arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the damaged vehicle. I watch his eyes travel from the small scrape on the bumper to the larger indentation on the hood to the shattered glass with the distinct impression of a human head at its center.
It’s as if a storm cloud passes over Nigel’s face. Slowly, methodically, as if trying to prevent further destruction, he lowers the tarp back over the front of the SUV and says in a quiet voice, “Go home, Will. And Joules, get inside the house. Now.”
chapter 21
Will’s face, as he passes through the garage door, is a mix of disgust for Nigel and concern for me. He pauses, willing, I think, to brav
e Nigel’s wrath if I ask him to stay; wondering if I’m at all worried for my own safety. And I am, believe me, but I nod toward the backyard to let him know it’s fine for him to leave. He lifts his hand in a half-wave and disappears into the shadows.
Now it’s just me and Nigel.
It’s not a storm The Weather Show can track. Nigel is eerily quiet as he leads me back to the house and locks the door. To be honest, now I’m terrified. I mean, what do I really know about this man? He might wear an apron to protect his rocker jeans while he bakes croissants, and he might do dorky things to prove to his daughter he really is worthy of her love and respect. He might have a great croaker of a cigarette-scarred voice that makes millions of girls swoon all across the globe, and he might have publicists forgetting to go home and feed their parakeets, but I know very little of what to expect here. One thing I know for sure: he fooled me good.
I’d never have thought he was capable of this. Plowing into a pair of tourists and taking off, then burying the evidence beneath a tarp in his garage. I came into this house, saw the sad father in him surface and formed my opinion of him based on that and his generous nature.
The question is: what else is Nigel Adams capable of?
In the living room he turns to face me. His arms hang by his sides and one fist tightens into a ball. He won’t hit Joules. Surely she’d have warned me if things were bad like that.
I take a step backward. He’s standing between me and the door. I can’t run, I’d never make it past him. Besides, heading back through the yard isn’t an option, he’d catch me before I got the locked door open.
I have Joules’s cellphone. I could lock myself in her room and call 911.
He blinks, and right away I feel like an idiot. This is Nigel. He adores his daughter. There’s no freaking way he would harm her—he lives for her love.
Still, I can’t be in the same house with the man who destroyed Michaela’s life and doesn’t have the guts to face up to it. So I do something I know will absolutely crush him. I brush past, head out the back door and through the neighbor’s shadowy yard, and just keep walking.
The hills aren’t safe at night. In the dark, navigating the twisty, turny, rocky paths would be dangerous, and too scary for a girl like me to attempt. Out here there are probably rattlesnakes and lizards. There are certainly coyotes, and once, a couple of years ago, there were reports of some kind of big cat—a cougar, I think. It had been snacking on neighborhood pets went the story. I don’t know anyone who actually saw it, but I didn’t venture out much by myself just the same.
