Revenge 3

by JJ Knight

  We cross into the park and walk to the swings, which are empty now. The kids who were on the swings are wandering off, lighting cigarettes and laughing in the darkness.

  “Still listening.” I grab the chains of a swing and take a seat.

  Dylan gets behind me and backs up, holding me firmly by the hips. He gives me a big push, and I sail through the air.

  “The intervention gave me a kick,” he says. “On Christmas Day, I had dinner with my family and then packed a suitcase. I got in my car and drove out to a cabin, and then I did what I needed to do.”

  “Therapy?”

  “Sure.”

  He keeps pushing me, sending me higher and higher on the swing. The motion starts to make me feel lightheaded.

  For a few minutes, the only sound is the squeak of the chains against the metal loop high overhead. It’s still a kids’ swing, so when I reach the lowest point of the swing, I have to raise my knees and tuck my legs under me.

  I twist my head back over my shoulder to look at Dylan. Is he going to finish the story? I’m dying to know what he did at the cabin. I have a feeling he drank a lot.

  I can’t imagine wanting to be alone in a cabin. He must have been in a terrible place, emotionally, to choose that.

  His face is blank, like he’s lost in his head. He keeps giving me pushes, but softer now, to my relief.

  I turn my head back around and look at my knees. There they are, sticking out of the bottom of my skirt. My legs are different now, different from when I was a little kid who sat on swings. I had such pudgy little calves back then, until they stretched out.

  Dylan’s not talking. I slow myself down with my feet and them jump off the swing. I come around and lean against the upright pole, watching him think.

  His face and form are striking right now, under the harsh yellow light of the street lamp. This could be a shot from a music video, with him looking so serious and sad. He’s gorgeous when he smiles, but when he’s sad, it just rips me apart.

  “Wanna walk back?” I ask.

  He blinks, coming out of a daze.

  “Sure.” He reaches for my hand again, like it’s the most normal thing. We walk back in the direction of the firehall.

  “It’s so warm here at night,” I say.

  “Yeah, California’s great. Where were we? The talent show?”

  I glance up at him. No, he has not been talking about a talent show at all. He was definitely having a whole conversation inside his head. I wish I could get a peek inside that head of his. He hasn’t said anything else about what his wife did, and I’m dying to know if she actually shot someone. Maybe I can google for information, if I can find his old last name.

  Oh, but I shouldn’t spy on him, even if it’s just on the internet. Or should I? If I’m going to be his girlfriend, I should know what I’m getting into.

  Dylan chuckles, but not at anything I’m saying, because I haven’t said a word in minutes. The only other sounds are traffic and our feet on the sidewalk.

  “I shaved off my beard and brought the guitar into town for a talent contest,” he says.

  I smile, glad to have him returning to reality and letting me in. “The same guitar you have now?”

  “That’s the one. It was up at the cabin when I got there, like a sign. Do you believe in signs? It was a sign that you walked up to me that day in your blue shoes. Like fate. I don’t want to believe it was a setup.”

  I smile up at him. Of course it was fate. And it makes my throat feel tight to hear him talk about me, from his perspective.

  Dylan squeezes my hand with his, while his free hand swooshes in front of him to help him explain. “So, I played a couple of my songs. And I won the top prize for the night, which was a pitcher of beer. But then after, a guy comes up to me and says I have real talent. He says he knows all about the music industry, from the inside. The guy looks familiar, but I’ve got no idea who he is. This town is in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like you’d expect to see any music executives. Anyway, I share my pitcher of premium beer with the guy, and he tells me about his big plan to make me the most famous rock star in the world.”

  “And?”

  “You know the rest.”

  We’re almost back at the firehall now, so I’ve got to get him to hurry up and finish telling me everything. I step in front of him on the sidewalk and throw my arms around his shoulders.

  “No, I don’t know the rest.”

  He leans forward and stops short of kissing me. His lips are an inch from mine.

  “My sponsor rented me this place and flew me here to LA,” he says. His gritty voice vibrates against my lips with every word.

  I resist the urge to stand on my toes and kiss him.

  “Your patron paid for your trip here? And what else?”

  “I don’t know. After that night in the bar, everything has been by email, and very sparse. Only instructions. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I shouldn’t have told you, but I did.”

  He nuzzles his face against mine, brushing my lips with his. But he doesn’t kiss me.

  “If it’s a secret, why did you tell me?”

  “I want you to know it’s okay. I know your secret, Jess.”

  “What secret?” My heart starts to race.

  My own secret comes to mind in a flash. I’d almost forgotten about the two thousand dollars. Morris Music promised me that much as a bonus for sleeping with Dylan, and getting him into a meeting next week.

  If Dylan knows about the money I’m getting for having sex with him… I don’t know what will happen. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again. I’ll be too ashamed. What we have will be ruined, destroyed by my pathetic greed.

  I wait for him to reveal my secret.

  “Jess, I figured out that you work for my patron,” he says. “At first, I thought you were following me around for Morris. But now I’ve got you figured out. You’re a double agent. You work for Q.”

  “Q?”

  He kisses me lightly and pauses. “I admire your ability to keep secrets, Jess. Don’t worry. I won’t tell them I know.”

  He kisses me again, his lips wet and heavy on mine. I feel weak again, but luckily his arms are around my back. He holds me steady as he kisses me. Our mouths fit together perfectly, and we’re breathing as one.

  My body is electric, tuned to this music he plays with my body. This music is so beautiful, it fills me up and crushes me with sorrow and joy.

  In the back of my mind, I struggle to figure out what’s happening right now, but Dylan’s kisses give me a type of amnesia.

  He pulls away, leaving me gasping.

  “I have to leave right now,” he says. “Sorry.”

  Chapter 3

  I stammer, “You have to leave?”

  “Immediately.”

  We’re standing on the sidewalk, nearly back at the firehall.

  “Do you mean we have to go back inside?” I ask.

  Dylan glances around like he thinks someone’s watching us. I get a chill. Maybe we are being watched. He pulls out his phone and raises his eyebrows as he curses at the screen.

  “Got another date?” I ask jokingly.

  “Time flies. I’ve actually got to be at a gig tonight,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been getting a lot of calls tonight. I got another phone call right before you showed up. I was going to tell you, but then I saw your face and forgot.”

  “You have a gig tonight?”

  “Last minute. Someone who works for Q called and gave me the location. They just confirmed. I’m really sorry, Jess, but you can’t come with me. I have to do this myself. No distractions.”

  I back up, pulling away from his embrace. This gig tonight is news to me. I thought we’d be spending the evening together, at the very least.

  Part of me wants to stomp my foot and demand to go with him to the gig. But I don’t want to upset him.

  Dylan lunges out toward the street, his arm in the air.

  A taxi slows and pul
ls to a stop alongside us.

  Dylan leans in through the open passenger window and hands the driver some money.

  “See that my friend gets home safely,” he says, giving the driver my home address.

  In a daze, I walk over and get into the back of the cab.

  Dylan’s eyes are wild, gleaming and bright as they dart around, taking in everything. He may have told me what he thought was everything, but I still know nothing about him.

  What did he do alone at the cabin? And why would he agree to let some mysterious stranger manage his career? He’s not some dumb kid who knows nothing of the world. I have a feeling he could have come to LA on his own. He had the money to go off to a cabin, and there was something about the way he talked about his family… maybe it was just the idea of them having Christmas dinner together… but it makes me think they’re not exactly poor.

  Who was he before he became Dylan?

  Settled into the back of the taxi, I roll down the window. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Just feeling energetic. I always get this way before a performance.” He pats the roof to signal the driver to go.

  I wave my hand to say goodbye. He’s already walking away, taking big strides away from me.

  “Break a leg,” I call out.

  The driver pulls away from the sidewalk, and that’s it. I’m going back home. Already.

  My phone vibrates, so I pull it out and try to ignore the cab driver, who keeps looking back at me in the rear view mirror.

  There are a dozen text messages from my roommate, Amanda. I guess she did try to text me a bunch before she phoned.

  Her messages are strange.

  Amanda: OMG Riley’s back right now and we’re in your room. She’s freaking out.

  Amanda: Come home right now.

  Amanda: Riley has something she needs to tell you. In person.

  Amanda: Jess! When are you coming home? Answer me. Are you dead? I’m getting worried! And Riley’s still freaking out.

  As I read the messages, the tenderness between my legs starts to feel like cramps. Now that Dylan isn’t around to distract my body, it’s giving me grief.

  I frown at my phone. This roommate drama sucks. I want nothing more than to get home and curl up in bed with a cup of tea.

  I look up to the front and catch the driver’s eyes in the mirror, looking at me.

  “You should get a dog,” he says.

  WTF? Is this guy for real? I pretend to not hear him, and keep my focus on my phone.

  He hums along with the radio for a minute, then says, “My dog had puppies. Here, look at these nice puppies.”

  He hands back a printed-out photo of a Yorkshire Terrier, and a litter of small puppies.

  “Very cheap,” he says. “You want one, right? Four… no, three hundred dollars. You pick. You get first pick.”

  “A dog,” I say, letting out a laugh. “I don’t know if my boyfriend would like that.”

  “Just a little one. Or not. That’s okay. I understand.” He looks away from me, shifting back into solitude.

  I’m sure he can tell I was lying about having a boyfriend. He saw that Dylan didn’t kiss me goodbye. Boyfriends always give you a kiss goodbye.

  I wonder where I stand with him.

  When I got to Dylan’s place, he seemed happy to see me. He kissed me and said I was beautiful.

  I wish I could take those few seconds and keep them playing over and over in my brain. Instead, I have this image of his back. He’s turned away from me, running off to go play some gig that I’m not allowed to come along to. Every time I blink my eyes, he gets further away.

  My feelings about Dylan run to the extremes. This last week has been a roller coaster of highs and lows.

  Dylan came in through my bedroom window last night, and he was so charming. I hoped we’d start dating and do normal things. I should have guessed by the fact he put a ladder against my house and climbed in my window that things weren’t going to settle down and be normal. Not even for a minute.

  Still…

  I wouldn’t trade the last twenty-four hours away for anything. I might be careening between the highest highs and the lowest lows of my life, but I’m alive. I’m feeling all these great and powerful emotions.

  What I love about music is how it makes you feel. There’s something exquisite about a sad song that rips your heart out. And I like the songs that lift you up and make you believe in miracles.

  The way Dylan makes me feel…

  He must truly be a musician, because he’s turning my life into music—the kind you get addicted to, and keep playing over and over because it feels so good.

  The cab lurches through a turn, bringing me back to reality. We’re running a red light, but the driver seems calm.

  He glances back and says, “Are you going to answer that?”

  My phone is ringing again. Right in my hands and I didn’t even notice.

  “Stupid Amanda,” I grumble.

  Only it isn’t Amanda calling, but Nan.

  I answer the phone, trying to keep my voice light so she won’t worry.

  “Sorry, Jess. Did I wake you up?”

  I chuckle and tell her no. She keeps forgetting about the time difference, no matter how many times I’ve reminded her this past week.

  “Do you know where I can get cardboard boxes?” she asks.

  Her voice is so sweet to my ears, but her words are getting me worried.

  “Why do you need boxes?” I ask.

  She coughs. “There’s no need for you to worry. I’m fine. The doctor says it’s just a sprain. He gave me a prescription, but I’m not going to take those pills. You start taking one thing, and then you have to take another thing. Pretty soon you’re taking a whole medicine cabinet and nobody knows what’s what and then it’s a whole mess, isn’t it? Are you sure I didn’t wake you up?”

  “Slow down, Nan. You’ve got a sprain?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  I cup my hand around my mouth and the phone, so the driver will have to strain to overhear.

  “What did you sprain, exactly?” I ask.

  “The part between my hand and my arm.”

  “Your wrist? What happened? What does it have to do with cardboard boxes?”

  She sighs noisily. This is just like Nan. She always acts like having to explain what happened is the worst part of anything happening.

  “Mr. Johnson is worried about liability,” she says. “He thinks I’m going to sue him. Can you imagine? I took a tumble down my own stairs, in my own house, and he think I’m going to hire a fancy lawyer and sue him. The man is ridiculous.”

  I groan to myself. The stairs and house aren’t hers anymore. Mr. Johnson is the owner of the company that bought Nan’s farm from the bank. They’ve been letting her live in the farmhouse, since they weren’t using it for anything, but it sounds like that’s ending sooner than anyone expected.

  Nan keeps talking, going off on Mr. Johnson. Now she’s complaining about a new fence they put up, and how they didn’t use the local lumber yard. To hear Nan talk about the new owners, you’d think they were trying to destroy the whole town.

  “Slow down,” I say again. “Back it up. Have they given you an eviction notice?”

  She sniffs.

  I know she’s trying to hold herself together, but that one sniff tells me more than any of her rambling words.

  Nan is crying, and I’m not there.

  My heart breaks for her.

  I’m about to start crying myself, but I hold onto one thing: I still have the plane ticket. I can be home in a day, if she really needs me.

  Gently, I ask her, “Have you told Uncle Danny?”

  “He’s got me an apartment all lined up.” She sniffs again. “Jess, he wants to send movers over to pack everything. I don’t want movers touching all my things. They’re insured, but they don’t care about what they break. I want to pack the photo albums myself, which is why I need cardboard boxes.”

  �
��We’ve got some boxes folded up in the garage, next to Uncle Danny’s car. He’d better get that car out of there.”

  “He knows.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. My uncle is her youngest child, and the most responsible one, which isn’t saying much for the others. Uncle Danny doesn’t do much to help Nan, but at least he hasn’t been sucking her dry for money. Now that my other uncle has left town to get away from the failed car dealership, Danny’s all we’ve got.

  “Are you still there?” she asks.

  “I’m right here.”

  “You sound like you’re a million miles away.” She laughs. “You’re thinking about a boy, aren’t you?”

  I have to smile at that. If only she knew the truth.

  For the last few minutes, I’ve been thinking only about her. In fact, this is the first time in a week that I haven’t been thinking about a boy.

  “Mind your own beeswax,” I say with a laugh, using one of her sayings.

  “You are old enough to fall in love,” she says.

  My cheeks flush hot. There’s no way the taxi driver heard her say that, but I’m still embarrassed.

  “Jess, love is good,” she says. “Don’t let any of the things you’ve seen make you afraid. Love is good.”

  I whisper into the phone, “I love you, Nan.”

  “I love you, too. Now go back to sleep.”

  Smiling, I say goodbye and put my phone away. We didn’t talk about money, but when I get the two thousand dollar bonus from work, I’ll send it to my grandmother. The decision makes me feel good.

  The cab driver calls back to say we’ve arrived. I hadn’t noticed we weren’t moving.

  I step out into the darkness and shiver.

  Now for the roommate drama.

  What is this big surprise that’s waiting for me at home?

  I race up the steps and yank open the door.

  I hear two girls talking in the living room, chatting over the sound of the TV.

  I walk down the hallway and stop in shock at the doorway.

  A familiar face looks up at me from the couch.

  “Hey, little sister,” she says.

  Chapter 4

  “Arielle?”

  I’m so shocked to see my half-sister that I slump against the doorway.