Jenn glanced over at the clock on the hotel bedside table to find that it read 1:06. What kind of mother returned her son’s phone call after one o’clock in the morning? And okay, maybe that was unfair. Maybe a mother who was used to her son being in exotic time zones would call whenever she could, hoping he’d be available. Plus, the messages he’d left had stressed how urgent it was that she call him immediately …
“You could call her right back,” she suggested.
Danny nodded, looking down at the phone somewhat expectantly. “I could,” he said. “But I’m waiting to see if …”
The phone beeped.
“Jackpot,” Dan said. “She left a message.” He dialed his voice mail as he came over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know this is probably reading as really cowardly but—”
“Baby, you know I don’t think that,” Jenn told him.
He put his hand on her foot, holding on to her through the blanket as if he needed that contact as he listened to Ivette’s message. Jenn couldn’t hear what his mother said, but he made a face as he listened, then winced again and said, “Jesus,” as he hung up.
“I gotta call Zanella,” he said, already redialing his phone. “Apparently Ivette didn’t lose her phone, it just ran out of juice and she didn’t have her charger. She’s home now and …”
Izzy must’ve picked up—no doubt thrilled to be awakened at this ungodly hour—as Danny said, “Yeah, Z, it’s Gillman. Sorry to wake you, man, but I just got a call from Ivette. She’s back and she left a message saying that Greg’s got a bender going—she doesn’t sound all that sober herself—but she said he’s threatening to go over to Eden’s to get Ben and …” He paused, then replied, “Yeah. Apparently CPS contacted them and Greg went bullshit. I don’t know how he did it, but he found out where Eden’s been living and …” Another pause and Dan’s body language changed, and his voice went up a full octave. “What the hell? When?”
He looked at Jenn, and put his phone on speaker, so she could hear what Izzy was saying.
“… Eed and I were just having an argument about whether or not to call you. We really don’t know when he left the apartment, but we’re pretty sure he never made it to the CVS. The clerk there’s been on all night, working the register by the door. He says he didn’t see Ben come in.”
“Hang on,” Jenn said. “Wait. Are you saying that—”
“Ben’s gone,” Dan finished for her grimly.
“Eden’s spitting fire,” Izzy reported. “She’s ready to go grab Greg by the balls and twist ’em off …”
“Yeah, well, tell her to hang on,” Dan said, “because from what Ivette said, Greg’s only in the nefarious plotting stages and—”
“I don’t think she’s going to buy it,” Izzy said. “Ivette isn’t exactly the most trusted source in news. Besides, there’s no saying that Greg didn’t already call the posse from Crossroads and … Seriously, bro, I’m not going to be able to stop her from going over there. She’s already starting to walk it, and, well … I thought you might want to be there for the impending family reunion. I know the timing sucks, wedding night and all, but—”
“It’s okay. We’ll meet you over there,” Jenn said as she got out of bed and started searching for her underwear.
“Thanks, your bride-ness,” Izzy said. “But, Danbo? I haven’t said anything to Eden yet because I didn’t want to freak her out, you know, more than she’s already freaking out? But I keep thinking that this might not be Greg. Eden’s address was also on that police report that got filed tonight. If the goon squad who’s after Neesha has someone in the local PD in their pocket? They could’ve been watching the place. And when Ben went out for his little late-night walk? He could’ve walked right into their hands. And if they think he knows where Neesha is …?” He exhaled loudly, his breath making a rushing sound against his phone’s microphone. “Sorry to be going all Charlie’s Angels episode on you—you know, heavy with the overblown drama with the diabetic kid being tortured for information he doesn’t have—but I already went back to the apartment and got Greg’s weapon. Just in case. I’m locking it in the trunk for now, because guns and Greg don’t mix, but I wanted you to be aware of what I’m thinking. That maybe we should ramp it up to DefCon three or even two. Shit, I say that and it sounds nuts, but every instinct in my body is screaming that we shouldn’t leave Jenni or Eden alone at the apartment until we really figure out what’s up.”
“I hear you,” Dan told him as he watched Jenn hang up her rented wedding gown and slip it into the plastic garment bag that the Fudds had given her. “And crazy or not, I agree. Maybe you should bring Eden over here, to the hotel, while we go talk to Greg and Ivette.”
“Yeeeeah,” Izzy said, drawing out the word. “That’s not going to happen. Look, I gotta go chase after her. See you in about fifteen?”
“I’ll be there.” As Danny ended the call, Jenn glanced over to find him looking at her, as she finished putting on the clothes she’d been wearing before they’d gotten married.
I’ll, he’d said.
“No,” she told him. “Nope. I won’t stay here, so don’t even bother suggesting it. There’s no way I’m letting you attend that circus parade on your own. Nuh-uh. No way. Not a chance in hell, Gillman. Wear your uniform, by the way. Full-on white power ranger—in case it gets noisy and the police show up.”
Dan smiled at her, but it was rueful. “In case?” he repeated. “I think you mean when. This is really going to suck.”
“It’s nothing that we can’t handle.”
He kissed her—hard—before he went past her to find his shirt and shoes. “Circus parade is a good way to describe it. In the rain, with a serious outbreak of diarrhea among the elephants, a squadron of evil clowns, and a lion or two on the loose.” He paused to look at her. “Still sure you want to go?”
“Positive,” she told him. “Evil clowns? Can’t wait. Throw in Greg, the dancing douchebag, and some cotton candy … I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He laughed as he tied his shoes. “I love it when you say douchebag.”
“I know.” Jenn smiled back at him as she gave up trying to make her hair look as if she hadn’t just gotten out of bed. Instead, she simply pulled it back into a ponytail. “Hey, I’ll make a deal with you. Make it through this without killing anyone, and when we get back here?” She paused dramatically. “I’ll let you be on top.”
He laughed, but then asked, “You really think we’re coming back here?” Because, in silent agreement, they’d gathered up all of their things.
“A woman can dream, can’t she?” Jenn hoisted the wedding gown over her shoulder as she smiled at him and led the way out the door.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
SATURDAY, MAY 9, 2009
1:15 A.M.
If someone had designed a level of hell especially for Eden, this would be it.
Stuck in a car with a man who’d just announced that he was leaving, heading toward a showdown with her jellyfish of a mother and ugly-mean dick of a stepfather, anxious that Dan was going to blame her for losing track of their little brother, and worried sick about Ben.
Izzy broke the strained silence. “I didn’t think to check Ben’s blood-sugar-meter thing before we left the apartment. You know, to see when he did his last reading.” He glanced at Eden. “Did you?”
She shook her head at yet another fail. “No.”
“How often does he need to do that, you know, check his insulin levels?”
“Before meals,” she recited, “before things like tests at school, before driving—although he doesn’t drive yet, before and after strenuous physical activity, in times of high stress, or if he’s just feeling wonky.”
“So … Not so much before running out to the store.”
Eden stared at the road. “Nope. And especially not if he left quickly—to escape the screaming.”
Izzy made an exasperated sound. “We weren’t screaming.”
“
Yeah, well, he didn’t know that we weren’t going to start—did he.”
Izzy sighed. “Eden—”
“Chht!” she said, making the hissing sound that the Dog Whisperer used on his TV show, to discipline an unruly animal.
“I don’t—”
“Chht!”
He had the audacity to laugh. “Well, that’s fucking productive.”
She couldn’t let that one go. “Productive? There’s no more productive. You’re leaving. You’re done. And that’s fine. That’s great, actually. I’m glad you’re finally being honest with me. But what I don’t get is why you’re still here. In fact, you should just drop me off and go.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
Eden turned to face him. “Why?” she asked hotly. “Because with Ben gone, I suddenly ‘need’ you again? According to your definition—forget about what I really feel, what I really need! Because I couldn’t possibly be sincere or honest. I couldn’t possibly be anything but mercenary. If Ben’s in trouble, I need you, but if not, I don’t, so get lost so I can have my freedom to go screw an entire football team!”
“That’s not what I meant,” he argued.
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “Because it sure sounded like that to me. And why do you get to decide when I do or don’t need you, anyway? Why does it have to be life or death, if I need you or I don’t? Why can’t I just … need you—on an average, I don’t know, Saturday morning, when the sun is shining and the biggest challenge is deciding whether to go to the beach or the park for a bike ride? Why can’t I need you just to make the sun shine a little more brightly or to make the sky be a little more blue?”
Izzy glanced at her again, his face somber and mysterious in the glow from the dashboard, as he pulled up in front of Greg and Ivette’s house.
And Lord, Eden’s stomach twisted, because she didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to see her mother, to watch as her lips tightened disapprovingly. And wasn’t that covered in irony—the fact that Ivette could disapprove of anyone, considering her own track record?
Eden wanted to throw herself into Izzy’s arms and beg him to drive away, to just go—anywhere but here.
But it was possible that Ben was in that house or worse—that Greg had had him picked up by the god squad—lowercase g on god, because any so-called god who approved of those idiots’ decidedly non-Christian actions didn’t deserve the respect that came with a capital letter.
Besides, Izzy had been adamant that he didn’t want her throwing herself at him again, for any purpose. So she folded her arms across her chest and held on to herself instead. She could do this. She had to do this …
Over in the driver’s seat, Izzy cleared his throat after her little outburst. “You really expect me to believe—”
“No,” Eden said, cutting him off. “I don’t expect you to believe anything I say. You’ve made it more than clear that you don’t trust me, and maybe I deserve that. Maybe I earned it. And maybe you won’t ever love me—maybe you can’t. Maybe it’s entirely my fault, maybe I broke that in you, too. But you are not allowed to tell me that I don’t love you. You can reject it. You can discount it. You can be a total dickweed and laugh in my face and mock me for it. But you cannot tell me that I don’t feel what I feel.”
And with that, she pushed open the door and climbed out of the car on legs that were shaking. And great, now she was going to throw up, but she closed the door and briefly bent over, hands on her knees, closed her eyes, and breathed.
Izzy being Izzy, he refused to give her space, crossing quickly around the front of the car, in case she needed a hand.
She pushed him away as she started for the walkway to the hell-house. “You’re not allowed to touch me anymore. Just … go back to California.”
He stood in front of her, blocking her path and making her pull up short. “We’re supposed to wait for Dan and Jenn.”
“Danny’s not the boss of me.”
“And he’s not the boss of me, either,” Izzy told her evenly. “Sometimes he’s an asshole, and sometimes he’s right, and this is one of the times that he’s right. And you know it, too.”
He glanced down the street, where, yes, those were headlights approaching. It was Dan and Jenn’s rental car, and both he and Eden watched as it approached.
Or rather Eden watched, because Izzy was still gazing at her as if he were trying to read her mind.
“You’re not allowed to look at me anymore, either,” she told him. “So just stop.”
He glanced over at the approaching car. Jenn was driving and she pulled up in front of the house and parked, waving at them as if they’d gathered for a family picnic.
But then Izzy touched Eden’s arm and looked at her, both actions clearly meant to be in-her-face violations of her latest rules. His words, however, were dead serious. “Eden, do you really … love me?”
And for a half a heartbeat, as she looked up at him, she thought maybe—just maybe—he was finally starting to believe her. But then he added, “Or do you just hate to lose?”
She jerked her arm away. “Screw you.”
“Sorry,” he said, wincing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, like it was a bad thing, because I’ve got it, too, you know? This inability to accept that it’s time to quit. And that’s what I’m trying to do here. With you. Be a grown-up about the fact that we’re together for all the wrong reasons.” He glanced over to the other car as Jenni and Dan got out. “And I just wanted you to think about that and … You’re right—I don’t get to tell you how you feel, but … I just want you to know that … Well, shit, I’m eleven—ten and a half—years older than you, and most of the time I don’t know what the hell this is that I’m feeling.”
“Well, right now I hate you,” Eden said. “About as much as I ever have. I’m very clear about that.”
He nodded, still somber, as if he were actually taking her at her word. “There have been times that I’ve hated you, too,” he told her. “I’ve tried, but I just can’t manage to make myself feel indifferent.”
What was he saying? “Look, if you’re really going,” Eden said, wiping away the tears that kept springing into her eyes, “please, just go already.”
“Hey.” Jennilyn greeted them, looking from Eden to Izzy and back again, clearly picking up on the tension between them. “So this is going to be hard, huh?”
“Izzy’s got to go back to San Diego,” Eden told her new sister-in-law, who turned to Izzy with surprise.
But he was shaking his head. “Are you kidding? And miss this episode of Dysfunction Junction? I call dibs on hog-tying Greg. Assuming Greg’s gonna need to be hog-tied, which … is a pretty sure bet.”
Jenn was the only one who laughed. Dan was already grimly starting up the stairs, leading the way—taking the point, as it was called in the SEAL teams. He was still wearing his dress uniform, which was a nice touch when dealing with their mother, who’d always loved shiny things.
“We’re going to get through this,” Jenn told Eden, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Maybe it’ll be easy. Maybe Ben’s inside, and together we can get your mom to agree that living with Danny and me in San Diego is a good solution for everyone—because it is. We can do this. We will do it.”
It was all Eden could do not to cling to her, weeping. But Dan was already knocking on the door—the buzzer had stopped working a long time ago.
She let Jenn hold her hand and lead her over to the foot of the cracked and broken steps, with Izzy—who hated her, too—in the rear, clearly not going anywhere.
Eden and Dan’s mother came to the door with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“Whozat, Ivy?” someone—Greg, had to be—shouted from the back of the house.
“It’s Danny,” Ivette shouted back in a voice heavy with nicotine-laced Southern sugar. She didn’t let them in, she just looked out at them through the screen, leaning close to whisper in a drunk’s version of sotto voce, “Why’d you bring
her? You know seeing her makes Greg go all apeshit crazy.”
The her in question was Eden, and as Izzy watched, she stood a little taller, chin high. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words … He knew damn well that words could hurt pretty fricking badly.
“Nice to see you, too, Ivette,” Eden said as Dan spoke over her. “We don’t want any trouble. I know it’s late, but I got your message and … We’re looking for Ben. Is he here?”
“Benjamin?” she said as she took another sip of her drink, as if that would improve her memory.
It was pretty freaking amazing, seeing her in the flesh.
Eden had described Ivette to Izzy, back when they’d gotten married. He’d always thought she’d been exaggerating, but in truth she’d been pretty damn accurate. The woman was in her late forties—some years younger than Dan Gillman the elder, which made sense, because she had been his second wife. They’d married out of necessity when she was still a teenager, after he’d gotten her pregnant. She was formerly, fadingly pretty in an aging porn-star way. And if Izzy looked hard enough, he could see traces of Eden’s beauty in the shape of her face.
But the similarities ended there. Ivette’s eyes were a watery, washed-out blue and her hair was bottle blond, and her lips had been recently collagened, giving her a solid whiff of Stiffler’s Mom, if Stiffler’s Mom had been both ill-educated and a substance abuser. She was high on whatever meds she’d stolen from her most recent client. Izzy could see the drugs, along with the blurring effects of alcohol, in her out-of-focus eyes.
The woman didn’t open the screen to hug Danny or Eden, despite the fact that it had been well over a year since she’d seen either of her children. Of course, her hands were full.
Yeah.
“Is Ben here?” Eden pushed.
Her mother turned to scream back into the house. “Greg, is Benjy here?”
Just what they needed—Greg adding his personal brand of crazy to this nightmare.
Izzy stepped forward, reaching out to nudge Danny, who was clearly overwhelmed, and not in a good way. “Hey, man, why don’t we just go in and look around?”
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