I let Frank’s words sink in. Then I vomited into his lap, giving everyone a better reason to stare at me.
CHAPTER 19
Mo said she’d check on me later and stayed behind to tell the waitress about my mess. Frank and I needed some time alone. We couldn’t talk freely at Denny’s, especially after I spewed latte over my uncle, the table, and the booth.
While Frank loaded my bike in the back of his Suburban, I sat in the front seat, shaking. My reaction freaked me out as much as the confirmation that Lloyd was in town. My body acted on its own accord, trying to convince my brain to panic more.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Frank concentrated on the road, his demeanor calmer now.
“Why do you think anything could happen to me?” Now my brain was catching up, frantically analyzing Frank’s concern.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “But your stepfather was a meth cook and dealer. That spells trouble on its own. He has no right to contact you for any reason.”
If Frank worried about my safety, did he also worry about his own? “What did you say to him?”
“I said I’d kill him if he came near you.”
“And?”
“He laughed. So, I picked up a sledge hammer to prove my point. After he left, I called the police.”
Frank confirmed that Lloyd had been driving a ’67 Mustang, the same one that followed me from the Book Nook. Once we arrived back at the trailer, I couldn’t help but scan the street for the Mustang, believing he’d be waiting for me.
We went inside quickly. I sat on the sofa, which was still made up as Frank’s bed from the night before. He pulled the sheet and blanket around my shoulders.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “Do you want some coffee or tea? Something hot?”
I drew my knees up to my chin. “I don’t want any friggin’ tea. Why didn’t you tell me about this? And don’t say you were trying to protect me.”
“Well, that’s the truth. I didn’t want you to be afraid.” Frank joined me on the sofa, a cup of instant coffee in his hand even though I’d said I didn’t want anything to drink. “For now, don’t go anywhere alone. I’ll drive you to school and choir practice, and to your therapy appointments.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
The muscles in his neck tightened, but he didn’t answer.
“You weren’t, huh? You demand our honest little chitchats, but you keep something this important from me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you thought he was following you Friday?” Frank asked.
“I didn’t know for sure it was him, but you did. You saw him. You spoke to him.”
“I understand you’re angry …” he began.
“You have no idea.”
“I do now,” he said. “I was wrong. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was sure the police would handle it and that you wouldn’t have to deal with one more thing.”
“The police can’t help,” I said. “He hasn’t done anything yet.”
“The man’s wanted in New Mexico. That’s reason enough for them to look hard. I gave them the make and model of the car and the license plate number. I also gave them a physical description.”
I hadn’t seen Lloyd since I was nine. My mostly hazy memory of him had clear enough edges to form an image for my nightmares, but not enough to know him if I saw him on the street today.
“What did he look like? I didn’t get a good look because the car windows were so dark.”
“What does it matter?”
“Maybe so I can recognize him if I see him again.” Part of me wanted Frank to paint a picture of someone so wholly pathetic and unassuming that I couldn’t possibly be afraid of him. Yet Frank was afraid. His anger proved it.
“He was tall, thin. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail,” Frank finally offered. “And he had a mustache.”
A shock wave went through my body as I remembered Lloyd kissing me good-night, the edges of his mustache tickling my chin until I had giggled. I raised my hand to my mouth.
“You okay, Arlie?”
I nodded but choked back the urge to vomit for a second time. “He had a large tattoo across his chest, all letters,” I said. “The first letter was an A, but I don’t remember anything else.”
“I think you should talk to the police,” Frank said. “You might remember some details that would help them.”
“Was he burned?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was in the same room as me and Rosa when the explosion happened. He’d have been burned as well.”
“I didn’t notice anything, but then again, he wasn’t around for long,” Frank said. “But we should tell the police about it. A visible scar might make him easier to spot.”
Mom never mentioned if she’d been with Lloyd the year I was in the hospital and rehab. Her fear had seemed so great that I suspected she’d had nothing to do with him after I’d been injured.
“I’m sorry, Arlie.”
“What for?”
“I shouldn’t have let him drive away. I should’ve … I don’t know … detained him.”
My heart sank at the thought. “You could have been hurt. I’m glad you didn’t do anything.”
It was hard to hold on to my anger at Frank for keeping this from me. All I felt now was jealousy that he’d been the one to see Lloyd. I didn’t get a chance to look him in the eye, to tell him he’d rot in hell for Rosa’s death even if the criminal justice system wouldn’t do anything, to tell him he never meant anything to me and Mom.
Frank got up and leaned over a stack of books. He pulled out a leather-bound Bible and opened it. Just as I was about to make a wisecrack about him being religious, I realized it was one of those fake books with hollowed-out insides. Frank had hidden a gun in the secret recess.
He pulled out the gun’s clip and then clicked it back into place.
“It’s fully loaded. Just in case.”
“A gun?”
“I’d like us to go to the shooting range today. I’ll show you what to do,” he said.
“You’re scaring me.” I sloughed off the blanket and stood next to Frank. He grabbed me by the shoulder and squeezed.
“I’m not trying to, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’ve already lost my sister. I’m not going to lose you.”
Frank and I spent most of the afternoon at the range. He went on and on about handgun safety for so long that I finally had to tell him I was ready to shoot, but I wasn’t. The kickback startled me more than I expected and I failed to hit the target, time and time again. He’d assured me that I’d get better with practice, but with Lloyd in town, I really didn’t have any time left.
When we got back to the trailer, Frank wanted to work on the house. He said he needed the physical exertion and I understood. I’d witnessed the Zen state he entered every time he picked up a hammer or turned on a power saw. He asked if I wanted to help, but I sensed he needed the time alone.
I hoped reading a book would calm my mind, but it didn’t. I cleaned the trailer’s bathroom and straightened up the living area, which took all of thirty minutes. Finally, I fired up my computer. Earlier in the week, Miss Browning had asked me to recommend a number for the girls’ group to perform at the community concert in two weeks. Strangely, the task did calm me. Perhaps it was because music made me feel stronger.
I texted Claire and two other group members and asked their opinions. We finally arrived at “Rumor Has It” by Adele because it was high energy with strong backup vocals, perfect since we had seven girls. And I’d heard that other choral groups had used the song in competitions with good results.
The director asked Cody to choose the duet that would be performed. He had the strongest male voice in choir. I believed I had the strongest female voice, but I’d only been a member a short time—and it didn’t seem quite fair to share the spotlight with Cody. Now with my muddled feelings, I doubted my ability to stand next to him sharing s
omething as intimate as a song, something almost more frightening than a kiss.
I put in my earbuds and listened to several Adele tracks, but I couldn’t connect with her breakup album. I’d never been in a relationship that ended badly—or had I?
The slamming of a car door got my attention. I looked through the curtain to see Mo running across the yard toward the trailer. She was in my room within seconds.
She flopped onto the bed. “So, what’s up with Frank? That was freaky, even for him.”
I filled her in. Mo’s jaw dropped when I told her about the gun.
“This is serious. What are you going to do?”
“Frank wants me to talk to the police. He thinks I might remember something about Lloyd that would help them find him faster.”
“Maybe he left town already. Isn’t that possible?”
Mo moved strands of hair from my forehead, worry apparent in the gesture.
“I kind of want to see him.”
“What?”
Maybe it was closure I wanted. Maybe I just wanted to know why it was so important for him to see me. I regretted, though, that I’d spoken the words out loud to my friend, who was probably going to worry herself sick.
“I just meant it’d feel good to tell him to ‘fuck off’ once and for all,” I said.
“Let the police tell him that. While they’re putting him behind bars.”
Mo rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.
“What are you doing?”
“James gave me Cody’s cell number. I’m putting it into your phone in case you want to text him later.”
“He can’t read a text,” I said.
“No, but his phone speaks his messages. Kind of like Siri on the iPhone. So don’t text anything inappropriate.”
“Have you been listening to me? I’ve had a rough day,” I reminded her. “The last thing I need to think about is Cody.”
“He’s exactly what you should be thinking about. Don’t let your stepdad take something else from you.”
My stomach muscles contracted and the queasiness set in again. Was I really using Lloyd to avoid dealing with what happened last night? Last night. It seemed a decade ago. Had I really shut Cody down when all he wanted was to connect with me in the only way he could? I placed my hand over my scar and felt the ridges and pits I couldn’t bear for him to “see.”
“I’ll talk to him at school.”
Mo saw straight through my evasive maneuver. “You really want an audience for something so important? Wouldn’t it be easier to call or text him tonight?”
Neither option could be described as easy.
“Let me think about it. And if a day makes a difference, then Cody’s feelings aren’t as strong as you believe.”
“Your decision, girl, but if it were me, I wouldn’t wait another second to let him know how I felt.” She kissed the top of my head. “Got to get home for dinner. Call or text if you need me.”
Mo crawled across the bed and stood in the doorway. “And don’t worry about your stepfather. They’ll find him and then he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
Frank had said the same thing earlier. They both seemed so sure.
So why wasn’t I?
After another hour, my head was pounding and my nerves were raw from the whine of the table saw and the thwack of Frank’s nail gun. I decided to ask him to stop for the evening.
Nothing about the outside of the house had changed, but Frank had been busy creating a maze of interior walls. I walked from one room to the other by sliding my body sideways through the studs that hadn’t been covered with drywall yet.
“You ready to call it a day?” I asked.
Frank turned to me and wiped the sweat from his face with the front of his T-shirt, revealing a bulging, hairy belly. I grinned.
“Hey, Budweiser and I worked hard to get this body. Don’t make fun.” His joke couldn’t lift the worry that cloaked us.
“You’ve been out here since this morning. Want to take a break? Maybe get a burger and shake at Sonic, and then Putt-Putt?”
My uncle removed his tool belt and sat down. “Out two nights in a row? My, how social you’ve become.”
I sat down next to him. The concrete foundation was cool compared to the air inside the half-finished structure.
“You holding up?” he asked.
“Sure. I guess. Maybe I’d feel better if we went out. It might take my mind off things.”
“And you’ll eat a burger and not just drink a shake? You’ll eat a real meal?”
“Fine. I’ll eat a burger too, but let’s just get out for a while. I can’t take much more of that nail gun. I might be tempted to use it on you.”
Frank kept the windows of the Suburban rolled down as we drove up to the college soccer fields on the mesa overlooking downtown. The evening air whipped my hair around my face, and I struggled to keep it out of my mouth. He parked near the railing on the edge of the road and killed the engine.
“Much better view for dinner.” He rummaged through the Sonic bag to find his burger.
“Agreed.”
“Sorry about the wind. I’m just a little rank from sweating all day,” he said. “Thought we needed the fresh air more than you needed a perfect hairdo.”
I tapped my finger against my nose. “Can’t smell a thing, remember?”
“Jeez. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. I can’t wrap my head around it.”
Sometimes even I forgot. I’d had this chemical sensation for so long that I thought of it as normal—at least for me. “Right now I wish I could smell those fries though. Must be pretty damn delicious for you to attack them like that.”
Frank flashed me a greasy, potatoey grin. “They’re pretty awesome.”
I told him Cody had said he couldn’t imagine giving up the taste and smell of pizza and hamburgers and fries—that grease was the primary food group in his diet because nothing tasted as amazing.
“He’s right. The taste, the mouth feel, the aromas. But even more importantly, memories attach themselves to food.”
I understood mouth feel because textures were the only way I related to food right now. Taste, aroma, and memories definitely had no bearing on my food choices.
“What’s your favorite food memory?” I asked.
“Now that’s a tough one.” Frank put down the fries. He seemed to rifle through the files in his brain until he could hit on just the right memory.
“If I had to choose one thing, I’d say my grandmother’s pecan pralines,” he said. “They weren’t chewy like caramel, but soft and buttery. She’d make them for Thanksgiving and Christmas so I associate them with family. The times when everyone is together.”
I couldn’t identify with the idyllic scene he’d painted. Mom and I had spent the holidays alone. And before the accident, when we lived with Lloyd, it was just the three of us. The last Thanksgiving that I remember with Lloyd, we ate pizza from a gas-station deli and then went to a movie.
“The way you described the holidays sounds nice.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry. I guess you didn’t have any family except your mom and stepfather.”
“It is what it is. You have to stop worrying about saying the wrong thing.”
I slurped my shake and soaked in the last of the warmth the sun could muster. Sunsets in Durango were rarely fiery red because the air was too clear, but tonight a slight pink haze tinted the clouds that streaked across the skies to the west. I loved this town, even when Mom and I stayed at the women’s shelter or in our car when we couldn’t afford the motel. I could walk almost everywhere, and the free trolley could take me to the farthest edges of town I couldn’t reach by foot.
Our time at the Animas View Motel was the happiest because we had hot water and television and a door that locked, but also because of the easy access I had to the Animas Mountain Trailhead. I often hiked up the steep path to the highest point overlooking the Animas Valley and the winding Animas River. Or I’
d take the cutoff to the Sailing Hawks Trail and wind down the rocky path shielded by pine trees. Lloyd was not welcome in a place I’d finally come to see as home.
“When we’re finished with the house and you have some time on your hands, I’d like to show you my favorite trails,” I told Frank. “Some exercise might help with that belly. You could eat more fries that way.”
“Genetics are to blame, not inactivity or french fries. You’re just lucky to have your mom’s and your granddad’s genes. Both were string beans. You could just as easily have ended up a squat, female version of me.”
He laughed at the image in his head. All I could picture was a hobbit.
I dutifully took another few bites of my burger before wrapping up the remainder and stuffing it back into the bag. I put my bare feet up on the dashboard and sucked down the rest of my shake.
“The other night when you said, ‘Regret is a bitch,’ was that from personal experience?”
Frank dug into the bag and retrieved my unfinished burger. He tore it in two and handed me a portion. He took a bite from his half.
“It’s a boring story,” he said, his mouth full. “Now eat some more of that burger, or I’ll puree it at home and force you to drink it.”
“Seriously, Frank. I’d like to know.” I drew my legs onto the seat and leaned into the passenger door.
“I had a girlfriend. It didn’t work out. And yes, it was my fault.”
He took another bite of the burger I’d tried unsuccessfully to discard. His curtness told me I should’ve dropped the conversation.
“There are usually two sides to every story,” I said. “Seems like you’re telling me her side and not yours.”
Frank grinned. “Who’s the grown-up here?”
“I’m old enough to know that right and wrong are pretty subjective. And old enough to know we take on guilt for things we can’t really control.”
I patted his shoulder. I’d come to really care about Frank, and I was interested in his life before Durango.
“Lily was the executive director of the Habitat chapter in Corpus. I met her on a build. I’d volunteered to be the main contractor for the framing portion,” he said. “We started dating and were together about five years.”
Burn Girl Page 12
