by Megan Hart
Marie touched her on the arm so Jenni looked at her. “You okay, hon? No offense, but you look kinda rough. Like you’ve lost weight.”
Jenni caught a glimpse of her reflection in the diner’s mirrored wall. Faint dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks were more hollow, but since when had being skinny ever been a bad thing? “Can’t be too thin, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Marie didn’t look convinced.
“Just a little tired. I’m fine. I’ll get him after I use the bathroom.” In the stall, she pulled a couple of pills from her pocket and slipped them into her mouth to dry swallow them.
Jenni closed her eyes, waiting for the flood of numbness. It took hardly any time at all, probably because what she’d told Maria wasn’t a lie. She was tired. She’d been sleeping like shit lately. So much on her mind, the only way to get to dreamland was by using, and the more she used, the more certain it became that Barry was going to find out she’d been skimming.
Fuck, now she’d started nodding off.
Jenni finished in the bathroom and grabbed a coffee carafe. At Ilya’s table, she stood with a hip cocked. She didn’t pour him a cup, even when he shoved the plain, thick white mug toward her.
"What are you doing here?" Her demand was crisp. Cool. Every word enunciated, since she had to struggle to make sure she wasn’t slurring.
Ilya sat up straighter in the booth. "Getting something to eat, what does it look like?"
"Are you stalking me?" The words hissed out of her.
He started to laugh until he saw that she was serious. "What? No!"
"Look, this is where I work. You can't just show up here. I don't have time for this."
"Time for what? I'm not doing anything." It wasn’t the truth, and they both knew it. Still, he tried to charm her with a smile.
A few months ago, it would have worked.
"You're going to get me in trouble." Jenni glanced over her shoulder with a frown. "Reggie doesn't like kids just hanging around. I can't give you anything for free, don't even ask."
"I don't need free anything. I came to get a burger and fries." Ilya pointed across the room. "There are tons of kids from school here, and he doesn't seem to mind them hanging out."
Jenni fixed him with a long, stern look that was designed to dig right into him. Whatever he thought he was up to, she wasn’t having it. None of it. "I don't need you checking up on me, Ilya."
"I'm not even..." He cut himself off, tossed up his hands and shook his head. "Whatever. I'll just eat and go, okay? Sorry to cause you such distress."
For a second, she almost softened. They’d been friends so long. Too long for it to be like this between them. Too bad she couldn’t figure out how else it ought to be. They wanted different things. They were different people.
Jenni took her coffee pot and returned to her section of the diner. She didn’t look at him again, even though she could feel the burden of his stare all the way across the room. Ilya wanted her attention, and she couldn’t give it to him, not even to fix whatever it was that had gone so spectacularly wrong between them.
She sent Maria over to him with his food. Jenni pretended not to notice when Lisa Morrow and her best friend Deana joined Ilya in the booth. Lisa was putting on a show, giggling and tossing her hair. Her laughter was loud and braying, determined to draw attention to the fact they were sitting together. It was so pathetic, so transparent, but with the drugs filtering through her now, Jenni could not bring herself to care. She’d heard a rumor that last year, Lisa had given Ilya a hand job at Benji Masterson's party. If Ilya wanted Lisa or Deana, he could have them both. If he was trying to make her jealous, he could just keep trying.
“Hey, Bob.” Jenni managed a smile for one of her regulars. “Get you anything else?”
“You know, I b’lieve I’ll take a little of that special dessert you’re so good about putting back for me.” The trucker slid a wad of money across the table to her -- way more than it would take to pay for the eggs and pancakes he’d polished off.
Jenni tucked the cash into her apron pocket and counted out some change. She put it on the table, along with three pills he’d bought. Bob covered both the pills and the money with his hand and slid it toward him. It almost got away from him, one pill rolling toward the table’s edge. He slapped his hand on it.
“Careful there, girl,” he said to her, like it was her fault he’d been clumsy.
She nodded and moved away without a backward glance. She took the money and the check to the cash register and rang him out. Bob passed her on his way through the front door.
“You take care, you hear?” he said.
Jenni gave him another smile. “I always do.”
She heard another swell of harsh and desperate feminine laughter but refused to turn to see what Lisa was laughing about. Jenni went into the kitchen instead. When she came out, Ilya was gone.
Good. She had the rest of her shift to finish, and she didn’t want to get in trouble because Ilya was hanging around. Plus, she didn’t want him to see her talking to Steve. So far, he hadn’t shown up, and there was always the possibility that he wouldn’t. Once again, he hadn’t paged her when he said he would. That was what he did. Made her promises, didn’t keep them, made her wonder if he’d ever promised them in the first place. Made her crazy.
For the rest of the night, she took and delivered orders, occasionally passing out the rest the drugs from her pocket in exchange for cash she went into the bathroom to count. She looked to the door every time it opened.
And then, an hour before she was due to leave, Steve finally came in. Her heart pounded at the sight of him. Excitement, but also a little anxiety. He’d promised her he was keeping the money safe for her, but he also hadn’t given it back to her. He knew better, he’d said. He was older. Smarter. She knew that wasn’t true, but she hadn’t been able to figure out how to get the money back from him, either, and didn’t that make her the dumb one?
Maria sat him in Jenni’s section, way in the back corner, but it took Jenni a few minutes before she could get over to him. She had to make sure her hands weren’t trembling. That she could talk without stuttering.
“Hey,” was all he said when she came up to offer him coffee and water.
It was how he greeted her every time. Same smirking smile. Same casual tone. If Ilya had spoken to her that way, like she barely mattered, Jenni would have hated him for it. But from him, oh, him, it was just how it should be, so instead she hated herself for making it all okay.
“Are you ready to go?”
She nodded. She had a bag packed, mostly empty. There hadn’t been anything she really wanted to take with her. “Yes.”
“You’ll have the rest of the stuff?”
“Yes. All of it.”
“Good.”
She took his order. The usual. Steak and eggs, hash browns, biscuits with butter on the side. He was finishing up as her shift ended. She took his money without slipping him anything along with the change — he got better treatment than that. She’d have something special, something she held back, just for him, but would give it to him in the car when they parked. When he touched her. When he made good on his promise to take her away with him.
“Jennilynn,” Maria said as Jenni was clocking out. “Do you need a ride home? This weather is terrible.”
“I have one, thanks.”
Maria looked concerned. Her mouth, outlined in hot pink lipstick that had feathered into the wrinkles at the corners of her lips, pursed. “You sure? I can ask Reggie if he minds me cutting out a little early.”
“I’m good,” Jenni said and caught sight of Maria’s stare. Uncomfortable and feeling caught out, Jenni frowned. “What?”
“He’s too old for you,” Maria said in a low voice. “And he’s…well, there’s been talk.”
Jenni took a step back. Her heart pounded again, for different reasons this time. For all the care they’d taken, Maria must still have seen something in the way they spoke to each ot
her. Maria was a nosy old bitch, but Jenni stopped herself from saying so.
“What kind of talk?” She expected Maria to say that people had been gossiping about her, and Jenni was ready to tell the older woman where those people could shove their tale-telling.
“He used to hit his wife,” Maria said.
Jenni’s mouth snapped shut so hard her teeth clipped the tip of her tongue. It should have hurt a lot more than it did. It would later. For now, she tasted a hint of blood.
“What?” It was all she could manage to say.
“He hit his wife,” Maria repeated.
“His…wife.” Steve didn’t have a wife. He sometimes spoke with a twisted mouth and scorn of “the baby mama,” but had never mentioned a wife.
Maria nodded. “He used to be married to my cousin’s hairdresser. She was always showing up to work with black eyes, busted lips. Said she was clumsy, but we all knew the truth.”
“How long ago was that?”
Maria hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess it’s been some time, now.”
“People change,” Jenni said, although she knew that wasn’t true.
“I’m just telling you,” Maria said.
“He’s a customer,” Jenni told her.
Maria’s brow furrowed. “Jennilynn…”
“I mean, he’s just a customer.” The lie came out in a steady voice, and Jenni made sure to stare directly into Maria’s eyes. She sounded convincing. “I’m not sure why you need to tell me this. I serve him breakfast, and he tips really well. What do you think is going on, exactly? I mean, do you think I’m sleeping with him?”
It was a trick she’d learned when dealing with her parents. If you acted like whatever it was that they were trying to get you to admit was totally out of line, they always backed down. It worked on Maria, too. The other waitress blinked rapidly and shook her head.
“No, of course not, I mean, that’s just…no, hon, I’m sorry.”
Jenni put a tremble in her voice. “I can’t believe you’d think that about me.”
“No, no. Of course I don’t. It’s just that I don’t want you to get caught up in something you don’t want to be in. That’s all. You’re a young and pretty girl. Men can be pigs. That’s all, hon. I’m sorry.”
“I have to go,” Jenni said.
She went out through the kitchen door, untying her apron and balling it into her fist. A soft drizzle was falling, and Jenni tipped her face up toward it as she gulped in a few gasping breaths. She wanted to laugh at how Maria had backpedaled, but she was afraid if she let so much as a single chuckle escape her she would end up sobbing, instead.
He hit his wife. She couldn’t even be shocked. Steve was rough with her, yeah, but in the way Jenni had learned she liked. Maybe the ex had liked it, too. Jenni swallowed a mouthful of mist, hoping to wash away the bitterness of her disappointment. Okay, so she wasn’t the first. Why should that matter? Because she was obsessed with him? Because she sometimes thought she did love him, or at least the idea of him. Maybe it wasn’t love. How the fuck could she possibly know?
She’d thought about them being together in the future, beyond just getting away from this town. Of course she had, because that’s what he told her he wanted. She’d suspected it was because he thought that was what she wanted to hear. Typical guy. He had no clue about her, no idea who she was. What she really wanted.
"Jenni."
She twisted, surprised at the sound of Ilya’s familiar voice. Shame and guilt flooded her, along with a heady rush of delight that quickly became fear. He’d waited for her, and she couldn’t risk letting him see her with Steve. Bad enough Maria had noticed something. Ilya could never know.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I thought you might need a ride home." He moved closer.
"I have a ride home! Go away, Ilya! You need to go away, right now!" Incredibly, she shoved him hard enough to make him skid on the parking lot gravel. "Get out of here. I don't want you here! What is wrong with you?"
"I love you, that's what's wrong with me!" His shout was hoarse. His voice, cracked. He sounded like he might cry.
Oh, no. Not this. Not here, not now. Steve was waiting for her, and if she didn’t want Ilya to see him, she also didn’t want him to see Ilya. He would be angry. He would keep her money and tell her to fuck off, and she would be totally, completely screwed.
Jenni pushed him again, harder this time. "I don't care, you can't be here. I don't want you here, okay? Just go."
"What did I do wrong?" Ilya cried, refusing to go. "Just tell me that."
She shook her head, unable to tell him that it was too late. Now, not the right time. He’d shouted out his love, sounding desperate and hungry, but he always did. That didn’t make it love. Didn’t make it real.
"You didn't...nothing...it's just that I don't need you here. Okay?"
"It's not okay!"
"Leave me alone, Ilya!"
"Fine. If that's what you want. Fine. Fuck you, Jenni." Ilya backed away, turning from her. "Forget it."
She tried to call him back, but although her mouth opened and closed and her tongue pressed her teeth, nothing came out but a hiss of air. She walked around the corner of the diner. Out of sight. The rain was really coming down now, and it soaked her. She shivered.
He pulled up in his black muscle car, motor rumbling. Rolled down the window. “Get in.”
She did.
Chapter 19
Rebecca
Then
The rattle of rain on the roof of Tristan’s car sounded like pebbles being tossed onto metal. Rebecca had run to his car with her coat over her head, but was still damp by the time she slid into the passenger seat. He had the heat blowing, but she was still chilled enough for her teeth to chatter as he put the car in gear without even greeting her.
They drove in silence for a minute before he said, “I thought maybe you were going to blow me off.”
“My parents wanted me to stay in tonight because of the weather. I had to tell them I was going to study at a friend’s house. Big test, you know?”
He laughed and glanced at her. “And what did you tell your boyfriend?”
“Same thing.” Rebecca studied his profile, his eyes set back on the wet road in front of them. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace private. Don’t worry. Nobody will see us.”
She could have said she wasn’t worried, but both of them would have known the lie the second it left her lips. Since the night of the party, they’d never been together in public, never where anyone could see them. They weren’t dating.
What were they doing, then?
She and Tristan had never spoken of the night in her room when he’d cried about his neighbor, but since that night, something had changed between them. If their mutual game had the single unspoken rule that they kept this all a secret, another had been added, and it was that they were no longer simply friends who fooled around. Whatever more had grown between them had no name, but it was there.
He’d stopped sneaking into her room after that night. Rebecca hadn’t known it at the time when she’d woken to find him gone, but the housekeeper had seen him going out of her window when she was on her way in to work in the morning. Marisol hadn’t told Rebecca’s parents, but she swore she would if it happened again. So now, instead, they spent hours on the phone late at night when her parents had gone to bed and the house was quiet. She’d never spent that much time talking to Richie. She and Richie had never had that much to say.
With Tristan, on the other hand, Rebecca always had too much to say. They argued a lot, about stupid things like favorite music and books and movies. About not-stupid things like religion, politics, the environment. He was a bad boy from the poor side of town with big ideas about how the world should work, especially for those without the money and privilege Rebecca had grown up enjoying. Their late night conversations often led to one or both of them threatening to hang up, to never speak to the othe
r again, but somehow they always managed to end the phone call with the same whispered words.
“I’ll talk to you again.”
Tristan had been the first to say it, but now they both used it as a sort of shorthand for the rest of the words neither one of them could bring themselves to say aloud.
In person, they never argued. Sometimes, they barely spoke at all. When they met up, it seemed as though the secrets they were keeping from the world kept them silent with each other, too. In the back seat of his car, they kissed and touched, their conversation made up of soft sighs and groans and the occasionally muttered plea.
Rebecca had never known it could be like this. “It” being a relationship with a boy, and not only the physical part. Even though the great divide between their in-person and telephone time was enough to feel almost as though she was with two different people, she could never really allow herself even to pretend that everything she was doing centered on Tristan Weatherfield. The time on the phone was a friendship, a good, strong one that she valued. The time spent doing the other business was secrets and lies and betrayal. It would have been easier if she could partition it, but she couldn’t.
This was not supposed to be love, but that’s what it had begun to feel like.
A lightness when she thought of him. An overwhelming giddiness when it was almost time for him to call. An aching burn in her chest when she imagined graduation, the end of school, a brief summer and then she’d be off to college while Tristan did whatever it was he was going to do. They never talked about it. Whatever future lay ahead for both of them, the unspoken understanding was that it didn’t involve each other.
Maybe he wanted his future to contain Allie Harrison, though. Rebecca had seen the two of them in school. Some sort of embrace. Not a kiss, but did that matter? They could be friends in public. They could be more than that in public, if they wanted to, in a way that didn’t feel possible for Rebecca and Tristan together.
Rebecca leaned forward to turn on the radio. The song, along with the steady beat of the wipers and the pattern of rain on the roof all went together so that she was humming along under her breath. Tristan glanced at her again, this time with a smile. Self-conscious about her singing, she stopped.
