Interlude

by Anna Cruise

  I did know. I’d graduated with guys like that, guys who were just like me in middle school, who sort of went a different path in high school. Not like I was a saint or anything, but I never could figure out what made people—people I knew, people I was friends with—decide meth and heroin were okay choices to make.

  “Lydia thought it was a phase. And then she thought she could change him. And then she believed him when he said it was no big deal, that he could stop.”

  I listen to her. Listen as she recounts the vague details of this Alex guy and his spiral into drugs. I don’t know him and I don’t want to care about him, but it’s hard not to when she tells his story. Because, from what she says, he was just a kid who made poor choices. And I was the king of that. I’d just made different ones. Dropping out of college. Staying with a girlfriend who didn’t think much of me. And sleeping with a girl I didn’t know, a decision that put me where I was sitting at that moment. We all make poor choices – it’s human nature. And it was just luck of the draw that I selected school and sex as my personal poor choices instead of drugs. Because I could have been Alex. Anyone could have.

  “So when Lydia wanted to do something about it… about Alex’s death, I didn’t want to be the one to stop her. He was her life, had been her life for years. What was I supposed to do, just tell her to forget and move on?” Claire’s voice shakes but her eyes are dry. “I thought it would help her work through her grief if she could do something. Do something constructive. She’s always been a loose cannon, even more so since Mom and Dad…died, and I’ve always been the one to rein her in. If she could find some closure with Alex, closure we never got with our parents, then that would only be a good thing.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  She stares at me for a moment, confused. And then her expression clears, as if she suddenly remembers I don’t know her or her history, that I know nothing at all except what she’s just told me.

  “Boating accident.” Her voice is soft. “Four years ago. They took off for Catalina Island. Was supposed to be a six-day trip from San Francisco. They never made it.”

  I wait for her to elaborate.

  “Coast Guard found their boat. Abandoned. No trace of them.”

  “They just disappeared?”

  “Yes.” She fingers a lock of hair, twines it around her pinky. “No one knows what happened. Some people said murder-suicide, but that’s bullshit. My parents loved each other. Some say they went for a swim and drowned. But they were in the open water and my mom hated swimming unless they were close to shore. So no one really knows. Their bodies were never found. Presumed dead.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “So,” she says, forcing a smile. “We’ve sort of had that hanging over our heads. The not knowing. And when Alex died…well, I knew Lydia needed answers.”

  “But she knew it was an overdose.”

  “Yes,” Claire said, nodding. “But she didn’t know why. Who. She wanted those details, craved them. Because we never got them with Mom and Dad. It’s like this big blank space in the personal history of us, of our family. What happened? What really happened out there?”

  I didn’t know. And I didn’t know what it would feel like to have something like that hanging over me. I knew where my mom was – in Guam with her third husband. And I’d never known my dad so he had always been this unknown entity. Mom never talked about him and I never asked. Which was something I’d always been okay with.

  “Lydia has always been headstrong.” Claire offers an apologetic smile. “Fierce. Reckless. A little devious.”

  I think about her showing up at my house. Her kissing me, groping me, fucking me, all so she could drop off something she could retrieve later. Reckless and devious were fitting words.

  “But her heart is in the right place,” she says. “She has this strong sense of justice. She’s loyal – ridiculously so. And she’s smart as hell. Want to know how she got into hacking?”

  To my surprise, I do. I nod.

  “The accident, or whatever you want to call it. When no one could tell us what happened to our parents, she went ballistic. She knew someone had to know something. She’d always been good at math, good with computer and other science-y stuff. She wanted police reports, Coast Guard info.”

  “Couldn’t you just ask for them?”

  “We did. And we got them. But she thought there was more. You know, stuff they didn’t give us. So she figured out a way to hack their systems.”

  “How?”

  Claire shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know. Same as now.” She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “Which was clearly the wrong attitude.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this mess.”

  I’m not sure why I’m trying to make her feel better. It’s not like she’s innocent in everything that has happened – after all, she was the one who pulled a gun on me, the one who came up with the idea of locking Gino and his guys inside the bathroom. But she helped when Cushing showed up. And she seems to agree with me that Lydia’s current plan is all kinds of asinine.

  “I should have asked,” she says. “Hell, I should have just told her to let Alex go. Gotten her into counseling or something. But I was just done. It’s hard to be the one always picking up the pieces when everything goes to shit.”

  I think about the redhead who stormed off down the hallway. The words Claire used to describe her. I was pretty sure she wasn’t the kind of person who would be open to counseling.

  “Look, what’s done is done,” I say. “You can’t go back and undo what’s happened. The best we can do is get out of this mess. Quick.”

  As soon as I say it, I regret it. I used the word “we” and I want to kick myself. ‘We’ implies we’re a team. And we are anything but. I don’t know Claire. I don’t trust her. And all I want to do is figure out how to get Gino his drugs back so he gets off my case so I can get my life back.

  I don’t care about the flash drive. And I tell myself I don’t care about Lydia or Claire.

  “I know.” She sighs again. “But if I had a time machine?” She closes her eyes and a tear slips down her cheek. “I’d go back in a heartbeat. Change it all. I know I talk a good game—I have to, I’m her big sister—but I have to tell you…I don’t know what’s coming next, Nash.”

  seventeen

  Claire and I fall asleep on the couch, her on one end, me on the other. I don’t know this until I feel warm breath tickle my ear.

  “Trying out the other sister, huh?”

  I open my eyes. Lydia is watching me, a sly smile on her face.

  I push myself upright and look around, a little disoriented. Claire is curled up on the opposite side of the couch, her arms folded together, her chin tucked into her chest. Her hair falls forward, hiding the left side of her face. Her legs are tucked underneath her, but her foot is on my shin.

  I rub at my eyes and try to bring Lydia into focus. “What?”

  She jerks her head in the direction of her sister. “Claire.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Her smile widens. “You’re on the couch with my sister.” She glances from me to Claire. “Clothes on now, but who knows what happened before. Or what you’re planning for later.”

  “You’re insane.”

  She chuckles. “I know.”

  “What do you want?” I reach for my phone and then remember I don’t have it. It’s still sitting on the counter, dismembered. “And what time is it?”

  “Four-thirty. And I want a drink. Which is why I came out here. And saw you two lovebirds curled up together.”

  Her comment doesn’t even warrant a response. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I know we didn’t say anything after our conversation about Lydia.

  “Nothing happened.”

  Lydia wrinkles her nose. “Too bad for you.”

  “Whatever.” I shift so I’m no longer facing her. My body aches; not just fro
m the cuts and bruises, but from my cramped position on the couch.

  Lydia notices. “There’s an empty bedroom, you know.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “And there’s another bedroom,” she says, her voice tinged with laughter. “If you’d like a different bed partner…”

  “No. Thanks.”

  She chuckles. “Suit yourself.”

  I close my eyes and she shuffles into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard, turns on the tap. A few seconds later, she sets something in the sink. Her cup. She pads back down the hallway and a door closes.

  Claire murmurs, then moans. I steal a glance at her. The eye I can see under the curtain of hair is still closed. She stiffens, then thrashes, kicking her leg out. She makes another noise, a stifled cry, and her foot digs into my shin. I reach out my hand and touch her ankle. She stops moving but another whimper escapes. I press my fingers into her flesh, softly, and she quiets. Her foot burrows under my leg as if she’s seeking shelter from something. I let her.

  I don’t fall back asleep. I just sit on the couch and think. Nothing flows in a linear fashion and I don’t try to solve anything. Instead, the thoughts come like sound bytes, like memes, short snippets of visuals and information. I don’t try to piece things together, and I don’t try to make sense of anything. Not because I don’t want to but because I can’t get my brain to work that way right now.

  The sky turns maroon and I watch through the partially pulled vertical blinds on the sliding glass door as the color shifts to dusky pink. I don’t know how much time has passed since Lydia made her appearance but I can guess it’s close to six-thirty. I’m tired but I can’t go back to sleep. Because I’m waking up in a strange apartment, with two women who are virtual strangers, with no idea of where I’m going or what might be in store for me. Or for any of us.

  Claire shifts and I look at her. She’s waking up. She pushes the hair away from her face and slowly focuses on me. Her eyes widen and then she realizes where her foot is, still tucked underneath me, and she pulls it out.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “We fell asleep.”

  Her cheeks redden. “I can see that.” She straightens into a sitting position and tugs on the hem of her shirt. “I can’t believe I just passed out like that. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

  “Me, either.” I stand up. I feel like a human pretzel. “I gotta pee.”

  I find the bathroom, first door on the left down the hallway. It’s painted lavender, accented with dark purple towels and rugs. There is lavender soap and lavender lotion. Black and white sketches of birds – cranes and herons and seagulls – fill the walls, and I wonder about the owner of the apartment. Who they are and what they would think if they knew what was really going on with the people crashing their place.

  When I come back out, Lydia is in the kitchen making coffee and Claire has disappeared.

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “Miss her already?”

  I glare at her.

  She chuckles and switches the coffeepot on. “She’s changing. Has a class this morning.”

  “She’s leaving?”

  Lydia makes a sad face. “Aww, are you gonna miss her?”

  I ignore her jibe. “Is that safe?”

  She shrugs. “Probably not.” She pulls mugs from the cupboard, all three of them touristy ones from Washington, DC. “But I’m not worried.”

  “You had everyone out to get us last night,” I remind her. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Nothing.” She pours another cup and immediately takes a sip. “But she’s bound and determined to figure out another way out of this.”

  “What about Gino? Aren’t you worried he’s going to go after her? You know, since she had him at gunpoint last night.”

  Lydia rolls her eyes. “Seriously? All he knows is some blond chick helped you lock him in a bathroom. That’s all he has to go on. Which is squat.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  I don’t know why I’m arguing with her. Hell, I want her to be right. I want her to tell me that she overreacted last night, that everything is going to be fine. I’d actually be totally cool with someone hopping out of the hall closet and telling me I’d been pranked and we were currently the number one clip on YouTube.

  “What do you think Gino knows about Claire?” She leans against the counter, props her elbows on the granite surface. “Or about me?”

  He knows Lydia is connected to Joey. Thinks she has the drugs he stole. And he knows Claire pulled a gun on him. Stripped him naked. Humiliated him.

  “Let’s think about this,” she says, smiling. Her face is free of make-up this morning and she looks young. If I didn’t know her story, I wouldn’t put her a day past seventeen. “What’s my last name? Where do I live? Where am I from? How many siblings do I have?”

  I don’t know.

  She answers for me, voicing my unspoken response. “You don’t know, do you? And you’ve slept with me.” A dimpled smile appears. “And spent the night talking to both me and my sister. Apart from Claire, you’re the next most informed person about this whole mess.”

  It isn’t something I don’t know, but to hear her say it makes me realize just how involved I am.

  “And you don’t know jack shit,” she says. “Not about me or Claire. Hell, you don’t even know if we’re using our real names.” She must notice my reaction because she adds, “We are. But still…how would you have known?”

  I wouldn’t. I’m totally at their mercy. I’m miles from home with no car and no phone, thanks to Lydia and her magic screwdriver.

  “So,” she says, drifting back to the coffee pot to refill her cup. “I’m thinking Claire will be okay if she goes to class today.”

  “Is she going to talk to her professor?” I ask. “About the drive?”

  “I dunno. Probably.”

  “And you still think that’s a bad idea?”

  Lydia shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Claire never listens to me.”

  What little I know of the two of them leads me to believe they both think this of each other.

  “So what do we do?” I know what I want to do. Put my phone back together and go home. But I know I can’t, not with my current history with Gino.

  “I can think of a couple of things,” she says, smiling again. Her eyes drift down my chest, settle on my crotch. “If you’re game.”

  She’s still as beautiful as ever but I don’t feel anything, not even a twitch. Sleeping with her sounds as appealing as sleeping with a snake. “No, thanks.”

  She pouts. “You’re rejecting me? I thought we had a good time.”

  I remember. Sex with her was hot, forbidden. But I had no desire to repeat it.

  Claire walks into the kitchen, saving me from responding. Her hair is damp, slicked off her forehead. She’s wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt and she doesn’t look much older than her sister.

  “You two are staying put today.” It’s an order.

  Lydia snorts.

  “I’m serious.” Claire’s eyes narrow as she looks at her sister. “Let me see what I can do. And then we’ll decide – together – what our next move is.”

  Together. I don’t like the sound of it, even though I know I’m a part of all this.

  Lydia is silent for a minute, contemplating her mug. Finally, she looks up. “Fine.”

  Claire visibly relaxes. She smiles and grabs her keys and her purse. Lydia pops the battery back into Claire’s phone and hands it back to her, holding her finger up to her lips in reminder.

  “Alright, I’ll be back in a few hours,” she says, a vague enough response so that if our phones are being tapped—how, I still don’t understand—the info isn’t specific enough to give anything away.

  “See ya,” Lydia says.

  As soon as the door closes, she turns to me. “You should clean up.”

  “What?”

  “Take a shower.” She waves her
hand at me. “You’ll feel better.”

  I just stare at her. She thinks a shower is going to make me feel better?

  I don’t want a shower.

  I want my life back.

  eighteen

  I make Lydia put my phone back together.

  I power it back on. There are no new texts, no voicemail. She slips me a note.

  Don’t access anything that requires a password.

  Guess I won’t be checking email. I scrawl my own note on the napkin.

  Can I make a phone call?

  Jesus. I sound like I’m in the county jail.

  Yeah, but be discreet.

  I don’t call Sara. I call Chase. Because I’m thinking about the life I’ve left in disarray and I want—strike that, need—to feel in control of something.

  “Hey,” I say when he picks up the phone. “About that gig this Friday—”

  “Dude, I was just getting ready to call you.” He sounds out of breath.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Listen, I’m outside your house.”

  I freeze. “What? Why?”

  “I dunno. I stopped at 7 Eleven for a donut and just thought I’d come by. And, dude. There are cops outside your house.”

  I sit down on the barstool. “What?”

  “Yeah. Front door wide open. Cat’s wandering around the front yard. Two cop cars. What the fuck is going on, man?”

  I glance at Lydia. She has the carton of eggs out and is cracking them into a bowl.

  I lower my voice to a whisper. I no longer care if people are tapping into my phone but I don’t want her to hear what I’m about to say.

  “Where are you?”

  “I just told you. At your house.”

  “No, no. Are you outside? In your car?”

  “I’m still in my car—”

  “Keep driving.”

  “What?”

  I turn my back to Lydia and head into the living room. I keep my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t explain right now. But don’t stop. Don’t get out of the car, don’t even slow down.”