by Allie Gail
“Hungry?” I tease as he drowns his waffle in about eight gallons of syrup.
“Always.” He grins back. “Speedy metabolism.”
“Must be nice.”
“Like you have to worry.” Taking a bite of his waffle, he eyes me with appreciation.
“I couldn't eat that much if I wanted to.” What is it about guys? They can empty a fully stocked refrigerator in six seconds flat. And then complain that there's nothing to eat. Maybe it's all the extra muscle. “Should we see if Russ and Skylar want us to bring them anything?”
“Yeah, that's not a bad idea.” Whisking out his cell phone, Max sends a quick text to my brother.
“I can't believe Phil isn't giving him hell for missing so much work.” Good thing they've been buddies for years, otherwise Russ might be joining the rest of us in Unemploymentville. Place is starting to get crowded.
“Until Russ gets that cast off he's more of a liability anyway.”
“True.” I'm trying not to let it bother me that nobody's contacted me from any of the places I applied to. I need to have a little patience – after all, it's only been two days. Surely by next week someone will call to schedule an interview, at least.
Max's phone blings with a reply, and he holds it up so I can read it for myself.
Took Sky home to get some clothes. OMW back now. We're picking up something at Hardees.
So I guess that means he's bringing her back to stay at our house. Hm, that should be interesting. Especially if her memory starts coming back to her.
Not that I'm really expecting that to happen.
“Do you have to work tonight?” I ask Max. I'm hoping not.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, I do.”
“Are you still gonna come by tomorrow?” It occurs to me that with Loc gone, he'll have no reason to sleep at our place anymore. I'm going to miss that.
“Sure, I'll stop by.” He pauses to thank the waitress as she refills his orange juice. “I'm off on Saturday. Maybe we could go do something then, if you want. Just you and me.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Yes! An actual confirmed date. I don't bother asking what he wants to do. It doesn't matter. I'd sit through a three-hour lecture on the molecular composition of dirt as long as I knew Max was going to be there.
“Although I'm not sure how Russ is gonna react.” One corner of his mouth twitches up in a half-smile, as if he's thinking about something I'm not privy to.
“Why would he care?” My brother may be a little overprotective, but there isn't a reason in the world why he should have an issue with me dating his buddy. Anyway, it's none of his business. I don't try to tell him who he can go out with.
Max takes a sip of his juice, still trying to hide a smile. “I doubt you're even going to remember this. It was...I think it was the summer before your senior year. Me and Owen and Russ had been off fishing or something, I can't really remember. Anyway, when we pull into the yard...well, there you are. Soaking wet, sporting short-shorts and a cutoff, all sprawled out across the hood of your car. Just scrubbing away with this soapy sponge like the opening scene to a porno. Totally oblivious to us. I look over at Owen, and his eyes are popping out of his head. So just trying to be funny, I may have made a slightly off-color comment alluding to your, uh...assets.”
“The girls,” I guess with a smirk.
“Farther south. Let's just say, those shorts you were wearing were really short.”
“Oh-h, I see!” How ironic to suddenly find out that he'd noticed me back then, when I was convinced he was barely aware of my existence. “So what happened? Was he mad at you?”
“Mad? Yeah, you could say that. Basically he grabbed hold of the front of my shirt and let me know in no uncertain terms that if I ever so much as looked at you again, much less made any more pervy comments, I'd be carrying my teeth around in my pocket.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I roll my eyes, though I can't help laughing.
“Then he looks over at Owen and says, 'And before you can open your fat mouth, same goes for you.'”
“What was the comment?”
“That I made?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head with a broad grin. “No way. Sorry. I'm invoking my Fifth Amendment right on that one.”
“Oh, come on! Tell me. What did you say?”
“Nuh-uh. Not happening. You'll just have to use your imagination.”
“I could ask Russ.”
“Oh yeah, right! Like he'd ever repeat that shit to you.”
Now I'm really intrigued. “Was it that bad?”
“No. It was just definitely not something a guy should say about his best friend's kid sister. Not in his presence, anyway.”
Russell's kid sister. There it is again. I swear, that title is going to follow me for the rest of my life. I'll be ninety years old, in a nursing home, and the orderlies who bring me my prune juice will refer to me as 'Old Man Sterling's younger relation'.
“So. Not to try and change this extremely awkward subject, but...any idea where we can find a solid gold blade on the cheap?” He says it jokingly, but I know he's dead serious about the purpose.
Crap. I might have known he was going to bring this up at some point.
“Unless one of us hits the lottery, we're probably going to have to settle for a plastic knife and a can of spray paint,” I say, trying to keep it light.
“Very resourceful. Although, I don't know, something tells me that's not going to fool anyone.”
“You don't think so?”
“I may be artistic, but I think passing off plastic as gold is probably out of the realm of my expertise.”
I poke at a bit of green pepper with my fork. “Max...”
“Yeah?”
“Don't waste your time. Even if you could manage it, I don't think a solid gold blade is going to do you any good.”
“Why do you say that?”
I make a point of carefully wiping my hands on a napkin, stalling while I think. It wouldn't hurt to tell him just that much, would it? I mean, sure, he'll probably chew me a new one for not bringing it up before, but how can I sit by and say nothing while he continues to chase a lie?
I brace myself before confessing, “Because I don't think it worked. I think he lied. I'm pretty sure he was faking through the whole thing.”
Without even looking up, I feel the weight of his stare.
“Jude...” he says slowly. “Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?”
I glance up reluctantly, afraid that he's going to be pissed, but there is more of concern than anger in his eyes.
“Because there is.”
Pushing his plate out of the way, Max leans forward on folded arms and gives me his undivided attention. “Care to fill me in?”
“Look, don't be mad, okay? I know I should've told you before, but you guys have already been through so much and I didn't...it's like you just needed this one thing in your favor, and you seemed so optimistic about coming up with a plan...”
“But...?” he prompts.
“But when we were leaving, I turned around and looked back at him, you know, just as we were headed up the stairs, and he...his eyes were back to normal. And he was smiling, like he thought it was funny. Looked straight at me and winked. So, yeah, I'm pretty sure he was jerking us around the whole time.”
Max scrutinizes my expression for what seems a really long time. “I wish you'd mentioned this earlier.”
“I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, I really did, I just kept putting it off.” Brightening, I do my best to put a positive spin on things. “But hey, look at it this way, it all worked out in the end. Didn't it? Somehow.”
“It's the 'somehow' that bothers me.” He frowns, reflecting. “Especially now. So the truth spell didn't work, and yet he randomly decides, oh screw it, I'm done with all this? Explain to me how that makes any sense. Explain to me how he still has the upper hand and for some reason decides to just fold. He didn't have to re
turn Owen and Skylar. And yet he did. Why? What's his motive? What was the point of any of this?”
“Maybe he just got tired of playing games,” I suggest weakly.
“And maybe there's more that you're not telling me.”
I squirm beneath his unwavering stare. “What makes you say that?”
“Jude...” He shakes his head as if he sees right through me.
Me and my big mouth. I'm starting to wish I'd never said anything. “Listen. For the past week, you and Russ have been telling me over and over that I should just trust you. Well, that works both ways, you know. I need you to trust me, too. Is that too much to ask? For you to give me a little bit of credit? It may not seem like it, but most of the time I do know what I'm doing.”
Sighing, Max slumps back in the booth and rakes a hand through his hair. “Shit. I knew it. How did he get to you, Jude?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I'm talking about. What, you think I'm blind? It's obvious you know more than you're letting on. You're asking me to trust you – well, I do. That's not the question. It's him I don't trust. And neither can you, whether you want to believe that or not. Now I don't know what's going on or what he's told you, but you can bet your life whatever it is, there's some sick, twisted motive behind it. You're the one being played if you think for one minute he's done any of this simply because he got bored and moved on.”
“What makes you such an expert on the matter?” I snap. I don't like being lectured – I get enough of that crap from my brother. “Until just recently, you didn't even believe in demons! Now you think you know the inner workings of their minds?”
“Why are you getting so defensive?”
“I'm not being defensive. I told you what I know, and you're still questioning me like you think I'm in league with the guy or something.”
“That's not what I-”
“Why can't you just accept this for what it is? He's gone. Everyone is back home and safe and everything's fine. I mean, that is what you wanted, right? So just be grateful and quit waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did it ever occur to you that maybe there is no other shoe?”
“No,” he informs me dryly. “It didn't.”
“See, there you go. You keep looking for these hidden agendas. Like everything he does is part of some elaborate scheme. Maybe it's just as simple as, he got sick of it all and wanted to go home. Case closed.”
He merely raises an eyebrow, as if he doesn't buy that even I believe the stuff I'm saying.
Who knew he was so perceptive?
And yet here I am, still babbling away, struggling to convince him that everything is hunky dory when I know he isn't falling for a word of it.
“I don't know why you keep expecting the worst case scenario. Sometimes things work out for the best, you know? As far as I'm concerned, it's over, he's out of the picture, and we can all go on with our lives and forget this ever happened.” Everyone but me, that is.
“Mm-hm. If you say so.” It's clear that Max doesn't agree, but to his credit, he refrains from mentioning it again. As a matter of fact, he seems to go out of his way to avoid the issue altogether.
Which is a relief, even if I know it's only a temporary reprieve. His suspicions are still hanging in the air between us. He's willing to let this go for now, but I'll have to come clean with the truth eventually. Either that or...
Go back to Tulsa, perhaps?
I don't want to. More than anything, I want to stay. But I also can't keeping lying to everyone. And who knows how long it'll be before Loc shows up to cash in? Until my debt is erased and this is over and done with, I'm in limbo. He could decide to string me along for months. The terms were never clear.
Nothing about that guy was ever clear.
So maybe the best thing to do is just leave.
Russ and Skylar are already back by the time we return. Russ is, presumably, upstairs taking a shower since I can hear the water pipes groaning. Sky is curled up in the recliner in the living room, busily scrolling through something on my brother's phone.
She looks vastly different than she did just a couple of hours ago. It's amazing what a shampoo and some makeup can do. With her glossy platinum blonde hair, flawless complexion and way-too-perfect body, Skylar Banks is the epitome of life's unfair bias. The type who turns heads everywhere she goes, without even trying. Which makes me wonder, is it her standoffish personality that makes me feel inferior, or just the swipe at my self-esteem?
She barely glances up. Eyes still glued to the cell phone, she states the obvious in a voice flat with disappointment. “Oh. You're back.”
Nah. It's her personality.
“Well, Jude is. I was just leaving.” Facing me, Max leans in to murmur so only I can hear, “I'm not done talking to you. But right now I am very tired, so I'm gonna go home and get some sleep before work. Tomorrow, though, you and I are gonna finish this discussion. And I expect the truth. Capiche?”
Sighing, I cut my eyes away from him.
He cups my chin in his hand and compels me to look at him. “Trust, Jude. You said it yourself, it's a two-way street. Remember?”
I give him a weak smile. And then, to my amazement, he drops a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“Think about it. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah...okay.” My eyes follow him until he's out of sight.
“Well, that was interesting.” The voice coming from the recliner is coy and just a little bit catty. Funny, I didn't think she was paying us any attention, seeing how she's so engrossed in social networking. Apparently this one's a multitasker.
I play it nonchalant. “What was?”
“You and Mr. Kissyface over there. What's with that? Are you two like, all of a sudden an item now?” She finally looks up at me.
“No, we're not an item. We were just talking.”
“Oh, sure. Talking.” Snorting a giggle, she uses one hand to flip her hair over her shoulder. “Looks like I missed a lot while I was gone.”
“You might say that,” I vaguely agree.
“So fill me in, why don't you. What did I miss?”
“What has Russ told you?”
“Not a lot. Just that he's been trying to find me, but he didn't have much of a lead to go on. So it didn't do much good.” She watches me impassively through her mile-long lashes, but something seems a tiny bit off somehow.
She's scared, I realize with a pang of sympathy. Scared and confused, and no wonder after everything she's been through. Who wouldn't be? And now it's obvious that she is doing her best to put up a tough front.
Suddenly feeling sorry for her, I sit down on the couch so I can listen. I get the feeling she wants an excuse to unload.
“He was worried,” I assure her. “We all were.”
“Not worried enough to call the police! You know what he told me? He said he didn't file a missing persons report because he thought me and Owen ran off together. Can you believe that?” She makes a gagging face. “Me and Owen – as if! Your brother is such a tool. I can't even...I'm so mad at him right now.”
“You can understand why he might've come to that conclusion. Seeing the two of you making out, what else was he supposed to think?”
Huffing, Skylar rolls her eyes. “I have a hard time believing that even happened. I certainly don't remember any of it. I mean, yes, I was totally drunk, but there's no way I'd ever let his gross friend put his hands on me. Have you seen that guy? Loser!”
“So what do you think happened?” I tentatively ask.
“Well, this is my theory. Now bear with me.” Her baby blues are perfectly solemn as she confides in a low voice, “Mind control. It's the only explanation that makes any sense. We were taken over by extraterrestrials, and then they kidnapped us. For like, experiments or observation or something.”
Aliens again. I wonder if she and Owen discussed this theory with one another, or whether they each came up with it on their own? Or maybe the idea was implanted in their su
bconscious minds. I wouldn't be a bit surprised.
“It's happened before,” she insists. “There's documented evidence of people disappearing, only to turn up weeks later with like, this lapse in their memory. Only it starts coming back to them later on, in bits and pieces, and that's when they remember what happened. And what's really weird is they pretty much all give the same description of their abductors, so you know there has to be something to it.”
I try to keep my expression neutral. “Have you told Russ what you think?”
“Yes. He's totally supportive. He thinks it's possible that's what happened, too.”
Oh, for fuck's sake. So we're all just going along with the alien abduction bit, are we? The whole thing is so ludicrous I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
“Obviously, I can't tell anyone,” she laments. “They'd think I was crazy.”
“I don't think you're crazy.” Misinformed, yes. Crazy, no.
“Really?” The surprise in her voice tells me she assumed I'd laugh at her story. “It's totally weird – you'd think I'd be more upset about all this. Wouldn't you? But I don't know, it's like I've been given a handful of Xanax or something. I feel really mellow, like I just don't care that much. I wonder if maybe they drugged me. Do you think they could've drugged me?”
“If you're suffering from short-term amnesia, I think it's safe to say you've probably had something wonky in your system.” I feel ridiculous, playing along with this. But if Russ wants to shield her from the truth, then who am I to argue?
“I should be worried about my job at Merle Norman and all that, but I don't even care right now. Shouldn't I care that I've probably been fired for not showing up to work?”
As far as they know, she resigned. “Maybe you're just tired. Or you're in shock. I still think you ought to see a doctor. It couldn't hurt.”
“And my mom,” she continues, ignoring my advice. “She's giving me the third degree because I haven't answered her texts. I told her I lost my phone but she's all like, that's no excuse, you have a computer, you could've emailed! Oh em gee, I so don't feel like dealing with her crap right now. If she doesn't stop messaging me, I'm going to block her. I mean it. The woman drives me nuts.”
