The Geography of Lost Things

by Jessica Brody

  I stole furtive glances at him. I saw him struggling. His mouth twitching, his hand returning to his jaw over and over, rubbing at the stubble, as though he were trying to wear it clean off.

  I saw him fight.

  What he was fighting against, I still don’t know.

  The truth?

  The lie?

  Some space in between, where all breakups live?

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, and I blew out a breath I’d been holding since I got into that truck.

  He paused.

  I waited.

  He sighed.

  I waited.

  He peered at me out of the corner of his eye.

  I still waited.

  Because it wasn’t enough. Because I needed more. Because I deserved more.

  He let out a chuckle. To my astonishment, it sounded light and airy. Like the kind of laugh that follows an awkward misunderstanding. A “You’re not going to believe what just happened to me tonight” kind of laugh.

  “I was studying at Brewed Awakenings, and I completely lost track of time.”

  The blood in my veins turned from ice to fire and back to ice again. Every gauzy layer that had surrounded us over the past eighty-eight days was suddenly gone.

  Nico hadn’t thrown a stone into our beautiful glass wall.

  He’d admitted that the glass wall was never there to begin with. That it was made of nothing but air and illusions.

  I felt nauseous. I felt cold. I felt cheated. I felt betrayed. I felt . . .

  Stupid.

  Every day since my ninth birthday, I promised myself I would never fall for the kind of guy my mom fell for. I would never end up like her: single with a child and a lying, leaving husband.

  I never blamed my mother for loving Jackson. For believing Jackson. For letting Jackson back into our lives so many times. But I’d managed to convince myself that it would never happen to me. That it could never happen to me. Because I wouldn’t let it. Because I grew up with it. I could read the signs. I could spot a charming charlatan from a mile away.

  But it turns out I couldn’t.

  I didn’t.

  Because there was one sitting right next to me.

  And the lies were still coming. “I know, I know,” he said. “I should have had my ringer on. I’m sorry I made you worry. It’s that stupid history final next week. I was trying to cram a hundred years’ worth of European drama into two hours. This is what I get for spending all my time with you and not enough time reading. Not that I have any regrets on that part.”

  He reached for me. He rested his hand on my leg. As though it belonged there. As though it would always belong there.

  I felt his touch everywhere. Like my body was purposefully betraying my mind and my heart.

  “Pull over,” I told him, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

  Nico looked to me, his eyebrows pinched with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just pull over.”

  “Ali, are you—”

  “PULL OVER RIGHT NOW!” The dam broke. The emotions flowed. The tears followed.

  Nico slammed on the brakes. The force of the deceleration was so strong, his glove box door popped open. I saw a small green-and-white object come flying out of the compartment and land on my lap. I looked down at my jeans, and that’s when I saw it.

  Rolled up and secured with a rubber band.

  A wad of hundred-dollar bills.

  With shaky hands, I reached for it, but Nico was too quick. He grabbed the bundle, stuffed it back into the glove box, and slammed the door shut. His movement was so fast, it was almost as though he were hoping I didn’t see it.

  But I saw it.

  I kicked open the passenger-side door and hopped out of the truck. I heard Nico swear, and then I heard the screech of the parking brake engaging. A second later he was in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his head dipped so he could look into my eyes.

  “Ali, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “You’re a liar!” I shouted into his face.

  The confusion contorted his features. He stammered. Like he had any right to stammer. Like he had any right to act surprised. “W-w-what? I’m not lying.”

  “Where were you tonight?” I demanded.

  “I told you. I was at Brewed Awak—”

  But I couldn’t stand to hear it again. It was too painful. I pushed his hands from my shoulders. “You know, you should probably check your facts before you blatantly lie. Brewed Awakenings was closed for the comet tonight. I know that because I circled the entire town looking for you.”

  I pushed past him and kept walking. Nico didn’t follow me at first. I think he was too stunned. But then his brain caught up to the conversation, and he was suddenly in front of me again.

  “Ali, stop!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Please. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “I’m not jumping to anything. You lied, and that’s that.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  I scoffed. “Excuse me. You’re going to lie about lying now? What are you doing? Trying to trick me? Let’s go round and round in circles until Ali gets so confused, she doesn’t know what to think.”

  “I mean—” Nico tried again, but I didn’t let him finish.

  “Are you saying you were studying in a closed coffee shop with all the lights off? What, did you break a window? Pick the lock? Or is there another Brewed Awakenings in Russellville that I’m not familiar with?”

  “Ali, please. Just let me explain.”

  “Why? So you can lie to me again? How am I supposed to believe anything you say now? How am I supposed to know what the truth is?”

  Nico’s jaw tightened, his lips forming a solid line. “I don’t know, Ali. Maybe trust. Maybe faith.”

  His tone had turned bitter. Sharp. The kind Fixer Nico was gone, sucked into that glove box where nice boys go to die.

  “Faith?!” I repeated in disgust. “Trust?! You act like those are simply given out for free! Those things are earned, Nico. And you just lost both.”

  I continued walking, my breath ragged, my heart pounding. I heard the gravel on the side of the road crunch behind me. “Don’t follow me!” I yelled.

  The crunching stopped. “So, what?” he called out a moment later. “That’s it? We’re done? Three months thrown away, just like that?”

  “Yes!” I called over my shoulder. “Just like that.” I swallowed, feeling the weight of what I had just said. It crushed me and sucked all the air out of my lungs. But it was too late to take it back now.

  And if I did, I would be an even bigger fool than I already was.

  As I glanced upward, I could just see the tail of Fabian’s Comet through the break in the clouds. So bright. So promising. But I knew that in another few hours, it, too, would be lost in the sky.

  BOOOOOOMMM

  The sound of a foghorn brings me back to the car. The parking lot. Astoria. I glance at the clock on the dashboard. I’ve been sitting in this stalled Firebird for more than an hour.

  Then, it comes again.

  BOOOOOOMMM

  I recognize the sound as that strange text message alert on Nico’s phone.

  BOOOOOOMMM

  BOOOOOOMMM

  BOOOOOOMMM

  I didn’t even realize his phone was still in the car.

  BOOOOOOMMM

  BOOOOOOMMM

  I search the cup holders and the console below the radio, but the phone isn’t there.

  BOOOOOOMMM

  BOOOOOOMMM

  This Rachel person, whoever she is, is apparently really desperate to get ahold of him.

  BOOOOOOMMM

  The sound is coming from below me. I lean over the passenger seat and finally locate the phone on the floor. It must have slid down there during all my stopping and starting, trying to get away from Nico.

  I reach down and grab it. I hold it tightly in my hands, staring at the screen.

  And then, all at once, eve
rything changes.

  Rachel: Baby, I need your help. Can I borrow two hundred dollars?

  Rachel: I got a really hot tip on a horse that’s running tomorrow. It’s a no-lose situation.

  Rachel: I promise, after this, I won’t ever have to ask to borrow money again. And I can pay back everything else I owe you.

  Rachel: I would just use my own money but those bastards at Mountain Rock Casino threw me out again last night. I was on a big winning streak too. I was about to win it all back but they told me I had to leave.

  Rachel: They clearly didn’t like that I was winning.

  Rachel: Please, baby. I’d ask your dad but he’s on another trip.

  Rachel: Just tell me where you keep your extra cash and I can get it myself.

  Rachel: You don’t have to come home. I promise it’ll all be returned tomorrow.

  Rachel: I love you.

  The numbness continues to spread through me as I stare down at Nico’s phone. At the messages I clearly wasn’t supposed to see. But now that I’ve seen them, the pieces are falling into place like they’re falling from the sky.

  Like debris from a passing comet.

  It’s the spiderweb I’ve been walking through. I somehow managed to stumble my way to the center.

  And just like Jackson is at the heart of all my problems, my secrets, my dysfunctions, Nico’s mom is at the heart of his.

  Rachel.

  I never knew her name. I never met his parents. I never saw the inside of his house.

  “Please, just let me explain . . .”

  But I didn’t. I didn’t let him that night. Maybe if I had, he would have eventually told me the truth. Maybe if I hadn’t walked away, left him standing there alone on the side of the road, we wouldn’t be here right now.

  Maybe we don’t need to be here right now.

  I slam one foot against the clutch and the other against the brake. I turn the key, and the Firebird roars to life. I suddenly remember all the steps, all the movements, the way everything is supposed to feel.

  I ease my foot halfway off the clutch until I feel the engine drop into a low, patient rumble. Then, I remove my foot from the brake. The car, miraculously, doesn’t stall. It actually starts to inch forward. I gently press down on the gas, releasing the clutch with the same amount of reverse pressure. The car rolls forward.

  I move far enough to pull into a nearby parking spot (so I’m not parked at a strange angle in the middle of the lot) and kill the engine. I jump out of the Firebird and dash back through the parking lot. To the scene of our Craigslist scam. To the place I abandoned Nico.

  But he’s not there.

  I glance anxiously around, searching for a sign of him, but all I see is the Safeway, the Starbucks, the orthodontist, and the . . .

  Tomato and Vine.

  I take off at a run. I don’t even bother using the crosswalk or waiting for the light. I dart around cars like I’m in one of those high-octane action flicks with no plot.

  When I reach the restaurant, it doesn’t take me long to spot him. He’s sitting in a booth in the back with empty plates of pasta and breadsticks spread out around him like fallen soldiers on a battlefield.

  “Waiter!” I hear him call out, sounding grouchy and irritable. “Bring me another round!”

  A waiter approaches and stares disapprovingly down at the table. “Haven’t you had enough?”

  “Another round,” Nico spits, sounding very un-Nico.

  “That’s it,” the waiter says, gathering up the empty plates. “I’m cutting you off.”

  “You can’t cut me off. It’s unlimited pasta and breadsticks. Now bring me more.”

  The waiter sighs and mutters, “Fine,” before disappearing.

  I suck in a courageous breath and sidle up to the table.

  Nico grabs the last remaining breadstick from the basket and rips a piece off with his teeth. “What do you want?”

  “You were right,” I rush to tell him while I still have the words. “I thought you were him. I tried to make you him. But you weren’t. You were never like him.”

  I swallow hard and close my eyes, letting the truth expand inside of me until it takes up all the space. Until there’s no more room left for the lies. “You were never Jackson. I was.”

  7:02 P.M.

  FORT STEVENS STATE PARK, OR

  INVENTORY: STILL (0)

  At the very northern tip of Oregon, where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean, there’s a beach hidden away from the rest of the world. On a clear day you can see the state of Washington. On a clear evening, like tonight, you can see the most spectacular sunset.

  That’s where Nico and I sit. In the sand. Watching the darkened surf struggle to reach our toes, inching closer with each inflow and outflow of the tide.

  I suddenly feel like we’re back where we started in Fort Bragg, sitting in front of the vast Pacific Ocean, hoping it will save us. Hoping it has at least one drop of forgiveness left for us.

  For the past five minutes, since I showed Nico the text messages I read on his phone, we’ve been sitting in silence. At first, I thought he would be mad at me for reading them. But he clearly wasn’t. He almost looked relieved.

  “She’s sick,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

  Two words. Two syllables. Eight letters.

  That’s all it takes to tilt the world.

  “She . . .” He falters, kicking at a pebble in the sand. And another. And another. Until there are no rocks left. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing when she does it. She can’t stop. She . . . it’s a sickness. It . . .” Nico’s voice breaks.

  He turns away, but I still see it. The moisture pooling in his eyes. The hard line of his jaw as he tries to hold it back.

  “Is that what happened to your laptop?” I ask gently.

  He nods and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “She sold it.”

  “On Craigslist?”

  “No, she prefers pawnshops. They’re quicker.” His breathing comes out in ragged bursts. Like tiny explosions. “She’s an . . . an . . .” It’s like he can’t say it. Can’t put the label on it. Can’t get it to stick.

  But I’m good with labels.

  Maybe even too good.

  “An addict?”

  He closes his eyes, letting the word sink in, wash over him. I understand, in that moment, that it’s the right one. “The night of the comet . . .” Nico opens his eyes, but his gaze stays trained on the ocean. “When I didn’t show up. It was because I had to go all the way out to Middleton to pick her up. I got a call from the Twin Peaks Casino. They said if I didn’t come get her, they’d call the police. She gets belligerent when she loses. She tries to negotiate. Tries to sell things she doesn’t even have. And then when that doesn’t work, she starts stealing.”

  I suck in a breath. “The money. In the glove box.”

  He nods like he can follow my line of reasoning all the way to the end. “It’s a stash I keep hidden. I trade up on Craigslist to earn money and replace the stuff she sells. She’s sold practically everything. Our TV. Our microwave. All of our dishes. From the inside, our house looks like it’s been robbed. And in a way, it has. She thinks if she can just get one more dollar, she can win it all back.” He pauses to let out a shaky breath. “She never wins it back.”

  My head is spinning. The explanation is so simple. It makes so much sense. And yet, out of all the possible scenarios that ran through my head that night and every night since, none of them was this.

  None of them was a scenario in which Nico is innocent.

  That’s because all of them were scenarios in which Nico was Jackson.

  “What about your dad?” I ask. “Why doesn’t he do anything to try to stop it?”

  Nico snorts. “My dad has completely checked out. He won’t even acknowledge she has a problem. He travels so much for work, he’s never home. And, to be honest, I think he prefers it that way. He can stay in denial if he’s not around to see it. He stopped go
ing to pick her up years ago. That became my job.”

  “Have you ever, I don’t know, confronted her about it?”

  “Yes. Plenty of times. It’s why we left Reno. She claimed it was all the city’s fault. Too much temptation. She said that if we just moved far enough away from the big casinos, she wouldn’t be tempted anymore.” He lets out a dark laugh. “And I was stupid enough to believe that.” He shakes his head. “I guess I wanted to believe her. I always want to believe her.”

  “I know,” I tell him in a fragile voice. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to want to believe.”

  Nico pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in them. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell you. I just . . . I’ve been keeping her secret for so long, it’s become second nature. Lie to the neighbors. Lie to my mom’s parents. Lie to the police. Lie to protect her. I don’t even know I’m doing it sometimes. The lies come out easier than the truths. Trust me, I wanted to tell you. I really did, you just . . .”

  He doesn’t finish that thought. But it doesn’t matter. Because I can finish it for him.

  “I didn’t give you the chance.”

  The words echo around me like they’re bouncing off the air. I glance up, and I swear I can still see that comet streaking across the sky. It’s followed me all the way to Oregon. It seems like whenever I look up, I will always see it. For the rest of my life. Not as a beautiful, celestial object soaring gracefully through space. But as a ghost haunting me. A constant reminder of everything I didn’t hear that night. Everything I couldn’t hear.

  Everything I threw away.

  Everything I lost.

  And now “I’m sorry” is all I can say.

  So I do.

  Nico smiles. “Me too.”

  A moment later, he pushes himself to his feet and brushes the sand from the back of his jeans. I assume he’s ready to go back to the car, but he just stands there, staring at the ocean.

  Then, before I can process what’s happening, he’s pulling his shirt over his head. He’s kicking off his shoes and peeling off his jeans. I watch in total disbelief as he strips right down to his boxers and starts running.

  Running, running, running.