Pain stabs into my stomach. He has a kid and a girlfriend to support. I’m putting him at risk of losing everything. I truly am the most selfish bitch on the planet.
I still have the money I took from Mom’s duffel bag. I wouldn’t give it to that junkie, but I’m doing this for her. For all of us. I slide it across the table. Tomás palms it. “Give me a couple days.”
—
The night is still. I flick the match head across the strip. I had to light the candles a final time. I light the ones left for the first little Manuel. Then I light the red one for another little angel whose life was cut way too short.
I sit back in the dirt. A wisp of cloud floats among the stars. In the distance, coyotes call to one another. Miles and miles of desert stretch in front of me. I wonder how long I would make it. If I started walking now, how far could I go before thirst and exhaustion overtook me? Would someone leave me supplies or take me into their home?
No. Running is a pipe dream. They’d find me.
I laugh aloud. I don’t even know who they are. I might get thrown into a van, never to be seen again. Or I might turn a corner and come face to face with a lone gunman who won’t blink before ending my life.
Whoever it is, they won’t stop until they’ve got me.
I stand up and brush the dirt off. I blow a kiss to the candles. To the little angels.
I parked Mom’s car on a quiet residential street without much lighting so no one would see me out here.
I’m bathed in shadows when Adrian’s Bronco drives past. It slows and comes to a stop along the curb, two houses down from where I stand.
Adrian gets out. He holds a bag from the toy store where I bought Manny a stuffed giraffe. It’s almost empty and floats along behind him as he walks to the front door.
I creep forward until I’m directly across the street. I step behind a tall, wild bush and peek out.
The porch light is on. A pair of small purple flip-flops sits in the yard. I can see the top of a metal swing set in the back.
All terror I had tamped down roars through me. Anything could be happening in that house.
I want to be the kind of girl again who disregards her own safety and charges in there to save someone. But I’m not.
Now that I have decided I want to live, I can’t move. I’m rooted behind the bush. Self-loathing rolls over me.
Adrian comes out carrying a Walmart bag. From the way the bag is shaped, it looks like its contents are well wrapped in paper or cloth. I can’t get any closer to see.
Adrian doesn’t glance around as he walks to his Bronco. His gait is cocky and confident.
I pull myself farther into the bush as he drives away. I turn back to the house, hoping to get a glimpse of what’s going on inside. To summon the courage to pound on the door and come to the rescue.
The porch light turns off.
I slink to Mom’s car like the coward I’ve become.
“Come on!” I smack the steering wheel of Finn’s car. It’s a boat. Older than me. Probably older than Finn. Cars don’t even come in this shape anymore. It’s boxy, with hard corners and two-tone paint that gave up sticking to the sides a long time ago. Now it’s light rusty metal on the bottom and dark rusty metal on the top. The interior is torn and saturated with cigarette smoke. I’m too afraid to look through the pile on the backseat.
And of course, the tank was empty.
It gave me trouble in the parking lot of Bluebird Estates and at the gas station. Now, in front of the gourmet bakery, it’s threatening to die a slow, lingering death while two red velvet birthday cupcakes sit in a pretty pink box, sucking up the stench.
I also have a coloring book for Grace. Maybe Jordan can use it as an excuse to see her. Maybe I can help him find other ways to see her more often.
The engine catches, and the car roars to life. It makes a screeching sound, then a low growl, then a constant clocklike tick. A myriad of warning lights shines brightly on the dash, but I only need it to get me to the island and back. It’s Finn’s problem after that.
I let Paige’s tailored tan trench coat fall open as I drive. Under it, I’m wearing her white dress. It’s short and tight on me, and when I whip off the coat, Jordan will be able to see the clear outlines of my lacey red underwear.
A shiver of excitement races through me, and I press harder on the gas. The car groans and chugs, and the speedometer almost climbs to the speed limit. There’s a line of traffic behind me on the two-lane road. Whenever there’s a break in the solid yellow line, they scream past.
The sky loses light. The setting sun is replaced by heavy black rain clouds. I have to make it to Jordan’s road before dark, or I’ll never find it.
I’m near the water. I can feel the electricity of the storm coming off the ocean. I roll down the window and breathe in the cool, wet air. A raindrop bounces against my forehead, and in a blink, it’s pouring.
Finn’s window won’t go back up again. Even though I slide as far to the right as I can, a dark, wet splotch forms on the side of the trench coat. It doesn’t matter. I won’t be wearing it for long.
The rain blacks out the sky. My excitement turns to panic. What if I can’t find the road? Jordan doesn’t know I’m coming, and I have no way of calling him. I left Carol Alexander’s phone at home. I used up all the time on it. I’m not letting her pay for more.
I slow down to a crawl and scan the ghostly woods barely touched by Finn’s one working headlight.
I almost hit it. The black Camaro rests against the dark trees. I slam on the brakes. Regardless of all the things that have happened, right now I love Drake. He’s left his car on the side of the highway, pointing like an arrow to the dirt road. I’m going to give him half my cupcake.
I turn. The car balks at my suggestion that it roll over the muddy road. I push it forward at a crawl, vibrating and bouncing over every rock and rut. My teeth rattle. My butt goes numb. It’s nothing like riding in Jordan’s Jeep.
The house seems a lot farther away this time. I try to use my excitement to propel the car faster.
Everything goes quiet.
The vibration stops, the engine fades, and the one headlight goes black. I wiggle the key and the gearshift, and stomp on the gas and brakes.
I smack the wheel. Finn’s car is dead.
I was in too much of a hurry to get out of the apartment in my sexy underwear to think about an umbrella. I flip open the glove box and flip it right back closed again. I’m not sticking my hand in there.
I don’t have a choice. It will be romantic, me appearing at his door, soaking wet in the middle of a storm. Things like that happen in the movies all the time. I shove the pink cupcake box as far under the coat as I can, open the door, and sink up to my ankles in mud. Slightly less romantic, but I go with it.
It turns out that Paige’s trench coat is for decorative purposes only. It isn’t made to stand up to the deluge falling from the sky. By the time I make it to the edge of the house, I’m soaked all the way to my skin. I could have skipped the dress. When I take the coat off, there will be nothing hiding any detail of the red lace.
My hair drips into my face. My feet, in what were originally my cute—and only—flats, are caked with mud and leaves. The pink box melts in my hands. I hunch myself over it and jog for the door.
All the lights are on, as if the house is meant to be a beacon for lost travelers in the woods. I stand under the sliver of an overhang above the front door and try to clean myself up. I kick the shoes off and use the semiclean bottoms of my feet to try to rub the mud off my ankles. I squeeze out my hair. I check on the cupcakes. They’re kind of soggy, but still cupcake-shaped and edible. My stomach growls. I had been too nervous and excited to eat anything all day.
I take a deep breath and remind myself I’m seventeen today. That’s 364 more days until I’m a legal adult. I can do this.
I raise my fist and knock. Nothing happens. I knock more forcefully. My heart drops to my muddy feet when no one comes to t
he door. Jordan’s Jeep is parked out front. Someone has to be home.
The rain is loud; maybe they can’t hear the knocking inside. I press on the door handle. It gives, and the door opens. “Hello? Jordan?” I call. I hear voices coming from the back of the house.
A horrible thought crosses my mind. What if Jordan’s mom is home? He says she always works and rarely comes home, but what if tonight is an exception? With the way I’m dressed, there’s no hiding my intentions.
I know my face must be as red as my underwear, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m stuck. Committed.
I step across the threshold, cringing at the water and mud I drip on the pristine carpet.
“Hel—” A hand slaps over my mouth. An arm wraps hard around my waist. The pink box flies through the air.
A snake hisses up at me.
I claw at it, my heart racing a million miles an hour. He pulls me roughly through the kitchen and down the hallway. I kick at his shins. My feet connect, but he keeps moving.
He throws me to the floor of a bedroom. Through the blackness overtaking my mind, I hear an odd, prideful voice. I knew it.
I snap back to the room. Drake straddles me and pins my arms over my head. He leans over. I stop breathing as his head blocks out the overhead light and casts a dark shadow over his face. My coat is splayed open. My red underwear shines up at him.
“You’re a stubborn girl, Kayla,” he whispers. I thrash and try to pull my arms away from him. He clamps down tighter. I whimper in pain.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, and for once in your life, you’re going to pay attention and follow instructions. Do I make myself clear?”
I nod—anything to keep him talking.
“I’m going to let you go now. You won’t make a sound. No matter what you hear, you will stay here on the floor with your head down until I come and get you. Do you understand?” I nod again, and he releases the pressure on my arms. Drake stands up and pointedly looks away from my almost-naked body. I don’t move, but my chest heaves, trying to suck up air to feed my racing heart.
“Stay,” he says, and walks out, closing the door behind him.
Mom gasps. My head shoots up. My heart races. This is a church, for heaven’s sake. They can’t come get me here.
She brushes Adrian’s shoulder. “I got pollen all over you.”
I don’t think Mom’s slept all week. If she has, she probably dreamed about flowers. She’s nervous. This is her big shot. She wants—needs—everything to be perfect.
Tomás came through. I have a yellow fake-leather purse looped around my body. Inside is a gun. Another black monster. It’s heavy and cold and beat-up. I try not to think about what it’s seen. What it’s done.
Lawrence and his groomsmen, Adrian and Tomás, look like they’re going to the prom in their rented tuxes with gold cummerbunds and bow ties. When they first came in and Adrian saw me laying a string of pure-white lilies on the altar, he stopped. Tomás ran into his back.
“Sorry, man,” Tomás mumbled, and collapsed onto a pew.
Lawrence pointed at him. “Coffee. Now. I don’t want you passing out during my wedding.” He hoisted his brother up by the shoulders and led him to a back room.
Then Adrian, always pretending to be a gentleman, dove forward to help Mom with a heavy vase.
She goes to get something to clean the pollen off.
He fingers his shiny bow tie. “What is it with girls and the matchy-matchy? Angie’s marriage would still be legal, even if the groomsmen didn’t match the bridesmaids.”
It’s a joke, I think. He’s keeping up appearances. But his jaw is clenched, teeth grinding.
I pick up a flower. “I’m here helping my mom,” I say. There’s no sense in provoking him, not while I’m still alive. While I still have a chance.
I drove past that house he went to. Other than a car that was way too flashy for the neighborhood parked outside, it looked totally normal. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a neon sign that said MURDERS INSIDE?
My stomach churns. If I survive whoever is coming for me, I will have to tell someone about that house.
Mom returns with a wet paper towel. She brushes Adrian off while apologizing profusely. When she finishes and heads back out to the van, he turns around. Our eyes meet. He doesn’t look away. He stands in the middle of the aisle, and his gaze locks on me. I place my hand on the yellow purse. As much as I want to, I don’t look away. I can’t show him my fear.
The door opens in the back of the church. Both of us jump. Miss Jones, the Miss Jones from school, teeters in on heels she obviously never wears. She sees me and Adrian.
Her eyes run over my jeans and T-shirt. “Shit,” she says, but then glances apologetically up to the heavens. “Am I early?” Her unsteadiness doesn’t seem to be caused by the shoes alone. Her eyes are watery, and her cheeks red.
As Adrian moves forward to greet her, she looks over his shoulder. Her eyes widen while the rest of her face threatens to collapse.
“Ten minutes. He gets to sleep for ten minutes and then his ass better be dressed and ready to stand here.” Lawrence comes around the corner talking to no one in particular. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Miss Jones.
She throws her hands up and giggles. “I’m early.”
I adjust a vase in the corner and try to become invisible. My pocket buzzes. I freeze. Lawrence, Adrian, and Miss Jones glance at me. Adrian’s eyes narrow.
I slink into the hallway out of their sight. The black monster has been quiet since the last text. I’m terrified of what it will say now.
It’s a different number, but still a Washington area code.
Tonight.
I stagger back. I grip my yellow purse. No. It can’t happen tonight. I’m around all these people.
I don’t have time to react before Adrian’s hand wraps around my wrist.
My purse swings behind me and slaps me in the side. Adrian pulls me deep into the dark hallway. I rip my hand away and reach for the purse. He stops. It’s just us. I’ve been given a chance to stop this. I slide my fingers into the purse and wrap them around the gun.
Adrian looks into my eyes. My hand releases on its own accord. I want to, but I can’t do it. Even after all I’ve seen, all that’s happened to me, I can’t shoot someone in cold blood.
He pushes me into the back room.
“Stay,” he whispers. Tomás is asleep in a folding chair with a cup of weak-looking coffee steaming on the table next to him.
My body goes limp in a chair. Its metal bites into my limbs, but I hardly feel it.
Adrian kicks Tomás’s foot. “Wake up.” Tomás blinks sleepily. When he sees me, he half smiles. The look on Adrian’s face intensifies.
“Debbie’s here,” he announces.
Tomás is up on his feet, like he’s chugged a Red Bull. His head whips around the room, searching for something he can’t find.
“I’ll wait outside.” Adrian points at Tomás. “Figure something out.”
Adrian leaves. I huddle on the chair. Should I run after him?
Tomás’s eyes land on me. “If Angie sees Debbie here, she’ll freak.”
“Angie?” Haze is taking over my mind. My yellow purse is in my lap. I want to throw it to the floor.
Tomás paces. “A couple years ago, Angie kicked Lawrence out. They were broken up for months, and he started dating Debbie. When Angie told him he could come home, it was messy. Debbie took it hard. If Angie sees Debbie here, she’ll call off the wedding.”
The haze grows thicker. All I can do is stare at Tomás.
He looks at me, like I stopped understanding English. “Debbie. Miss Jones. From the high school?”
I push away the blur, the yellow purse, and the knowledge that tonight I die. “Angie can’t do that,” I say. This wedding has to happen. Mom needs this. Needs to feel successful. So she has something—something for when I’m gone.
Tomás has moved out to the hallway and is peeking
around the corner. I follow him and look.
Miss Jones swipes a finger under her eye. Lawrence holds her other hand. It’s not a romantic gesture—more like comforting someone who has lost a loved one.
She leans forward until their faces are far too close for a man who is about to be married to another woman in an hour. He doesn’t pull back. I can’t tell if he’s humoring her or if he’s actually feeling something.
Adrian tears back into the side doorway. Any second, Angie, her friends, and Mrs. Morales are going to come in. Come in and see.
Adrian and Tomás make frantic hand gestures to each other. They aren’t going to make it. By the time the two of them figure it out, it will be way too late. Angie will have a complete meltdown.
I leave the boys, still paralyzed by indecision, and dash around the corner. “Miss Jones!” I yell. “Thank God you’re still here.” Lawrence jumps back and lets go of her hand.
I loop my arm around her elbow and flinch when my purse swings to the side. “I have to change, and I totally need help zipping up my dress.” I pull her back a couple of wobbly steps. She won’t leave Lawrence.
“You’re the only one who can help me. I’m so not having them”—I jut my thumb over my shoulder at Adrian and Tomás, staring with mouths agape from the hallway—“see me in my bra.”
The word bra brings Lawrence back to his senses. “It was good to see you, Debbie.” He gives her a friendly wave and jogs to meet his groomsmen.
I still have Miss Jones by the arm. She’s coming with me whether she likes it or not. I almost pull her off her heels, but eventually, she walks beside me. Just as we reach the door, a huge amount of commotion fills the back of the church.
Squeals of “you can’t see the bride” and uproarious laugher echo through the hallowed space. Miss Jones stops and stands perfectly still.
“Come on,” I say, and take her outside. As soon as we are in the parking lot, she cries big, ugly, screw-up-your-whole-face, drunken tears. She heads for her car. I step in front of her and hold out my hand. She shouldn’t be driving. She shouldn’t have driven here in the first place.
The Truth Beneath the Lies Page 20
