Basic

by E. J. Mara

  “I’m so sorry about your car,” I said to Kimberly. “I can’t believe I just threw up like that.”

  “Please, no worries,” Kimberly said giving my hand a squeeze. Her eyes wide with concern, she said, “And I can a hundred percent understand why you hurled. The way he was looking at you and then what you saw in that room- I would’ve done more than throw up. I would’ve either punched him in the face or passed out, or both.”

  “Yeah. We’re glad you ran out of there when you did,” Lindsey quietly agreed. I glanced at her and she shook her head, scowling as she went on, “When you drank the water, Jonathan was ready to go in and get you himself. We could barely keep him in the car. But when you saw that room, oh my God Libby, we were all about to go in there after you.”

  I glanced at Jonathan and he looked down at his feet, not meeting my eyes.

  Jen sat a can of Sprite on the table next to me and joined Jonathan, a few feet away.

  “Thanks, Jen,” I said, opening the can and taking a sip of Sprite. She nodded.

  “Do you feel a little better now?” Kimberly gently asked.

  I chuckled dryly.

  Who cared how I felt?

  Farrah Duncan was obviously dead at the hands of a man who the police weren’t even planning on investigating.

  “Timothy Dawes,” I said, turning to face Kimberly. “Was keeping Farrah in that room. And now she’s dead. If we’d gotten to him sooner, she might not be.” I shook my head. “How can I ever be okay? Farrah’s dead.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Jen said. Everyone turned to look at her as she spoke. “Yeah, we saw a suspicious room in the guy’s house. But maybe there’s another explanation for the rope and the deadbolt on that door-”

  “And the bloodied tarp on the floor?” Kimberly said, interrupting her. “Come on, Jen. It’s pretty obvious what happened in there.”

  “And it smelled,” I said, remembering the smell so vividly that it felt like I was back in the doorway of that horrible room. “It smelled like death. Worse than roadkill.”

  “Oh, God…” Lindsey murmured. She leaned her head against my shoulder. “This is horrible.”

  I nodded. “It is. Because what can we do? If we go to the police, will they even care?”

  “One good thing,” Jonathan quietly said. “Is that you set up the listening device and camera in his house. So, if he does anything else suspect, we’ll see it. And if the police don’t listen, there are other sources we can go to.”

  “I thought about that too,” Kimberly nodded. “There’s the media. Of course, local news stations won’t give us the time of day because they’re racist losers. But the national media would eat this up and with national attention, the police would have to do something.”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan agreed. “So, we’ve got to keep an eye on him and then maybe find out how to get in touch with some reporter at CNN or NBC.”

  “I think we should go to both, and also to National Public Radio and the BBC,” Kimberly said. “And we need to go back into the guy’s place to get that tarp. If it has Farrah’s blood, we need it for DNA samples before he gets rid of it.”

  “You want to go back in there?” Jonathan said, his eyes widening.

  “It’s the only way,” Kimberly retorted. “I know it’s dangerous. But we need solid proof that Timothy Dawes is the murderer.”

  “I’m pretty sure the camera and audio bug Libby put in his house will give us more than enough proof,” Jonathan argued.

  “But-” Kimberly was interrupted by Jen, who raised her hand unexpectedly.

  Her face was pale as she lowered her hand and said, “Y’all, this whole thing is making me sick to my stomach and right now, I really just want to go home.”

  “Me too,” Lindsey quietly said from beside me. “Can we sleep on this and regroup later?”

  I glanced at her and noticed that not only did the typically perky cheerleader look uncharacteristically somber, but her eyes were bloodshot.

  Kimberly nodded. “Y’all are right, we should call it a day. This was… a lot.” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Jen, I’ll take you home. And Jonathan, can you help Libby set up the audio and visual stuff at her place so she can keep eyes on this dude?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jonathan said quickly.

  I glanced at Jen and she was frowning, her gaze going from Kimberly to Jonathan. And then, she met my eyes.

  I quickly looked away.

  “Why is Libby the one who gets to watch this guy?” Jen said.

  “Because,” I blurted. “Out of all five of us, I’m the one with the parent who barely cares what their kid does. So, if the stuff is set up at my place, an adult won’t notice.”

  The room went extremely silent and Kimberly gave my hand another squeeze.

  Feeling dumb, I stood and didn’t look anyone in the eye as I said, “I guess we should go, thanks guys.”

  Everyone mumbled their goodbyes, a feeling of gloom hanging over our every word, gesture and hug.

  We were all thinking one thing: Farrah Duncan was dead, and it was up to us to somehow put her killer behind bars.

  ***

  Jonathan’s dad’s truck smelled like a new car and a hint of vanilla. I liked it.

  I’d noticed this before, but now, since I was apparently back to that weird state of saying whatever popped into my mind, I blurted this out as we put on our seatbelts and left Red’s Security.

  “Your dad’s truck smells comforting,” I rambled. “Like a brand new car and vanilla. It makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and go to sleep.”

  Jonathan glanced at me and smiled. “Thanks. I think.”

  “It’s a compliment. Well, I guess it is if you care about what I think. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter.” I turned to the passenger seat window, watching the scenery as we pulled out onto the main road.

  “I do care what you think,” Jonathan said, his voice low and firm. “And I care about you. Probably more than you realize.”

  I kept my gaze on the window, too afraid to look at him. Afraid it would make him hear himself, and realizing what he’d said, he’d take it all back and shut up.

  I wanted him to keep talking. I wanted him to say more… but even if he did, I knew a part of me wouldn’t believe him.

  I sighed and closed my eyes, confused and startled by my own jumbled thoughts.

  “Libby, I mean, Amanda,” he said and suddenly we were pulling over, on the side of the road.

  Surprised, I turned to him.

  Jonathan unbuckled his seatbelt and faced me.

  Confused, I watched him look back at me with those intense eyes of his.

  “It took everything I had not to go in that house with you,” he said, his words slow and precise. “Because I care about you more than I probably should. I care about you more than I care about my own…” he paused and looked down. “More than my own girlfriend, which is wrong. But it’s the truth.”

  I blinked back at Jonathan, processing his words with my mind, but not with my heart.

  I was still numb.

  It was as if everything I’d been through that day was too much. The interaction with Timothy Dawes and seeing the room where he’d killed Farrah Duncan had triggered a ‘system overload’ in my heart, making it crash.

  So, I didn’t say anything, I just watched Jonathan- trying to feel something other than the slight panic behind the overwhelming numbness that seemed to be engulfing me.

  “I don’t know what happened to you and your mom before you got here,” he said, looking up and meeting my eyes. “I don’t know why you don’t trust people, but I’m sure it’s for a good reason. And I want you to understand that you can trust me. Because there are few people who I… there’s no one else who I feel this way about, Amanda. No one.”

  He hesitantly reached across the armrest and took one of my hands in his.

  I looked down at our hands as if they were foreign objects.

  When I looked up, Jonat
han was watching me.

  He lightly ran his thumb along my fist and leaned towards me. I watched him close his eyes and I closed mine. The smell of his shampoo and aftershave trickled into my nostrils, not unpleasant. His lips, soft pressure against mine, surprised my senses and I felt my heart return to life.

  I tightened my grip on his hand, linking my fingers through his as I leaned towards him. He released my hand and took my face in his palms, deepening our kiss. My revitalized heart pounded as Jonathan parted my lips with his and used his tongue to caress mine.

  Butterflies exploded in my stomach and then flew south, waking sensations I’d never felt before. I leaned towards him, wishing there was no armrest between us. I linked my arm around the back of his head, wanting him closer, wanting no space between us.

  I didn’t just want Jonathan, I needed him. Right then and there, I needed him and every part of his body more than I’d ever needed anything.

  His hands left my face and one moving to my neck, the other to my heart, he let it rest there. It moved up and down with the swift beats of my heart.

  He pulled back and I leaned towards him, reining him in with another kiss.

  He exhaled, his eyes still closed as he pulled away again.

  “Amanda,” he said, his voice ragged and breathless.

  I kissed his jaw and said, “I want you.”

  His breathing shaky, he watched me with wide eyes.

  “I can’t-” he started.

  “I want you,” I repeated, running my hand along his chest and kissing him on the chin. I couldn’t believe I’d never kissed him before. Why hadn’t I?

  And then I remembered Jen.

  The thought of her stopped me cold.

  Jonathan tucked a few strands of my hair behind my ear, his eyes sad as he said, “I’ve always wanted to hear you say that. But, I’m sorry. I-”

  “You have a girlfriend,” I said, moving away from him and smoothing down my hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I mean, I’m glad we did, but I shouldn’t have.”

  I kept my eyes straight ahead, not trusting myself to look at him. Looking at him would mean wanting to kiss him even more. And considering my weird state of mind, there was no telling what I’d act on.

  “I’m glad we did too,” I heard myself say as I looked out of the window. “And I want to keep kissing you, which is probably why you should bring me home right now.”

  “Amanda-”

  “I’m so serious, Jonathan,” I said, staring at an oak tree that had been planted in the median. I wondered if it would eventually uproot the highway. Probably.

  I wondered if I was any different from my mother. I wondered if “bad” and “good” even mattered. And I wondered if it would be such a terrible thing to kiss Jen’s boyfriend again. Timothy Dawes killed Farrah Duncan. My father left my mother. My mother stole money from every man she slept with. I lied to every friend I had. And today, I kissed Jen’s boyfriend.

  Did any of it matter?

  I closed my eyes and said, “Can you please take me home?”

  “Okay,” Jonathan started the engine and we drove away.

  I kept my eyes closed as he cleared his throat and said, “About the software, I don’t really need to help you set it up. That was just an excuse to … to be with you. Um, I have it all on a flash drive, I’ll give you. You just plug it in and it’s pretty self-explanatory. But, of course you can call me if you have any issues.”

  “Thanks,” I managed to say.

  We drove in silence for a while and I realized my heart was still pounding and my eyes were still closed.

  I couldn’t seem to calm down.

  “Are you okay?” Jonathan asked.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  The truck slowed to a stop and I heard him put it in park. I opened my eyes and saw we were in front of my house.

  “Hey,” Jonathan said, touching my shoulder.

  I tensed and turned to him.

  He leaned towards me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, encasing me in a burrito-like hug. I closed my eyes and leaned into him.

  My jumbled thoughts melted away.

  I rested my head against his shoulder and said, “Thank you for being my friend.”

  “Thank you for letting me.” He kissed me on the cheek and hugged me even tighter.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After Jonathan dropped me off, I walked into our big, empty house unable to pretend that I wasn’t scared and lonely. So, I turned on far too many lights and took a hot, cleansing shower for far too long.

  Surprisingly, the shower actually helped me to de-stress.

  Feeling a little better, I turned off the excess lights and slid into bed around 9:30. An hour later, I woke to the sound of Mom getting in. She was normally pretty quiet, so as I opened my eyes I knew that she was either too drunk to be careful about her movements or she wanted me to know she was home.

  I listened to her footsteps as she slowly ascended our stairs. They didn’t sound uneven or faltering, just slow- like she was too deep in thought to walk with her usual swiftness.

  Moments later, there was a soft knock on my door.

  “Manda,” Mom’s voice was soft. “Are you still awake?”

  Surprised, I sat up and said, “Yeah, come in.”

  Mom hadn’t stepped foot in my room since we’d bought the place. And she never came to me for late night talks.

  For a moment, I froze, wondering if she’d somehow found out about my trip to Timothy Dawes’ house.

  She opened my door and turned on my light.

  Pausing in the doorway, she looked around, quietly assessing my room.

  She wore a tight, strapless dress that showed off her slight curves and the full bust I’d inherited. Her make-up was subtle and understated. And so was her expression… she was unusually calm.

  I relaxed, realizing there was no way she’d be calm if she knew what I’d done earlier today.

  “I haven’t been in here since you decorated,” she said, her gaze going to the large black and white photo of a house I’d had framed and put next to my desk. “Where’d you get that picture?”

  “I took it,” I said, still surprised that she was standing in my room. It felt weird, talking to her in my own personal space. “When we lived in NOLA. Remember our first day there? When we drove to that restaurant all the way in Saint Francisville? I saw that house and thought it was pretty, so I shot it.”

  “You have a great eye,” she said with a nod of approval. Something inside of me got lighter and happier as she said this.

  “Thanks.”

  Mom walked the few paces from my doorway to my bed and sat on the edge of my bed, surprising me even more.

  She looked at me and took a deep breath. “Manda, we need to talk about the future.”

  I tensed. “Okay,” I slowly said.

  “I know we’ve been sort of nomadic since your father left, but I want that to change now.” Mom’s voice was soft and she looked into my eyes, smiling as she said, “I think I’m ready to put down some roots. But my decisions affect you, and I want to know how you feel about that.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “You mean you want to stay in Sunnyville?” I asked.

  Her smile widened and she nodded. “I do,” she quietly said.

  “Really?” I asked, watching her carefully. Mom had never said this about any place we’d ever lived. She’d always been looking ahead, figuring out how far away we’d need to move to be a safe distance from her most recent ‘target.’ I couldn’t wrap my head around her wanting to stay in one place for a significant amount of time.

  “It’s all because of Van,” Mom said, looking down and chuckling.

  The look on her face reminded me of the way I felt when I thought of Jonathan.

  He made me breathless, sent smiles to my face for absolutely no reason, and he seemed to creep into my thoughts at the most peculiar moments. />
  But in Mom’s case, Van was all hers. He hadn’t chosen to be with another woman.

  So, she was happier than I was.

  “He’s great, Mom,” I said, smiling. I put my hand on top of hers and said, “I’m really happy for you.”

  “Happy enough to want to live here for the rest of the schoolyear? And, to not mind coming back here for the holidays when you’re in college?” she asked, her expression growing rather grave as she gauged my reaction.

  I shrugged. “Sunnyville’s great. I don’t mind.”

  Mom wrapped her hand around mine and gave it a squeeze. “Sugar plum, I realize I’ve expected a lot from you over the years. I’ve moved you around this country more in the past few years than most people have ever moved in their entire lives. And I’ve asked you to do things that… that most mothers wouldn’t ask of their teenage daughters. Honey,” she sighed and shook her head, her gaze moving down to my bedsheets. “Sugar, that was… wrong of me.”

  “What?” I squeaked.

  Mom never apologized.

  Never.

  It was one of her rules.

  She gulped and said, “Since I met Van I’ve realized that loving someone, really loving someone means sacrificing your needs to do what’s best for them. He does that for me every day. Because he loves me.” Mom’s eyes filled. I watched her, transfixed as she smiled and said, “And it’s made me see how selfishly I’ve treated the one, great love of my life- you.”

  My own eyes filled and I shook my head. “No, Mom, you haven’t-”

  “I have been selfish,” she said, cutting me off. “I’ve given you my baggage. And that’s not right. You’re living with my sins and I don’t want to do that to you anymore. I want you to have a happy and normal life, because that’s what you deserve, even if I don’t. So, sugar plum, I need for you to honestly tell me if living in Sunnyville will make you happy. Because that’s what matters most.”

  She looked me in the eye and said, “Is there any reason that we should move somewhere else?”

  Never had my mother asked me for my input about our next move.