Chapter 2
Sunday. One day before I go back to school. I sat atop a round stool, propping my elbows on the tabletop. I’d managed to avoid Aiden for four days, going as far as ignoring his calls. It was for the best. At least, on my part.
I watched Sarah lather Nutella on a slice of bread with a spoon, splotches of brown cream spattering on the plate. That stuff was addictive and very very delicious.
“That’s enough,” I said to her.
“I want more!” She frowned, her adorable six-year-old face failing to look intimidating.
“Listen to your sister,” Ma said.
Sarah closed the jar.
Ma was washing the dishes, the steady trickle of running water muffling the voice of the radio presenter. Reaching for the miniature stereo, I pushed down a red button, shutting it off. I opened the box I'd been trying to ignore, stuffing it with Sarah’s discarded toys. I rolled out a rope, measured it and took a knife to severe it.
“Where’s Daddy? You said he’d come for Christmas and New Year, Mommy.”
The knife slipped from my grip, cutting my thumb. I let the rope drop to the table. Droplets of blood squeezed out of the small cut on my finger but I paid no attention to it.
“I want Daddy!”
Drawing in a sharp breath, I reached for a piece of tissue paper from the holder. I pressed it on my thumb, watching the blood seep into the material. Ma stood frozen, shoulders held straight, knuckles white on the sink top. Water gushed from the tap, spraying on the dishes.
Sarah looked at my mother, her blonde pigtails swinging. “Mommy?”
I wanted to say something, anything to divert Sarah's attention. Biting my lower lip, I took a scoop of the hazelnut chocolate spread and smudged it on her nose. Blue eyes glared at me, the same color as my own. The same as Dad’s.
“Meanie!” Sarah said.
I stuck out my tongue, pulled my earlobes and made funny faces at her. She giggled, the gentle sound of her laughter easing the heavy weight off my shoulders. I reached for her bread, intent on stealing it but she slapped my hand away.
Ma awoke from her stupor. She wiped her hands with a towel, knelt down before Sarah and said, “Daddy will come home, sweetie.”
Sarah’s face lit up. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
Abandoning the box, I strode out of the kitchen, shutting the door with a slam. I sat on the porch swing. I could feel the sting of tears blurring my vision. I held them back, refusing to give in. The soft tread of my mother brought my head up.
“Megan, we need to —”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Ma.”
I went back inside, rushing past the stairs and stomping into my room. The trace of a flowery fragrance wafted to my nose. Jasmine. Ma had placed the little flowers on my nightstand as she often did in the mornings.
I let out a sigh. Guilt nagged at my mind, biting and clawing like a lion feasting on its prey. Ma was taking the worst of it—the full brunt of the blade. I should have been nicer. Slumping on my bed, I picked up a jasmine. I twirled it between my fingers. One delicate petal swooped down the quilt. It looked so fragile. So alone.
Raucous laughter filled the room. That was Aiden’s doing. He liked to change my message tone whenever I left my phone unguarded. He’d once put a farting tone during lunch break. I had gone to the library that afternoon and when a friend had texted me, it had rung so loudly that everyone in the library had heard it. I hadn't just faced public embarrassment on that day. I'd also been kicked out of the library all thanks to him. This one reminded me of a laughing rat that had been too clever to get fooled by a cheese trap.
Taking my phone from the nightstand. I checked the message.
I’m out shopping for groceries, Naomi had texted.
Good for you. Don’t forget the spinach, I joked.
The screen lit up. I pressed the receiving button before the grating tone could blare out of the speakers.
Wanna join? Naomi asked.
I tapped the keyboard. No thanks.
A minute later, the awful tone spewed out of my phone. I'd gotten another text from Naomi. I have chocolate.
She sent a picture of one huge chocolate bar held in her hand. My mouth watered. Oh, she was evil. I hid my phone under my pillow before I decided to change my mind about not going.
Sitting up, I took out my iPod from under the bed, plugged the earphones to my ears and leaned on the headboard. I shuffled the playlist, stopping at my favorite song. The fluid sound of the piano was comforting, the rich tone of the violin accentuating the flow. It was a song that reminded me of blue skies and moonlit oceans, warm summers and happy memories.
I lost track of time, reveling in my solitude. When I heard the sound of metal sliding against metal, I was startled. Someone had opened the door. My earphones slipped out of the headset jack as I adjusted my position, spindly wires tangling with my shirt and coiling around the buttons.
Sarah walked to my bed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Aiden’s downstairs,” she said.
I wasn’t ready to see him. I needed time to erase my feelings for him. I needed time to heal and forget.
“Tell him I went out,” I said.
Sarah nodded. She skipped out of the room, humming a lullaby she’d heard from Ma. I sank into the quilt, closing my eyes and listening to my breathing.
“Jeez, Megan. What kind of crap are you listening to?”
That little snitch.
Aiden crinkled his nose, arms crossed over his chest.
I threw a pillow at him. “Hey, that’s Brian Crain you’re insulting! He’s one of the best.”
He caught it with ease. “Right.”
Aiden sat on the edge of my bed. I brought my knees to my chest, keeping as much distance as I could from him. I didn't want him to take notice of something that would give me away. If he ever found out I’d been the girl who had kissed him on New Year’s eve, I would lose him. I couldn’t afford that.
“What’s up with you?” His hazel eyes drilled into me.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
Aiden inched closer, pressing his palms on the mattress. We stared at each other. My eyes widened as the seconds ticked away, my pulse quickening. A frown settled over his face.
Oh no, this is not happening.
“You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
I sucked in a breath, a sliver of relief swathing me. “What? No.”
He stood up. “Good.” Holding out his hand, he said, “Come with me.”
Aiden was clueless. I was safe.
Of course, you are, I told myself. You’re his best friend, the least possible suspect.
“Where to?” I asked.
“I’m going to Autopilot to pick up some stuff,” he replied.
Autopilot was a local shop that sold spare parts at cheap prices. Aiden was probably going to pick up parts for the car he’d been bragging about since October. His father had salvaged it from a junkyard. A rare find in a sea of metallic castoffs. I’d only seen it once when it was towed into their garage. It was a red 1969 Mustang, a classic car in its own right.
It, however, looked like a dilapidated piece of junk in an utter state of disrepair. Dented and mangled, neglected and rusted, I had deemed it a waste of time and effort to fix it.
Taking his hand, I said, “Lead the way, boss.”
He pulled me to my feet. I let Ma know where we were going before we left. With a roar of the engine, Aiden drove us away from my house. Sunlight slithered into the interior of the car, landing on my lap. The glare prevented me from looking outside the window but I knew what the suburb was like. White picket fences, green lawns and cozy houses all bordering the road from both sides.
Buildings paved way for long stretches of trees. This wasn’t the way to the shop. Aiden had taken a different route, far from the central town area.
“I thought we were going to Autopilot,” I said.
“We’re taking a detour.” His lips tipped up into the hint of a cryptic smile, a look I was familiar with. It meant he was up to no good.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”
“Not a chance,” he said.
Forty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a harbor. The faint scent of smoked salmons saturated the air. The lake glistened in the light, colorful boats bobbing in the breeze.
“So Stillwater Fish Village,” I said.
“That’s right.”
I waited for Aiden to continue speaking but he seemed to be enjoying my reaction. Waving my hand impatiently, I said, “Why are we here?”
He smirked. “Because fishing is more fun.”