Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (68 page)

CHAPTER 1

“I’m not sure how much more I can take,” David said. “This town’s not big enough for both of us.”

He was going on about the director of the current production at 2
^nd
Street Theater. David didn’t get the lead and was given a minor role. He hadn’t taken it well.

“And you know what he says to me? ‘I saw your last performance and I think you might be better suited for musicals.’ Musicals! Child, please. I hate musicals!”

“Bummer,” Ty said.

While I didn’t enjoy seeing David in pain, the timing of his theatrics was spot on. I was hoping it would distract people from what they were putting in their mouths. I had put a lot of effort into the dinner, but it hadn’t come together. The chicken was dry and the gnocchi were rubbery.

“Sorry,” I said when we had finished. “I’ll do better next time.”

We were sitting around the table in the backyard, under the willow with its long, cascading branches swaying gently around us.

“No,” Ty said, reaching over and patting my arm. “It was good. Look, I finished everything on my plate. Really, it wasn’t
that
bad, Abby.”

I wondered if he was just being nice or if I had damaged his taste buds.

“I liked that salad dressing,” David said with a sigh, leaning toward me and dropping his chin firmly on his fists. “It had a nice tart flavor that enhanced the lettuce beautifully.”

“And those little tomatoes you used were something else,” Lyle said.

“Those were Kate’s contribution, fresh from her garden,” I said.

I had been working in the kitchen for hours on my first day off in more than two weeks. I wanted it to be special. I wanted to impress Ty with an excellent home-cooked meal. I slowly drew in the warm evening air, reminding myself that cooking was an art and that this meal had turned out like a child’s stick drawing.

I’m not sure what I had expected. I’d barely been in the kitchen in recent months. Between working as a river guide and at Back Street and playing soccer, I just didn’t have the time. I was rusty and the proof was sitting in my stomach.

“Hey, don’t forget the Chianti. It was amazing,” David said, pouring himself another glass. “Besides, being here with all you special people was super fun.”

I smiled.

“Here, here,” Kate said as she lifted a glass for a toast. Everyone joined in. 

“You’re just lucky I’m not still with Eduardo,” David went on. “I mean, that guy was ruthless when it came to food. One time we were at the Blacksmith and they had overdone his steak by a smidgen and he threw a complete fit. You know what I’m talking about, Ty. He was over at Ten Barrel sometimes.”

“Yeah, I totally remember Eduardo,” Ty said. “Nobody at work is missing him. He used to always complain about everything, but then he always came back for more.”

“Tell me about it,” David said, one eyebrow flying high up on his forehead.

Kate giggled, which sent David into hysterics for the next five minutes, complete with heavy wheezing and coughing.

I was glad he was feeling better.

I glanced back over at Ty. The soft glow of the fading sun was lighting up his face and his eyes were sparkling and clear, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

“Oh, hey,” David said after he recovered. “I heard from Mo last night and the tour’s been extended. She won’t be back now until fall.”

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“Lucky,” Lyle said. “I sure wouldn’t mind roaming around Europe all summer.”

I was glad Lyle had been able to come. He worked with us over at Back Street as a part time barista and was a nature photographer the rest of the time. Some of his photos were displayed at the coffeehouse. His work was nice and peaceful, and lately, seemed to be focused exclusively on trees. They were quiet photos, which is probably why most people passed right by them, and why they didn’t sell.

Besides his passion for photography, I didn’t know much else about Lyle. He’d moved to Bend a few years ago from some small town in the Willamette Valley, and when we were closing together, he liked to play soft indie rock like Iron & Wine or Band of Horses. He was older, in his early 40’s maybe. He wore his hair in a big, frizzy white man afro, and liked to wear flared jeans, like he was stuck in the era he was born in.

He wasn’t a big talker, and when he did talk, he’d say odd things. He seemed to march to the beat of his own drummer, but it seemed like most of us at Back Street did in one way or another. He fit right in.

“I love what you guys have done to the place,” Erin said.

It was good to see her again. She used to work with Kate at
The Bugler
and was staying with us for a few days. It had been a great week so far, especially at night when we all stayed up watching
Chopped
and
Sweet Genius
.

“Seriously, Kate? You built that pond?”

I loved the pond. Kate had put it in a few months ago, with lily pads, frogs, a few fish, and a waterfall. I especially liked to sit by it at night.

“Abby helped,” Kate said.

“No, not much,” I said.

We sat talking and laughing until the sun fell behind the trees. A chill came up.

“So what are we going to do later?” Ty asked.

“I don’t care,” I said. “Anything.”

He smiled.

“How about a long walk?” he said. “Or maybe a movie?”

Even though we saw each other on the river most days, we really didn’t see each other as much as we wanted. Ty was still working at Ten Barrel, and most nights he was either brewing beer or waiting tables. And although I had cut back on my hours at Back Street, I was still working there more than I had planned.

“Yeah, either one sounds good,” I said. “I just need to clean up a little.”

I looked out at the mess of dishes and after insisting that everybody stay seated, I got up and picked up as many as I could as David started in on the director again. Ty followed me to the kitchen with a huge stack of plates.

After we put them on the counter, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, kissing me gently.

“I love you, Abby,” he said, his breath heavy in my ear.

My stomach tightened, like it always did in these moments, the words in my head never making it down to my tongue. I smiled as I looked up into his serious eyes, trying to say something meaningful, trying to express how I felt. 

But like always, I couldn’t.

“Thanks,” I said finally, killing the moment like a Spanish matador.

He smiled a little Charlie Brown smile and let me go.

“I’ll get the rest,” he said, a hint of sadness in his step as he walked back outside.

It had been the third time I had done that. The third time he had told me that he loved me and I wasn’t able to tell him anything back. It wasn’t because I didn’t feel the same way. What I felt when I saw him for the first time in the morning or when we kissed was strong and real. I knew that I loved Ty. But there was something about saying it out loud, something about telling him and declaring it that I had trouble with. It felt impossible.

But when he returned with his arms full of glasses and bottles, he was happy again.

“Well, I still liked your dinner," he said. “I don’t care what you say.”

“Okay. But I’m hoping you will give me another chance. I’m so much better than this. Really, I am.”

“Anytime. Just say the word.”

I watched his bright energy dance around him and then hugged him, putting my head on his chest and listening to his heart, strong and steady.

CHAPTER
2

David came up behind me and whispered in my ear as I handed a customer his change. He was going through a health food phase, saying he needed to find a way to recover faster from all his partying. I could smell the mix of alcohol coming off his skin along with the spinach-celery smoothie on his breath.

“Don’t freak out, Abby Craig,” he said, “but she’s in here again.”

I wasn’t going to freak out. I had promised myself once I had started sleeping better a few months ago that I was going to be more easy about everything. More than most people my age, I had come face to face with the end of the world. I had died and come back to life. I had dealt with the death of my mom and Jesse. I had been kidnapped and my kidnapper had tried to kill me. I knew a little about life and death. Most things were not the end of the world.

“Over there,” he said, his eyes bugging as he shifted them back and forth trying to get me to look in her direction. “The one wearing the pink T-shirt.”

I sighed. There were a few women sitting by themselves in the café wearing T-shirts so I had no idea who he was talking about.

“Oops,” he said. “My bad. Sorry! I’m always forgetting that you can’t see any colors. Okay, the girl sitting by the window with the short dark hair. The one who looks like she got up on the wrong side of the bed, all moody and such.”

I found her. She was probably in her late twenties. She sucked on a straw as she stared out the window. And she did look serious.

“What do you think she wants?” I asked after I rang up another order.

“Don’t know,” David said. “But the lady is determined. She’s been in here three times this week asking for you. You were in the back getting the cups when she came in a few minutes ago, but I already told her you were here and that you’d be out soon.”

“Way to go,” I said.

“What? I should lie?”

He poured some coffee that had just finished brewing and handed it to me.

“I got the counter covered if you want to take a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” I said.

After I had helped stop the school bombing in May, I had been labeled  “Dream Girl” by the press and my story, name, and face had been plastered all over the place. Reporters wanted interviews, strangers wrote asking for help finding a lost loved one, and local parents thanked me with tears in their eyes. The excitement lasted for a few weeks. I finally became old news when Hollywood’s hottest young couple called it quits.

A detective from the Bend Police Department still showed up at Back Street from time to time, always with a few “new”
questions, questions I had already answered dozens of times about how I knew that a student was bringing a bomb to his high school that day. He wasn’t satisfied that it was a psychic vision that had helped stop Devin Cypher from killing hundreds of people.

“David,” I whispered. “Tell me again what you know. What did she say exactly?”

He leaned his back against the pastry case, folded his arms across his chest, and looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s filthy up there,” he said. “I mean, would you look at those cobwebs.”

“David, focus.”

“She asked for Abby,” he said, still looking up and making a face. “That’s it. She first came in Monday. Or maybe it was Tuesday. Anyway it was early afternoon and she made it a point to come up to me to ask if you were working. She walked right past Lyle. Then yesterday, same time, just after noon. Same thing, completely ignored Mike. It’s like she knows we’re friends or something. So that’s when I told her that you are out on the river all day and that she would have to come back after five o’clock to find you. I asked her if she wanted me to give you a message, but she said no, that she wanted to speak with you. That’s it.”

I picked up my coffee.

“Now that I think about it, she does look awfully familiar,” he said. “Maybe I’ve seen her on TV before, like a news show or something. But I don’t know. She doesn’t seem like a reporter to me. Your sister would never be caught dead in those flip flops and cut offs. On or off the job.”

I guess there was one thing I already knew about her. If David was able to see her, the woman by the window wasn’t a ghost.

“Cowboy up,” I said to myself.

“Go get her and remember I’m right here,” David said. “Just holler if you need me.”

“I feel so safe just knowing that.”

“Don’t be snide, Abby Craig.”

She still seemed lost in thought. A deep line formed between her large dark eyes when she noticed me standing over her. She squinted and then nodded without speaking. Her energy was gray and turbulent, crashing all around her.

“Abby Craig,” I said, sitting across from her.

“Paloma Suárez,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly in a weak attempt at a smile.

“David said you were looking for me.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming over. I’m sorry to bother you, but he said you might be able to help.”

“He?” I said, confused.

“David. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he just said you’ve come in a few times and asked for me. Anyway, I don’t have much time. I’m on my break.”

The people behind us got up and left and suddenly it was quieter in the café.

She seemed nervous, playing with the paper wrapper from her straw. She didn’t give off the type of vibe I had learned to associate with reporters or cops. I didn’t know what she wanted but her anxiety left me feeling more relaxed. I eased back in my chair and waited.

“So, uh, David, he didn’t get a chance to tell you about my problem?” she said finally.

“No,” I said, glancing back over at him.

He was lingering at the counter, all ears. When he caught me staring at him, he gave me a thumbs up and threw his towel up over his shoulder and looked away.

“
Cabrón
,” she said loudly, her eyes moving from me to him and back again.

“So you told David your problem?”

“Well, I guess I just mentioned it casually. He comes into the club where I work pretty regularly. I was serving him last week and I told him about this, this, uh, situation I was having and he suggested that I talk to you.”

“What kind of situation?” I asked.

She lowered her voice.

“Look, I want you to know I don’t believe in it,” she said. “No offense and all, but I don’t believe in your
brujo
shit, Abby. I stopped going to church a long time ago and I never got around to replacing it with some
gringo
paranormal belief system.”