The Sweet Dead Life (16 page)

"Not that part, Jenna. The logo. At the top. The Manny's logo."

I looked at the logo: a series of Mexican sombreros. Underneath was Manny's Tex Mex slogan:
A taste of old Mexico, Texas style
. I snorted a laugh. If Dad had left me with one thing, it was the knowledge that while tasty, Tex-Mex cuisine was not authentic Mexican food.

"Read it, Jenna."

"I just did."

"Read it again. Out loud."

"You read it, if it's so thrilling to you. Have you been smoking again?"

"Jesus, Jenna."

"You really shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, you know. That AIC must mark your demerit sheet every five seconds."

He rol ed his eyes. "Mexico, Jenna!"

I smirked. I knew I was annoying him. But not half as much as he was annoying me.
Quid pro quo
, if he still insisted on keeping secrets from me, even now.

"What about Mexico?"

"Mom keeps insisting that Dad's gone to Mexico."

That got me quiet. But it still didn't add up to anything.

"Didn't you ever wonder about Dad's note and this gift

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coupon, Jenna? I did. Not right away--everything was such a crazy mess.

But later, I thought about it. He leaves this short note.
Y'all take care. I love
you
. We all know it by heart. We read the damn thing a million times. But the coupon. I never could figure that out. Did he just set the certificate there by mistake? Or maybe he wanted us to have one last good meal. After awhile, I stopped thinking about it. I had to. Only today I started wondering."

I knew exactly what he meant. I had tried to block that day out of my head, too. The day our dad left us: April 22, five years plus eight months ago. The day everything changed. Whatever had happened to the Samuels family since then all tied back to that one April 22.

"Jenna," Casey said softly, his hands gripping the steering wheel and his eyes focused on the street. "What if it wasn't random that Dad left us that Manny's certificate? I know Mom's not all there right now, but what if on this one thing, she really is? I think this is our clue. I think Dad meant for us to find it."

My heart bounced a couple extra times. I refused to get my hopes up again (damn you, Mags!), even if I agreed that Dad probably wasn't dead. No offense to Mom or anything, but her mumbling that Dad's disappearance had something to do with Mexico--a word on the Manny's gift certificate--was about as thin a connection as anyone could come up with.

I sighed. "Let's say you're right. Let's say that for some reason this was our clue. It's been so long, Casey. What good is it going to do us?"

We were passing a CVS Pharmacy. The Merc shuddered as Casey yanked the wheel. He pulled into the lot and shoved the gear shift into Park.

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"I have to try, Jenna." The pained, determined look on my brother's face made him look a whole lot older and smarter than usual. And it wasn't just because he was more handsome now, either. "If I don't try, then what was the whole point?"

He looked away, and then looked back. "And yeah, you were right. Half a joint only, though. Okay? Way early this morning after I dropped you off. So don't worry about me driving. You shoulda heard my cell phone go off.

Sounded like a fire engine in my pocket. Scared me half to death, if I wasn't already dead. Ha! Jesus."

He ran a perfectly steady hand through his perfect hair, a gesture that might have appeared anxious on a shaky and disheveled living person. But it didn't, which made
me
anxious. It looked like a high-budget but poorly-acted movie clip of anxiety. For the first time ever, the last thing I was disturbed about was Casey driving stoned.

"Amber was pissed, let me tell you," he said. "Supremely hacked off. For a couple of minutes, she made it seem like they were gonna revoke the whole thing. Maybe even send me to the other place. Although if that's what sends you to the other place, it must be pretty damn crowded."

I bit my lip, hard. I wondered if there was ever going to be a point where my mouth didn't want to drop open every time my brother said something. Casey had never been one to spill out his feelings like monkeys tipping from the barrel. Now he was telling me stuff, or what he could. But I got something now: I couldn't blame him for keeping secrets. It was Amber's fault. She was his one connection to whatever came "after," and she was holding back on
him
. That stupid lump returned to my throat. All the gut-sharing came with A-word territory. He was awkward at it because he was still Casey. That hadn't 138

changed. Or possibly he just didn't want me to realize he didn't know what the hell he was doing.

"Amber's meeting us at home," he went on while I tried to process. "Mom's blood work came back. There's something fishy there, too. But what we need to do is try to remember every single thing that happened that day in April."

I shrugged and nodded.

"I also called Bryce. I looked up Manny's online and they've got this whole room with vintage pinbal machines and video games. You know how Bryce loves all that shit. So I asked him what he knew about Manny's Real Tex Mex. Turns out he knows a guy who's hung out there since they opened.

When I told him the whole story--well not the whole story--but when I told him about Dad, the guy Bryce knows says he
remembers
Dad. Bryce showed him the author photo from
60 Different Sauces
. And another picture I let him borrow. So we've got someone to talk to at least."

I blinked. "Do you honestly believe that some geek friend of Bryce's is gonna remember Dad being there five years ago?"

Casey gave me the familiar (when alive and stoned) stop-asking-questions-like-an-idiot glare. "You have a better idea?"

I shook my head.

So there we were--sitting in the CVS parking lot in Mamaw Nell's borrowed Mercury Marquis, our only real clues to Dad's disappearance an expired fajita dinner gift certificate from Manny's Real Tex Mex, diluted snake poison in my boots and whatever was now running around in Mom's bloodstream.

Basically, a whole lot of weirdness that added up to precisely squat.

But I wasn't in detention. I'd finished my Algebra homework in class, and my persuasive essay wasn't due until next

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week. My brother the guardian A-word was more motivated than ... well, he'd ever been motivated. Take that, Asshat Collins!

Plus, if things started going south, Amber--guardian A-word of my guardian

A-word--seemed to have our backs. What else did we need?

Probably a whole lot. Because there was always "chaos theory," after all.

Amber had given herself an out. What a convenient excuse for things going south. The "seemed" in "seemed to have our backs" once again "seemed" a lot more like prettying up something that was Bryce-ugly.

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141

J
enna's New Philosophy of Life

Old Jenna: Go along. Live your life. Shit happens. Do the best you can.

New Jenna: Realize that you probably haven't been paying attention AT ALL

to the things you should have been noticing. Whatever you
think
just happened, you better trade in for a better thinking cap. Do you really think you understand a plain old car accident? It's just the tip of the iceberg. You haven't been paying attention, remember? You better catch up quick or you're going to be very sorry. Maybe it's already too late.

Note to self: Find out why most philosophies--except maybe for that of crazy
cult leaders who get whatever they want because they've brainwashed
folks--are extremely depressing. Mags would know
.

"WHOSE CAR IS that?" I asked as we rumbled up the driveway. There was an Audi sedan parked in front of our house.

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Whoever was driving had no doubt heard our arrival. The Merc needed a new muffler. Possibly an entire exhaust system. I hoped Mamaw Nell wasn't going to blame it on us. She didn't seem the type, but you never knew.

Maybe she would wake up one morning and realize that she'd loaned her car to a guardian A-word who was still trying to kick his marijuana habit.

Casey better eat those snickerdoodles before she caught on to his angel chicanery.

"Never seen it before," Casey said.

We climbed out of the Merc. Both of us gawked at the Audi. Shiny black exterior, tan leather interior. No
Soylent Green is People
bumper sticker, like the Merc. Dave's idea, but Mamaw Nell thought it was funny.

Soylent Green
was this Sci-Fi movie from the 70s. (Dave was a jerk, but he did have decent taste in quirky movies.) The plot: In the future, old folks like Mamaw Nell just disappear. Eventually the main character discovers that they're being killed and turned into organic food pellets. So he runs around like an idiot shouting the quote on the bumper sticker. I guess the idea of people eating ground up oldsters tickled Mamaw Nell's fancy.

"Do you think Amber got rid of the Camaro?" My wiggly stomach knot had returned, and I wasn't exactly sure why. It's not like I had a phobia of expensive automobiles. But unless Amber had traded up, we had a mystery visitor on our hands.

Casey didn't answer. He didn't have to. Amber screeched down the street and motored up behind the Audi.

"Casey Samuels," she barked, swinging out of the Camaro and pounding up the driveway. "You pull any more stunts like that and you are out."

Casey turned noticeably pale. For a second, he almost

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looked the way he did before the accident. "It was just half a joint," he said sheepishly. "I barely inhaled."

"Who are you, Bill Clinton? It's not just the pot. It's the secret phone calls to your ex. I vouched for your character. I've never done that before." She paused. "If you want to piss off the AIC, you might want to think about what could happen. Let's just say a certain guy hasn't been real happy since the AIC got pissed at
him
. Oh, he talks a good game--all that 'better to reign in you-know-where than serve in Heaven ..."

All at once, she ran out of steam. Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes.

Casey and I glanced at each other.

"What is it?" I asked. "What are you trying to tell us?"

"It's all a lie," she said.

I swallowed. My heart kicked into overdrive again.

"
What
is?" Casey spat.

"There is no AIC," she admitted. Her eyes remained hidden under her bangs. "It's just me. Stuck here in Houston until I get Casey to do the right thing. I thought it would be easier if I let you think there was a whole committee. But that's not how it works. Well not exactly. Shit," she said again. "I--you're my first angel to supervise. I'm flying blind here. So to speak."

Casey let out a bitter bark of a laugh. "You lied to me?" he snapped, three times in a row. He slapped his hands against his chest for emphasis of different words, like he was doing a Robert De Niro impression. (You
lied
to me?
You
lied to me? You lied to
me
?)

"Yes. I lied." Amber took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and looked up. Her blue eyes glowed and flickered. "Now I told you the truth. We really don't need to discuss it further. We have questions to answer." She sounded like a

144

typical grown-up asshat, like Mr. Collins, telling me that I still had detention without bothering to explain why. She jerked her head at the Audi. "Whose car is that?"

Casey sneered. He was too miffed to speak. I couldn't blame him.

"We don't know," I muttered. "Listen, Amber, I'm madder than my brother right now, if you can believe it. I don't trust you. You know that. Enough with the lies and the secrets and the BS. Tell us both something that you haven't told either of us yet."

Her jaw tightened. "Fair enough. For one: There really are rules. They just don't kick in until you're acclimated, which for you is taking awhile. And don't get all beside yourself again, Casey. You know it's true. So here's the deal: You can guard Jenna. You're more or less invulnerable. You can sense stuff.

But your wings? Those are a one-time deal. You spread them all the way and fly? Well that's it. You're done. You've used your option, and you leave this world forever--" She broke off, as if she was going to add one more thought.

Casey and I glanced at each other again. Neither of us spoke. What the hell could we have possibly said to
that
? I will say this, though: For the first time since I'd gotten to know Amber Velasco, I had almost no doubt she was telling the truth. She looked as if she were about to cry, in fact.

"Can we go inside now?" she demanded.

With a small nod, Casey fumbled for his keys and opened the door. He yanked the worn Manny's gift certificate out of his back pocket. "We're gonna talk about this, though."

Mom was sitting on the couch in the living room. She actually looked halfway presentable. She'd put on clean sweats and one of my old Razorbacks T-shirts. Dr. Chest Hair Renfroe sat next to her. His gaze swung from me to

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Casey to Amber. He set a mug on our ancient coffee table and smiled. His gaze stayed fixed on Amber. It occurred to me that
he
must have thought it really odd that she was with us. Again.