Twisted (15 page)

“So, is he fine?”

Last night pops back into my head — not like it ever really left. But the thought of unloading all my crap on him, trying to make him understand my and Aidan's relationship, how much we depended on each other, protected each other, and now we have to again, because we have no one else, is overwhelming. “Everything's under control.”

I know he doesn't believe me, but what can he say?

“Okay. Just remember I'm here. I'll help any way I can.”

I stare straight ahead and nod.

“So … since we didn't get to have a coffee tonight, you want to meet up for one tomorrow?”

“Shouldn't you be studying for exams?”

“Did I forget to mention that I'm a genius?”

“No, I think you've mentioned that numerous times. But still, aren't you in med school? And isn't that, like …
hard
?”

He taps his finger against the side of his head. “It's all up here, baby. All up here.”

I roll my eyes.

He pulls up in front of my house and turns off the ignition. “Look. Joking aside.” He rests his arm across the back of my seat. “I mean it about you asking Aidan if he's taking his medication. You need to find out what you're dealing with. Maybe it's not that serious.”

I make a production of putting on my gloves, making sure each finger is snugly in its sleeve. “Okay,” I say. “I'll think about it.”

There's an awkward moment of silence.

“Well, thanks for the movie,” I say, pushing open the car door.

“Hold on now.” He opens his door too, runs around to my side, and helps me out and over the snowbank. “I'm not a caveman, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But you don't need to do stuff like this. I'm quite capable of getting myself out of the car.” My brain is screaming at me to stop talking. But no. “It's not like this is a
date
or anything,” I continue, laughing nervously.

He laughs back. “What goes on in that head of yours?”

“You don't want to know.”

We're on the sidewalk, facing each other, our toes almost touch- ing. The street lamp shines down, enveloping us in a soft cone of light. He's so tall that he has to bend his neck to look at me and his hair flops in his face. My hand itches to brush it aside. He beats me to it.

“Would it be so awful?” he asks.

I stare up at his warm brown eyes. They're like pools of melted chocolate. “Huh?”

“If this was a date? Would it be so awful?”

I stop breathing. For at least ten minutes. “No, no. It wouldn't be so awful.”

“That's good.” He takes my hand and pulls me up the walk to the porch. Before I know what's happening, before I can get myself ready for it, he puts his arms loosely around my waist and kisses me lightly on the lips. One single, perfect kiss. I want to package it, seal it in a Ziploc bag, lock it in a safety deposit box, and keep it forever. Who am I kidding — five-ever.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says.

Don't speak
, I tell myself.
Don't ruin this moment
. I nod and watch him walk back to his car.

When I go inside the house, I'm feeling all dreamy and wobbly, as if I'm half-drunk. Then reality washes over me like a bucket of ice water. Aidan is still in the same chair, unshaven and looking even more haggard, still staring at the phone, or the floor, I can't tell. The only clue that he's moved are the six empty beer bottles lined up on the floor alongside his chair.

“Aidan?”

He ignores me. I dump my coat and bag, go over, and grab the phone. I press the back arrow on the call display. The battery's dead. “Did Mary call?”

Still ignoring me, he twists open the fresh bottle in his hand. His head bobs as he flicks the cap toward the fireplace. A bunch more are scattered in the same general direction.

“Well, did she?” I ask. “What happened?” I'm dreading the answer.

When he finally looks up, his eyes are empty and unfocused. I'm not sure he even sees me. “Vince is dead,” he says. “That's what happened.”

CHAPTER 27

“H
ere.” I hold out a steaming mug of coffee.

Aidan looks up from his chair. “I don't want a goddamn coffee!” He sweeps it out of my hand, sending it smashing against the living room wall.

I just stand there and stare at the splatter of brown liquid soaking into the drapes. A puddle forms on the floor, slowly trickling its way around the broken pieces of china.

“Jesus. I'm so sorry, Lyss.” He sighs and rubs his face with both hands. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“Well, I can kind of
guess
what's wrong with you.” I remind myself to not sound so flip. “I mean, no matter what went on between you and Vince, it still must … must be a shock.”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “I'm so glad you're here. I can't imagine going through this without you.”

I kneel down and start collecting the chunks of shattered mug. “Nobody should go through something like this alone.”

“You did.”

“Tell me what happened,” I say, wanting to change the subject.

“Tommy and Brian found him.”

“Where? At the cabin?”

“Outside the cabin. Over by the wood pile. They think he went out to get some wood, slipped on the ice, snow, whatever, and got knocked out.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah. They said there was a huge gash on the back of his head. He didn't have a coat on or anything. Probably didn't take very long for him to freeze to death.”

“Brutal …”

“It took a while to find him. All the snow. No tracks to follow.” He looks at me and shakes his head. “He was completely covered.”

One giant, frozen Vince-sicle
. “I'm so sorry, Aidan.”

He attempts a smile. “At least he died in his favourite place. I guess that's something. I just wish … we'd been able to patch things up, you know?”

“I know,” I say, trying to sound sincere.

“I always thought there'd be time.”

“I know,” I repeat. Then I show him the debris in my hand. “I'm going to get rid of this.”

“I'll come with you and get a cloth to wipe the floor.”

As he gets up to follow me, I ask, “Do you think Mary will handle all the arrangements?”

“Probably. There'll be no
real
arrangements, no funeral. Vince didn't believe in God.”

AIDAN'S UP BEFORE ME
. I hear him rattling around in the kitchen. It took me forever to convince him to go to bed. I wish he slept longer. He's running on empty and bound to crash soon. I'm starting to feel a bit like that myself. Especially after checking the time and realizing I only slept for four hours.

I find him standing at the stove, cooking eggs. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says back.

“How are you doing?”

He shrugs.

“You're not going into work today, are you?” I ask.

“No. You?”

“I'm actually off.” Then I remember that I'm meeting Liam for coffee later. If I didn't know better, I'd say the gods were conspiring against us.

“Good.”

“So what happens next? Are you going to River John?”

He turns. “Why? Did you want to go with me?”

“No.” I answer too quickly. I try again. “I mean, not really. But of course if you have to go … and you want someone with you …” Thankfully the phone starts ringing. The call display tells me it's Mary. I automatically hold it out to Aidan.

He raises both hands and shakes his head.

I have no choice. “Hi, Mary,” I say.

She doesn't even say hello — she's already in mid-sentence. I open my mouth a couple of times to insert a word, but there are no pauses. I finally say, “Okay, I'll tell him.” Then end with, “You should probably get some rest.” My attempt at being nice.

“So what did she say?” Aidan asks as I hang up the phone.

“Vince's body is being brought to Halifax,” I explain. “To the medical examiner's.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “What?”

“Apparently that's what they do,” I say, pouring myself a glass of juice. “You know, when there's a mysterious death.”

“Mysterious? He slipped, fell, then froze. What's mysterious about that?”

“I dunno. I'm just repeating what she told me. She's not happy about it. They'll do an autopsy. She knows Vince wouldn't want that. She hates the thought of them taking him away, cutting him open.”

I watch Aidan take a seat, rest his elbows on the table, and hold his forehead in his hands. He's visibly upset. “How can I help?” I ask.

“I guess I agree with Mary, that's all. There's no way Vince would want this. Can't we refuse or something?”

“I really don't know. Do you want me to call Mary back?”

“Don't they have anything better to do?” he snaps.

It's like he expects me to have the answer. “Well …” I try to think. “I'm sure they'll return him as soon as they can.”

He stares at me for a second. “Yeah, you're probably right.” And he gets up and goes back to his pan full of eggs. “Pass me a plate, would you?” he says. “They're kinda dried out, but there's a ton here if you want some.”

“No thanks.” I open the cupboard and take out a dish. As I set it next to him on the counter, I move the package of deadbolts. They're still lying there from the other day. “Where do you want me to put these?”

He glances at them. “Just put them on top of the fridge. Remind me to put that lock up for you. Things seem to keep getting in the way, don't they?”

“I wouldn't worry about that right now,” I say. “Plus I think Bingley's growing bored with me.”

He scrapes his eggs onto the plate, studies them for a while before saying, “I don't know why I made this. I'm not even hungry.” Then he walks out without another word.

I decide to leave him be. There's nothing I can say or do that'll make him feel better anyway.

After picking at his abandoned eggs, I dump the rest in the gar- bage. I can't figure out what to do with myself. I decide to take a shower, wash my hair, and straighten it for a change. It takes forever. “Now I know why I don't do this anymore,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “It looks better wavy.” I stick my head under the tap, soak my hair, then towel dry it.

Aidan's asleep on the sofa when I finally venture from my room. I reach for my jacket and bag and noiselessly slip out the front door.

I don't want Aidan to know I'm leaving the house. Because I know I probably shouldn't. But I want to see Liam. He's expecting me. I'll keep it to an hour. Likely Aidan will sleep the whole time anyway.

LIAM'S AT OUR TABLE
by the fireplace, staring into his laptop, textbooks piled all around him. I slump into the empty chair and plant my head face down on the only bare spot on the table.

“Bad day?” he asks.

“You have no idea.”

“Spill.”

I upright myself. My whole body feels like it's filled with wet sand. “Um, well … Aidan's dad died last night.”

“
What
?” He closes his laptop. “What happened?”

“He fell. Hit his head.” I keep it simple.

Liam nods thoughtfully, doesn't respond right away. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He's your dad too, right? Stepdad?”

“Yeah …” Should I feel bad that I don't feel bad? “Let's just say we weren't that close. Long story.”

“Wow. Still sucks, though. How's Aidan doing?”

I debate for a minute. Then another. “I think he's going to have a hard time.” I pause and lick my lips. “Actually … I think maybe he's … been having a hard time. Like, before this even happened.”

Liam stays quiet and waits for me to continue.

I sigh a giant sigh. “I caught him talking to himself, carrying on a whole conversation. Not like how you or I would talk to ourselves. This was different … You see, there's a lot of crap that went down between him and Vince,” I explain. “From a long time ago. I'm wor- ried that me showing up, reminding him of home and stuff, may have brought it all back.”

“And that's why he's talking to himself?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don't know.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Yeah. He said he was on the phone.”

“But he wasn't.”

I shake my head. “His cell was on the table. The house phone was in the kitchen.”

Liam goes quiet again. “Anything else?”

“Just acting kind of distracted, the odd anger outbursts, that kind of thing.” The stack of empty beer cases form a picture in my head. “He, um, I think he might drink, like more than I thought he did.” I feel guilty telling Liam all this, like I'm throwing Aidan under the bus. “He's having girlfriend problems too … add that to everything else, it could be all stress related.”

Liam pushes himself back from the table. “I dunno, Lyssa, the behaviours you're describing …”

“But it could be just stress, couldn't it?” I hear my voice, and it sounds a little desperate.

“I know you don't believe that. I think you believe the same as me, that there's something wrong and he's off his meds.”

“And he's grieving now too. Don't forget that.” I can't bring myself to admit that Liam's probably right, because I don't know what I'll do if he is.

“But his behaviour is already erratic. Who knows how the death of his father is going to affect him? Without medication, his behaviour could become even
more
erratic. He needs to be in treatment.”

“You want me to gang up on him, and I can't. Not now when his dad's just died. I'm all he has.”

“I get that you're scared, worried, but remember my uncle? Totally normal life.” He leans in close. “But he has to take his medication to have that.”

“I'm not scared. Or worried,” I lie. “I'll just talk to him. He'll listen to me.”

“Like an intervention?”

“Yeah, sure.” I stick my chin out. “An intervention.” I sound more confident than I feel.

“Do I have to remind you that you're not a doctor?”

I get up from the table. I don't want to talk about this anymore. “I gotta get back.”

He must have gotten the message because he wears this pained expression like he's trying to stop himself from speaking. He pushes his hair off his face. “Look. I'll probably set up camp here tomor- row and study all day. I don't work till evening. Meet me and I'll buy you lunch before your shift starts.”

I make him wait a bit before I answer. “And how do you know when my shift starts?”

“Oh, I have my ways.”

“Would it involve checking the schedule that's posted in the kitchen?”

He slaps his forehead with his palm. “Why didn't I think of that? I called everyone and asked if they were working. Figured it out through process of elimination.”

I can't stay mad at him. “Since you put in all that effort, you're on. Big spender,” I add. (We get forty per cent off food and free coffee.)

“Wait.” He stands, seems unsure about something for a second, then pulls me into his arms and hugs me tight. “Let me help,” he whispers into my hair.

“You just focus on studying,” I whisper back. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I'm not done with this, you know. We'll be talking about this again.”

WHEN I GET HOME
, Aidan's still asleep on the sofa. It looks as though he hasn't moved. I watch him for a while, imagine what I'd say if I
did
try some kind of intervention. It churns up an acid feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I should listen to Liam. Maybe this is more than I can handle.

I check on Aidan periodically throughout the rest of the afternoon. He's so still, at one point I hold my hand in front of his mouth to make sure he's still breathing.

The next time I go in, he's sitting up, stretching. “You're alive,” I say.

“Guess I needed that.” He yawns and looks at his watch. “What did you do all day?”

“Oh … read some, made a list of books I still need for my courses, had a nap,” I lie.

He nods. “Sounds productive.”

“Are you hungry?” I say before he can ask me anything else about my day.