Twisted (17 page)

CHAPTER 29

I
drag myself back down the stairs and out to the street. The sunlight is blinding after the darkness of the bar, and I stand on the corner blinking until my eyes adjust. At the same time I mutter a long string of curse words under my breath. I pick my three favourite and repeat them over and over.

The crosswalk light flashes “walk” and I follow a small herd of people across the street.
Moving? Moving where? What the hell is Aidan talking about?

I clench my jaw and march up the sidewalk, determined to track him down. After about half a block, I stop. I don't even know where to begin, and my shift starts soon. There's not enough time to go hunting for Aidan now.

My eyes dart up and down the street. I decide to stick with my original plan. Jodi. She's home, I know it. She saw me. Why didn't she come to the door? I might not have enough time to get any answers from Aidan, but I have enough time to get some from Jodi.

I retrace my steps back to the bright red door. I knock loud, angrylike, and square my shoulders.

Jodi yanks the door open. She's out of breath from running down the stairs.

“Hey,” I say smugly.

She looks surprised. “Hey,” she says back.

“I was here earlier.”

“Oh. I just got back from class.”

I try to read her expression. I can't tell if she's lying. But she must be, unless … wait a second … “Is Marla out of the hospital?”

She picks at some peeling paint on the door frame. “Yeah.”

My mouth falls open. “You said you'd let me know.”

At least she has the decency to look embarrassed. “I know,” she sighs. “I, uh, just haven't had the chance to yet.”

This time I can tell she's totally lying. “When did she come home?”

“A few days ago.”

My eyes bug out.

“Look. I've got school, work, plus I'm trying to take care of her.”

“Take care of her? Why? Isn't she better?”

“Not really.”

“Then why is she home?”

“It's all voluntary. She can come and go as she pleases. I think she thought she was fine. And she was. At first.”

I get that sinking feeling again. “What happened?”

She flashes me a look that could kill. “She talked to your brother.”

“She talked to Aidan?”

Glancing quickly over her shoulder, she says, “Don't talk so loud. I don't want her to know you're here.”

“Why?”

She ignores my question. “Even though I threatened to tear the phone out of the wall, she still insisted on calling him. I don't know what that dick-breath said to her, but she's in worse shape now than when I took her to the hospital.”

“Shit.” I close my eyes for a second. “And she won't tell you what he said? What they talked about?”

She shakes her head.

“When did they speak?”

“A nanosecond after she got home.”

“His dad just died, the day before yesterday,” I say.

“Well, it was before
that
,” she says, crossing her arms. “So don't try and throw that out there as an excuse.”

“Don't worry, I'm not.”

“Because that's what she did all the time. Made excuses for him, for the shitty way he treated her. ‘Oh, he feels things so deeply,'” Jodi mimics, “‘and he suffers from this, that and the other thing.' Fuck that.”

I open my mouth to apologize. I feel like I should.

But she cuts me off. “I couldn't give two shits about what's wrong with your brother, I just don't want him around Marla.”

At this point, I can't blame her. “I get it. But can
I
talk to her?”

“No,” she says.

It throws me off. “What? Why?”

“I don't know, she won't say, but she was pretty clear. She doesn't want to see you.”

“But I don't understand.” I frown. “We always got along fine.”

“I don't know what to tell you.”

“And she said that,” I persist. “Said that she didn't want to see me.”

“She was pretty specific.” Jodi positions herself in front of the doorway as if she thinks I'm going to take a run at it. “Listen,” she continues. “I think it's for the best. A clean break and all that.”

There's a moment of awkward silence, then she steps backwards through the door. “Bye,” she whispers before closing it.

Feeling dazed, I stand there for a while.

My visit to Jodi's has given me no answers. Not one. If anything, it only created more questions.

I DON'T REMEMBER THE
walk back to the coffee shop, but somehow there I am, standing outside the service entrance.

There's no one in the kitchen. When I peek through to the front, I see Erin holding a coffee pot, talking to some girls at a table.

I shrug off my jacket and reach for my apron. As I measure out the coffee grounds into a filter, I notice Liam's not here. His laptop and books are still spread over the table, but he's nowhere to be seen. I'm disappointed. I want to talk to him, though I'm not sure what I'd say.

Erin joins me behind the counter. “Yay. I'm dying to get out of here.” She pours the remains of the coffee in the sink and rinses out the pot. “Sometimes I think I should just set up a cot out back and live here. Save on rent.”

“Good idea,” I say, distracted. “Where's Liam?”

“He, ah …” She swishes water around the pot again. “He …”

I watch her, waiting.

“That bitch showed up,” she finally hisses.

“Bitch?”
She doesn't mean...
“Rosalyn?”

She nods. “They were having some sort of deep convo. Looked serious.”

I let the information settle. “Well … it could be anything.”

“I tried to eavesdrop by alphabetizing the magazines over by the fireplace.”

“That's not too obvious.”

“Yeah, Liam was on to me. That's when they left.”

“They left?” I squeak. “Together?”

“I know, right?” Erin's eyes get wide. “Let's kill her.”

Touched by her fierce loyalty, I can't help but smile. “Tell me again how this place isn't a front for the mob.”

“I never trusted her,” she says in a hushed voice. “There's just something about her.”

We both lean against the counter for a second, thinking.

“You should call him,” she says.

“No. He might think I'm checking up on him.” I tug on my lip. “You know, maybe she just left some stuff at his place or something,” I reason. “Or maybe they're studying together …”

She opens her mouth, but then closes it again. “Actually, you're probably right. It's probably something like that.”

“Yeah, totally.” Please let it be something like that.

Erin gathers up her coat and bag. She gives me a little hug as she leaves.

All through my shift, I keep one eye on the door, but Liam never comes back. Ten minutes before he's supposed to relieve me, Anna appears.

“I'm in for Liam,” she explains. “Something came up and he asked me to cover.”

An uneasiness bubbles in my stomach. “Oh? Did he say what it was?”

“No,” Anna says, twisting her ponytail into a bun. “And I could tell by his tone not to ask.”

I look at all the stuff on his table,
our
table. I go over, intent on packing it all up for him, but just as I'm about to close the screen, I stop. I tap the touchpad, put in his password, go to Google, and type in “symptoms of schizophrenia.” I click on the first website and start reading
… first signs of schizophrenia usually emerge during adolescence or early adulthood …
Though I read each symptom slowly, like I'm trying to commit them to memory, I feel my heart speed up. I go to a few more sites that basically say all the same things, then shut down his laptop, stack up his papers and books, and carry them into the back office.

“If Liam shows,” I say to Anna, “just tell him I put everything in the bottom drawer of Janet's desk.”

“Sure.” She nods. “Anything else?”

“No. Nothing else.”

THERE'S SOMEONE STANDING IN
front of the house. Short, wide … and fluffy. Not Aidan. As I get closer I make out who it is. Glady. Covered in fur from head to toe.

She waves when she sees me.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”

“It's my bridge night, honey. Just waiting for my ride.”

“Oh. Okay.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, hesitant to leave her outside by herself.

She reaches a gloved hand out and touches my arm. “How's Aidan doing with all this? It must be terribly hard on him.”

“Well, he …” How do I answer that?

“This must be so hard. On
both
of you.”

“We're … surviving,” I say, trying my best to look sombre. “Listen. It's freezing. Do you want to wait inside our door? You can still see the street.”

“No. Estelle will be here any second. She's never late, not when there's sherry involved.”

As if on cue, an ancient-looking gold Cadillac comes barrelling down the street, slams on the brakes, and stops beside us.

“Don't wait up,” Glady calls, stepping toward the car.

I watch them squeal away from the curb, then I turn and head up the front walk. In the dark I can't tell if Aidan's car is down at the bottom of the driveway. He sometimes parks it there by the garage. I'm too tired to backtrack and check.

But the house is empty. I don't have to call out or anything. I know it as soon as I open the door. Though earlier I was all determined to confront Aidan, relief oozes out of me over the fact that he's not here. With my coat and boots still on, my bag still over my shoulder, I lower myself onto the sofa. I feel like I've just stepped out of the boxing ring. The loser. Battered and bruised.

I fall over on my side and shut my eyes. It's going to take a lot of effort to travel to my room. It's so far away it might as well be in another country. After a few minutes I force myself to get up. In my room I can lock the door. And that's what I want to do — lock myself in and not speak to
anyone
, because every time I do, they just end up telling me one more thing I don't want to hear.

I close my door, slid the deadbolt into place, and collapse onto my bed. That's when the phone starts to ring. And ring. I moan and pull the pillow over my head, tucking it in around my ears. The ringing doesn't stop. Why isn't the answering machine kicking in? Suddenly I sit up. It could be Liam. I run out to the kitchen. The call display tells me it's Mary.
Shit
. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Lyssa?”

“Yes. Hi, Mary.”

“Is this, um, a good time?”

I shrug. “Is there ever?”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” I sigh. “What can I do for you? Aidan's not here,” I add.

“I took a chance that you'd answer. I'm looking for you, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Listen, I'd like to meet with you. We need to talk.”

“Yeah, uh.” I roll my eyes. I can't even begin to imagine about what. “I'm
really
busy with work right —”

“This is important, Lyssa. Do you think I would have called otherwise?”

She has that snarky tone again. It drives me nuts. “Listen, if this has something to do with your guilt over screwing around with Vince when Mom —”

“No,” she says shortly. “It's about Aidan.”

I wasn't expecting that. “Aidan?”

“I can't get into it over the phone, but something has recently come up, something you really need to see.”

“Like what?”

There's a moment of dead air. “Are you going to meet with me or not?”

CHAPTER 30

F
rustrated, I toss the phone onto the kitchen counter. It's saved by an oven mitt. You can't really slam down a cordless, all you can do is angrily press the “end” button.

Mary refused to tell me anything. She insisted we had to have this discussion face to face. I wasted I don't know how much time trying to get something out of her, but she wouldn't budge.

My mind works overtime as I crawl into bed. Like, did she have to sound so ominous? What could she have to tell me that was so important, so …
serious
? Finally it comes to me. It has to be about the will. It was the way she said it had to do with Aidan. Mary tends to be overly dramatic — always has been. Mom called it “flair.”

When Mom died, she left everything to Vince, her husband — pretty standard, I guess. She probably assumed Vince would look after me and Aidan, or would have assumed so at the time she put it in her will.

Well, we all make mistakes …

Now that Vince is gone, logically everything should be split between me and Aidan — the house, the bakery, any money. But some- thing tells me that's not how it's going to go down. Either there's nothing left, as in, all the money's gone (if there even was any to start with), or there's mortgages and debt out the yingyang, or Vince's will left everything to Aidan. He may not be that keen on Aidan, but he was definitely
less
keen on me.

And Mary, she was probably left out. Maybe she's pissed about it, thinks she's owed something, or maybe she just wants to see how I'll take it all, how I'll react.

But how would she know what's in the will? Then I remember: her brother Raymond, he's a lawyer, probably Mom and Vince's.

She wanted me to come to River John tomorrow morning. That is
not
doable. I've got too many shifts, plus I've got no way to get there except by bus. She kept pressing me — tomorrow afternoon, evening, the next day. We settled on three days from now. Her lawyer brother is coming to town for business. She'll come with him.

I'm looking forward to it like I look forward to getting my flu shot.

With all those comforting thoughts, I finally drift off to sleep.

I WAKE UP WITH
my hand clutching the edge of the mattress. My heart drums in my ears.
“They were having some sort of deep convo. Looked serious.”
That's what Erin said. What if Rosalyn told Liam I knew about her and Kyle? That I saw her half-dressed in Kyle's apartment. That I knew and didn't say anything. Of course it would mean she'd have to confess to cheating … would she risk it? She strikes me as the type who'd be able to talk her way out of anything.

All the possible scenarios play out in my head.

Liam said neither one of them had seemed that broken up about the split. But now that some time has passed, it's possible she wants him back. Or doesn't want anyone else to have him. Telling him I kept my mouth shut would definitely be one way to do it.

Could she be that much of a bitch?

I roll over, flip my pillow to the cool side, and stare at a crack in the wall until my eyes glaze over.

All along I knew this could happen.

I've got no one to blame but myself.

It takes every ounce of energy I have to get myself ready for work. I'm so stressed out, I keep forgetting what I'm doing halfway through doing it.

Aside from the fact that Aidan is still missing, my other concern should be my impending meeting with Mary, but it's not. I can't shake the vision of Liam and Rosalyn together and what might be going on.

On my way to the kitchen I pass Aidan's room. It's empty. I'm starting to worry. I come to a sudden stop when I see him hanging off the fridge door.

“We're out of milk?” he asks.

Stunned, I just look at him.

“Well, are we?”

I find my voice. “Are we what?”

“Out of milk.”

“Where the hell have you been?” I exclaim.

He closes the door. “What? What's wrong?”

“You haven't been home since yesterday.”

“Settle down,
Mom
.” He shrugs. “I was with friends.”

“Really?” I say, raising my eyebrows.
What friends?
I want to ask. But I don't. “None of these friends have phones? Come to think of it, why didn't you just call me on your cell?” I
do
sound like a mom.

“Sorry, Lyss. You know … I've lived alone for a while now. I'm not used to having to report in.”

I lean against the counter and watch him riffling through the fridge. I can't keep putting it off.

“Aidan,” I say quietly. “What's going on with you?”

He turns and gives me a blank look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean … you're not acting like yourself.”

“And how would you know? We haven't been around each other for two years.”

I don't say anything for a minute, then, “You can tell me, Aidan. No matter what it is, you can tell me.”

“Lyssa,” he sighs. “I seriously don't know what you're talking about.”

“I stopped by your work,” I say.

His face goes a little pale. “Why?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh.”

“The bartender,” I say. “He told me you quit.”

Aidan doesn't respond.

“He said you were moving away,” I say.

I wait for him to explain, but instead he stares off into space, like he's deep in thought.

“And I talked to Glady. She doesn't know anything about a lock.”

“That's right. Glady.” Suddenly he strides across the kitchen and yanks open the drawer beside the stove. “Have you seen the tube of caulking?”

Caulking? What the hell?
“The
what
?” I have no clue what he's talking about.

“For the windows,” he says impatiently. “I told Glady I'd re-caulk the north-facing windows.”

I shake my head. I'm at a complete loss.

“I'll check the basement,” he says. “So if you hear a lot of banging and stuff around your window, it's just me.” And then he leaves.

I feel Bingley brush against my legs. We both stand there listening to the tick of the kitty-cat clock.

Bingley meows.

I feel like crying.

MY SHIFT STARTS IN
forty-five minutes. I run to my room and grab my bag. Through the curtains I can see a shadowy figure. Aidan. Should I go over … and do what? But then the hammering starts and makes the decision for me.

By the time I get to work, I'm so frozen I can barely feel my fingers and toes. The coffee shop is warm and toasty when I step inside the back door. This place feels more like home to me than Aidan's. Than anywhere.

“Hey, Molly,” I say, coming into the kitchen.

“Hey,” she says, reaching around me for the oven mitts hanging on the wall. “I just need to check that these muffins are done.”

“Oh, sure.” I move out of her way. “Anything I need to know?” I make it sound like I mean about what I have to do, but my fingers are crossed that she'll say something like Liam was in looking for me, or that he left me a message.

“Nope. All is well.” She sticks the cake tester into the centre of one of the giant muffins. “Done,” she announces.

“Great,” I say in a flat voice.

“Once I flip these out, I'll wash up the pans.”

“No,” I say. “Don't worry about it. I'll do them. You go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” The thought of trying to make small talk …

Once I'm alone I pour myself a coffee, hoping it will help me get my head together. I doubt just one is going to do it.

I check for refills at the few tables that are occupied, put Molly's muffins in the case, grind some fresh coffee beans, top up the creamers, anything to keep me busy. Anything to keep all the crap in my head quiet.

I'm just about to individually wipe off the already spotless menus when Liam walks in the front door. It's all I can do not to grab on to something for support.

As he comes toward me, I study his face, searching for signs that he's angry. Because if he is, I'll know Rosalyn told him. But he stops and talks to some customers sitting by the fireplace.

And then he's at the counter, leaning on his elbows. His head drops forward. His hair follows and covers his eyes, so I still can't get a read on him.

“Hey, stranger.” My words come out hoarse.

“Hey.” His head stays down.

“I, uh … I put your laptop and all your stuff in Janet's —”

“I got it. Thanks.” He finally looks up, shoves his hair back. “Listen. I've got to talk to you.”

He doesn't look angry. He looks … wasted. Not the drunk kind of wasted, more like limp and lifeless, like everything has been sucked out of him.

“Okay …”

“I know this isn't the time or place to tell you this,” he says.

Whoosh
goes my stomach.

“But I've got an exam later. I don't know when I'll get back in, and I wanted you to know.”

I nod.

“Rosalyn …” He pauses and licks his lips. “She came to see me yesterday.”

I nod again, wanting to get whatever this is over with.

“She's pregnant.”