T*Witches 3: Seeing Is Deceiving (7 page)

Beth countered, “Being a friend is being able to see things differently once in a while. Accepting change. Look, okay, so I messed up this week in a few classes, it’s not the end of the world. I’ve been busy. I really believe
in what Helping Hands is doing. I don’t understand why you can’t accept that. And if you can’t, maybe it is time to reevaluate our friendship. Move on, even.”

Cam walked over to where Beth was sitting, and knelt so they’d be eye to eye. “I don’t want that. I hope you don’t, either.”

Beth blinked back tears. “How could you accuse me …?”

“My bad. That was —” She paused. “Way out of line. Forgive?” She pulled a tissue out of the flowered box on the desk and handed it to her.

Beth blew her nose. “And forgotten.”

Because she still couldn’t tell Beth the truth about Ms. Webb and the shoplifting, Cam searched for a neutral topic. “So anyway, you’re still going to the winter dance tonight, right?”

“I’ll be there,” Beth assured her. For the first time that morning, a trace of her usually bright smile played on her lips.

Which gave Cam an idea. “Hey, you want to double? Go together? It’s short notice, but Jason’s friend Rick is kinda cool….”

Beth’s smile dissolved. She shook her head. “Nothing ever changes, does it? What makes you think I need you to get me a date?”

Cam blanched. “I don’t think that. You said you didn’t have one.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“Of course I don’t need to get you a date. You’re totally fine going solo…. Sukari is and —”

Beth interrupted her. “I would be fine going on my own, but it so happens I have a date.”

“You do?”

“Try to keep the shock out of your voice, okay, Cami?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell me, that’s all.”

She shouldn’t have been. Apparently, there was lots Beth hadn’t been sharing lately. “So, what’s he like? Who is he? Is he … you know, a cool guy?”

Even as the words tumbled out, instantly Cam knew he wasn’t. For, as Beth started to happily tell her about this new boy in her life, Cam felt it: an icy chill, a throbbing in her temples, goose bumps. And she saw …

Tall and ripped, with milk-chocolate-brown eyes framed by long dark lashes, a shock of tousled light brown hair, a killer smile.

“Shane,” they said at the same time.

The boy from the Helping Hands cart. Of course, Beth would have been working with him. Shane Wright.

Somehow, Cam knew he was all wrong.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ONE FATHER TOO MANY

Alex lay in bed, arms akimbo, staring at the ceiling. The alarm clock’s digital readout told her it was late, 10:17
A.M.
, still, she didn’t want to get up. For the first time in a long time, she was alone.

Cam had rushed off to see Beth. The silence coming from Dylan’s room — connected to hers by the bath/laundry room combo — told her he was asleep. The ’rents, Dave and Emily, would not disturb her.

She’d been dreaming and wished she could will herself back into it, let the sweet feelings wash over her. She pictured piecing together the dream-fragments, weaving a soft downy blanket, wrapping herself in it.

She was in Montana. Outside, the mountain air,
clear and pinprick brisk, nipped at her cheeks. Outside, the vivid colors, the deep foresty green of the leaves, the blinding white of the snowcapped mountains, the azure blue of the sky; mornings that looked like someone had taken a giant paintbrush and swabbed strokes of orange, yellow, red. Big-sky country. Yeah.

And inside. Inside her home it was warm, the sweet aroma of hotcakes or eggs and bacon wafting from the kitchen licked playfully at her nose, made her salivate. Sara, sunny-side-up, smart, and loving, humming softly off-key. Sara smiling.

The friends, funny, loyal Lucinda with her round face and puckish lips, and sweet daydreamer Evan — he of the dreadlocks and smart, wry sense of humor — would soon call for her. She knew how it looked to most kids at Big Sky Regional: They were outsiders, a tight trio who didn’t fit in with any group. No one “got” them. But that didn’t matter, because they got one another. Together, they worked at after-school jobs, they leaned on one another, hung together, held on for dear life. And the game they played most often was “anywhere but here.”

Back in Montana, it was familiar, it was safe. No one was after her, no one was trying to lure her. No one was trying to kill her.

She was home.

Alex flipped over on the bed, let her arm dangle off the side. It wasn’t working. She could not willpower herself back into the dream. The pain-in-the-“buts” of reality plucked at her, nudging her awake.

But: Montana winters were bitter. Especially when they didn’t have enough money to pay the heat bill. One bad time her goldfish had frozen to death. In the hollow of winter, trees were bare; the snow turned to gray mush, the sky black and foreboding.

But: Sara smoked. The sweet aroma of breakfast was forever mixed with the bitter fumes of cigarettes.

But: Her mobile home was a tin box, and there
was
a villain in the piece, who was “after” both of them. The rancid landlord, Hardy Beeson, unceasing in his efforts to evict them. His weapon of choice: plain meanness. Her friends didn’t have it any easier than she did. Luce was a sweet dreamer living in a matchbox house among too many needy relatives; Evan’s mom drank too much.

Alex’s friends were her world, but there was so much she couldn’t share with them. Her ability to move stuff, to hear what people were thinking. Her weirdness.

Except for Sara — when she was healthy, not at the end — it wasn’t better back there.

Alex rolled onto her side and opened her eyes. Cam’s room, now their room. Sherbet colors, soft pinks, mint greens, baby blues. Shelves lined with books, CDs,
photographs, candles. Twin beds, a shared night table between then, twin desks. Someone — Cam — had made room for her here.

This was home.

Yawning loudly, Alex threw off the covers, swung her legs over the bed, got up, and took a shower. Even though there was no danger of the hot water running out, as happened so often back home, she kept it short. Old habits would take time to break.

Speaking of habits, Alex thought, surveying the bedroom, Cami had a bad one, especially when she was in a rush. Slob-o girl had left the contents of her upended backpack all over the floor, as well as piles of clothes, representing everything she’d worn during the week, mixed with everything she’d been thinking of wearing. And was thinking of wearing for the school dance tonight. A cheesy, cutesy scene Alex was so not making. Besides, Cade Richman, the cute guy she sort of liked — okay,
did
like — wasn’t going. He was out of town that weekend, visiting his sister at her new college.

A bolt of do-good inspiration hit Alex, a random act of neatness. After getting dressed, she began to clean up. It was when she tossed Cam’s wrinkled T-shirts in the laundry basket that it happened.

The odor hit her. Sharp, sickening, and familiar. It smelled like death, Sara’s death. Alex pulled everything
out of the basket quickly, although she knew exactly what she was looking for.

A pair of jeans. She held them up and almost barfed.

Without thinking, Alex threw open the door that connected to Dylan’s room and stormed in. It was all she could do to stifle the urge to scream at him — but even blind rage had its insight. Alerting Dave and Emily was not the move right now. So she settled for grabbing sleepy-boy’s arm and shaking him awake.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t appreciate it.

“Wha … what’s going on? What is it?” Dylan’s light blue eyes flew open in panic. Alex heard his heart pounding wildly.

“Get up!” she demanded.

“Is there a fire? What’s happening?” Dylan yelped in alarm.

“There’s no fire,” Alex retorted, “but you’re toast.”

Dylan propped himself up on his elbows, wide-eyed, his heart still thumping — Alex had no trouble busting into his head.
What’s up with sista? She’s gone berserk! Why’s she in my face?

“You want something in your face?” Alex threw the jeans at him.

With a quick swipe, Dylan deflected the denim. “Dude, I don’t know what’s up with you, but…”

“Then let me spell it out for you,
dude
! This reeks! You’ve been smoking. That’s why sista’s in your face!”

If he were awake and clearheaded, he might have realized she’d read his mind.

Dylan sat up straight. He lifted the telltale jeans. “So you smell smoke on these. So what?”

Alex narrowed her fiery eyes, wishing she had Cam’s power — she’d set the nicotine jeans on fire.

“If I can smell it, so can your mother! What do you think she’s gonna do when she finds out?”

Dylan suddenly sprang off the bed and barreled by Alex. “Hey, man, you’re not my mother, so lay off! And so what if I’ve had a couple. I thought you were cool.”

“I am cool. More than you know. Do not do this, Dudley.”

Dylan ran his fingers through his clumped-together bed-head spikes. “You’re making a big thing out of nothing. It was, like, one cigarette.”

Although she was a full head shorter than he, Alex blocked his way to the bathroom. “Don’t you get it? It’s addictive!”

“Thanks for the PSA,” Dylan grumbled.

Alex backed off. Confrontation was getting her nowhere. “Wait, Dyl,” she said, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to go ballistic, but this is crazy-making for me.”

“Look, I’m not gonna croak like your old lady, if that’s what you’re freaked about.”

Alex was horrified.

Dylan, instantly ashamed.

There was a knock at the door, but she and Dylan just stood there, staring at each other, speechless.

Another knock, louder this time. Accompanied by Dave’s voice. “Alex? Are you in there?”

The door opened slowly and Dave peeked in. Clearly, he realized he’d stumbled into something unpretty, but said only, “I need you downstairs, Alex. Sorry to interrupt.”

Staring hard at Dylan, Alex said, “It’s fine. We’re done here.”

Alex wondered if her summons might be for a scolding: If Emily knew about Dylan’s new habit, she’d blame Alex. Now
that,
Alanis, is ironic. But as she turned into the kitchen where Emily was waiting, arms crossed, Alex knew it was something else entirely.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Dave settled into a chair at the small square kitchen table.

Guardedly, Alex followed. A second later, so did Emily.

Alex didn’t have to read their minds, she could read their faces. Both were confused and concerned.

“So.” Alex drummed her fingers on the table. “What the dilly-yo, guys? What’d I do this time?”

Dave cleared his throat. “You didn’t do anything —”

Emily interrupted, “It’s what you didn’t do. Or didn’t say.”

Dave coughed. “We don’t want to make this into anything more than what it probably is….”

Alex could feel the chip settling squarely on her shoulder. “So
probably
… what is it that I didn’t do?”

Dave propped his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. “We got some upsetting news this morning.”

“If it’s about Dyl —” Alex started, but was stopped dead in her tracks by Emily’s next words.

“About the guardianship.”

Alex tightened. Was it not going through?

Dave put his hand on her shoulder. Alex shook it off.

“Let’s not panic,” he said, ignoring her diss. “We’ve run into a little glitch is all.” He stopped, as if to measure her reaction.

Emily jumped in, “A FedEx package was delivered to the office this morning. There’s something you haven’t told us.”

If you only knew what I haven’t told you — like everything, Alex thought. She eyed Emily. Was Cam’s
mom trying to hide the relief on her face? Maybe she
wants
a glitch, so she can get me out of here, and they can go back to dinner at this four-seater table. But when she felt Dave’s hand on her shoulder again, warm and reassuring, she realized this truly good man was genuinely upset. That was the moment the chip slid off.

“Alex, we have to ask you something,” Dave said slowly. “And we need you to be totally honest.”

“Go for it,” she mumbled, hiding her rising panic.

“According to the papers in the package, our guardianship is being contested.”

Alex’s puzzled “By who?” was drowned out by Emily’s terse, “By a man who says he’s your father …”

Aron? He’s alive?
Alex thought, or might have even said.

No. The next words out of Dave’s mouth threw her for a head-spinning loop. “An Isaac Fielding, husband of Sara. Alex, you told us he was dead.”

Alex’s hand had flown to her face at the mention of Ike Fielding; her startling gray eyes — unnerving replicas of Cam’s — grew wide. And Alex had bolted.

Emily wanted to go after her. On her way out the door, Alex heard her protest, “No, Dave, she just can’t run away from this conversation. She owes us an explanation.”

And Dave’s calm rejoinder, “I know. But let’s give
her some space. The kid is obviously shocked. Maybe she really believed he was dead.”

“Or maybe what she believes is that she can fabricate any story that suits her, we’re that gullible….”

Alex ran to the garage, grabbed Dylan’s mountain bike — another of his castoffs she’d gotten custody of — and pedaled as fast as she could. She wished for a shut-off switch to her hyperhearing. She didn’t want to know what Emily and Dave were saying. She just needed to think. And for that, she needed a private place.

Half Moon Cove was a tiny crescent-shaped slice of beach, not far from Cam’s house. It was protected from the street by a waist-high cobblestone seawall. Because it was on the bay, not the ocean, the water was fairly calm and shallow — not unlike a lake beach, the kind found in landlocked places. Like Montana.

It was the one place in Marble Bay that reminded Alex of home.

Cam parked her bike against a tree. She was the only person who could figure out where Alex had gone. She scurried down the stone steps to the pebbly beach and heard it. She stopped and listened.

Why’s Ike showing up now? I bet I know what he wants from me. They can’t make me go with him. I can’t. I won’t…. I’ll run away!

If you run away,
Cam said telepathically as she scanned the beach, looking for Alex,
I’ll have to come with.
…
We’re attached now.

But Alex wasn’t in a joking mood. She shot back,
I can just see the headlines in the
Marble Bay Buccaneer,
or whatever cutesy name you have for the local paper: Princess Abandons Perfect Life; Alpha Girl Goes AWOL … Goal-den Girl Goes out of Bounds. Like you’d do that.

“For you I would.” Cam said that aloud as she finally came upon Alex, sitting with her back pressed against the seawall, staring out into the bay.

Alex looked up warily. “I wouldn’t ask you to. And in related news, I didn’t ask for company right now, either.” Wearing thin cargo pants and a tank top, the girl was shivering.

Cam, in a sweater set, slipped out of her cardigan and draped it around her twin’s shoulders. “I come uninvited. Adjust.”

In auto-reject mode, Alex was about to toss the sweater off her shoulders, but thought better of it. Caving, she pulled it tight around her instead. “Thanks for the cover-up, but what I need right now is my space. Go.”

“Why’d you run out?” Cam asked, ignoring Alex’s dismissal and sliding down next to her in the sand.

Alex shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Cam remembered the saying on Beth’s calendar, and quipped, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

Alex threw back her head. “Thanks, Mary Englebreit. When I need a cheesy cliché, I’ll know whose brain to tap into.”

In truth, they both knew why she’d bolted. It wasn’t because Dave and Emily had caught her in a lie. It was simply because she was scared to death.

“Als,” Cam continued gently, “why’d you lie in the first place?”

“I didn’t,” Alex stubbornly insisted.

“The night you arrived at my doorstep, when my parents were trying to figure out what was going on, you said he was dead.”

“You’re not the only one with a super memory, ginkgo biloba girl.” Alex stuck out her chin defiantly. “As I recall, it was Dave who said — and I quote — ‘You just lost your mom. Your dad died some years ago.’”

“Ixnay on the quibbling, Alex. He was repeating what you led us to believe.”

Alex turned away. She didn’t want Cam to see her — and she certainly didn’t want to see a reflection of her own face, worried, caring about her.

“You knew he was alive,” Cam repeated.