Back to You (9 page)

“Just what is the deal?” I ask again.

“You’ll find out very soon, baby girl, sooner than you think.” Donn turns to me. “I just hope you’ll be as obedient as much as you’re impatient.”

“But, dammit…” cries Vuk, frantic, tightening his fists. “If you, you anthropomorphic creature, are so stupid that …”

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, no.”

Donn doesn’t finish what he wants to say; he just nods. Vuk gives me a fleeting, worried glance. I raise my eyebrows and perk my ears while the rest of my body stands still.

“Are you referring to the pact, the truce, the proclamation, or the pardon?” I ask, bewildered.

“All those things and none of them,” cuts in Donn. “I told you, baby girl. Ask Aaron about the truce. He’s the one who can explain it best, right, Vuk?”

“When you learn about that, the story of the pardon will all become clear,” Vuk says evenly. “But you’re keeping something from her… something important. That’s why you kept away from her these past few days! So that she wouldn’t find out. To keep her in the dark right until the last moment.”

“That’s right. If she had asked, I wouldn’t have been able to lie to her,” admits Donn.

“I feel flustered. “What don’t I know, Donn? What didn’t you tell me?”

Vuk’s eyes find mine for an instant, before turning to Donn.

“Go on, tell her what you know.”

We both cross our arms across our chests at the same time. It seems comical, rather than intimidating, which was probably what we were both aiming at.

“Tell her what’s going on,” insists Vuk, with a growl. “That you’re scared she’ll side with
us
…”

That ‘us’ sounds like he’s referring to the pack.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Donn interrupts. “Now get out of here.”

He throws Vuk a look seething with hate and spite. His face suddenly seems terrifying. For a second, he seems to be… a vampire. One of those really scary ones you see in horror films.

Vuk raises an eyebrow but doesn’t budge an inch.

“She has every right to know. It’s what Jack Warner wants, so as to keep J. in check.”

Donn freezes, astonished. Probably because he said the name that he could only refer to as “you know who.”

“Ok, stray dog, She has the right to know. Tomorrow.”

Vuk is undeniably right, Donn must know what’s going on. It’s a shame I don’t know what it is. Only Donn can reveal it all, but he’s not willing to just yet.

They stare each other down in silence for a few endless moments, and a sudden realization makes everything fall into place. There’s something that Donn didn’t want to tell me, something that Vuk wouldn’t have kept hidden from me much longer. It’s the thing that brought both Donn and Vuk to my side, even if it meant they got dangerously close to each other. All this happened after Jason left. I try to clear my head, still not sure that J. really is Jason. I try to make sense of what was said.

Something required Donn to stay away from me so that he wouldn’t be forced to tell me, but then he had to see me again so that the deal could be finalized. I bet it has something to do with the appearance of Drake, Ian, and Nathan––the three weirdos who were on my trail until a just a short time ago. Then they suddenly disappeared, along with all the chaos of those few days. I fear the truth, but I’m willing to face it, even though part of me is hoping it’ll never come.

I strain to breathe, I can’t seem to stop it. It’s as if the whole campus is shaking, as if it were hit by an earthquake. But I know it’s just my body shaking that is causing that feeling.

“Is someone looking for me, again?” I ask in a weak voice. My troubles never seem to end, do they?

Donn takes me in his arms and holds me tight; his hands eagerly caress my face.

“Everything is going to be alright,” he whispers soothingly. “It’s not who you think it is, it’s someone else this time.” Fear shows on his face. “It’s Jack Warner. So I have to do things my way.”

I’m paralyzed with fear. Then I seek out Vuk’s eyes.

“It’s ok, little girl. I’ll never let anyone come close to you, don’t worry.” His eyes flicker.

Donn gives Vuk a disdainful look.

“Is her reaction enough for you, stray dog? This is why I didn’t want to tell her.”

“Don’t you think Stella has the right to know? I think she does, it’s her life on the line.”

“There’s no reason for her to be worried, she’s never been in any danger.”

“Better to be worried than to be told a lie.”

Vuk awaits a reply, clenching and unclenching his fists as he tries to control the shivers that run down his arms.

Something in Donn is placated. I’m standing just a few inches from him, but I can barely make out what he says.

“Take my advice. Don’t say anything. You did exactly the same thing.”

“Then let’s let Stella decide.”

“Do you really think that upsetting her is better than protecting her? I would have told her tomorrow, before the Council meeting.”

“She’s tougher than you think,” asserts Vuk. “She’s been through a lot this last year. I was right by her side; where were you?”

Donn’s liquid eyes flash at me.

“I just wanted to protect you.” His words a half-whisper.

“By keeping me in the dark about everything.”

“Give me a chance, I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow.”

“Ok,” I sigh.

“Thanks, baby girl,” he whispers in my ear, kissing my forehead and gazing into my eyes. “See you.”

His face in a disgusted sneer, Vuk walks me to the car lot. I’m glad to get into my car, where I can sulk as much as I want. Vuk seems calm as he waves goodbye, before walking over to his pickup. He has probably considered the reasons for Donn’s intervention objectively, even if he’s not enthused about them.

I get home later than expected. I haven’t managed to sink back into my protective foggy shell, and today’s events seem too close, too wild, as if earplugs had been violently pulled out of my ears.

I get out of the car and into the pouring rain. Droplets fall from my hair onto my jacket like slivers of ice. Or maybe it has started to hail. I blink, then my eyes wander to the veranda in front of the house. The rain hammering on the rooftop is louder than usual, but my father’s cheery greeting blows the bleakness away.

He nestles further into the cushions on the sofa as he continues watching the basketball game on TV. I see that rather than waiting to eat dinner with me, he has picked up a cheeseburger. I’m glad. It means seeing me act like a normal person again comforts him.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You study and work all the time, you’ve been through hell, you need a break.” He focuses on the game again. It’s clear that nothing at this moment in time is going to distract him from that game.

I go upstairs and lock myself into my room. I lie down on the bed, put my feet in the air, and browse through a textbook, looking for something that will keep my attention focused. I spend half an hour with my nose in that book, when Bryan calls.

“Stella, hi!” says Bryan. “I just wanted to know… how the party went.”

“Great,” I say, inquisitively. “Is that why you called?”

“Sure,” he stammers, but his voice reveals a certain apprehension. “You wanna go out? I mean, the two of us?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, we could go out for dinner or something.” He sounds amused rather than anxious.

“Bryan…” I hate being put on the spot like this. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asks, cautiously. Jamie is the first thought that springs to my mind, but maybe not to Bryan’s.

“I think it might hurt Jamie’s feelings,” I reply abruptly. Silence on the other end of the line; this thought obviously didn’t cross his mind. Sometimes men need certain things to be spelled out for them.

“Jamie?” He repeats her name, confused. He doesn’t seem to understand what I meant.

“Bryan, are you kidding or are you totally blind?”

“Ah!” he exclaims, dumbfounded. “Stella, believe me, I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t know…”

“Why do you think Jamie always came into The Pats to see me, and why she wanted to go out with you the other night? Think about it. I gotta go now.”

“Ok, maybe some other time.”

“Sure,” I promise. I try to inject enthusiasm into my voice, but even I’m not convinced.

I end up going to bed late after checking email. There’s a new one from Monica; she tells me about life in New York, a new editing technique she’s perfecting, a climbing training course she’s doing to fill her time after she recently stopped sledding and mountain climbing in Alaska. She mentions a week she recently spent in New England working, and how much she misses the pack of wolves featured in the film she’s editing. She’s thrilled with her new job as a photographer for
National Geographic
; her team is planning a second research expedition up Green Mountain in New Hampshire. She also mentions that some climbers spotted giant cougars as big as bears in the nearby mountains over the weekend, and that they reported their sightings to the magazine.

I realize that her lengthy email, rather than being the usual ‘hey, how’s it going,’ variety, seems like a page from a diary. I feel a sense of remorse come over me, and I realize that I have been neglecting her recently.

I reply immediately. Vuk’s music burning through the air, I breathe in the background, commenting on every part of her letter and adding my own news––the party at Jeff’s bar, how moved I was as I watched Vuk transform delicate but decisive strokes on the guitar cords into intense, sweet music. I avoid mentioning how different this email might seem to the previous ones in the past few months. I can barely remember what I wrote a week ago, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t particularly verbose. The more I think about it, the guiltier I feel. She must have been really worried. What kind of a daughter am I?

Thinking about the photo someone snapped of me at the party, I glance at the bookshelf on the wall and notice the photo album that Jason gave me. The same sapphire color as his eyes, the cover is etched with the initial of his first name: J.

The single letter reminds me of the coincidence of Jason’s initial being “J” and I grab the album.

I sit on my bed and remember the card on the windowsill at Jamie’s house, and how J., with his muffled but familiar voice, always led me to believe, deep down, that he was Jason, that they were one and the same person.

Those amazing blue eyes, his face appearing before me a moment before the accident. Beside me, that night in the forest, there were only Aaron and J.. Could it just be a coincidence? I doubt it. My deepest instincts tell me it’s not.

I hold my breath as the final vibrating notes of the second track on the CD plays. Another one begins. I recognize as Vuk’s favorite.

I caress the beautiful cover of the album and sigh, thinking of Jason. Despite him having been out of my life for so long now, it’s not easy to accept the idea of a permanent separation.

“Would he ever have come back to me?” This is the question that goes round and round my head. One thing is certain––he certainly didn’t want to leave me right after the reception on Lake Michigan. So why did he do it? He didn’t want to tell me. Would the answer have been too awful for me to accept? So awful he feared losing me?

That was the last weekend I ever spent with Jason. I sometimes wonder if that dreadful reception for hedge fund managers had something to do with what happened afterwards. It was the beginning of the end. I wonder if Jason really is J.

Sitting on the bed, I rest my cheek on my knee. I knew that the path I have chosen would be a tough road. I was thinking of the worse that could happen, the most dramatic situation I would be able to handle. I have to think about these things, otherwise I would never be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I pick up the CD cover and look through it, curious. A loose photo falls from it. I feel dizzy, as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff about to fall off. It is of Vuk and me together, sitting with our legs crossed on the cot in the storeroom. I almost feel ashamed that I look so vacant. He took the picture to capture that moment in time, a time in my life when I couldn’t stop laughing about a funny story he had told me about his brother. I know nothing about him, not even his name.

I smile when I think about his carefree grin. It was the night of his very first performance at the bar. I fold the photo in two and tuck it back into the case so that only Vuk’s face is visible.

I take a quick look at the first selfie taken with Vuk on his old pickup, which is now metal scrap in some junkyard. My smile fades immediately. So many, too many things have changed so drastically.

I had written names, dates, places, and situations for each photo. I fidget with a corner of the paper, holding down the bottom photo. My untidy handwriting reads, “Jason Rees, Lake Michigan, October 4th.”

It is the last picture I have of Jason. When I pull it out, it takes my breath away. It shows Jason, his face full of warmth, pulling me off to the dance floor at the reception. It vaguely resembles the real Jason. But he’s still breathtakingly handsome, just like in real life. I move on to the next picture without lingering on it too long. I turn it over, faking indifference.

The second to last snapshot shows Jeff and Jason laughing together, looking at me amused and happy. I try to look away when a small background detail catches my eye. I see a man staring into the camera lens as if he had been watching me for some time. His eyes are ruby red, his hair wavy. An intent icy expression is fixed on his face.

But there’s an even more worrying detail. Under the huge bandstand where the orchestra is playing, among the multitude of faces surrounding them, I recognize a blond angel with twinkling emerald and sapphire eyes. It is him, the one and only Aaron Dale.

So he was there that night, too. He was also invited to the reception. Another coincidence? I doubt it. The details are coming together like the pieces of a puzzle. Maybe, just maybe, if my suspicions are founded, that’s where he and Jason met for the first time. Where they became so close, they became like family.

The difference between them is striking; Aaron looks like a deity. Jeff and Jason, however handsome they may be, are just plain old human beings. It is the difference in their expressions that stands out––the blond angel’s is reserved. He seems more like a statue than a human.