Blood on My Hands (17 page)

“That there’s someone else?”

His eyes leave mine. “That’s not what I wanted to tell you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’d know,” he answers. Now his forehead bunches. “Is that Alyssa’s sweatshirt?”

I nod.

“How’d you …?” he begins, then realizes the answer. “You went into my house?”

“I was hungry and dirty and needed a new disguise.”

He shakes his head. “You are a piece of work, Cal.”

“Please don’t be angry,” I whisper, nearly begging.

That seems to take the anger away. Slade leans his forehead against the headrest. I stay low in the backseat and wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what
I’m
thinking. Nothing, really. I’m just here for now, happy to be with him, to feel connected to him.

Not knowing what else to say, I ask, “How’s the preparation going?”

He raises his eyes over the headrest. “Well enough to fake it. Congresswoman Jenkins will come and make a speech. They’ll
take pictures and video for the news. As soon as the crowd leaves, we’ll come back in and finish the job.”

I forgot that Dakota’s mother is going to preside over the official opening tomorrow morning. She’ll be right here, in the town center.…

I have a crazy, desperate idea.

“I have to see her.”

“Who?”

“Dakota’s mom.”

Slade stares at me. “You really are out of your mind.”

“Yes. Next question?”

“Seriously, Shrimp, it ain’t happening.”

But the more I think about it, the more certain I am that it’s probably my last chance. If I can sow a seed of doubt in Congresswoman Jenkins’s mind … “It could happen … if you’ll help me.”

“Sorry. No way.”

“Why not?”

Slade sighs with frustration and runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t seem to have a reason, other than, like me, he must realize how crazy and risky it is.

“What if it’s the only way I can prove I’m innocent?” I ask.

He turns away and gazes out the window. Why should he risk being arrested for me? True, he’s already helped me, but I’m the only person who knows that and I swore I’d never tell. And I never will. Not after what I’ve already done to him.

But I can’t do this alone. I have to convince him to help me. “If I can get Griffen Clemment to testify that Dakota sent him death threats that mentioned killing Katherine, then all I have
to do is get Congresswoman Jenkins to check the knives in her kitchen. And if she does that, she’s going to find that one of the knives is missing. Because it’s in police custody as evidence.”

Slade looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “You think Dakota would be stupid enough to take a knife from her own kitchen and use it to kill Katherine? As if no one would think to check?”

“I—I’m just saying it’s possible,” I stammer meekly. “I mean, I saw the knife. It was the same brand.”

He snorts derisively. Instead of me convincing him, he’s making me doubt. But there’s still so much I don’t know. And I can’t think of anything else to do. “It’s my only chance,” I whisper. “You may be right, but if I don’t try this, I’m going to go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. Is that what you want?”

Silence.

Two days passed and I didn’t tell Mia she couldn’t sit at the table. She sat with us, and Katherine pretended like nothing was wrong. But I knew that she wouldn’t forget.

On the third day, I went into the cafeteria and Katherine and the other girls weren’t sitting at the regular table. They were at a smaller round table. There was room for six and all the seats were taken. It was Zelda’s beach house all over again. Katherine was shutting me out until I did what she wanted me to.

Only this time I knew something I hadn’t known the last time. Even if I did what she wanted, it wouldn’t end. There’d be more distasteful tasks. Why? Because I served no other purpose for her. She kept Jodie around because Jodie appeared in ads and was a school celebrity. She had Zelda because
she was rich, and Kirsten because her mother provided access to cool things to do in the city. She had Brianna because Brianna was her new project, much the way I had once been a project. And why had she kept Dakota?

Maybe she was thinking like the Chinese general who said, “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

I sat down at a lunch table by myself, not surprised to be shut out but feeling stung just the same. Someone sat down near me with a tray, but I didn’t focus on her until she asked, “What’s going on?” It was Mia.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“But why?”

There was no point in telling her why. It would only make her feel bad. So I said, “I don’t know.”

Mia bit into a cheeseburger and chewed rhythmically, her eyes downcast. As bad as I felt for myself, I felt equally bad for her. She’d done nothing wrong. All she wanted was to be in that crowd. The more I thought about how unfair it was, the angrier I got. Only I wasn’t sure who I was angrier at—Katherine for being so cruel, or myself for being so stupid.

Mia swallowed, then said, “You know why she dumps on us?”

I shrugged and shook my head.

“What’s the one thing all those girls have in common?” Mia asked.

I glanced over at the table. “I don’t know, what?”

“Money,” Mia said. “Lots of it.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Not Katherine.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Her dad doesn’t have a job,” I said.

Mia leaned close. “She’s a
Remington
. Her dad doesn’t
need
a job. Her mom comes from, like, a totally wealthy family. That’s why we’re not at that table, because our families don’t have as much money as theirs.” Her cheeks bulging with food, she shook her head. “God, I hate her.”

Deep down, I didn’t agree. It was hard to imagine that it was really about money, but maybe that was the easiest way for Mia to rationalize it.

“What’s so great about Katherine, anyway?” Mia asked. “So what if she has rich friends and a snobby attitude? I don’t need her friends and I don’t need her. I can have my own table and my own friends. How about it, Callie? Want to sit at my table?”

Why not?
I thought. I had nowhere else to sit.

Chapter
35

Tuesday 5:52
P.M.

“SLADE,” I IMPLORE him in a whisper from the backseat of the pickup.
“Please?”

He still doesn’t answer. He’s turned away and is facing the front. All I see is the back of his head.

“Don’t you care?”

He grips the steering wheel and leans forward, resting his forehead on the back of his hands. “Don’t I care? For God’s sake, Cal, did you forget that you’re the one who broke up with me? Did you ever stop to think about what you did? You just plain straight up wrecked me. And now … now you want me to help you?”

We sit in silence. So I guess the picture on his computer means less than I thought. And he still hasn’t explained the panty hose. Maybe I should just open the door and get out. But I can’t give up. I just can’t! “Okay, Slade, you’re right. I’m not in a position to ask you to do anything. Just tell me one thing. What time is Congresswoman Jenkins scheduled to speak tomorrow?”

He sighs loudly and shakes his head as if he thinks I’ve lost
my mind, but he also digs into his back pocket, comes up with a piece of paper, and holds it close to the window and near his face, trying to read it in the dim light. “She’s supposed to arrive at ten and take a tour of the facility. The ceremony starts at eleven. She leaves right after.”

“There has to be some time in there,” I tell him. “After the tour and before the ceremony. She’s going to want to primp before she goes in front of the cameras.”

He twists around and looks over the seat at me. “And what do you think you’re going to do? Just stroll in the front door and have a chat?”

I can’t answer. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I only know that I’ve got all night to come up with a plan. “I’ll think of something.” I expect him to turn away, but he doesn’t. He stays there, twisted in his seat, looking at me.

“I’m sorry, Slade. I really am. And … I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really do still love you, no matter what happens.”

He lowers his head and stares down. I can’t believe what an idiot I was. Here is the one real, true thing in my life and I threw it away. How pathetic. And yet … and yet … there’s still a little time. There’s still tonight. Maybe there’s a chance. I reach out and touch his hair, run my fingers gently over his cheek.

This time, he doesn’t yell. He raises his face. Is it my imagination or are his eyes glistening? He reaches around the seat toward me and I feel his fingers touch my cheek. He slides his knuckles along my jaw and toward my lips and I kiss his fingers. Maybe it’s insane to feel happy in a situation like this, but
I do. I’m so glad to be with him again … to feel his caring again. The seat stops him from coming closer to me, but it doesn’t keep me from stretching up toward him. Closer … closer … until at last our lips meet.

We kiss in that awkward position. The dampness I feel where our cheeks meet must be from tears. His tears.

“I made a mistake,” I whisper. “Crazy things happen. Things you never expect. You look back and can’t believe what you did. Like it couldn’t have been you.”

“I know,” he whispers, kissing my face and lips. “I know.”

“And … you forgive me?”

“Sure, Shrimp. I forgive you.”

“And the panty hose in your truck?”

“Some clients want a texture in the plaster so we rub it with old panty hose.”

That’s a relief!
“And … you still love me?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he sniffs. “I’ll always love you.”

He tells me to lie low in the truck and wait. After the last worker leaves, he’ll come get me. I fall asleep trying to figure out what I can say to Congresswoman Jenkins tomorrow.

When I wake up, it’s dark and very quiet. I’m instantly alert. Something isn’t right. Raising my head, I look through the windshield of the pickup. The parking lot is empty.

Then, near the back of the town center, I see something glow red in the dark—the ember of a cigarette.

I let myself out of the pickup. The air is cool and chilly and I hug myself to stay warm. Slade is sitting in the shadows,
smoking, with a half-finished bottle on the ground beside him.

“Everyone’s gone. Why didn’t you come get me?”

Instead of answering, he takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales a plume into the air. “Know what I was just thinking about?”

“How could I?”

“How unfair it was that your birthday came right in the middle of those two months when I wasn’t allowed to speak or write to you.” He looks up with a crooked smile on his face. “Happy birthday, Shrimp.”

“Thanks.” I offer him my hands, to help him up. “Now come on. We’ve got things to do.”

He studies my hands, then shakes his head as if he can’t believe that someone as little as me really thinks she can help him up. But he takes hold just the same.

Limping slightly, he leads me across the dark, empty parking lot, around the orange cones blocking the newly painted white lines of parking spaces, through the back door of the new town center. In the hallway, under a bare yellowish lightbulb, he stops and looks back at me. His eyes are sad.

“What?” I ask.

Instead of answering, he gives me half a smile and shakes his head again, then takes my hand and leads me up the concrete steps to the second floor.

He pushes through a door and we enter a large shadowy room illuminated by some streetlights outside. The smell of drying paint is in the air. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can see that this is the new lounge. Or at least, it
will
be the new lounge
once it’s finished. Right now, the floor is still bare concrete. New rolls of carpet rest against a wall. In one corner couches covered with plastic sheets are positioned around a large flat-screen TV. In another corner is the ancient pool table from the old EMS building. Along the wall are cabinets and a sink, a stove, and a refrigerator, all with their new-appliance labels and warnings still attached.

I open one of the cabinet doors under the sink. The space will work. I turn and put my arms around Slade. “I wish we could just stay like this forever,” I whisper, craning my neck up and feeling his lips against mine, his scratchy stubble against my face. “Stay with me?”

He hesitates, then says, “Wish I could, but I’ve got to get home and clean up for the ceremony.” He gives me one last hug, then leans back and looks into the empty cabinet. “You
sure
this is what you want to do?”

“No, but I don’t know what else to do.”

Lunch was almost over and Mia and I took our trays to the kitchen. Turning back, we found Kirsten coming toward us, no doubt with a message from Katherine.

“Can I talk to you?” she said to Mia.

Mia’s eyes darted toward the table where Katherine was sitting, then back to Kirsten. “Okay.”

I watched the two girls walk off together and stand by the window. Kirsten crossed her arms and spoke. Mia’s mouth fell open. Then, for a moment, it looked as if she would burst into tears. But her lips closed, her jaw became firm, her
eyes narrowed, and she began to march toward Katherine’s table.

At the table, Katherine had been leaning forward in conversation, but I knew she must have had one eye on what was happening between Kirsten and Mia. Now, with Mia storming toward her, Katherine sat up straight, and for the first time that I could remember, her face went pale.

Not certain exactly what Mia intended to do, I began to hurry toward the table. Mia, her red face filled with fury, stopped and hovered over Katherine, who was doing her best to stare straight back. Maybe it was only my imagination, but I would have sworn that inside, Katherine was quaking with fear.

“How dare you!” Mia shouted. At the shrill sound of her voice, the closer half of the cafeteria went silent. Heads turned and kids rose from their seats to see what was going on as Mia went off on a tirade. “It wasn’t enough that you had to shut me out of your table, but you had to send one of your little robots over to make sure I knew the reason. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Prim-Proper Phony, you are going to get yours. Believe me. When I’m done with you, you’ll wish you’d … you’d never been adopted!”