Crux (2 page)

2

Grey stands. His body straightens to over six feet as the rest of the table’s occupants follow suit.

Mrs. Mathews’ gaze flashes to the three guys still watching from the other side of the patio. Her brow creases as she steps toward her son. “I don’t like this. Be careful, Grey.”

He nods, squeezing her forearm.

Mrs. Mathews faces me. “Very nice to meet you, Birdie.” She frowns like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“Thanks, nice to meet you, too. Sorry about all of this.” I wave my hand in the air.

Grey steps to the sidewalk. “Let’s go.”

Scud grins. His eyes dart from me toward Grey and back. He elbows Kate until she finally shoves him away and flips her dark hair behind her back.

“Grow up.” Her order is clear. Scud inches nearer and rests his chin on her shoulder. Although Kate rolls her eyes, she allows him to stay.

Mr. Bowen smiles at Mr. Mathews. “Think we can fit in a round of golf on Thursday? Our girls are going shopping.”

The scene’s all too domestic for me. I stifle my gag reflex, but I know it’s just envy.

Grey lifts his hand to the right, indicating which direction to go. As we walk down the sidewalk, I glance over my shoulder. His parents stand guard between our progress and the guys on the terrace.

My escort stops at a shiny, black Audi. “This is me.” He opens the passenger door for me.

Sweet ride.
I slide in. My jeans scoot over the cool, tan leather seats. As the door closes with a thud, the distinct scent of new car mingles with pine air freshener. Out of my element, I hug the backpack on my lap while my heart pounds.

The driver’s door opens before Grey folds himself into his seat, and a few seconds later, the engine roars to life. He doesn’t smile or speak, and I start to wish he hadn’t offered to drive. I don’t like owing people, especially grouchy ones.

I take a deep breath and say, “Look, if driving me’s a hassle, I can get there on my own.”

“Seatbelt,” Grey says, as he pulls into traffic.

“Oh, right.” I secure myself in under my pack. “Thanks again for your help.”

“No problem. Those jerks are still watching you.” He’s eyeing the rear view mirror. “Do you want to tell me what that’s all about?”

Uh, let me think. No.
“I don’t really know. Today’s been a … a weird day.” An unbelievable, life changing day, that’s all.

His hand rests on the gear shift as he eases into third. His fingers are long, like a pianist’s. A silver ring on his third finger bares a Celtic braid. He shifts again and leans forward, as if he’s willing the car to go faster.

Talk. Say something, Birdie.
“Hey, your family was cool to let me crash at your table like that.”

“Yeah, they’re good people.” His mouth turns up at one end. “Well, all except for Kate.” He keeps cutting his eyes over toward me, his gaze quizzical. The blue of his shirt makes his irises bluer.

I squirm under my pack and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I liked her. She stuck up for me.” I lift my leg to rest my foot on the seat but change my mind and put it down again. A dirty sneaker on his pristine leather seems like a bad idea. “Besides, little sisters are supposed to drive their brothers crazy, right? That’s in the family handbook or something.” I can’t stop babbling. “You sign in blood.” I raise my three middle fingers like I’m taking a Boy Scout oath.
Just shut up, idiot!

“So, you’re a little sister?”

I stare straight ahead. “No.”

“Big sister?”

“No. Not exactly.”
Sheeze.

“Not exactly.” His tone is flat, emotionless. “You’re not very good at this conversation thing, are you?” He downshifts at the library and parks on the street in front of a red Honda.

My head angles in time to glimpse his mouth twitching up again. Is he teasing me? He’s so stoic, it’s hard to tell. “No. Yes. Actually I’m usually much better than this.” I can’t stop the laugh that escapes. What does it matter? He’s cute, but I’ll never see him again anyway. With no idea why I’m acting like such a moron, I shrug and glance at the empty meter to my right, almost sorry to get out of the comfy car. “You make me a little nervous.”

“Is that so?”

I shift in my seat to face him. He smiles, the first since I met him. “Enjoy that did you? Well, it’s true. So now you know, and it’s been all kinds of fun meeting you,” I stick out my hand, “but I have to go.”

“Fun, huh?”

“Mmm.” I peek out the window, scan the buildings on the street.

“The library is closed on Sundays, Birdie.”

I’d completely forgotten. “Oh, sure, I know.”

“Give me your cell phone.”

I’ve never owned one. “Why?”

“I’m going to put my number in your contacts.”

“The battery’s dead.”

His mouth pulls to a line. “Birdie …” He leans forward but stops short, glancing in his rearview mirror again. His eyebrows knit together over a scowl.

“What? What’s wrong?” I whip around as a yellow cab pulls in behind the red Honda. My stomach twists, and my skin tingles in warning.

Crap
.

I can just make out three silhouettes, shoulder to shoulder in the backseat.

You’ve got to be kidding. Again?

Cab doors fly open, and
the redhead, still clad in his army jacket, jumps out. He starts running our way.

Tires squeal against asphalt.

I brace my palm on the wood grained dash as the Audi shoots out of its parking space. The redhead doubles over as he scrabbles back toward his cab.

I whirl and face front, hunkering down in my seat. “Crap!”

“What do they want, Birdie?” Grey’s tone is hard, demanding.

I don’t answer. My body stiffens against the seat, eyes riveted to the road ahead. I’m totally freaking out about the speed at which he’s driving.

“Dammit, talk to me. What’s in your bag, drugs? Are you some kind of mule for them? Are you a hooker?”

I gasp as he jerks the wheel. As we fly around the next corner, my shoulder slams against the door. “No! Geez.” Heat floods my face, and I glare in his direction.

Something in my expression or tone of voice must convince him because his face relaxes. He zips around another corner. “What in the … ?”

A yellow cab shows up in the side mirror outside my door. I wonder what my pursuers are paying the driver to follow at such a deadly rate. Another idea occurs to me; they might not be offering money at all. Maybe the innocent driver has a shiny, black Glock pointed at him instead. I shudder.

“Persistent aren’t they? I don’t get it, you’re not
that
hot.”

“Hey! Just because you’re helping me doesn’t mean you—” When he tugs the wheel to the right, I lose my balance. “Whoops!” My hand juts out, and I brace myself against his upper thigh. Huge muscles flex beneath his dark jeans. With blood rising up my neck to sear my cheeks, I pull my hand back as fast as gravity allows. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t apologize.” He cuts in front of a Dodge minivan. “That’s the most fun I’ve had all day.” Grey continues weaving through traffic faster than a Pakistani rug maker’s shuttle through a loom.

A woman with white hair in blue curlers enters the crosswalk.

“Look out!” I yell.

“What?”

She wobbles over her walker as though affected by our back draft.

“C’mon, didn’t you see the old lady back there? Poor thing.”

“I wasn’t anywhere close to hitting her, and if I slow down, your boyfriend’s gonna get us.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. I’m telling you, I don’t know those guys.”

“Well, they seem to know you.” Grey makes another right turn, and our car fish tails, tires screeching.

“We’re going to die. We’re going to die …”

“We’re not going to die,” he barks. “Do
you
want to drive?”

My head shakes violently. “No way.”

“Then stop … side seat driving!” His voice cracks a little. He makes a left and speeds into a parking garage, guiding the Audi into an empty space. He turns off the engine and shoves me down into my seat. “Shhh.”

We sit in silence. After a few minutes, my breathing regulates. No yellow cab pulls into the garage. No bad guys show up to plug me and the nice boy who helped a stranger twice in one day. Time passes, but there’s nowhere else I need to be. A long breath escapes between my lips. I play with my hair, sliding long, yellow strips through my fingers.

The clean, crisp scent of his cologne fills the space, until I’m acutely aware of how much I need to shower. Once in a while, Grey lifts his head and peers over his seat, but mostly he watches me.

When did the air get so hot?
I pull the string on my hoodie back and forth and try not to stare at his perfectly formed mouth. When our eyes meet, I cut mine away, but after a while, I just let him look.

What does he see, I wonder? The icy blue irises that first appeared so cold seem to soften. His expression is confident, even curious, but not judgmental.

I lose track of time. The car windows fog, and Grey straightens. “I think we’re okay now.”

My legs and arms stretch to relieve cramped muscles. “Hey, thanks, dude. I had no right to get you into this—”

“Get me into what exactly?” His jaw sets, and I can tell he’s used to getting his way.

“I’m honestly not sure.” I gaze into his eyes. They seem to be asking me to trust him, but I can’t.

My life is unsettled, dangerous. Shelter girls are pariahs, society’s throw-aways, and now, people are after me. How can I explain to Yuppie boy, with his earnest eyes and sheltered life, about my world? He has no idea how harsh life can be, and I’m glad. His starched, safe parents would probably go into apoplectic shock if they knew about the car chase. The knowledge doesn’t fill me with resentment, and I’m not jealous anymore. I think the guy might be good. I want to protect him, too. From me.

“I’d better get going.” I grope behind me with my right hand for the door handle.

Grey reaches for my sleeve as if my hand is too personal. “I know there’s more that you won’t say, but letting you go like this feels wrong. I can’t explain. It’s like driving by a helpless stray on the side of the road.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He smiles wide. “Driving by a puppy … and the traffic is
really
heavy.”

I return his smile. “You’re just making it worse.”

“And it’s raining.”

“So, the rich boy’s funny.”

His expression sobers. “Will you let me help you?”

My smile fades. “I’m fine.” I stop searching for the door handle and take his hand, not caring if it’s personal. My fingers give a light squeeze. “There’s nothing to help with.” I glance at my backpack, hoping the money in it will change my life. “But … thanks … for wanting to.”

3

All week, I’ve tried to reorganize my world. After leaving Grey, I went to the Southland Inn and paid cash for a room. Living on the streets for four months felt more like four years. I’m surprised how hard it is to adjust back to a normal life—whatever normal means.

I sat on the bed dumping stacks of bills on the thin, gold bedspread and made little piles.

To be sure of the amount, I counted the money four times. Three hundred and forty-two thousand dollars. A lot of dough and only one seventh of what Jeff gave away. Who would give a fortune away to total strangers? I couldn’t figure him out.

On my second day in the hotel, I evaluated my mother’s wish list for me. She’d told me of her dreams for my life before she died. I’d been sitting on the end of her bed, too tired to read aloud from her poetry book. She’d taken gulping, wheezy breaths between listing her hopes for me. I’d snuggled next to her while she planned them all out—as if her lung cancer was a nuisance and she’d be there to see everything happen.

She didn’t make it.

With no extended family, my father killed in the war the year before, and no siblings to share my grief, her death marked the end of any kin.

By the third day, I had my high school transcripts sent to Georgia State University, barely making the November first deadline for spring classes.
College.
Number four on my mom’s list. Her other wishes might take some time to pull off.

My past was cake compared to what some girls faced, a fact I’ll never forget. So with Jeff’s warning fresh in my mind, I gave money to the Delta Women’s Shelter and Grace Church. They help prostitutes who are trafficked downtown, something homeless girls are quick to learn about.

I needed some eats four days in. I didn’t dream of Perrier or the surf and turf special at the local steakhouse that most would pay for with plastic from a new Coach purse. The corner market provided everything I wanted: bologna and cheese sandwiches, bottled water, and a grocery bag to keep my crap in.

On the fifth day, I bought some clothes, rented a studio apartment, and ordered furniture from IKEA.

The stuff still sits in boxes all around me. The helpful woman at the sales counter didn’t mention the assembly part, and I’m not in any hurry since I’m as handy with an alum key as a parakeet with a fork. My new mattress sits on the floor, and I cover the pad with pretty, white sheets. I’m obsessed with the color, and white looks so clean.

My new digs should make me ecstatic, but I can’t get happy. The apartment’s too empty and doesn’t seem like a home, just somewhere to crash until something goes wrong, and the next place has to be found.

Guilt washes over me—a gritty shame sticking to me like wet sand.

Why me?

There are a ton of girls in the shelter, a lot of more deserving homeless, like my friend, Shondra.

Shondra.
I miss you, girl.

My lungs constrict, and I gulp a breath. Loneliness evokes a panic different than fear but every bit as terrifying.

Maybe I’ll get a dog.

• • •

The velvet bag Jeff gave me held a safe deposit key with a slip of paper that read, ‘First Bank of Atlanta, number two hundred twenty two.’ I gave it the stink eye all week as suspicion and curiosity dueled in my mind. In my new stretch jeans, black hoodie, and boots, I stuff the bag in my backpack and head out the door. My car-less situation is a pain, but I’m taking my time to find the perfect ride.

The descending sun glows orange in the western sky, defiant against the darkness that arrives earlier with each passing day. A cab brings me to the bank right before it closes. After asking the driver to wait, I climb from the vehicle and race up the stairs to the triple doors.

High ceilings, gleaming wood floors, with gold and cream furniture, the bank is decorated like The Ritz in Central Park—I’d seen a picture in a dog-eared magazine once at the health department. I square my shoulders, trying to appear like I belong as I walk to the desk.

A short, African-American woman in a navy suit eases her glasses down the bridge of her nose as I approach. Her badge says Ms. Blackburn. “Can I help you?” I can tell by her tone she doubts her own question.

I realize I’m hunching and straighten again. “Yes.” My voice cracks, and I cough into my fist. “Yes, I need to get to my safe deposit box? Please.”

“We close in fifteen minutes. Will you be able to complete your business in that time?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, not at all sure that is true.

A finger repositions her glasses. “Walk this way.”

I don’t want to walk
her way
. She waddles more than walks and strangles me in the wake of stinky perfume. Sure I’d kill less brain cells sniffing glue. I fight the urge to stick a gum wrapper from my purse in her bad weave. She’d never feel it; I’m sure. Okay, I know I’m being immature
and
petty. There’s a pretty big chip on my shoulder, but I’m tired of being treated like a bug, and I’m disappointed my new clothes aren’t quite enough to transform me.

She leads me to a small room sectioned off by what looks like little closets with burgundy shower curtain dividers. “Which box please?”

I offer her the paper with the numbers on it in silence, worried my voice will squeak again if I answer.

Ms. Blackburn snatches the note from my fingers. Her pickled expression intimidates the snot out of me. She glances at the list of numbers and motions to a wall that’s covered with what looks like post office boxes. “Key?” She speaks as if she thinks I’m mentally challenged.

I lift my chin. My mouth opens to tell her off, but Miss Snarky Pants is faster.

“Watch me. Insert your key as I do.”

My inner voice warns I’ll catch more flies with honey.
Just hush, Bird. Get whatever’s inside, and go.

Fine.

I press my lips together and put my key in the slot. We turn in unison, and she pulls the drawer out, placing it on a table inside one of the closets. She frowns at her watch. “Eleven minutes.”

“No problemo.” After she exits, I pull the curtain closed.

My steps are tentative as I approach the box.
Well, Jeff, more surprises?

What’s waiting inside?

You never know. Could be something good again, Bird.

Or the punch line, the other shoe dropping?

I’m used to bait and switch, expect it even. For years, I’ve promised myself not to get my hopes up. That way they don’t have far to fall.

My hair swings forward like a screen around my face as I lift the lid. Inside, a red velvet pouch waits in a lump at the bottom. I flip the bag over and dump the contents into my palm. An ornate pendant with a central stone patterned to look like a jagged piece of ice is held in place by silver animal fangs.

As I examine the necklace, the icy rock glows florescent green, like kryptonite from a Superman movie. I raise my hand, awestruck by its beauty. I think the gem will feel cold, but it’s hot—more than hot—it burns.

Crap.

Green light turns white; the shien emanates from my palm and grows brighter. I try to drop the jewel, but it won’t release. Pain sears my skin, and a silent cry rips from my throat. Blinding light breaks from veined cracks in the stone. My free hand shields my eyes from the glare. Wind starts blowing from nowhere discernable. The gale increases as if the walls of the bank have been blown out by a storm, yet I can still see them. Swirling air wraps my body, elevates me until I no longer feel the floor beneath my feet, pressure gripping my lungs and constricting my breathing.

Like a Hoover after a dust bunny, I’m sucked into a tunnel of wind. The machine’s engine screams in my ears. My limbs don’t obey my commands to move. My skin stings as if a thousand bees are depositing their venom under my flesh.

A glance down shows ice melting against the pale skin of my arms, and I realize what I thought were insects are the pelts of driving wind and sleet.

My vision clears as the sleet thins, disseminating altogether a second later. I am no longer caught in a Hoover, nor standing in the First Bank of Atlanta. Somehow I’ve been transported to an unfamiliar courtyard. Crystallized flakes descend again in heavy sheets against a darkened sky. Silver trees dot the landscape and sway in the gloom. Shrubs and fences drown in the white stuff, engulfed by waves of snowfall.

A few feet before me, gigantic boulders glint in the night, beckoning me forward until I’m compelled to move closer. My hands are red and raw from cold as I brush snow from the largest rock, revealing chiseled rune lines.

From behind the boulder, a man glides into the clearing.

Ohmigosh … freaking … crap!
I stumble back.

Even under the shadow of his woollen cloak, I can make out thick eyebrows bunched over a strong, aquiline nose, and beneath that, a golden moustache and beard, stiff with ice. He’s tall, straight as a pine. My mind screams run, but my feet won’t budge, overruled by curiosity.

As I gaze into his eyes, my body tenses. Shadows press against the features of his face, enhancing his impressive bone structure.

Welcome, Rebecca Strong Wing.
He doesn’t speak aloud but straight into my mind.
Good and evil exist. Who can understand its origins? Through the course of time, one ultimately triumphs over the other. In the end, only one will emerge victorious. This time, we must not fail.
A gust of wind picks up speed. Snow swirls around me, obscuring my vision. It tears me from the stranger’s presence until I’m swept into a white vortex. My chest constricts while my arms and legs contort in unnatural positions. As everything around me grows taller, I shrink to nothing. My body drains as though it’s forced through a straw. My eyes squeeze shut against nausea and pain until the whirling stops.

When I dare peek, I’m back in the little room at the bank. The table catches me as I slump across the surface, exhaling. Snow tumbles off my arms and shoulders, so I know I’m not dreaming. Despite the fact I keep sucking short breaths of air, I’m suffocating. Maybe I’m hyperventilating or having a panic attack.

I could also be in an asylum, wrapped in a straight jacket and trapped in an illusion of my own making.

There. It’s finally happened.
I’m crazy.

The necklace slides from my fingers at last and lands with a quiet whisper inside my open pack as though it had aimed itself there. Crazy or not, I have to leave. I shake the snow from my body and race for the curtain. My hand trembles as I grab the fabric and sling it aside.

Stop, stop.
I freeze at my internal demand.

Running through a bank is stupid. A guard will surely stop me if I freak out.

I take a deep breath, knees quaking, and force myself to walk.

A few people still mill about in the bank, proving I wasn’t trapped in the little room long.

Ms. Blackburn is shuffling files at her desk. She lifts her head as I pass, quirking an eyebrow as she studies my appearance. My lips won’t obey the order to smile, so I stare at her, daring her with my eyes to intervene. A quick glance at her watch and her attention is back on her paperwork.

That’s right. Just keep pushing those papers, sister.
I blow past her, push the door open, and fly down the concrete steps. The cab is gone.

Seriously?

Up and down the street, I search for another. It’s dark and hard to tell if any of the floating headlights are attached to a taxi.

My chest tightens as I remember the three army jackets that followed Grey and me. A similar cab idles in the traffic a few cars away.
Grey.
He’s not here to help you now.

As irrational as it seems, my heart beats faster at the thought the thugs might be nearby. I’ve yet to recover from my strange adventure in the bank, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve spun and broken into a run.

My feet smack the sidewalk, and the jolts shoot up my heels, through my legs to my butt. Mr. Paciotti probably didn’t have sprinting in mind when he designed the heels on my leather boots.

Reverting to old habits, I take a turn down the alley next to the bank. I blink, adjusting my eyes to the dark as I run. Tall buildings on either side shield me from the gusting winds. Multicolored lights from the city glow in the puddles I splash through. At a sound behind me, I peer over my shoulder. Finding the side street empty, I exhale a sigh of relief until I smack into something hard.

My eyebrows fly up. “Jeff?”