Darkest Fear (16 page)

“I guess you don't have much of that,” I said. I was unusually aware of him, even aware of his scent, which reminded me of sandalwood and cypress. If only I could follow him around, inhaling deeply. Yes, that wouldn't be at all weird.

Feeling fidgety, I went back behind the counter and began fixing a refill iced latte for a customer. Hayley was getting ready to leave, putting on more black lipstick, pursing her lips at the mirrored
wall behind the shelves. Trying to ignore Rafael, I busied myself with straightening the counter, wiping things down, cleaning the glass case fronts. Hayley took off and then I was busier, and soon I noticed that Rafael was gone. I relaxed a tiny bit.

During work last night, whenever I'd had a spare minute, I'd examined the drawings Rafael had made of people who worked here. Of course I only recognized Talia and Hayley out of the eight drawings, but they were all incredible, vividly alive though not photographic. In Talia's drawing he had caught her fire, her spirit, shining out of her brown eyes. She looked proud and strong, and I imagined she'd be like that if she weren't a personal assistant to some old lawyer.

When Talia herself came in ten minutes after five, she exclaimed, “So sorry I'm late, honey! My car stalled out and—oh my gawd in heaven!”

I grinned at her as I washed the milk frother thingy. The steam wand, it was called. “Rafael did that. It's going to be cool, huh?”

“That boy is wasted here, and I'm not lying.”  Talia bustled down the hallway and went into the ladies' room, coming out a few minutes later in turquoise leggings stretched to their limit and a colorful African-print tunic. Her short hair was cornrowed in a complicated pattern that swirled around her skull, and I was reminded of a Zen garden with the pebbles raked into perfect lines.

My second day was less of a breeze than my first. We had fewer customers, but I had my first run-in with a crazy person, a woman swathed in several layers of clothes and carrying several big
shopping bags. She kept trying to order things we didn't have, and I was starting to get seriously rattled when Talia muttered, “Just say yes and make her a café au lait with four sugars.”

I did just that. The customer sipped it suspiciously; then her face split into a smile and she became very gracious.

“Thanks,” I told Talia, when the customer was gone.

“She always wants that. You'll get used to 'em,” Talia said.

By eight o'clock the only people in the place were four students, each sitting at a different table, each with a laptop. I tried to imagine last night's attacker bursting into Ro's, startling everyone, and I couldn't really see it. Right now Ro's was my safe haven.

To my fevered delight, Rafael had been in the main room most of the evening, working on his mural. He was using a metal ladder to get the high parts, and I have to say I enjoyed watching him climb up and down. At one point a student close to him dropped a sheaf of papers and they went everywhere; Rafael stopped what he was doing and helped the guy pick them all up. Such a nice guy, for a fallen angel.

During a quiet moment I bought myself a mini ham and cheese quiche and an iced coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Rafael sketch in some more details. At twenty-one, he was three years older than me, and the same age as Matéo and Aly. Somehow he seemed older, less lighthearted. I remembered what Talia had said about his parents, how they lived in Mexico, and wondered what his story was.

The guy who'd dropped his papers came up and got a refill on
his coffee, counting out a few singles and the exact change. I put down my quiche and fixed it for him, smiling as he took it and shuffled back to his table. The students made me think of Jennifer, and I hoped she'd liked her weird bio lab yesterday. I would try calling her tonight after I got off, but of course I wouldn't tell her about last night's freak show.

Just two months ago I had planned to be a college student—had made lists of what to bring, researched plane fares. Of course, my parents had been disappointed that I wanted to go so far away—they'd been pushing for something much closer to home, like Eckerd, or U of Miami. In the end I'd applied to exactly one college, had been accepted, and they had caved.

Now I would give anything to go to a Florida school, be able to go home on weekends, see my parents. My quiche turned to sludge in my mouth and I threw the rest of it away.

Around nine o'clock I was on the floor cleaning out the ice machine, and Talia asked out of the blue, “You got a boyfriend?”

“Oh. No,” I said, pouring a mild bleach solution through the machine as Talia had shown me. You wouldn't think an ice machine could grow mold, but it could. So incredibly gross.

“Oh, a girlfriend?” Talia grinned.

“No, I'm not gay. I just don't have a boyfriend,” I said.

“Well, you are one pretty girl,” said Talia. “You might meet someone nice in here. You never know.”

It wouldn't matter if I met someone nice or not.

TALIA HAD UNKNOWINGLY HIT ON
one of my sore spots: my lack of dating experience. I smiled, knowing she was trying to be friendly, but inside I felt the familiar cringes of embarrassment. I'd been on exactly three dates in my whole life, and none of them had been a success. The first one, when I was fifteen, had been with the son of one of my parents' friends. He'd been good-looking and pompous, and tried to act like he was much older than we were. His dad had driven us to the movie in their fancy car, and Gerry had held my hand and stroked my arm and my thigh. With his dad in the front seat. By the time we got to the theater I was hissing at him to cut it out.

It had ended badly with him asking me out again even though I was frigid, and me turning him down because he was a schmuck. His parents had been offended I didn't want to jump all over their little prince. The whole thing had been a disaster.

My second foray into dating was for the junior-senior prom at school. Ian Banks had asked me to go, and I'd said yes. I barely knew
him—he was in my physics I class and we'd never spoken. My mom had been thrilled and bought me a much too expensive dress and insisted I wear flats so I wouldn't tower over Ian too much. I'd been furious. It wasn't my fault I was gigantic. Ian had been nice enough, but not very interesting. Mostly he seemed to want all of his friends to see us together—whenever one of them came near, Ian put his arm around my shoulder or leaned in as if we were talking. Once he kissed my hand. By eleven o'clock I was more than fed up.

My mom had been disappointed I was home so early.

Then there had been Carlos. He was a new student at our school and I'd been assigned to be his buddy for the first few days, until he knew his way around. Even Jennifer had noticed how hot he was, and we'd shared a bunch of suggestive eyebrow-raising. When Carlos asked me out that weekend, I was glad to go—he'd been super nice all week. I even told my mom that it was an actual date.

He arrived at seven as promised: a plus. My mom peeked at him through the front curtains and gave me a thumbs-up, mouthing
He's so cute!
at me before thoughtfully disappearing into the kitchen.

I answered the door with a big smile, but when he saw me, his smile faded.

“I'm not too early, am I?” he asked.

“No, you're right on time.”

“Oh. Well, I can wait while you get ready.”

“Uh . . . I am ready.” I was wearing jeans and a tank top with a Guero's Taco Bar logo. There were no rips or stains anywhere. I had brushed my hair.

“Oh.”

“Is there a problem?” I asked a bit tartly.

“Oh, no,” he said, but his enthusiasm was MIA.

“What's the matter?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just—I know you don't dress up for school, and that's okay, I guess, but I thought you'd take more trouble to go out. Like, makeup. A nice dress.”

I'd been so, so, so, so disappointed.

“I don't wear makeup,” I said. “I don't wear dresses. This is me.”

“But you're so pretty,” Carlos said, continuing to wade into the La Brea Tar Pits of my dismay. “You'd be a knockout if you fixed up a little. You'd look like a model. Except not skinny.”

“Good night, Carlos,” I said, and shut the door. He'd waited there for a minute, I guess to see if I'd change my mind, but by then I was already in the kitchen wolfing down Oreos.

So actually I don't think that even counts as a date.

Now here I was at work, wanting to inhale the intoxicating scent of the devil man, as if I was ready to take off the training wheels of amour and leap right into the major leagues.

“Honey?”

My head snapped up as I saw Talia standing over me, smiling. She untied her apron and straightened out her tunic. “Tonight's my early night,” she said. “I gotta pick my mama up from bingo.” She leaned down and took my face between firm, warm hands that smelled like apricots. “Vivi. The Lord has blessed you with beauty. And you're a sweet girl, too. But you are throwing the Lord's
gift away, with the hair and the ratty shirt and the sloppy shorts. Yesterday you looked so cute.”

After my depressing Carlos memory, this was awful, and not even my mother had ever spoken to me so bluntly. I was shocked.

Talia gave my cheek a little pat, then got her purse and headed out.

My face was burning. Had Rafael heard her say that? Had anyone heard her? Seething, I bent over and worked on the ice machine. At first I was really mad—how dare she! It was none of her business! Then I admitted that she wasn't a mean person and probably thought she was being helpful and motherly. And I had already come to terms with the fact that I needed some new clothes.

It had just been galling for her to say it so plainly when she hardly knew me. Was I actually still pretty? Did I even care about that nonsense?

When the ice machine was churning out perfectly clean ice, I scanned the room to make sure no one needed anything. Two students were left, typing away on their computers, empty coffee cups on their table. I went to clear the empties, passing close to Rafael on his ladder, his comfortably worn-looking green T-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders as he worked.

I was not ready for the major leagues. Clearly. I wasn't even ready for T-ball. How depressing.

Over the next two hours, only a few people came in. Most of them were easy, but a gorgeous blond woman wearing skintight
yoga clothes came in and asked for some weird complicated thing.

“Yes, no problem,” I said, and quickly consulted the guide, which I had tried to memorize earlier, and thought I had. I didn't find what she wanted.

“I'm sorry—I'm new here,” I told her. “What's the name of your drink again?”

Large blue eyes blinked at me. “I don't know the name,” she said with a touch of impatience. “I don't work here, do I? I just want the—” and the rest of her words sounded like “blah blah almond blah caramel blah blah fat-free something something.”

I looked at her helplessly.

“Look, if you don't know how to make it, find someone who can,” she said, annoyed.

Swallowing, I went over to Rafael, who had already started to climb down the ladder.

“I don't know how to make her drink,” I said, flustered. “I'm sorry. I can't find it in the guide.”

“It's not in the guide,” he said, and followed me behind the counter.

The blond woman's eyes widened as she focused on Rafael. She was probably ten years older than him but clearly thought he was worthy of her notice.

“Thank you so much,” she said, her voice much softer. “This girl just can't get a simple order right.”

I decided it would be a good time to wash dishes, so I wouldn't, I don't know, punch her in the nose. Leaning down, I stacked the
dirty crockery better so it wouldn't tip as I carried it back.

“Vivi can do simple orders,” Rafael said, surprising me. “And medium orders. And even complicated orders. But your order is on another level entirely.”

Standing up with the bin, I saw her smiling at him, and I recognized the fake girly bashfulness that Cammie Nederflander had used on Harry Donner right before the homecoming game. Almost snarling with disgust, I edged past Rafael and went into the back kitchen.

As I loaded the waist-high dishwasher rack, I heard him asking her to walk him through it, step by step. He wasn't being flirty, exactly, but his manner was definitely calming her right down. Finally, the world's most asinine drink was completed, and I actually heard the woman giggle.

Giggle.

I pulled the handle on the dishwasher viciously so the strong jets would drown her out. After that load was done, I heard the metal ladder move against the concrete floor out front, so I knew Rafael had gone back to his mural. Which meant I had to go be the counter person. I just prayed that the ridiculous-drink person was going to limit herself to one.

She did, but she took ages to finish it. She chose a table close to where Rafael was working and sat so she could watch him. I groaned to myself, though I probably watched him just as much for the next two hours.

Finally the woman seemed to get tired of Rafael actually
working, so she went up to him and I saw her slip a piece of paper into his pants pocket. Gritting my teeth, I started to put the lids on all the metal containers of cream cheese and butter.
I don't care,
I assured myself.
It's not like I want him.
No, I was objecting to her stupid feminine wiles because they seemed so fake to me.

Yeah, that was it. I objected to her on philosophical grounds.

It was a relief to lock the front door at midnight. This time last night, Talia had locked the door, we'd cleaned up, and then I'd gone home and a jaguar had attacked my friend. Twenty-four hours ago. It was unbelievable, and I was glad I wasn't here by myself. Not that Rafael could protect anyone from a murderous haguaro. If anything, I'd have to protect him. This thought made me grin, and I indulged in further fantasies as I washed everything and put food away into the big fridge.