Lost (27 page)

Hugging Terry briefly after I entered, I casually asked if he had seen Peter.  I was casual as I tried to act like I had broken up with him and wanted to make sure Peter was okay, in case Terry knew about our relationship.  But when Terry said he hadn't seen Peter in months, I couldn't hide the tears from filling my eyes, or the absolute understanding on Terry's face that it was me who had been dumped.
  Holding in the tears before I left the store, while grabbing my favorite veggie chips, I finally asked Terry why he gave the strange look months before.  I finally asked, and he told me the truth as he believed it.
  “I think Peter is an undercover Cop, Sophie,” he said so seriously I couldn't help my pause, or the laughter that burst from my chest.  Laughing loudly in the quiet store, I knew I looked deranged but I just couldn't hold it in. 

  “A cop?” I laughed.  “Yeah… I
really
don't think so.  He's wayyyy too in touch with his emotional side to be a cop,” I laughed a little more.
  But as Terry watched me laughing he said nothing else until just the sound of my laughter seemed so odd in the store, I slowly quieted.

  Looking at Terry, I was sure he was joking, but he didn't relent at all with his stoic expression.  He stood behind the counter staring at me as I had my strange laughing fit, and then he finally spoke once I stopped.
  “Come here,” he said moving down the aisle to the back of the store as I followed him almost giggling again.

  “I’m serious, Sophie.  We've all speculated.  We've all talked about it after his infrequent visits to the store before.  There is something about the way he disappears, and returns, asking questions about whose been around, or whose been in trouble, or if anything seemed out of the ordinary around the village, etcetera, that made us all question why he asked.”
  “Please tell me this is a joke,” I begged with a grin as I leaned against a shelf.
  “I'm not joking.  Ask Margaret,” Terry continued. “One time Peter came in after no one had seen him in months.  We had all left messages for his hand cream which I sell as quickly as he supplies it, but he never called us back.  We left messages for 3 months but he never responded, and then one day out of the blue he walked in looking horrible.  He was bruised and his hair was long and filthy, and he had this fake tattoo all over his hand, and when Margaret asked if he was okay, he just nodded.  But then she asked what happened, and Peter smiled a little and said, 'some bad guys, that's all,' with a grin.  And though Margaret tried to press, Peter wouldn't give any more information.  But it always felt like there was more to Peter, you know?” Terry asked looking at me expectantly.
  “Um... I
really
don't think so.  Honestly, I just spent over 3 months with him, and he was never away or banged up, or, like anything like a cop.  No offense Terry but I really think you're crazy,” I laughed again.
  “Look, I know many law enforcement officers, and I've seen police at trials and for pretrial dispositions, and I'm telling you, Peter was like them.”
  “Like what?” I swear to god, I was holding my breath but in total disbelief.
  “Kind of aloof, but warm.  Like one easygoing personality for us, and then a very intense personality watchful of everything around him.”
  “Paranoid?” I tried for a much simpler explanation.
  “Not really,” Terry paused.  “Watchful, I would say.  Anyway, it's all just speculation, but my gut tells me I'm right.  I really think he's a cop and that's why he disappears, and that's why he returns a few months later, sometimes looking horrible, and sometimes just very worn out.  But I don't know for sure, obviously,” Terry said while leaning in closer.
  Fighting to keep the laughter in, I bit my tongue until it passed. “Do you honestly believe that, or is this a weird joke, Terry?  Because honestly, your sense of humor is a little odd,” I asked grinning.
  Smiling back at me, but shaking his head, Terry answered the question I couldn't believe I was asking.

  “I honestly believe that.  There's just something about Peter that tells me there's more going on than he admits to, or can tell us.  And I think he's a cop,” he answered seriously.
  “Do you have his address?”
  “No.  He would only pick up his payments.”
  “Does he have a SIN number?”
  “No.  I paid him cash,” he answered.
  “Do you know where he works?”
  “No.  Other than what I think he does he's never actually told me where he works.”
  “Well, he told me.  He said he works at a steel company that resells recyclable steel to smaller companies.”
  “A steel company, huh?  Do you disappear for months at a time, and turn up looking, acting, and behaving differently?  Do you turn up bruised and tattooed from a steel company?” Terry again pressed.
  “No you don't, but I think it's a little too bizarre and unrealistic to think he's an undercover cop.  I mean seriously, Terry, who does that?  That's a TV show, not reality,” I said a little pissed.
  Looking at my old boss, I suddenly thought he was a bit of an idiot.  Originally I just thought he was a post-trial lawyer, eccentric, reformed hippy guy, but looking at him in that moment, I thought he was more of a Law and Order, CSI, too much TV watching Fucktard, as Steven would say.
  Irritated, I decided I was done with Terry and our whole bizarre conversation.  Peter had been gone for 4 weeks at that point and I was tired of everyone and everything.
  “Well, thanks for the enlightening conversation, Terry.  I'll just grab these chips and let you get back to the counter,” I attempted to sound final but not too bitchy.  “Oh, you never did say why you gave us the weird look when Peter came in on my last day with the book.”
  “I was worried you'd get hurt if you got involved with him,” he said way too seriously.
  “And why's that?” I asked with major tone.
  “Because I think his job is dangerous, and because I didn't know how long he'd be around until he had to go undercover again,” he replied seriously.

  Listening to Terry, I had had enough.  Laughing again at the undercover comment, I put down the veggie chips, and shook my head at him.  Walking back up the aisle to the front of the store as he followed me, I didn't even bother with a polite goodbye or a decent exit.  I just laughed at his stupidity, and attempted to leave the store quickly before I said something very insulting.
  “Sophie!  Ask Margaret.  She can give you better examples.  Margaret and Peter have had coffee a few times,” Terry spoke to my back as I opened the front door to leave.
  “No, thanks,” I said without turning back to him. 
  “Sophie!  Undercover cops aren't just on TV, you know?  How do you think the Police arrest people in gangs? Or other criminals?  They actually exist in every city,” Terry yelled again. 

  I was already a foot out the door though as I said a loud, “Okay.  Thanks.”
  Stunned by my shitty morning, I started laughing outside in the cool April air, until I started crying thinking about Peter.
 

  Walking back to my apartment I decided I needed a change.  I had spent 4 weeks in a total funk- working all day, crying and obsessing all night.  And my weekends were spent with the same crying, hurting, obsessing sadness my nights crushed me with. 
  I had missed 3 out of 4 Sunday dinners at my parents' since he left, and I had received hundreds of Steven phone calls every single day since Peter left me.
  My parents were worried, and Steven was distressed by the weak Sophie I was in his eyes.  For the first time in our lives he was the better, more stable twin, which we both hated.  Steven was meant to be flighty, and I was meant to be stable.  It was how we had worked for 25 years, and I needed it back.
  I needed to be me again, the pre-Peter me I was happy with.  I needed to feel stable, secure, and confident in my world again.  I needed to feel like me again.  I just had to figure out how the hell to get Sophie back.
 

                                        *****

  When Steven showed up at my place Sunday afternoon to take me to my parents' house for dinner, I was pissed. Throwing open the door, I was yelling before I even saw him and I continued yelling well after he was sitting on my couch ignoring me.
 

  Turning on the TV, he flipped to and turned up a basketball game loudly.  Ignoring me completely, I was filled with such a sudden rage, I actually kicked his shin, grabbed the remote and chucked it across the room while screaming for him to leave.  But the bastard barely even flinched.
  “Done?” He asked like a prick and I almost hit him. 
  I wanted to hit him so badly, just the shock of it stopped me in my tracks.  Shaking, I was losing my shit right in front of him and he was watching with a kind of relaxed detachment that drove me over the edge.
  “I hate you, you know that?  I want to bash your face in so bad, and I swear to god, if you don't get out of my apartment in the next 10 seconds, I'm going to hit you, Steven!”
  Looking at me with a goddamn smirk on his face, my hands were shaking with the need to hit him. “I dare you, Soph,” he said with a smartass grin.
  “I'm going to hit you.  I swear to god, Peter-” I gasped. 
Peter?
  Oh my god!  I was totally losing my mind, and I knew it.  And judging by the look on Steven's smug face, he knew it too.
  “Peter? 
Really? 
Well, let's find the asshole then so you can hit him and move on, okay?  Because I'm sick to death of this shit with you.  Mom and dad are beside themselves trying to figure out how to help you, but you're so fucking independent they don't want to piss you off by talking to you about it.  And I can't stand to see you look like this anymore.  You’re acting like a fucking psycho.  Go to work.  Cry.  Come home.  Cry.  Go to sleep.  Cry.  And do it all again the next day.  For a fucking month you've been a mess and it's time to stop the shit, Sophie,” he said standing in front of me.
  “Is it?” I snarled.
  “Yeah.  It is!  This isn't you.  You're tougher than this, and you're just wasting away for some fucking asshole who didn't love you enough to stay!” He yelled in my face. 
  Steven suddenly yelled the words I didn't want to hear and unbelievably I slapped him.  A quick slap, right across the face, followed by a gasp from me as I covered my mouth with my hands in shock. 

  In my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd hit
anyone
, never mind slap my own brother across the face- one of the most demeaning, horrendous things anyone can do to another person.
  In the stunned silence that followed the slap I was so sorry and so scared I had caused irreparable damage to us, I grabbed him as tightly as I could, crying 'I'm so sorry,' over and over again as I shook against his chest.
  I was beyond a fucking mess and I knew it.  Steven was right, but I just couldn't get over it.  I just couldn't leave Peter behind.
  “I'm so sorry, Peter,” gasp again. “Fuck! 
Not
Peter.  I'm fucking losing it here.  I'm so sorry,
Steven.
  I'm sorry I slapped you. I didn't mean to.  Oh, god, I'm so sorry,” I sobbed until he finally raised his arms and hugged me back.
  “You can't keep doing this...” he whispered.
  “I know, but it's only been four weeks.  I'm just not able to move on yet,” I cried.
  “You don't have to move on yet, but you've got to move forward.  You're just stuck in this thing and you're not getting better.  You're not even trying to get over him,” Steven argued.
  Pulling away slightly so I could look at him, I flinched when I saw his face.  The red slap was so obvious on his pale winter skin, I wanted to scream.
  “I'm trying to get over it, but I don't know what to do.  This pain is just as bad as it was the first few days.  It's constant and exhausting, and it hurts so bad, I just try to swallow it down all day at work, so when I get home at night I can't hold it in anymore.  It's like he just left that day,
every
day.  Time hasn't helped at all,” I explained.
  “So make it help.  Change things up.  Don't just come home every day and sit here thinking about him.  Do anything to distract yourself or just do
something.
  I don't know what, but you have to do something.  Even Kim called me to talk about you.  Kim, who I would bed in a second called me, and all we talked about was you,” he smirked.
  “What?  Why?”
  “'Cause she's pretty hot in a dirty sorta way,” he laughed as I yelled stop.  “She's worried about you, obviously.  You're just so different now- almost cold or like emotionless or something.  You don't go out and you don't talk to any of us.  You just do nothing,” he said quietly.
  “I go to work every single day.  I function enough to not screw up my job,” I defended.
  “Yeah, but that's it.  You're lonely, Sophie.  That's what this is.  But you don't have to be.  You could start going out with me, or your friends, or even mom again.  You could leave this place after work and on weekends.  You could have a life again,” Steven said while pacing in my living room.  Stopping to look at me, he was so serious and he looked so sad, I found myself listening to each and every word he said. “You just have to try to move past this,” he exhaled.
  “Okay... I'll try.  But I'm not really into going out with you all yet.  I just want to-”
  “Wait for Peter to return?  Sophie, he's not coming back.  At least I don't think he is.  So you have to start living again without him,” he pleaded.
  “Okay, I get it.  Next weekend, I'll go out.  Maybe we could all get together Saturday night.  Um, I'll have everyone here first, and then we'll go out.  Okay?”
  “That sounds like a plan.  I'll call Kim if you want,” he again grinned as I shook my head at him.
  “She'd never go for you.  You're both players, so it would be doomed from the start,” I answered seriously.
  “Which we would both know, making it just plain old hot sex,” he laughed again.
  “Gross... Okay, I'll call Kim, Amy and Christina.  Why don't you bring a few people with you and we'll have a little party here first then go out?  Is that what I should do?” I asked Steven seriously.  I didn't know what to do, but I thought that was the kind of start he wanted me to make.
  “That sounds good, Soph.  You just need to change the scenery a little so you start to feel a little differently I think.”
  “Okay...” But I was already exhausted from this hour long interaction, and I wanted him to go.  I was so tired suddenly, I needed to have a nap.
  “Are you coming to mom and dads?”
  “Not today.  But I will next Sunday, I promise.  I'm really tired and I just feel like chilling out tonight.  Please?”
  “Sure.  I'll let them know.  Do you want me to stay for a while?”
  “No thanks.  I want to relax before my work week.  I always get stressed out on Mondays,” I admitted.
  “Okay.  I'll call you tomorrow night,” he said walking toward my front door.
  “You don't have to.”
  “Yeah, I do,” he said again so seriously I felt it in my heart.
  “I'm so sorry I hit you, Steven.  I didn't mean to, and it will
never
happen again.”
  “That wasn't my first bitch-slap, girlie.  And it probably won't be my last,” he grinned as I burst out laughing as he left.