Promise Bound (23 page)

I covered my nose with the back of my hand and sat up.
Ugh
. Apparently we’d crashed behind a Dumpster. There was a certain poetic justice to that. I felt completely disposable. And dirty. I didn’t want to look at Chelsea.

“Morning,” she said, equally baffled by our surroundings. They’d seemed so different in the dark. “I see you’re still here.”

By the tone of her voice, she was still offended that the kiss had never evolved into anything more.

I sighed. “Chelsea, I said I was sorry. It was nothing personal.”

“Whatever,” she said, pushing herself up to her feet. She picked at a few blades of grass that had stuck to her pants.

“I told you. I have a girlfriend. I couldn’t do that to her.”

It was the same line I’d been repeating to myself all
night. Like a skip in a record. Of course, Lily was much more than a girl—much more than a girlfriend. The word seemed trite and somehow vulgar when used to describe her. But the commonplace word was the best shield I had to either push Chelsea back or keep me from committing the most inexcusable of betrayals.

Chelsea made a sarcastic grunt. “Why do you keep telling me that? Seriously. I get it. I can do better than you anyway.”

“Trust me. I’m very sure you can. I just didn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea about what?” she asked. “The idea that Whoever She Is doesn’t care enough about her sick boyfriend to help him find a cure? The idea that if she really cared about you she’d be here?”

I let my gaze drift skyward. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Doesn’t seem very complicated to me. If my boyfriend were sick, I’d be there for him.”

For a second, she looked around like she’d forgotten where we were. She didn’t comment on the less than idyllic spot we’d fallen asleep in. Instead she said, “I promised you a futon. Oops.” She looked up at a sign high above our heads:
TIM HORTONS. ALWAYS FRESH
.

“Timmy Ho’s,” she said. “I’m sure coffee and a doughnut will improve my outlook on life.”

I looked up at the red script-like lettering. I had to admit, coffee sounded good.

“And if I’m not mistaken …” She dug around in her jean pockets. “Yep, I’ve still got my money.”

She took my hand and pulled me to my feet. We made
our way into the restaurant and inhaled the sugar-laced air. Glazed and frosted doughnuts gleamed from the too-bright showcase that practically hummed with the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Chelsea took her time picking out the perfect one, then ordered a “double-double.”

“I guess I’ll have what she’s having, plus a glass of water,” I said. I stagger-followed her to a table and collapsed into the booth. “I’m dying,” I said.

Chelsea raised her eyebrows at me.

“No. I don’t mean that. I mean I hurt all over. I haven’t slept on the ground in a while.”

“I’ll make good on the futon tonight.”

I shook my head. “I’ve got something I need to do later.”

The corner of Chelsea’s mouth twitched in a “we’ll see” expression. She pulled my crumpled list of names out of her pocket and held it up in front of my face. The first one—
McIntyre
—was crossed off.

“How did you get that?” I asked.

“You gave it to me in the car yesterday. Remember? Really, if your head wasn’t attached …” She smoothed out the list on the table and tapped her finger on the paper. “The next closest one is second on your list: George and Lenore Lee. They’re the ones I don’t know.”

It would have been easier to read the list if I moved to the side of the booth she was sitting on, but everything still felt too awkward to get that close again. I said, “The boat’s called
Kanton Knees
. Do you think that means they’re from Ohio?”

Chelsea stared at me blankly.

“You know. Like Canton, Ohio? Of course, that’s Canton with a
C
.”

Chelsea shrugged. “Maybe they’re being cute with spelling.”

“Entirely possible,” I said as I surveyed the restaurant. Two men in workman uniforms—the words
Kelley Electric
embroidered on the backs—walked in and flirted with the girl behind the register.

“I guess I never thought my family would be from anywhere other than here. Finish your doughnut. We can take our coffee to go. It should be easier to find your car in the daylight.”

“No need to rush,” she said. “They’re probably not even awake yet. It’s only six-fifty-two.”

The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get back to Bayfield, tell Lily I had tried my best but I couldn’t find anyone.

“Plus, we should at least get you a shirt that’s a tad less bloody. Too bad Marc’s duffel bag is still in my car.”

I stared out the window at the electricians’ van. My guess was that they had a couple of extra work shirts in the cab. At least an extra T-shirt. “Give me a sec,” I said. “I’ll take care of the wardrobe.”

I
hitched my long skirt above my knees and ran up the steps to Danny’s apartment. Danny opened the door when I was mid-knock. He was unshaven, and dark purple moons
hung under his heavy-lidded eyes. He turned away instead of greeting me. A pale yellow stain of baby spew ran from his shoulder halfway down the back of his white T-shirt.

“Hello to you, too,” I said.

There were packs of diapers on the kitchen table, still in grocery sacks. Danny didn’t have a job. How was he paying for all this stuff? He came back into the kitchen with Adrian and caught me reading the receipt for his recent purchases.

“Who knew how expensive diapers were?” he said. “Or formula. Do you know I used ten dollars’ worth of coupons and still paid seventy for all this stuff?”

“But how—”

“Your parents have been really good about this. They’ve saved me over and over. I don’t even have to ask, they just send me checks every couple of weeks.”

My parents? I wasn’t completely surprised, but maybe a little miffed that they hadn’t mentioned this to me. What did they think I’d do? Pitch a fit or something? And then I realized,
Yeah, that’s probably exactly what they thought
.

“Why don’t you just get a job?” I asked.

“Because then I’d have to pay for day care. Do you have any idea how expensive
that
is? And you already said I wasn’t supposed to impose on you or your mom.”

Oh, right. I did say that. I reached out, and Daniel handed me the baby. He really was cute.

“Meet your cousin, Adrian,” Danny said.

I looked up from Adrian’s round face to Danny’s worried expression. Cousin? I guess that was right. I hadn’t thought of Adrian as anything more than Pavati’s baby and Danny’s
ward. But by the look on Danny’s face, I had underestimated a lot of things. For one, Danny was no longer looking at Adrian like he was a temporary problem. He was looking at him with love. Pride, even. When did that happen? This was not good.

I
t was amazing how much daylight helped in locating Chelsea’s car. We found it just where we’d left it, between the warehouses, looking no worse for wear. I half expected to find the windshield bashed in, but I guess Marc either wasn’t as smart or as vindictive as Chelsea had given him credit for.

Chelsea jumped in the driver’s seat and backed out from between the buildings while I read her the address on the paper. She made a few wrong turns, and we got stuck waiting for a train to pass for what felt like hours, but eventually we found the impressive-looking home of George Lee, owner of the sailboat
Kanton Knees
.

“Looks nice,” Chelsea said. “Maybe you come from money.”

I hoped not, actually. It would be easier to convince my family that I wasn’t a con if there was no money to con them out of.

As it happened, I didn’t have to worry about selling my
story to Mr. Lee. When the door opened, I almost laughed. I didn’t know a lot, but I was pretty sure my people weren’t Chinese.

Kanton Knees
, I thought.
Cantonese
. I should have known. Very cute.

“Sorry to wake you,” I said. “My mistake.”

Chelsea ran behind me to the car, and we hopped in.

Chelsea pulled out a pen. “Well, I guess we can cross them off the list.”

“This isn’t going to work,” I said. “You don’t have to keep helping me. I’m wasting your time.”

“Don’t be an idiot. The last name on your list is Donna Brandon. I told you, I know her from church. It’s not a waste of my time, and this will be the easiest one. I know exactly where she’ll be in an hour and a half.”

“Because you’re psychic?”

“Because she sings in the church choir with my mom, and they’re practicing at our house at ten.”

D
anny lay Adrian on a quilted mat and stuck a pacifier in his mouth. Adrian made sucking noises for a while, until the rubber nipple fell out of his spit-slippery lips, which kept moving in a rhythmic manner, as if the pacifier were still in place.

“It’s hard to picture, isn’t it?” Danny said.

“What is?” I asked. Adrian looked ridiculous sucking away on air. Just like a fish. I picked up the pacifier and stuck it back in his mouth.

“That he’ll be one of
them
next spring. He looks so helpless now, but in less than a year he’ll be swimming the lake, under his own power. Hunting …” His voice trailed off.

“I don’t think that part starts right away,” I said. “It takes them longer to grow into their need to … medicate.”

“But he will,” Danny said. “Eventually.” He shuddered.

“I suppose,” I said. I didn’t like to think of it either. I was still haunted occasionally by images of Connor’s dead eyes, even though he hadn’t been a true mermaid victim.

“I don’t like the thought of that,” Danny said. “It’s not right.”

“Well, you never know. He might not. I haven’t.”

“You don’t count.”

That clipped comment sent my mood spiraling downward. “Well, if I don’t count,” I snapped, “how ’bout my dad? He doesn’t hunt. Is that good enough for you?”

Danny’s expression, first surprised, turned scrutinizing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. It was almost a growl.

“Sometimes,” he said, “Sometimes, you really don’t seem …”

“Don’t seem what?”

“Never mind.”

I took two, long calming breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I’d learned that from an early-morning
yoga show. My temper was getting shorter and harder to control. I’d scared Danny. I could see that. What worried me more was that I’d scared myself.

“Sorry about that. Maybe I can talk to Pavati about Adrian. Maybe, when he gets older, she’ll let Dad teach him how to override the temptation, too. Before he caves.”

“Would you do that?” Danny asked, as if I’d lifted a boulder off his shoulders.

“Sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”

“Can I come along? When you talk to Pavati, I mean.”

“Wait, what? No. No, Danny. Absolutely not! What do you think would happen? You’d light up like a Christmas tree if you got anywhere near Pavati.”

“So? She needs to know how I feel about her.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the problem. I’m pretty sure she knows exac—” My words were halted by an epiphany. That little liar! That little freakin’ conniver!

Pavati
did
care about Danny. And she’d cared about Jack before him. She didn’t stay away from these boys out of indifference. She stayed away to preserve them. She knew just as well as I did that she wouldn’t be able to resist them if they got too close. She loved them, and she wanted them to live!

But if that was the case, her offer to let Danny merely
think
she loved him wasn’t a fair exchange for my and Dad’s allegiance.

Of course, I couldn’t tell Danny any of this. He’d probably go tearing off after Pavati like in some corny romantic movie. I could just see him running across a field of daisies … or more likely flailing around in a rip current. Actually, by the
look of him, he might do it without any encouragement from me at all.

My phone buzzed and I looked down at the screen.

Danny said, “It’s not fair, you know, that you get to see Pavati and I don’t.”

I nodded bitterly. “Life’s not fair.”

C
helsea’s house was like all the others on her street: one-story, with a front door centered in its brick facade, a picture window on either side. Presumably it had been her mother who had tried to express some individuality with a white flower box under each window, filled to capacity with red and yellow tulips. They were pretty from a distance, but as we approached the door, my nose twitched at the odor of Styrofoam and plastic flowers.

From inside the house, the sound of women’s off-pitch harmonies faded, while a few male voices carried a bass note. The end of the song gave way to chattering and the dull thud of chairs being moved around the living room.

“Sounds like they’re wrapping up,” Chelsea said. “Let’s go catch Mrs. Brandon.”

Chelsea opened the front door. She kicked off her shoes in the entryway and pulled me through. The living room, to the right, was painted sky blue. A navy couch was pressed up against the wall, and several high-backed dining room chairs stood in front of it. I stepped to the side as an older gentleman carried one of the chairs back to the dining room.

“Mrs. Brandon,” Chelsea said, as she crossed the room to greet a woman with dark hair, a streak of silver in the front. She wore a lot of dark makeup, I thought, especially for a Saturday morning. Lily used to do that. The first time I saw her, she’d been ringing her eyes with thick black lines. She never did that anymore. I couldn’t remember when she’d stopped.

“Oh, hello there, Chelsea,” said Mrs. Brandon. “And who’s this? Your boyfriend?”

“What’s this about a boyfriend?” a second woman asked, entering the room with a coffee cake.

“Nothing, Mom,” Chelsea said.

Mrs. Brandon took the plate from Chelsea’s mother and placed it on the table. “We sounded good this morning, Gretchen,” Mrs. Brandon said.

Chelsea’s mom cut the cake. “It’ll be better when Norma gets over her head cold. Chelsea, you should introduce your friend.”