Thin Ice (14 page)

The loud music was the reason I didn’t hear the ringing right away. Then when I did hear it, I thought maybe it was background music, some odd little riff I’d never noticed before. When I saw the knob on the front door jerking back and forth I nearly dropped the mug of tea I was carrying to the kitchen to reheat in the microwave. Someone was trying to get in. I hit the Off button and the music stopped.

I heard laughing, heard my name. “Hey, Arden, open the door!”

Cody Rock.

“Just a minute,” I called. I ran to my room and slipped on jeans, slipped off the T-shirt, and put on a bra and sweater.

“Jeee-zoos, it’s freezing,” a girl whined when I opened the door. There were five of them on the steps. Cody marched right in. “Sounds like a party,” he said. “Who’s here?”

“No one.” I nodded at the people following him into the house. “No party.” I peered out into the night. The Drummonds’ house was dark and the Knightleys’, the only other house in sight, had a single light on over the garage. Dead-end street, all right. “What do you want, Cody?” I said.

“Place to keep warm. How about breaking out the glasses?” He lifted a brown bag. The neck of a bottle stuck out.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“What good’s living alone if you aren’t going to party? You know Derek, right? And Tianna? A stupid little freshman, but she’s okay. This buttface with the six-packs is Rah-nold. Lives in Minong when he’s not here in Penokee making his stepmother miserable.”

The boy holding the beer made a face and said, “No one’s called me Ronald since third grade. It’s R.J.”

“The J’s for joint, right?” asked Tianna. “You still got those two we rolled this afternoon?”

“And this is my cousin,” said Cody, putting his arm around the other girl. “Abby.”

“Stepcousin,” she said; then she stood on tiptoes, pressed her face against Cody’s, and they tongue-wrestled for a few seconds.

“You’ve all got to go,” I said.

“Why?” asked Cody after he disentangled his tongue. “C’mon, let us stay, it’ll cheer you up.”

“Let’s get the music back on, only none of that chick crap. What else you got?” said Derek. He dropped his coat on a chair and walked over to the CD player.

Tianna went to the phone and punched some numbers.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Calling a few people to tell them where we are.”

“Don’t. You all have to go.”

“Lighten up, Arden,” said Cody. “Who’s gonna know? I heard that your watchdogs are gone for the weekend. Tianna, just in case she’s got her cop friend patrolling, be sure you remind them to party-park.”

R.J. lit one of the joints and passed it around. I walked to the kitchen and leaned over the sink. Derek followed me and stashed the six-packs in the fridge. “You sure don’t have much food.” He picked up the phone. “Hey, Tianna, whoever this is you’re talking to, tell them to stop for pizza. She’s got squat in the fridge.”

“Can I get some water?” I was nudged from behind and I turned. Cody was holding up a glass and a liquor bottle. “This bourbon needs to be smoothed out.” I took a step to the side and watched as Cody mixed water and bourbon in the glass. “If you really don’t want us here, Arden, I guess you’d better call the cops.”

I could smell the sharp odor of the dope. I heard the tab pop off a beer can, heard the fizzing, heard laughter and cheers, “Chug it, chug it, chug it.” Another tab popped, then, “Oops, there goes half the can.”

Time to clean the carpet.

The cops weren’t one of my options. Cody knew that, because everyone in town knew I was on a sort of probation. If I had to call the cops to bail me out on a Friday night, what better proof that I shouldn’t be alone?

Cody held his glass up to my lips. “Go on. One drink won’t kill you. No one will ever know.”

“I want some of that,” the stepcousin whined. He smirked at me, then turned and handed her the bottle. She actually licked the rim slowly before tipping her head back to drink. She immediately sputtered and spat the bourbon out. “That’s crap.”

“It’s all my brother would get me,” Cody said. “I only had six bucks. Man, Abby, you got my shirt wet.”

“So take it off.” He liked that idea. She helped him with the buttons.

I went to the living room and sat on the futon. Within ten minutes there were three new arrivals. I peeked out through the blinds. There was only one car in the driveway. The others would be scattered discreetly around the neighborhood to avoid attracting attention. Party parking, I’d done it myself.

“You got any good music?” a strange boy called to me as he flipped through the CDs. “What is this stuff? Etta James, Joe Ely?”

“My brother’s,” I said.

“Her brother’s dead,” Derek said. He was sprawled on a chair.

“Really? How’d it happen?”

“Snowmobile,” said Derek.

“He’s not dead,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” said Cody. He wandered in, Abby trailing behind, his shirt slung over her shoulder. “Then where is he?”

“What does it matter?” asked Derek. “Long as he isn’t here tonight.”

I closed my eyes and imagined the orphan committee reviewing the situation. I could just picture everyone sitting with hands locked, thumbs tapping together, faces soured in displeasure.
You say you let them in? You say you let them drink? You say there was disrobing
?

Bad judgment, Arden. Just say no at the door.

More people arrived, bringing food and liquor. No one bothered to knock or ring the doorbell. I knew maybe half of them by sight; the others I didn’t know at all. For an hour I floated from room to room, present, but not playing.

“Where’s the bathroom?” a boy with a wispy goatee asked me. I jerked my head toward the hall. “That one’s busy,” he said. “You gotta have more than one.” His fall bladder couldn’t wait for directions. “I’ll find it.” He spun around and took off, trying every door. Closet, study, my room. I tried to beat him down the hall.

“What’s this?” he asked, his hand on Scott’s bedroom door.

“No, dammit, not there!” I shouted. I didn’t want anyone in Scott’s room.

Too late. Abby and Cody were inside. “Get out!” Cody bellowed.

“Lucky bastard.” The boy whistled and closed the door.

I leaned against the wall and considered my options: go to the living room and join the party; call the cops and forever sign away my independence; play the shrew and make a fuss; retreat to my room and ride it out quietly.

Quiet? Me? My problem had begun because I’d shut my mouth. No more of that.

I pounded on the bedroom door. “Get out!” I shouted, I didn’t want to bust in again; a naked Cody was not something I was anxious to see.

“Want your own turn, huh?” R.J. sidled up to me, rolling a beer can in his hands. “Oh, Arden,” he added softly.

“Yeah?” I banged on the door a few more times.

“This is really cool of you. It’s so nice not to have to drive around and get loaded, you know? Arden…
”

“What?” I kept my eyes on the door as I rubbed my stinging hand.

“I need to get laid. Do you want to, with me?”

I shoved him a bit as I walked away and he bounced off the wall before sliding down to the floor. I heard him retch, then I smelled the vomit.

That was it. I turned around and walked straight into Scott’s room just as Cody was pulling up his pants. Abby shrieked and pulled her shirt down as far as it would stretch. I pushed him toward the door.

“Hey,” he muttered, “don’t go ballistic. I used a condom, there’s no mess on the bed. What’s your problem?”

I pushed him through the doorway. He stumbled and stepped right in the vomit. I pounded on his back. “Get out and take everyone with you. You’ve got five minutes to get out or I call the cops. I don’t care what happens to me, I want you all out.” I walked down the hall to my room. Just as I reached for the knob the door opened and a boy and girl came out. I’d never seen them before in my life. They blinked in the bright lights of the hall.

“You don’t want to use this room,” the girl said. “It’s weird.”

Cody gave me a nasty look, then pushed past and went in. My desk lamp was glowing soft yellow. He flicked on the overhead light and looked around. Two walls were covered with family photos; a third had a row of flyers.

“Get out,” I said.

He ignored me. Hands on hips, he studied the pictures, then laughed at the flyers. He ripped one down. “She likes to be watched by a dead guy.”

“Get out.”

“You’re even weirder than I thought.” Then he lifted his vomit-smeared foot and wiped it on my thigh. “Hey, everyone,” he shouted, “we’d better get going. The bitch has got cop eyes.”

*

The bitch didn’t call the cops, but she cleaned house for two hours after they all left. In record time they had managed to trash the place. Cigarette burns on the futon, beer on the carpet, bent blinds on the living room window, pizza on the kitchen floor, splotches of urine on the toilet seat, vomit in the hall, a used condom on my brother’s bed. I rolled up Scott’s bedding and bagged it with the garbage.

Just as the bitch hit the lights, car tires rolled across the packed snow and ice on the driveway. The engine idled as car doors slammed. I heard soft voices; then the doors slammed again. The car drove away.

Goddamn, they were probably saying. The party’s over.

CHAPTER 8

Saturday-morning revelation: I had really screwed up. If the orphan committee found out, all was lost. My mistake wasn’t the party, though I knew I’d be hearing from a few concerned citizens if word got to the wrong people that Arden Munro had thrown a good one. And it wasn’t the overdue frame orders and impatient ArdenArt customers. It wasn’t even the missing schoolwork.

My screwup? Garbage. For two weeks I’d forgotten to put the can out for Friday pickup. A truly responsible orphan does not forget this sort of detail.

I’d bagged up all the party mess before going to bed and left it in the kitchen by the garage door, too lazy to carry it out. So I wasn’t hit with the truth until the next morning when I shuffled through the garage to dump the bag in the can. Damn, I thought. Missed another pickup. My errors were piled before me. Good thing it was cold and bound to remain cold; nothing smelled. “Oh, Scott,” I sang out when I was back in the warm kitchen, “wasn’t it your turn to set out the garbage?”

I’d only just sunk my teeth into the quarter inch of cream cheese glazing a perfectly toasted bagel when the doorbell rang. I cinched my bathrobe and walked into the living room. Nine-thirty Saturday morning, who the hell?

The bell rang again. I was tempted to peek through the blinds but suspected I’d be face-to-face with Cody. I curled one hand around the knob and twisted the dead bolt with the other. Why didn’t we have a peephole? I yanked the door open.

Jace smiled at me through the smeared glass of the storm door. The smile faded as he took in my attire and pillow hair. “Did I get you out of bed?”

“Just having breakfast.”

“Guess I should have called first,” he said.

“No one ever does. Come on in.” He stepped in and we fumbled a bit, each trying to close the door. “I drove my mom over to visit my grandma. She lives in those senior apartments out by the mill. They’re cleaning her place and told me to get lost.”

“Maybe they could come here next.”

He ran the jacket zipper up and down a few times. “Your place looks fine.” He sniffed. “Maybe a little stuffy.”

“I had some guests last night. Long story. Want a bagel?”

He did. I sent him to the kitchen with directions to feed himself. Time for my shower.

It was a quick one. After all, who dared to spend too much time naked and wet when the only other person in the house was a seriously attractive guy? Not this orphan.

“You look different,” he said when I joined him in the kitchen.

“Clean and damp.”

“It’s the hair. I didn’t realize how long it was and I guess I’ve never seen it loose like that. Don’t you usually have it braided and sort of wrapped around? Long as I can remember, even back to fifth grade in Mrs. Belton’s class, you’ve worn braids. Kind of unusual.”

“You should see me in a pompadour. Want some more juice?” He shook his head as he tongued some bagel out of the deep pockets of his mouth. I looked away. I couldn’t help thinking about the similar work Abby had done on Cody last night.

“Have you seen the newspaper today?”

I snapped my finger. “I forgot.”

“My grandma had it.” He pulled a folded paper out of his jacket pocket. “Thought you might want to see it.”

“I ran an ad.”

“I saw. Sure surprised me. I thought, ‘Wow, he’s not dead.’ Then I read—oh, here, you look.” Jace handed over the paper. “It’s across from the editorial page.”

Op-ed page, the big-time papers called it. In
the
Journal,
though, it was just another page filled with local stuff, usually short articles about visiting relatives, school events, and senior bus trips. Today there were quite a few ads, mostly for restaurants and beauty parlors.

And a missing brother. “Perfect,” I whispered.

“See the article?” Jace said.