44: Book Six (2 page)

“That’s good too,” he said. “Let me do the remembering. It doesn’t even matter now anyway. He’s gone for good.”

He was right. All that mattered was that we had gotten through it, that we survived.

“Now don’t forget about those snow tires,” Jesse said, leaning up against the Jeep. I still didn’t want to leave him and stood by the open door, lingering.

He smiled and gave me a long hug.

“Later, Craigers,” he said.

“Bye, Jesse.”

I got in and cranked the heater while I watched him walk away, disappearing into the trees. I sighed and then whispered “thank you” out through the darkness.

He was still here, my light in this world.

CHAPTER 2

It was 20 minutes before opening, still dark outside, a cold rain coming down. There were already a few people standing around out on the sidewalk with their hands in their pockets. Whatever Mike had wanted to talk to us all about must have been important. He usually didn’t keep customers waiting like that.

“Okay, everybody, before we open let’s gather round,” he said. “I have an announcement to make.”

We huddled in a small circle near the counter as Mo shuffled in, yawning loudly. She had switched to mornings because she decided it was easier to just stay up and get her shift done after her gigs at the local clubs and then crash in the afternoons. She reeked of cigarette smoke and beer and spent adrenaline. Mike didn’t seem to notice or care. She was kind of a diva around the café, with a regular following of groupies who came in just to say hi and drink her coffee.

“First off, great job on the decorations,” Mike said, looking over toward the Christmas tree in the corner. “It looks awesome in here. By the way, who made the ornaments?”

David nodded at Lyle.

Mo shook her head, but Lyle really had done an amazing job. Every ornament on the 10-foot tree had something to do with Back Street Coffee. He stayed late three nights in a row, set up in the back with a glue gun and jars of glitter and clay. He made little figurines of all of us. Mike with a goatee and tiny glasses, Mo with a guitar and an angry expression on her face. David was skinny and holding a skull in one hand and a miniature book in the other. I wore a Barcelona jersey and had a soccer ball at my feet.

“They’re very special, Lyle,” Mike said.

“Yeah, very special, Lyle,” Mo repeated with mock sincerity.

“He’s also making a Back Street gingerbread house,” David said.

“Can’t wait,” Mo said.

Lyle took it in stride, not letting it ruffle his large white man afro.

“Anyway, on to other matters,” Mike said. “I’d like us to start volunteering some hours over at the Bend Community Center to help with their
Feed the Hungry
program. Anyone who volunteers—and I hope you all do—will get paid their usual wages. I think it’s a good opportunity and a good time of year to help people who could use a little help. It’ll involve setting up, serving, clean up, and whatever else they need. It’s probably not so different from what we do here.”

“That’s cool,” Mo said. “It sucks to be hungry.”

“Yeah, count me in,” David said.

“Great,” Mike said. “I’ll leave the sign-up sheet here on this clipboard by the counter. Just sign up for dates and times and then I’ll schedule you here at the café around those shifts.”

The decaffeinated zombies outside were getting restless, one of them trying the locked door every few minutes.

“All right,” Mike said. “Let’s sell these folks some coffee before we have a riot on our hands.”

CHAPTER 3

David was supposed to pick us up at my house at ten sharp, but didn’t show up until a few minutes after 11.

“Sorry, Abby Craig! Sorry, Paloma Suárez!” he yelled, getting out of the car. He took our bags and put them in the trunk. “Traffic was such a bitch.”

“Hey,” I said, squinting at the glare coming off of the hood of his car. “You aren’t late because you were at the car wash, right?”

“Of course that’s where I was,” he said, a huge smile cutting his face in two. “We’re going to Portland! We have to look good.”

I shook my head.

“You take the front,” Paloma said to me. “I pulled a double yesterday. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch some
zetas
.”

“Some what?” David said.

“Some
zetas
.Some zzz’s.”

“Oh-ho-ho. Diversity is the best. This is going to be so much fun!”

“Okay, we can switch up on the way back.”

It was the first time I had ever been in David’s car and it was beautiful. The leather seats were freshly oiled and the chrome glistened. Even the floor mats sparkled. The inside was as shiny as the outside.

“He’s a beauty, right?” David said as he sat behind the wheel and watched me.

“
He
is,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a clean car. You really take good care of it.”

“Have to,” he said. “He’s family.”

“There’s nothing like new car smell,” Paloma said.

“I couldn’t agree more,” David said.

He started the engine and revved it up for a moment as we sat there, reminding me that I was still a little uneasy about him driving us over the mountain pass. I had seen him drive to and from work enough times to know he had a serious lead foot. I put on the seat belt and took a deep breath, the monster engine rumbling through my body.

He slid the sunglasses over his eyes and we started backing up.

“Oh, my God, Abby Craig,” he screamed, looking over at me. “Release those bunched up panties! I promise I’ll return both of you home safe and sound. I’ll drive the speed limit the whole way and go extra, extra
slooooow
over the pass. I promise.”

“Okay.”

He peeled out of the driveway but then slammed on the brakes.

“Okay. That was the old David,” he said.

He kept the speedometer under 25 as he drove down the street and came to a complete stop at the sign on the corner.

“This is the new David. Hey! We’re going to have so much fun! I made us a playlist and I even stopped and got us a bag full of crap.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “A bag full of crap. Just what I always wanted.”

“You know, the crap you never eat unless you’re on the road. It never tastes the same when you’re home. There’s just something about the road I guess. It transforms things.”

We rolled out of town on the highway, passing juniper trees and dry, large fields with incredible views of the Three Sisters in the distance. As Bend fell far behind us, something inside me opened up. It felt good to be getting away, even if it was just for a couple of days.

“Thanks again for coming along,” David said. “I mean it. I’m as nervous as a naughty boy on Christmas morning. I’m a total wreck!”

“I’m glad to help,” I said. “Besides, Paloma and I are going to get in some serious shopping, so it’s a win-win.”

A nonstop nervous energy had swirled around David like a tornado ever since he had decided to audition for a role on a new TV show that was filming in Portland.

“I don’t know why I’ve worked myself up into a tizzy over it,” he said. “It’s a total cattle call. But you have to go after your dreams, right?”

Dreams.Something from another lifetime.

It was how I had felt about soccer. I struggled to remember those feelings I had had when college scouts came out to my high school games to watch me. Dreams of playing for Notre Dame or Santa Clara or the University of Portland. Dreams that died with me at the bottom of that icy lake.

“Abby Craig?” David said. “Earth to Abby Craig.”

“Sorry. I was just thinking about what you said. Yeah, I think it’s great. Hey, what part are you going after?”

“He’s a detective. A hard-boiled sleuth, if you will,” he said. “I just hope I don’t blow it.”

“Blow it?” I said. “You’re going to blow them away in that audition. I can feel it.”

David started to say something, but then stopped. But then started again.

“So is that a psychic vision you’re having?” he finally said. “Me blowing them away?”

“Come on, I don’t need a vision. I’ve seen you, remember? You’re a great actor. I know what I’m talking about.”

David only had a small part in his most recent play, but by the time he was finished I had almost forgotten that I knew him. And it wasn’t the makeup or the clothes. It was something deeper. He was a natural. He had become the character. When the actors took their bows, the audience clapped the longest and the hardest for him.

“That’s so nice of you to say,” he said. “Oh and thanks again for hanging out with my mom that night. Sorry about all those questions.”

We were just outside of Terrebonne, Smith Rock coming up on the right. I looked back and saw that Paloma was asleep. I opened a bag of Cheetos, trying not to make too much noise. David seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

“My mom just finds you fascinating,” he said after a while. “But even I have to admit she might have gone a little too far.”

His mother had given me the third degree when we had all gone to dinner following the play. She sat across from me and was polite and quiet at first. But somewhere between her second and third drink, she began asking me about seeing ghosts. And then she started asking me about being possessed by Clyde.

“I know she didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “Anyway, I suppose it was good practice for my upcoming testimony.”

It was stupid to blame David or his mom. It was true that he had spilled his guts to her. But he wouldn’t have if I hadn’t done some spilling of my own first. It was on me.

I looked out the window. A snowy Mt. Jefferson shot up into the clear Central Oregon sky toward the west. Clyde was behind me. Getting farther away all the time. It was a beautiful day.

But when the Raveonettes’ version of
Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)
came on David’s playlist a few minutes later, I couldn’t help but think of Ty and feel a little sad. I pulled out my phone and checked for messages. Nothing.

I sighed.

“Well,” I said, “I can’t really blame your mom. I mean she’s not the only one who freaked out about what happened.”

Ty had said that Jesse was my real hero. When I told David that, he said that Ty obviously didn’t know a thing about love, because you’re supposed to stick with people through the hard times.

“It must be that he hangs around horses so much,” David said. “Kicking people when they’re down like that. Oh, just damn him, Abby Craig. Damn him.”

“We haven’t officially broken up, you know,” I said.

David sighed.

“Okay, if you say so,” he said. “But I’m still mad.”

He reached over and squeezed my knee.

“I just want you to know I’m here for you, Lady Brett. I’ll be your Jake Barnes.”

“Thanks, I think,” I said.

“
The Sun Also Rises
, silly,” he said.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Abby Craig. There’s nothing wrong with my junk like poor Jake. It’s just that, you know, it doesn’t swing that way.”

“Okay, too much information, David. Way too much.”

“It’s just that you deserve better,” he said. “Someone who appreciates your talents.”

I wondered if there was anyone out there who could really appreciate me dealing with evil ghosts and playing basketball with my old, dead boyfriend.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Really.”

“Don’t think I’m giving up on finding someone for you. I know, I know. It’s still too soon. But I told you about Levon. He’s gorgeous and smart and super serious like you. And he also just broke up with his girlfriend. You two would totally hit it off.”

And then he started laughing, feebly trying to keep it down.

“And this is the best part! Levon owns a Ouija board! I saw it on his bookshelf when we picked him up the other night.”

“Good God, David,
I
don’t even own one of those.”

“I’m just sayin’ that there’s lots of open-minded fish in the sea.”

I looked behind me. Somehow Paloma was still sleeping.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks. Next subject, please. We’re almost halfway to Portland and it feels like all we’ve done is eat crap and talk about Ty.”

“All right, I’ll drop it for now, but only if you promise me that you won’t wait forever for Mr. Beer to come riding back in on his white horse. Promise me you won’t turn into a spinster before my very eyes.”

“David, I’m 21.”

“Yeah, sure, but keep this up and one day soon you’ll be sitting on that large, lonesome sofa of yours with an afghan wrapped around you, all alone, watching reruns of
Murder, She Wrote
.”

“Just like that, huh?” I said. “I’ll go from 21 to being an old lady all alone.”

“Trust me,” he said. “It happens.”

“Okay, I promise that I won’t turn into a spinster before your very eyes. And I also promise that I will never, ever watch
Murder, She Wrote
, no matter how old I get.”

“Good,” he said, flicking crumbs off his black shirt. “I’m glad it’s all settled then.”

CHAPTER 4

We left the high desert behind us and drove up toward the mountain.

I helped David practice his lines. I read along with the script, playing the different parts, ready to prompt him if he forgot something. But he had it down pat and didn’t need any help at all. He had memorized the 15 pages of dialogue, word for word.

“Man, when did you start going over this?” I asked.

“Yesterday,” he said.

“Yesterday? That’s incredible. I don’t think I could memorize this in a week, even before my accident. How do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “It’s pretty easy for me.”

As we climbed closer to the pass, Mt. Hood came more and more into view. The pavement was dry, but David still kept his promise about going slow. After a few more miles we passed the sign for Timberline Lodge, where they had filmed
The Shining
. David started reciting some of the lines from the movie.

“Stop it, David. I feel like I’m trapped inside the car with Jack Nicholson.”