Black Tuesday (23 page)

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Authors: Susan Colebank

BOOK: Black Tuesday
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Speechless, Gen turned and followed the path her husband had already taken. She'd pulled her phone out and had it open. To call the police? To call Diane?
Jayne didn't know. And she didn't care.
 
The house was quiet. And dark. Jayne didn't even close the front door. She was only going to be here a minute.
She went upstairs and looked for Piggy. She found him where she'd last hidden him: in the air duct over her closet.
She'd had Piggy since she was born. Tooth-fairy money had gone in there. Birthday money. Christmas money.
Piggy was the size of a piglet. There had to be a good stash in there. Jayne shifted the ceramic pink pig from hand to hand. It felt like a big stash.
She looked at the wall her mom had had the decorator paint white when Jayne wanted red.
She drew her hand back. The hand holding Piggy.
She threw him at the blank wall, where he shattered in all directions.
Where his guts exploded in all directions. Green, paper guts. The bus was empty. Jayne had known it would be, but not
empty
empty.
Jayne hugged her backpack closer to her. She sat in the very back, in the corner, her head supported by two sides of bus.
A tiny sound had her opening her zipper a little more. “You okay, Brit?”
A wet black nose and tiny tongue licking her hand answered in reply.
“I don't know where we're going yet, but you're up for the adventure, right?” Another lick answered her.
She'd been all set to leave—money, a week's worth of underwear, the camera she'd gotten at Christmas and had been too insanely busy or numb to use—when Britney had all about tripped her as she started out the door. Those big ebony eyes of hers had looked at Jayne with such hope. Such love.
Jayne had gotten the leash, a collapsible water dish, and a box of dog treats. When the bus had come, she'd put the very happy stowaway in her backpack.
And now they were traveling companions on Bus 84 at four-thirty on a Saturday morning. Her sister was in intensive care, her mom never wanted to see her again, her boyfriend was an ass, and her best friend . . . he didn't seem like he wanted to be her best friend anymore.
Jayne hugged her backpack and dog closer to her. She didn't have anywhere to go.
She didn't have anyone to go to.
39
SIX-THIRTY A.M. on a Saturday is calm, peaceful, quiet.
It's also the worst time of day for a teenage girl who just desperately wants to sleep.
Jayne was one such girl. She hadn't let herself go to sleep on the bus. That was a great way to be a target. And after the past twenty-four hours, she definitely was not going to be a target for yet another person.
The adrenaline had left her, and exhaustion had started to seep through her bones. And right when she wanted to cry because she was so tired, she remembered something.
There was a cot in Maria's office at Outreach Arizona. The place was closed because Maria had to go to some conference today in North Phoenix. And if that glitchy door in back hadn't latched properly . . . she could get in.
She knew it was a long shot that it wasn't latched now. But a long shot was better than the nothing she currently had.
She held her breath when she was standing in front of that door fifteen minutes later. She closed her eyes and swallowed. She felt Britney sit on her foot.
Her eyes still closed, she whispered, “Feeling lucky, Brit?”
Her thumb pressed down, and her arm pulled at the heavy door.
It opened. Britney started barking. That might've been because Jayne was jumping up and down and singing, “The door is open, yes it's true, the door is open, let's use the loo!”
 
“Princess?”
Jayne turned the other way on the stiff cot. When was she going to stop dreaming about the Outreach program? It was like there was something in the air that made her keep having weird dreams. Like the one she'd just had about Darian stalking her around the cubicles, his penis hanging out.
“Hey, Jayne. This isn't a Motel 6.”
Jayne cracked open her eyes, hoping that this was just another one of her dreams where Ryan was a ringmaster, whip in hand, and Jayne was trying to figure out how to do a hand-stand on an elephant.
Nope. This was real-life Ryan. No whip. Just a chain around her neck.
“What're you doing here?” Jayne's voice came out hoarse. She looked at her watch. It was two o'clock. It was the middle of a Saturday, the last Saturday before school, and she was hiding out in the Outreach center, nothing but dog biscuits, a snoring dog, and a week of underwear as her possessions.
“I left something in my desk.”
“You have a key?” Jayne had heard that Maria was the only one with a key. Something about not trusting any of the delinquents around here enough to have a copy.
“Yeah, I have a key.” Ryan seemed offended, based on her tone and scowl. “But you don't. How'd you get in?”
“The sticky door by the Dumpster. Where we sat outside and you smoked the other day.”
Ryan rolled her eyes. “I
told
Maria she needed to do more than just WD-40 it.”
Jayne sat up, and she felt dizzy. She put her head in her hands. “Well, I for one am glad it didn't work.”
She looked up when Ryan didn't say anything. The girl was staring at her bemusedly, a finger hooked over her chain. “You hungover or something?”
Jayne laughed. “No. I'm the furthest thing away from a hangover right now.”
“Then why do you look like you are?” Ryan had a note of disbelief in her voice.
Jayne stood up, and the motion made her even dizzier. But she kept on her feet. Her pride wouldn't let her sink back down to the cot. “Maybe because I have just had the worst night of my life.”
Britney leaned against her leg, and Jayne picked her up, thankful for having at least one buddy on her side. She buried her nose against Britney's dog-scented neck.
Jayne looked up when the silence seemed to be stretching for an eternity. Ryan was looking at her fingernails, picking at the black polish.
Without looking up, she asked, “You hungry?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“What's your dog's name?”
“Britney. Britney Spears Federline.”
Ryan looked up. Was there a tiny little smile on her mouth? Nah, Jayne was imagining it. She was so starved for company, she actually thought Miss Unsocial here was warming up to her.
“Well then, Jayne. You can bring your bitch with us if you want.” She started toward the door. Jayne followed.
“But Jayne?”
“Yes, Ryan?”
This first-name business was weird. Oddly satisfying, but weird.
“If she piddles on my upholstery, I'm going to turn Britney into a rag. Okey-dokey?”
40
FEEL LIKE GETTING some breakfast?” Ryan had come out of nowhere, and was now jingling her car keys.
Jayne looked up from the computer she was at. It was 6 A.M. on Sunday and she was trying to look for an apartment with the $887 Piggy had given his life for.
So far, nothing. Not with security deposits. Pet deposits. First and last months' rent.
It looked like it was time to find someone needing a room-mate. And who lived in a cheap part of town that wouldn't scare the bejeezus out of her.
“Or have you had something already?” Ryan squatted next to Jayne and rubbed behind Britney's ears. The two had bonded over bacon scraps and an afternoon walk the day before.
“Nope.” She clicked off the computer. Apartment searching could wait. “And you're just in time, too. Those dog biscuits were looking mighty tempting.”
“Okay, stalker, how'd you know about this place?”
“What?” Ryan pulled her Jeep into a space and turned off the engine.
“It's just this place. It's my favorite place in the world.” They were parked outside All the Sweet Tomorrows. Her and Ellie's place. And most of Paradise Valley's place, judging by the line winding its way around the building.
“I know.”
“See? You're my stalker.”
Ryan got out and slammed the door. Jayne followed suit. “I heard you going on and on about it to Meadow one day.”
“Ryan, I didn't know you cared.” Jayne batted her eyelids.
The other girl laughed as she adjusted one of the black leather cuffs that encircled her forearm. “Yeah, well, a person doesn't forget a name like All the Sweet Tomorrows. Sounds like a stupid romance novel.”
“I know. Isn't it great?”
 
Two blueberry muffins and two macchiatos later, Jayne saw a familiar face making her way through the parking lot.
“Oh my lord. Maria's here. What a small . . .” Jayne trailed off as she realized Ryan wasn't looking toward Maria or at her. “Hey, you rat.” Ryan looked up. “Did you have Maria meet us here?”
Ryan shrugged. Before Jayne could ask anything else, Maria was at their table.
“Ladies! Fancy meeting you! Let me grab something and I'll be right back.”
The way the woman had just plopped her purse down and hadn't even asked to join them, Jayne was a hundred percent certain that Ryan had set her up.
A tiny part of her was relieved. Now that it was day two of Jayne Finding Her Independence, she was so over it.
She was tired. And wanted a real bed.
But she still didn't want to go home.
 
“And so then you got on the bus, came to the Outreach center, and have been living there ever since?” Maria took another sip of herbal tea, her scone long since gone.
“In a nutshell.”
“God, Jayne, how scary.”
Jayne felt her lip quiver and she forced a smile. Yeah, it had been scary. Mainly because she didn't know what she was going to do about food, shelter, and all the stuff a person needs to survive.
And $887 wasn't going to help her survive for long.
She concentrated on pressing her finger against the errant crumbs from her muffin. As she rubbed them off onto her napkin, her eye landed on a person at the register.
Mrs. Deavers.
Jayne felt like she'd grown roots. She couldn't have moved—or rather, hidden—if she'd wanted to. She watched as the woman paid for a pink box of some kind of pastry. She heard the woman behind the counter say, “And we used the yellow frosting, just as you asked, to spell out ‘Happy Birthday Jenna.'”
Mrs. Deavers nodded and said something inaudible. Jayne noticed, for the first time, a little girl clinging to her leg.
A little girl with the same amber hair and big brown eyes her sister had had.
Jayne found she was straining to hear what Mrs. Deavers was saying. Like, “That girl over there is the one who killed your sister. Hate her. Everyone should hate her.”
Immediately, Jayne felt like the selfish, self-centered person she knew she was being.
Yes, Jayne, that's right. Worry about how Mrs. Deavers is going to point you out. Like that's her number-one priority right now.
And as she sat there arguing with her conscience, Mrs. Deavers turned. And stared at Jayne. At first she stared through her. The hair did that to people nowadays.
But then Mrs. Deavers recognized her. Jayne could tell by the way she kept staring. And then the eventual recognition dawning in her eyes.
There was deep, deep sadness there. She looked for the anger, but couldn't find any.
At this moment, Jayne would've preferred the anger. It didn't hurt as much as looking at someone else's grief.
“C'mon, honey, let's go.” Mrs. Deavers's hands were shaking as she paid her bill.
Mrs. Deavers didn't look at her again. In fact, she seemed to be doing everything in her power to keep from looking in Jayne's direction.
“Can I get a cupcake?” the little girl asked.
“Not today, honey. Let's get going, okay?”
A few seconds later, they were gone.
“Jayne, was that the mother?”
Jayne turned to see Maria looking at her, her cup of coffee in her hands, her own eyes concerned. Maria didn't say the rest. “Jayne, was that the mother of the little girl you hit?” But she didn't have to.
Jayne closed her eyes and nodded. There were too many people in here to start crying.
After a couple of minutes of the crowd talking, laughing, and clinking coffee cups, Maria spoke again. “You know, there's something to be said about the twelve steps.”
“Are you talking AA?” Jayne didn't know where Maria was going with this.
“No, just the steps. The one I'm thinking of right now, based on your reaction to Mrs. Deavers, is step nine. Making amends.”
Jayne was looking outside. Watching as the Deaverses' car—the same red sedan, with all the dents banged out and painted over—pulled away.
Minus one less child.
“I have a feeling you're wanting to make amends. Am I correct in assuming this?”
Jayne nodded. The car disappeared from view.
“The ninth step also says not to make amends if it might hurt the other person more than it helps them.”
Jayne met Maria's eyes. “You know, just now, when I saw Mrs. Deavers there, I wanted to apologize. But for the longest time, I've wanted to send her a letter, telling her she was more to blame than I was.” She looked at the packets of sugar on the table. “But I never sent the letter. There was always something holding me back.”
Maria nodded. There was nothing in her eyes that looked like she was thinking any less of Jayne. “That's one of those steps of grief. Denial. You got over it, though. You've moved on.” She touched Jayne's arm. “You're not a bad person, Jayne. You're human, dealing with some pretty hard-core human emotions.”

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