Burn Girl (15 page)

“They don't matter, Mo.”

“No, but Cody does.”

“Is this whole breakfast going to be about Cody?”

“It doesn't have to be,” she said. “Just tell me you'll talk to him.”

Ignoring Mo, I made a funny face at a toddler who stared at me. She giggled and hid her face, prompting me into a game of hide-and-seek. Children were always curious, but the smallest ones were never cruel.

“Well? Will you talk to him today?” she persisted.

“He was dancing with Brittany—last night when I left,” I said, wincing at the memory of his hands on her hips.

“It was a dance. They're friends, although I don't know why. Brittany stopped being interesting a long time ago. Now she's just mean.”

The dance might not have meant anything to Cody, but it would have meant something to Brittany. I hated that I let her push my buttons like no one else could. It had felt personal ever since the day I met Mo and she told me Brittany had warned her away from being friends with “white trash.”

“Fine, fine. I'll talk to him,” I said, hoping Mo would drop the conversation.

If I let her continue to be a go-between, I'd be engaged by midweek or Cody would be running for the hills. Our relationship—or whatever it was—couldn't go forward or end without a conversation. And limbo sucked. I had no choice but to explain my actions to him.

The waitress arrived with more food than two people could eat. Mo had ordered me a full stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, grits, and juice. At least the conversation would stop while we filled ourselves with carbs.

“What happened to the idea of a little food?” I asked.

“I'm glad I ordered so much,” she said. “Here comes your uncle. He can eat your eggs if you like.”

Dressed in plaid shorts and a contradictory plaid shirt, Frank marched purposefully around the tables to reach us. His hair was plastered down on one side and his eyes wet with fury.

“Why in the hell did you go out on your own? Weren't you listening to me last night at all? Jesus Christ.” His hoarse whisper went beyond our booth. Diners turned in our direction.

“Sit down. You look and sound like a crazy person.” I slid over and patted the booth seat.

He sat and shook his head as if in a private conversation.

“I left you a note,” I said. “Why are you so wigged out?”

“I'm supposed to be your guardian. That means you listen when I ask you to do something.”

Mo arched her eyebrows at Frank's over-the-top agitation. I shrugged my shoulders in answer. I'd never seen him like this.

“I ride my bike all the time,” I said. “And before I lived with you, I took care of myself and my mother all on my own. I think I can manage to get across town without falling off my bicycle.”

“I'm going to get a coffee refill and let you guys talk.” Mo left me alone with Frank, but I wished she hadn't. He scared me.

“This isn't like you, or at least the ‘you' I've come to know,” I said. “What's up?”

I wanted to be the type of person who could reach out and smooth down his crazy wiry hair, or hug him to take away the fear on his face, but I just sat there unable to process his mood.

“I don't want to scare you … but your dad showed up,” Frank said. “Day before yesterday.”

“My dad?”

“I mean your stepdad. He must have figured out where you live.”

“Lloyd's in Durango.” Saying it out loud didn't help dissipate the fear taking over me.

I let Frank's words sink in. Then I vomited into his lap, giving everyone a better reason to stare at me.

CHAPTER 19

Mo said she'd check on me later and stayed behind to tell the waitress about my mess. Frank and I needed some time alone. We couldn't talk freely at Denny's, especially after I spewed latte over my uncle, the table, and the booth.

While Frank loaded my bike in the back of his Suburban, I sat in the front seat, shaking. My reaction freaked me out as much as the confirmation that Lloyd was in town. My body acted on its own accord, trying to convince my brain to panic more.

“I won't let anything happen to you.” Frank concentrated on the road, his demeanor calmer now.

“Why do you think anything could happen to me?” Now my brain was catching up, frantically analyzing Frank's concern.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he said. “But your stepfather was a meth cook and dealer. That spells trouble on its own. He has no right to contact you for any reason.”

If Frank worried about my safety, did he also worry about his own? “What did you say to him?”

“I said I'd kill him if he came near you.”

“And?”

“He laughed. So, I picked up a sledge hammer to prove my point. After he left, I called the police.”

Frank confirmed that Lloyd had been driving a '67 Mustang, the same one that followed me from the Book Nook. Once we arrived back at the trailer, I couldn't help but scan the street for the Mustang, believing he'd be waiting for me.

We went inside quickly. I sat on the sofa, which was still made up as Frank's bed from the night before. He pulled the sheet and blanket around my shoulders.

“You're shaking,” he said. “Do you want some coffee or tea? Something hot?”

I drew my knees up to my chin. “I don't want any friggin' tea. Why didn't you tell me about this? And don't say you were trying to protect me.”

“Well, that's the truth. I didn't want you to be afraid.” Frank joined me on the sofa, a cup of instant coffee in his hand even though I'd said I didn't want anything to drink. “For now, don't go anywhere alone. I'll drive you to school and choir practice, and to your therapy appointments.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

The muscles in his neck tightened, but he didn't answer.

“You weren't, huh? You demand our honest little chitchats, but you keep something this important from me?”

“Why didn't you tell me you thought he was following you Friday?” Frank asked.

“I didn't know for sure it was him, but you did. You saw him. You
spoke
to him.”

“I understand you're angry …” he began.

“You have no idea.”

“I do now,” he said. “I was wrong. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was sure the police would handle it and that you wouldn't have to deal with one more thing.”

“The police can't help,” I said. “He hasn't done anything yet.”

“The man's wanted in New Mexico. That's reason enough for them to look hard. I gave them the make and model of the car and the license plate number. I also gave them a physical description.”

I hadn't seen Lloyd since I was nine. My mostly hazy memory of him had clear enough edges to form an image for my nightmares, but not enough to know him if I saw him on the street today.

“What did he look like? I didn't get a good look because the car windows were so dark.”

“What does it matter?”

“Maybe so I can recognize him if I see him again.” Part of me wanted Frank to paint a picture of someone so wholly pathetic and unassuming that I couldn't possibly be afraid of him. Yet Frank was afraid. His anger proved it.

“He was tall, thin. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail,” Frank finally offered. “And he had a mustache.”

A shock wave went through my body as I remembered Lloyd kissing me good-night, the edges of his mustache tickling my chin until I had giggled. I raised my hand to my mouth.

“You okay, Arlie?”

I nodded but choked back the urge to vomit for a second time. “He had a large tattoo across his chest, all letters,” I said. “The first letter was an
A
, but I don't remember anything else.”

“I think you should talk to the police,” Frank said. “You might remember some details that would help them.”

“Was he burned?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was in the same room as me and Rosa when the explosion happened. He'd have been burned as well.”

“I didn't notice anything, but then again, he wasn't around for long,” Frank said. “But we should tell the police about it. A visible scar might make him easier to spot.”

Mom never mentioned if she'd been with Lloyd the year I was in the hospital and rehab. Her fear had seemed so great that I suspected she'd had nothing to do with him after I'd been injured.

“I'm sorry, Arlie.”

“What for?”

“I shouldn't have let him drive away. I should've … I don't know … detained him.”

My heart sank at the thought. “You could have been hurt. I'm glad you didn't do anything.”

It was hard to hold on to my anger at Frank for keeping this from me. All I felt now was jealousy that he'd been the one to see Lloyd. I didn't get a chance to look him in the eye, to tell him he'd rot in hell for Rosa's death even if the criminal justice system wouldn't do anything, to tell him he never meant anything to me and Mom.

Frank got up and leaned over a stack of books. He pulled out a leather-bound Bible and opened it. Just as I was about to make a wisecrack about him being religious, I realized it was one of those fake books with hollowed-out insides. Frank had hidden a gun in the secret recess.

He pulled out the gun's clip and then clicked it back into place.

“It's fully loaded. Just in case.”

“A gun?”

“I'd like us to go to the shooting range today. I'll show you what to do,” he said.

“You're scaring me.” I sloughed off the blanket and stood next to Frank. He grabbed me by the shoulder and squeezed.

“I'm not trying to, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I've already lost my sister. I'm not going to lose you.”

Frank and I spent most of the afternoon at the range. He went on and on about handgun safety for so long that I finally had to tell him I was ready to shoot, but I wasn't. The kickback startled me more than I expected and I failed to hit the target, time and time again. He'd assured me that I'd get better with practice, but with Lloyd in town, I really didn't have any time left.

When we got back to the trailer, Frank wanted to work on the house. He said he needed the physical exertion and I understood. I'd witnessed the Zen state he entered every time he picked up a hammer or turned on a power saw. He asked if I wanted to help, but I sensed he needed the time alone.

I hoped reading a book would calm my mind, but it didn't. I cleaned the trailer's bathroom and straightened up the living area, which took all of thirty minutes. Finally, I fired up my computer. Earlier in the week, Miss Browning had asked me to recommend a number for the girls' group to perform at the community concert in two weeks. Strangely, the task did calm me. Perhaps it was because music made me feel stronger.

I texted Claire and two other group members and asked their opinions. We finally arrived at “Rumor Has It” by Adele because it was high energy with strong backup vocals, perfect since we had seven girls. And I'd heard that other choral groups had used the song in competitions with good results.

The director asked Cody to choose the duet that would be performed. He had the strongest male voice in choir. I believed I had the strongest female voice, but I'd only been a member a short time—and it didn't seem quite fair to share the spotlight with Cody. Now with my muddled feelings, I doubted my ability to stand next to him sharing something as intimate as a song, something almost more frightening than a kiss.

I put in my earbuds and listened to several Adele tracks, but I couldn't connect with her breakup album. I'd never been in a relationship that ended badly—or had I?

The slamming of a car door got my attention. I looked through the curtain to see Mo running across the yard toward the trailer. She was in my room within seconds.

She flopped onto the bed. “So, what's up with Frank? That was freaky, even for him.”

I filled her in. Mo's jaw dropped when I told her about the gun.

“This is serious. What are you going to do?”

“Frank wants me to talk to the police. He thinks I might remember something about Lloyd that would help them find him faster.”

“Maybe he left town already. Isn't that possible?”

Mo moved strands of hair from my forehead, worry apparent in the gesture.

“I kind of want to see him.”

“What?”

Maybe it was closure I wanted. Maybe I just wanted to know why it was so important for him to see me. I regretted, though, that I'd spoken the words out loud to my friend, who was probably going to worry herself sick.

“I just meant it'd feel good to tell him to ‘fuck off' once and for all,” I said.

“Let the police tell him that. While they're putting him behind bars.”

Mo rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

“James gave me Cody's cell number. I'm putting it into your phone in case you want to text him later.”

“He can't read a text,” I said.

“No, but his phone speaks his messages. Kind of like Siri on the iPhone. So don't text anything inappropriate.”

“Have you been listening to me? I've had a rough day,” I reminded her. “The last thing I need to think about is Cody.”

“He's exactly what you should be thinking about. Don't let your stepdad take something else from you.”

My stomach muscles contracted and the queasiness set in again. Was I really using Lloyd to avoid dealing with what happened last night?
Last night
. It seemed a decade ago. Had I really shut Cody down when all he wanted was to connect with me in the only way he could? I placed my hand over my scar and felt the ridges and pits I couldn't bear for him to “see.”

“I'll talk to him at school.”

Mo saw straight through my evasive maneuver. “You really want an audience for something so important? Wouldn't it be easier to call or text him tonight?”