I'm So Sure (8 page)

“Luke Sullivan.” Mom smiles and hands me silverware. “He said the paper wanted him to have as much access to us as possible, so I called him.”

“Great. Perfect.” Maybe he’ll bring Miss Harvard. They can talk about super-smart things while we watch footage of Jake in spandex tighties. And if I’m really lucky there’ll be footage of me with my head stuck up Sundance’s butt while she’s soaking me in urinary Mountain Dew.

“Excuse me.” Robbie, dressed in his usual garb of a superhero t-shirt and red cape, moves in front of me to grab a baked potato.

“Hey, buddy, you’ve already got one on your plate.”

Nervous green eyes look back at me. “I need to eat to build my strength. These are trying times for a superhero.” And he zooms to the living room.

That was strange. The kid usually eats like a bird. But strange is the order of the day with him. It’s like he has two personalities—one who believes he can fly. And the other part of him that is brilliant to the point of scary. I mean, when he’s not watching Superman cartoons, he’s watching the financial network on cable and taking notes.

The doorbell rings as I set my plate on the scarred coffee table.

Mom helps Robbie cut his meat. “Get that please, Bella.”

With one dramatic sigh, I fling open the door with a look that’s less than hospitable.

Luke smiles. He knows I don’t want him here.

“Where’s the girlfriend?”

“I’m working, so Taylor wasn’t invited.” He steps by me and greets the family.

“Luke, we have dinner for you. Bella will show you into the kitchen and get your plate.”

Ugh. Seriously, Mom? I know I’m supposed to have a servant’s heart, but I think the Bible mentions a few exceptions. Like arrogant, cocky editors. I think it’s in Habakkuk. Um, forty-second chapter, two hundredth verse. Might not be in all translations.

Luke follows me into the kitchen. I plop a steak on a plate and let him do the rest.

He stares at the food. “You didn’t spit in this, did you? Poison it?”

Hadn’t thought of that.

“Any updates on the stolen class funds?”

I yank open the fridge. “What do you want to drink?” Maybe some Ex-Lax?

He moves in and reaches for a water. “You’re dodging my question.”

“I dunno. No new developments at this point.” Unless you count the address for Victoria I got this afternoon from one of her friends.

He gets that look again. The one that makes me think he can see inside my head—and the contents amuse him. “Right.” And he walks into the living room, settling in like he’s part of our crew.

The only seat left is the space next to Luke on the couch. I consider standing, but I’m working on my maturity. I sit down and scoot so far to the edge away from him, the majority of my butt hangs off.

Dolly pops her head in the front door. “Hey, y’all.” She enters the living room, dressed in sweats, Nike running shoes, and her ever-present big hair. She blanches when she sees her ex-husband. “What’s he doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are
you
doing here?” Mickey’s cheeks turn pink.

Dolly stomps into the kitchen and returns with food. Jake brings in another chair from the dining room and places it in the space beside Mickey. Dolly stares at all of us, waiting for us to offer our own seats—away from her ex. No one moves.

“Fine.” She sits down, her posture so straight it could snap.

As Mom and Jake talk, I hear Mickey mumble to Dolly. “You look nice tonight, by the way.”

“I came here straight from the gym thinking it was just going to be a night with the Finleys. My Maybelline’s all gone, I smell like sweat, and I just spent an hour in an aerobics class with twenty-year- olds.”

His face falls. “I still think you look beautiful.”

Oblivious to the Mickey and Dolly soap opera, Jake says a quick blessing and turns on the TV.

A familiar-looking man appears on the screen. He stands in the middle of a wrestling ring.

“
Tonight on
Pile Driver of Dreams
, ten people . . . only one will walk away with the chance to go pro and be a regular on World Wrestling Television’s Friday Night Throw-Down. America, you will determine their destinies. Every week you get the chance to vote a wrestler off. We bring you live interviews and footage from their homes, getting up close and personal with their families. And we bring you the wrestling matches so you can decide if they’ve got what it takes to go pro. Ten people dreaming big . . . but is it big enough?”

Mom’s propped on the arm of Jake’s recliner. She leans into him and squeezes his muscular arm.

“Careful . . .” Luke whispers. “You’re smiling.”

I guess I am. “This is a big deal for them.” And it hasn’t been this big life intrusion I thought it would be. I think the show is so focused on Jake, they pretty much leave the rest of us alone. I hardly ever see the camera crew. I think I expected my life to turn into
The Real World
, but it totally hasn’t.

We watch as they do a brief bio on each contestant, showing video of wrestling matches, images of the family and the town each person is from.

The show begins with a guy named William Pearson, aka The Mutilator. In a brief interview, his son talks about what a great dad he is. His boss at Topeka First Federal tears up when he describes William saving the day when an armed robber held up the bank.

Another guy by the name of Sanchez the Snake discusses his mother while doing bicep curls. In the background his ex-wife quietly cries as he talks.

“Yeah, I want to be a wrestler . . . but mostly I want to save my mom. She’s in Mexico waiting on a liver transplant. The only thing keeping her alive right now is the hope she has in me.”

Oh, boy.

After three more men and two women contestants, Jake’s face lights up the TV.

Next, Harvey Runnels, president of Summer Fresh, beams with pride. “In twenty years, this maxi-pad assembly line has never run smoother. Nobody knows feminine protection better than Jake Finley.”

“It’s true,” Budge says from across the room. “Women owe a lot to this man right here.” He and Jake do an air high five.

Luke’s shoulders give a small jerk, and I know he’s laughing inside.

Why can’t Jake be a used car salesman like other stepdads I know?

The announcer’s voice continues to narrate.
“A big man, big dreams, and a small town. But is there more to Jake Finley? Recently married to his online sweetheart, he added a stepdaughter to his family. While Jillian Finley appears to have adapted to Truman life, her daughter seems to cling to the drama of Manhattan.”

The steak becomes a tasteless wad in my mouth. I spit it out into my napkin and zone in to the nightmare unfolding on the television. I scoot closer to Luke to get a better look.

“Suffering a bad breakup when her boyfriend hooked up with her best friend, Bella found solace in the simple life of Truman, Oklahoma. Or did she?”

Video footage rolls of me at Dolly’s farm. Me with my head under Sundance’s tail, getting sprayed down in horse pee. Me dumping over the wheelbarrow of poop. Me screaming at dumping over the wheelbarrow of poop.

Budge and Robbie laugh until I can hardly hear the TV.

“I had no idea anyone saw that,” I mumble. “Especially cameras.” And my mom hasn’t totally adapted to Oklahoma life either. Yesterday she sat at her computer and stared at a Valentino dress for forty-five minutes.

“
Recently Bella Kirkwood’s ex-boyfriend has returned to her life. Sources say he could be seriously ill and is searching for forgiveness . . .”

There I am, head-to-head with Hunter at Starbucks in Manhattan.

“
. . . or is the young couple searching for something more?”

My dad’s front steps. Me wrapped in Hunter’s arms. It was such a simple hug, but the photo makes it look like . . . so much more.

Beside me I feel Luke stiffen. I steal a glance at his face, but it reveals nothing.

I grab Luke’s plate and stand. “This is ridiculous. Those cameras—they’re everywhere. I had no idea!” I feel so violated. So exposed. So Lindsay Lohan’d. “This isn’t fair. Can’t we do something about this?”

Mom slowly shakes her blonde head. “We knew this would be intrusive, Bella. We talked about this. We agreed as a family.”

“I thought they’d intrude on
him
.” I point to Jake. “My life is one big tabloid now. This is crazy. Everyone knows my business. I feel like an Olsen twin!” I step over Robbie and his cape on the floor and take the plates to the sink.

I have to get out of here. I need some air. Some space.

Some Ben & Jerry’s.

chapter twelve

A
fter pulling Mom aside and assuring her I will be home by ten-thirtyish, I sneak out the back door and hop into the Bug.

I turn the key. And nothing.

“Come on. I don’t have time to charge the battery. You can do it.” I pat the car’s dash in case she needs a boost of encouragement. I know sometimes I do.

I try a few more times, but the car is deader than my career as a horse groomer.

I jump at the knock on my window. Luke stands there with his arms crossed and that infuriating smile.

“Going somewhere?”

“Nowhere important. Just have to run an errand.”

“Would this errand be in Tulsa?”

“Sorry!” I tap on the glass. “Can’t hear you! You should probably go back in and take some more notes.”

“Car won’t start again?”

I roll down the window and feel the frigid December wind whoosh in. “No offense, but you’re starting to annoy me.”

He casually reclines against the car. “Face it. You need a ride.”

“I don’t need
anything
from you, Sullivan.” I twist the key in vain. “How did you know I was going to Tulsa?”

“I have my ways.” He dangles his keys from one finger. “We can stop at the Truman Dairy Barn on our way out of town.”

“Like I’d be that weak.” I’m sure.

“Double scoops?”

“Let’s go.”

Luke knocks on the door of apartment 15B. A middle-aged man with three days’ worth of stubble answers.

“For the last time, I don’t want any Avon.”

I turn my head and laugh into my coat. Luke selling Skin-SoSoft. That’s a good one.

I nudge Luke out of the way and step into the light. “Mr. Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“We go to Truman High School. We were in the neighborhood and wanted to see Victoria.”

“Make it snappy.
CSI
is coming on.” He holds the door open. “Victoria! You got company!” He stomps down a small hall and shuts himself in another room.

When Victoria joins us in the living room, she wears a confused face. “Do I know you?”

“Hey, Victoria.” I’m not really sure how to begin. “Um . . .”

“We’re from Truman High. We work for the paper and wanted to ask you a few questions.” Luke takes her elbow and the two settle onto a worn couch. “There’s been a lot of rumors about the junior class funds being stolen, and we want to make sure you are accurately portrayed in this story and your side is heard.”

I was going to go with “We work with the FBI, and we need information. Don’t make us haul you downtown.” Whatever.

Luke opens his mouth to fire off the first question, but I jump in ahead of him. Dude is
not
going to steal my case here. “Victoria, we’d like you to go back to that day you cashed the check and tell us about that moment from the time the car pulled up until the time it drove away.”

She twists a piece of brown hair around her finger. “I’ve already told the police all this.”

I paste on my kindest smile. “Can you tell us what Anna Deason looked like that day? Can you describe the person who presented the check? The driver?”

Her twirling finger stops. “It’s all pretty foggy in my head now. Thanks for stopping by, but—”

Luke rests his hand briefly on Victoria’s. “I know you’ve fielded a lot of questions. I can’t imagine how stressful that’s been for you.”

Victoria’s bottom lip puckers as she nods. “I ate a whole jar of peanut butter yesterday.”

Hey, nothing wrong with that.

“Did you get a good look at Anna that afternoon?” Luke drapes an arm over the back of the couch.

“I—I thought I did.”

“Was it an African-American girl? Can you say that for sure?”

I sit with my mute button on while Luke works his magic.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure. But it’s hard to tell with our cameras. We see the driver’s side clearly, but the passenger side can be kinda dark.”

A small white dog lumbers into the room and rubs against Luke’s leg.

“Oh, what a great dog. It’s beautiful.” Luke pets the wheezing mongrel, who sports random bald spots and looks like it’s three barks away from keeling over. “What’s your name?”

Victoria giggles and picks up her dog. “This is Maggie.”

“Maggie, you’re pretty cute. How long have you had the dog?”

I watch Luke turn on the charm and Victoria light up like the Las Vegas strip. I search the floor for a newspaper or magazine. Maybe there’s a crossword or something I could do while these two totally ignore me.

“I’ve had Maggie since I was in first grade. She doesn’t have a yard here, so she’s mad at me.” More giggling. More petting of the geriatric dog.

“Had you been planning on moving in with your dad?” Luke asks.

Victoria’s hand stills on the dog. “Um . . . n–no. I guess not. I mean yeah, sorta.” She sniffs and blinks out a tear. “It just kind of happened. My boyfriend broke up with me, and the bank fired me. I needed to leave town.”

I try to move in with a question, but Luke holds up his hand. His voice is smooth as jazz. “You wanted to leave town or you
had
to leave town? Was anyone pressuring you?”

Victoria stares into Luke’s blue sky eyes. The moment hangs there.

“I want my TV back! I’m missing
CSI
!”

She jerks her head as if waking from a trance. “It’s my dad’s TV night. Thanks for stopping by.”

Luke stands and puts his hand on Victoria’s back. “If you can think of anything else, please contact me.” He gives her a card. “Sometimes stress does funny things. It’s not uncommon to take a step back from the event and get a clearer picture. If that happens, if there’s something you want to tell us—anything—I’d love to talk to you.”