Sass & Serendipity (19 page)

The man let out a whimper and backed up against the wall. Unfortunately, the mysterious shadow advanced faster, darkening the man’s face. At the last second the man crossed his arms in front of him, desperately trying to shield himself, but to no avail. He let out a horrified shriek just as the music crescendoed, and the TV screen went black. The next shot showed the guy’s corpse facedown on the hardwood floor.

“He could have run,” Gabby remarked. “All those people—the bald dude, the blond lady, the old man with the eye patch—they could have been out the door before Shadow Thing even grazed their feet.”

Mule shook his head. “You can’t outrun evil.”

“Oh really? And you’re an expert?”

“Hey, I hang out with you, don’t I?”

Gabby raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry,” he said, lifting his hands in a surrender gesture. “Please don’t sic your minions on me.”

Gabby gritted her teeth. She already had Daffy calling her cruel and sadistic; she didn’t need to hear it from Mule, too.

Mule grabbed the plastic bowl he’d brought over, which held some sort of chunky gold substance in it, and started dipping in tortilla chips he’d pulled out of the kitchen. Meanwhile, on TV, the strange dark matter oozed down a sleeping street, stirring up fallen leaves and making stray cats puff up and hiss.

“You know,” Mule said, between crunches, “this kumquat salsa isn’t that bad.”

“Is that what that is?” Gabby asked, wrinkling her upper lip. “
Kumquat
salsa?”

“It was Dad’s idea. The past few days he’s really gotten into cooking shows. They showed this recipe and he got all excited and asked Mom to make it. Hey, did you know the kumquat comes from China? I always thought the word sounded Germanish. And not in a good way, either.”

“It also doesn’t sound very appetizing—or look it. I’m sorry, but salsa should not be yellow. It should be red. And spicy.”

“Snob,” Mule said, rolling his eyes.

Gabby launched a pillow at him, but it only grazed his curls. “Are you just going to insult me all evening or what?”

“Hey. I was just kidding.” Mule’s dopey grin was gone. Now he was looking at her as if she were the Shadow Thing from Hell.

Great. She was tired of being referred to as mean. So what did she do? Went all mean on him.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just in a bad mood. And this movie is lame. Why are we watching it, anyway?”

“Because nothing better was on. At least at the time.”

Mule picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. After a few clicks he let it rest on a black-and-white sitcom. A mother stood in the center of a spotless 1950s living room. She wore a starched dress, heels, and pearl earrings, and her blond hair was in an immaculate bob. The only clues pointing to the fact that she was a mother—and not, say, a model in a furniture store showroom—were the crisp white apron and the sullen-looking boy sitting across from her on the couch. Judging by his guilty expression, the boy must have done something wrong. But since the laugh track was cranked up and the mom looked more bemused than angry, it couldn’t have been too bad.

“Hey, Gab,” Mule said, turning around to face her. His shoulders were hunched and his mouth was set in a grim line. He seemed worried all of a sudden, not unlike the boy on the television. It made Gabby uneasy.

He scratched his head and cleared his throat. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

Ho boy
. Again Gabby’s anxiety level increased. The Randolphs were not idea people. Mule could crunch numbers and analyze algorithms like a six-foot-tall computer. But any jolts of inspiration tended to produce things like … kumquat salsa. She bit the inside of her cheek, steeling herself for his latest crazy notion.

“Just listen,” he began. “I know you don’t want to go to prom and all, but … what if we did something else? We could drive into Austin and see a show. Or just plan some adventure around here. Whatever. It’s our last year of school, and I think it would be cool if we did something up big for a change.”

Oh no oh no ohno!
For the past several days things had been getting steadily weirder between her and Mule—and now this? His jokes about prom … his nervousness about Prentiss … Daffy’s teasing about his boy parts and her insistence that Gabby secretly loved him … they all seemed to gather, building on one another, taking on weight and mass and consciousness until finally, they could rise up and engulf her like … well, like an amorphous evil Shadow Thing.

For years he had been good ol’ reliable Mule. And even though lately Gabby had seen signs that he wanted to be more than just friends—a lingering gaze or a quick eye-avert—he’d never actually made a move. Which was exactly how she
wanted it to be. How she needed it to be. How the universe stayed in balance.

And now he had … thoughts?

“Do you mean …?” She paused, wondering whether she should say the words—the words that could alter absolutely everything. “Do you mean like a date?”

She hoped he would laugh. Looking at his tight expression, she found herself trying to force it, telekinetically. She willed his mop-topped head to fall backward, his crumb-streaked mouth to open wide, and the room to fill with his loud, crazy, car-horn cackles.

But just as Mule’s lips started to part, the doorbell rang.

Gabby sprang up from the sofa as if a small explosive had gone off underneath her and quick-stepped to the door. She opened it without even thinking, already smiling at the individual who’d interrupted the tension.

It was Prentiss, holding a large paper sack. “Hi there. I saw that the lights were on and thought it would be okay to knock.” He nodded as if affirming that he’d done the right thing, no doubt encouraged by the preset look of joy and relief on Gabby’s face.

Her grin faded, and she resisted pointing out the fact that he’d actually rung, not knocked. “Um … hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got something for y’all,” he said, patting the bag in his arms. “Mind if I come in?”

Gabby considered saying no but decided against it. The night was already strange—why fight it? It would be like trying to outrun evil.

“Sure.” She opened the door and stepped out of the way.

“Oh, hey.” Prentiss nodded at Mule as he loped into the living room.

Mule rose to his feet, smiling awkwardly. “Hi.”

There followed a brief, queasy moment when Prentiss looked from Mule to Gabby and back again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Mule glanced at Gabby, as if volleying the statement to her. Prentiss followed his gaze.

“Uh … no. We were just …” She faltered. “We weren’t really doing anything.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mule droop slightly, like a blow-up toy with a slow leak.

She could feel the annoyance building inside her. Suddenly she was mad at Prentiss and Mule and anybody who’d gotten her to that point in time. Why did absolutely everything in her life have to be complicated? Why couldn’t one thing—one lousy little detail—be nice and simple and always make perfect sense?

Prentiss headed over to the dining room table and set down his bag. “I won’t take long. I was just up at the rodeo and went a little nutty buying corn dogs. Thought maybe you and your sister would like some. And you, too,” he added, looking at Mule.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Gabby said. She was telling the truth. She didn’t want his charity. She didn’t want Prentiss thinking he needed to help take care of them.

But Prentiss seemed to think she was just being humble.

“Aw, it’s no big deal,” he said, grinning. “I know your mom is gone and I figured y’all could use some good food.”

Gabby clenched her teeth. The guy didn’t even realize how sexist he sounded. Did he actually think they were starving just because their mom was out of town?

He pulled a grease-stained paper box out of the bag and held it up. “Y’all help yourselves. They’re homemade, you know.”

Almost instantly the smell of corn-fried wieners hit her nose. “You say that like it’s health food,” she said, making a face. “Do you know what they put in those things?”

Prentiss’s smile washed away. He shrugged lamely and set the box on the table. “Well, feel free to give them to your friends or something,” he said. “Sorry I butted in.”

He headed for the door, avoiding all eye contact with Gabby.

“Y’all have a good night.” He gave Mule a little head bob, smiled dimly at Gabby, and disappeared into the purple glow of the porch light.

“Jesus, Gab,” Mule said. “Couldn’t you at least say thanks?”

She opened her mouth to fuss at him, then quickly closed it. He was right. She’d been a bit harsh with the guy. Plus, she’d been snappish all evening. She’d complained about Mule’s choice of words, TV programming, and snacks. And she hadn’t even thanked him for bringing the lousy salsa.

Mule didn’t seem nervous anymore, just appalled. But somehow that was worse. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t mean—not really. Even more than that, she wanted to prove it to him.

“You know, Daffy really likes these,” she said, looking at the abandoned bag of corn dogs. “I should let her know.”

She headed into the hallway and knocked on the bedroom door.

It was a risky move, considering Daphne still wasn’t speaking to her. The girl had pouted all day, avoiding Gabby and holing up in her room with her cell phone. Chances were this kind gesture would be met with angry screams and an object being hurled at her. But she wanted to do something to demonstrate her thoughtful side.

After several seconds she knocked again and opened the door. The light was off and Daphne lay in bed, completely cocooned in the covers. It was unlikely that she was asleep—especially at this hour. Obviously she was just pretending so Gabby would leave her alone, and to keep punishing her with the silent treatment.

“I know you’re awake,” Gabby said in a loud whisper. “You might as well come out and have some corn dogs. Prentiss brought them. From the rodeo.”

Still no answer. A vague feeling of dread settled over Gabby. Something wasn’t right.

She flicked on the light switch. “Daff?” she said. “Daffy, get up.”

Somehow she knew it before she crossed the room and threw back the covers, revealing the carefully molded pillow shape. She knew by the absence of sound and tiny movements—by the absence of
presence
. She knew because of the feeling of disquiet she’d had all evening long, as if some invisible force had been trying to warn her.

Her sister was gone.

“Damn it!” she shouted. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

She paced the room, gripping the sides of her head, as if she could somehow squeeze a plan of action out of her own skull.

“What’s wrong?” Mule raced into the room, wide-eyed with fright.

“Daphne’s not here!” she yelled, annoyed that she had to say something so obvious, annoyed that she was in the predicament in the first place.

“But … why?” Mule asked. “Where would she go?”

A fragment of memory broke loose from Gabby’s mind, like a leaf detaching from a branch, and slowly zigzagged into view.

“That little bitch,” she grumbled. “She went to the party after all.”

Luke didn’t talk for a long time. He simply stared at Daphne, blinking fast as if her image were too vivid to behold.

Finally he opened his mouth. Only he didn’t utter an actual word. It was more of a long braying sound. “Errrryuuuugh.” Then he shook his head and chuckled.

Daphne laughed, too. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said. He was moving now, grabbing his hands in front of him and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Look, um … I can’t … I don’t … Wow.”

It was cute how blown away he was. How shy. “It’s okay. You can say it,” she said, reaching for his hand.

He jerked out of reach.

Daphne’s fingers went numb as blood escaped them, rushing up to her face. “Oh, my god,” she said. “You think I’m
being too forward, don’t you?” Her words started calmly enough, but midway through, her voice seemed to catch on something, making the rest come out ragged and hoarse.

“No, no. It was sweet. Really. It was just kinda … heavy. You know?”

Daphne felt a giant sucking sensation behind her sternum, as if her body were collapsing in on itself. Surrendering. Failing. She crossed her arms over her chest and held on tight.

Oh, god. She blew it! She should have been more patient. She’d panicked over the whole Lynette thing and tried to rush it all. Fate had tricked her, and she’d failed the test. How could she have been so stupid?

“You okay?” Luke asked.

She couldn’t reply. She couldn’t even look at him. Instead, she glanced around the storybook room, but somehow it had lost its magic. The purple walls appeared darker. The air felt colder. Even the fairies on the wall seemed malicious, with their pinched little faces and grotesque smiles.

“Maybe we should go back downstairs?” he suggested.

She nodded lamely.

He turned and walked back out onto the landing. Daphne fell into step behind him, focusing on the back of his navy sweater. She wasn’t sure what else to do. All she could do was stay close, watch, and wait.

The living room was relatively empty when they reached the bottom floor. Just three random couples making out on the couch and in the corners. Seeing them produced a sort of
backdraft inside her, fanning the flames of embarrassment and remorse.

She followed Luke’s crew neck toward the kitchen, then almost plowed into his back when he stopped suddenly. Veering around to his side, she saw that the room was filled with even more people than before. All wore matching smirks as they stood there silently watching her and Luke.

For a while, no one said anything. Then Todd Carothers broke from the crowd and fell to his knees in front of Luke. “Oh, Luke! I missed you, man! Because I love you so much! I love you, and I want to marry you, and I want to have your babies!”

The place erupted with laughter.

“What the …?” Luke said.

Before he could finish, Tracy—still perched atop the counter—held something up and waggled it around in a sort of triumphant dance. The object was white and rectangular, with an antenna sticking up from one side and a power cord coming out the bottom: a baby monitor.