Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (36 page)

My dark-blue scrubs smelled from spilling applesauce down the front this morning at the nursing home. I still wore the stained clothes at four in the afternoon because I didn’t have a chance to change into something else before going to take my test.

Ugh
. I needed a shower. And I needed to check on Mr. Hughes. It had been a couple of days since I’d seen my neighbor or Blaire for that matter. She had run through the living room yesterday, clutching her laptop with her big tuba bag over her shoulder. It was hard not to see a giant elephant smashing through the apartment even though she pretended I wasn’t there.

Shuffling over to the bottom of the stairs, I paused, seeing something out of the corner of my eye. Those same two dog crates had reappeared outside the manager’s office. I told myself to let it go. My whole life would be much simpler if I could just walk away, but I just wasn’t that kind of person.

Besides, that’s what started this whole new chapter of my life anyway. I couldn’t walk away from Charlie. I couldn’t walk away from Wyatt. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Wyatt and those dogs consumed a huge chunk of my existence. And it was the thought of another one bleeding in Kurt’s crate that stopped me from going up the stairs.

Letting out a deep breath, I checked around for signs of anyone else in the parking lot. I moved swiftly over toward his door. I just needed to take a quick peek inside the crates to see if they were empty or if they contained another Charlie. The thought made my stomach ache.

I looked quickly in the first, seeing nothing but an empty cage. My nose filled with the rancid odor of urine. The other was just the same. I straightened up, wanting to take a peek around the corner into his office. Kurt must have put them somewhere. I just didn’t know if it was here or off the property.

“You need something or just poking your nose into other people’s shit?”

The blood drained from my face as I heard his voice come up behind me. Turning around, I gave him a half smile. “Just you, Kurt. I . . . um . . . Mr. Hughes’s kitchen faucet has been dripping. Thought you might have some tools to fix it.”

The lie came off clunky, but I hoped it was at least believable. Kurt licked his bottom lip, giving me a half smirk as his eyes slide over to the crates and back up to me. He shifted his weight to his other leg, sticking his hand down in his front pocket of his ragged jeans.

“You tell that old man I ain’t doing shit. He’s leaving soon and can just deal with it. I don’t give a damn if the water don’t work at all.” The glint in his eyes was just a little off, just a little creepy as he stared at the applesauce stain on the front of my scrubs. The chilly wind hit me in the back, and I shuddered.

“Well, thanks, Kurt. I’ll give him the message.” Not wanting to argue with his stupid statement, I walked quickly over to the stairs without looking back at his strange glare.

I shoved my key into the lock and darted inside my apartment. With the door shut behind me, I turned the deadbolt and walked slowly to the kitchen to grab a few Tylenol. I noticed Blair’s door shut. For once, I guess my sister was home.

I rinsed off in the shower and put on a pair of sweats with my fuzzy boots. Slipping on a T-shirt, I went back out in the hallway, looking at her closed door again.

All joking aside, I missed Blaire. I missed talking to my sister. Not that our conversations were exactly normal, but our discussions had always been that way. So to me, they
were
normal. For the last several years, she’d been the only friend in my life. My weird, eccentric, paranoid friend—and I missed her.

Giving Blaire’s door one last glance, I headed over to check on Mr. Hughes. I walked across the upstairs landing between the apartments. Looking down in the parking lot toward the manager’s office, I noticed the crates were missing. Whatever game Kurt was playing, he had decided to hide the evidence again.

I gave my neighbor’s apartment door a few hard knocks before turning the knob. It was open as usual. Mr. Hughes was more trusting than me.

“Hello,” I yelled inside. I closed the door behind me, seeing the whole living room surrounded in a wall of brown boxes. The realization of his move hit me again. I had chosen to ignore the reality until I couldn’t anymore.

“In here, Emma.”

I followed the sound of his voice until I found Mr. Hughes sitting on the side of his bed with more boxes.

“Where did you get all of the stuff?”

“Well, your sister was a sweetheart and dropped them off.”

“Blaire?” I couldn’t contain the gasp. Oh no. Mr. Hughes was getting worse and hallucinating.

“Yeah, thought I should get started packing since I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. Blair has been helping me some. That girl’s not like you. She’s got a mouth on her. Always back-talking and swearing.”

Nope. No hallucination. “What do you mean my sister has been helping you?”

“You know, running some errands and helping me clear up some stuff before I leave. I let her drive my car since I’m not using it.”

And that answered my question on her means of transportation the last couple of weeks. My sister had been using poor Mr. Hughes for his car to avoid talking to me.

“I’m sorry. I hate to run, but I need to take care of something. I promise to come back later with
Blaire
—and we will help you start packing stuff.”

“Okay. Whatever you need to do.”

I heard part of the words, but I was already halfway out of the apartment. I stormed through his door and back into mine, slamming the heavy metal behind me. I stopped outside of Blair’s bedroom and decided knocking would accomplish nothing. I barged inside, seeing her eyes widen and her skin turn a little pale. I plopped down beside her on the bed as my sister scrambled to get her laptop as far away as possible from me.

“Get the hell out of my room!” Her gaze burned deep with anger.

I replied with a simple and smirky, “No.”

“I mean it, Emma.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and my legs like a pretzel on her bedspread. “I’m not moving until you get over whatever has you mad at me.”

“Damn it. Get out!” she growled.

“I mean it, Blaire. I’m sitting on your bed until this is fixed. And you know I will.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “I will just leave you in here.”

“Then I will follow you like a shadow. I’ll stare two inches from your face as you sleep. And while you eat. I’ll even sit on the toilet while you are in the shower. Or maybe I’ll get in there too. I’ll haunt you, Blaire. Every step. I’ll follow you to class. And band practice. I’ll be right there, Blaire. Every single step until you think I’m some ghost you can’t shake.”

“And people think I’m the crazy twin.” She scooted away, but I caught a glimpse of her laptop screen before she could get off the bed.

“What
are you doing with that?” I gasped.

I lunged for the computer as she tried to twist away. We fought for a moment—me tugging and climbing on top of Blair while my sister tried yanking the laptop out of my fingers. I hadn’t physically fought with my twin in years. Neither of us was really stronger than the other. I got in a few elbow jabs and she rammed her knee into my stomach. But it was the small push with my hip that sent Blaire down in the floor, ending the scuffle over the computer. She shoved her glasses back on her nose.

“Emma,
don’t!
” she squealed. My eyes took in the image and I shot a confused look at my sister as she got up from the floor.

“Why do you have a picture of me up on your screen?”

“That’s not you. It’s me.”

“No. I’m pretty sure I know what I look like. That’s me. Not you. So what are you doing with a picture of me—that you
think
is you?”

“Fuck.” She fell on the bed next to me, covering her face with a pillow.

“Whoa.” I flipped through the screens open on the laptop. “You are trying to send someone called M-Attack815 a picture of yourself? But it’s really of me?”

“Same thing.” Her voice came out muffled.

“No, that’s not the same thing. And who is M-Attack815?” I yanked the pillow from her face. “Do you have a
boyfriend
?”

“No, he’s just someone I . . . um . . . talk to online.”

“Are you serious? How did you meet M-Attack815? Does he know where we live? Did you give him our address? You seriously did not give him our address.”

“Calm down. I’m not you.”

“Oh, that was low, Blaire. For all you know, he could be some sixty-year-old man who likes feet—or Kurt. He could be Kurt pretending to be normal. You could have found Kurt on the Internet and you’re sending him a picture of
me
.”

“Oh, hell, he’s not Kurt. Besides, he could get his own picture of
you
without me. You’d just waltz right into his office and pose for him, Emma.”

We stared at each other until I started laughing at the absolute ridiculousness of our fight. I stretched out on the bed next to my sister.

“Tell me about him,” I whispered.

Blaire didn’t answer me for a while. “We met playing a game online. It’s that stupid one with the avatars. The one you make fun of.”

“So you met him in your game. How long has it been going on?”

“About a month. His name is Matt. He’s goes to school in Norman. Engineering major. I checked him out. Everything seems legit. He sent me a picture last week, and I don’t know. I’ve been stalling.”

“Why?”

“It’s easy talking to him online. I don’t have to be something I’m not. The part that is hard for me is gone. I can think about everything I say before I type it. But if I give him a picture, then he will want to talk on the phone and eventually meet in person. I don’t know if that’s something I can do.”

I felt sorry for Blaire. She was odd. Maybe even strange at times, which could easily be hidden while typing behind a computer screen. But even the socially incompetent wanted to find someone in life who was just as much of a recluse as them. That had to be a very difficult situation. “Why did you try to send him a picture of me?”

“Because I thought it would be the same thing. Just with all that frilly shit you do. I don’t know. It’s all so damn stupid. I should just tell him goodbye and stop talking to him.”

“No. Don’t do that. Go take a shower.”

“Why?” She turned her head to face me, giving a skeptical glare.

I smiled. “Because I’m going to help you.”

She sat up straight in the bed. “Like, how?”

“We are going to send him a picture of the real you. You don’t have to be something you’re not. But this”—I waved my hand around in front of her—“needs a little scrubbing. So go take a shower. I think you forgot to wash your hair, like, two days ago.”

Blaire grumbled something under her breath that was strong and explicit. Her eyes locked with mine, and I felt that slight familiar buzz in my chest. My sister gave me a quick hug, just long enough for me to feel the pressure of her arms before she leaped off the bed. I would swear it didn’t happen, but I was in the same room so I knew it had taken place. I knew Blaire had hugged me on purpose.

I smiled as the guilt stabbed me a little in the heart. She had missed our friendship too. And my absence had caused the only feeling my twin was capable of expressing to me: anger. Blaire had shut me out and stormed around instead of just saying,
Stop spending all your time with Wyatt
.

As I waited for my sister to finish in the shower, I flipped through her emails until I found the one in question. M-Attack815 was adorable. His face had a little scruff on the cheeks. And he wore a stocking hat over his blonde hair. But it was the shy smile that got me. This guy was a sweetheart. I could feel it all the way through the computer screen, which made me understand why Blaire was nervous about eventually seeing him in person.

She came out of the bathroom, wearing a frown. “I don’t know about this, Emma.”

“Will you just trust me?” I forced her to sit down in a chair while I dried her wet hair. Then I disappeared into my bathroom, returning with a large curling iron. I styled her hair in simple, flowing waves around her shoulders.

“Now, go put on that red shirt you like so much.”

“It has a hole at the bottom.”

“He won’t see it in the picture. Just put it on because that’s what I see when I picture you in my head. You in that red shirt.”

“Because I don’t like change,” she said under her breath.

“I know you don’t.”

Blaire grumbled again, digging through her closet until she found it and a pair of jeans. She sat back down in the chair. “Does this work?”

“Yes, but you are not done,” I teased. “Where’s that little blue hat you like?”

“You want me to wear a hat?”

“Stop asking questions.”

She glared at me before pointing at the back of her door. I took the crocheted hat and placed it on Blaire’s head, fluffing her hair out around her shoulders. “I think you’re done.”

“No makeup?”

“That’s not you. This . . .” I smiled. “This is you. At least the cleaned-up version. Go look.”

Blaire went into the bathroom, staring at herself for about five minutes before she returned. “Okay. Let’s get this shit over with.”

Using her cell phone, I snapped several pictures of Blaire until she grew fidgety. “I think you got several to pick from. Want me to help?”

“No.” She sighed.

“He’s cute, Blaire. Seems sweet.”

Her eyes narrowed at me. “
Emma?
”

“So I may have looked at him on your computer. Just don’t worry, okay? You will be fine.” I gave her a hug and I swear she whispered
thank you
a
g
ainst my shoulder.