Burn Girl (17 page)

The lies were also part of our Saturday ritual. I wouldn't see her again until Sunday afternoon at the earliest, and we both knew it.

I could barely look at the mask she'd painted over my face. Deep plum and lavender shadow swept from my eyelids to my brows like butterfly wings. The powder blush wouldn't adhere to my scar, but the other cheek had a slash of color from my hairline to the edge of my mouth. Spidery blue lashes framed a sadness Maybelline couldn't hide.

“You're a real looker, Arlie. Especially when your hair covers your scar. You need to be careful around boys.”

She was like a broken record, warning me about this over and over. The wrong kind of boys would try to take advantage of me because they'd assume no one else would want to date me. I'd fall into casual sex as a way to build my self-esteem. She'd described her own playbook, not mine.

“Don't worry about me,” I said.

“I'm your mother. I'm supposed to worry.”

I turned from her to put the liners and shadows and polishes in the tiny compartments of the tackle box—my mother's jewels, stowed away for safekeeping.

As she dressed, I could barely stand to look at her emaciated body. She hadn't been good to it, and it had returned the favor. Her tightest jeans sagged around her hips, and the filmy black blouse failed to hide the sharp edges of her collarbone.

“If you won't be going out, I thought I'd borrow your boots.” She pulled on one, then the other without waiting for me to say it was okay. The exertion caused audible wheezes.

“I'm going to take a shower, Mom.” I kissed her cheek and then checked to make sure I hadn't left lipstick behind. “Be careful.”

I closed the bathroom door behind me and leaned into it, eyes closed. Her knock came only a second later.

“Arlie? About that money …”

CHAPTER 21

It was well past midnight when a tiny chirp and a blinking red light alerted me to a text message. Mo was a night owl but respected that I wasn't. A diffuse, half-asleep panic roused me. I didn't turn on the lamp so Frank wouldn't see the light peeking out from under my door.

The message wasn't from Mo. When she gave me Cody's cell phone number earlier in the evening, she failed to mention she'd also given him mine.

Hoping we can talk tomorrow, Cody texted.

When the phone chirped again in my hand, I almost bounced from the bed.

I mean today, he added.

If I didn't answer, maybe he'd just assume I was asleep or that my phone wasn't charged. Mo had taken it upon herself to explain to Cody why she thought I'd acted so strangely when he tried to touch my face. I had nothing to lose in talking to him. It wouldn't be easy, but I wouldn't die from being honest. And if I botched things up royally, it's not as if I'd had him to begin with.

I'd like that, I texted back. How about during lunch?

The few seconds it took him to answer felt like an eternity.

On campus or off?

Off, I texted back immediately although I hadn't formulated any sort of plan. Privacy from student busybodies was my main concern. That Cody even proposed off-campus as an option made me think he felt similarly.

Great. Hope I didn't wake you. See you tomorrow.

I didn't bother to answer because I didn't want an extended text session with a volley of good nights and smiley faces.

I did, however, text Mo. Need to borrow your car at lunch. Okay?

Her response was immediate, as I expected. You don't have a license. Why are you up this late?

I know how to drive. Need to talk to Cody and want to do it away from DHS.

Hells to the yes then, but only if I get deets after. Now go to sleep.

Sleep wasn't going to happen for too many reasons to count.

The impact of Frank's knuckles on the plastic accordion door to my room made more of a creaking sound than a full-fledged knock. I appreciated his gentle attempt to ease me from sleep rather than just shouting for me to get my butt in the shower.

I groaned into my pillow to let him know I'd heard him. My foggy head told me I'd dozed, but not for long. I was physically wiped out. Too much emotion followed by a chaser of adrenaline.

“Arlie? You up?”

“I said yes.”

“That pitiful moan didn't sound like a yes to me.” Frank was rarely this persistent, but then again, most mornings I didn't sleep in so late. “I'd like for us to go to the police station this morning. I'll write you a note for school.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and rested my elbows on my knees.
Lloyd
. I didn't want to think about my stepfather. I wanted to think about Cody. Well, not really. My nerves could've used a break from both stressors, but now that didn't seem likely.

“I'll be out in a minute.”

The orange plastic chairs in the police-department waiting area must have been standard issue from the official law-enforcement furnishings catalog. I'd seen identical ones at Albuquerque police stations—cold and uncomfortable and clipped together at their metal bases. Mom had dragged me along on more than a few occasions when she had to bail out Lloyd for some minor offense.

I'd sit on those chairs, feet dangling. Even though I was only five or six years old, I feared they would take one look at Mom and consider her unfit to be a parent. What did they think of her greasy hair and crumbling teeth, her unwashed clothes? Sometimes, I'd ask her to wear a coat even if it wasn't cold outside. Or I'd comb her hair on the ride over to the police station or jail.

“You okay?” Frank patted my thigh. “You were a thousand miles away.”

“I'm fine. I just don't want to miss too much school.”

“That's funny,” he said. “Most kids would kill for a day off.”

“I have something important to do at lunch, so let's make this quick.”

“What could be more important than this?” Frank seemed agitated so I let it drop, but yes, in this instance, Cody was definitely more important than Lloyd. Mo was right. I wasn't about to let my asshole stepfather take up this much space in my mind or keep me from being happy.

An officer finally emerged from behind a heavy steel door. He introduced himself as Officer Chris Daugherty and shook Frank's hand. I put mine in my pockets before he could extend a hand to me.

“We're glad you called, Mr. Betts. I've asked a detective to meet with us,” the officer said. “The preliminary info you gave us over the phone has raised some alarms.”

I didn't know exactly what Frank had told them, but the word “alarms” had my attention.

Detective Monroe's desk was bare, although his credenza and the tops of two file cabinets were crowded with bulging files set so precariously that a door slam could knock them over.

“We ran the New Mexico plate you gave us,” Monroe said. “The guy it's registered to said he loaned his car to an acquaintance named Lloyd Hanson several days ago and hasn't heard from him since.”

“Because he's still here,” I mumbled.

“Mr. Betts, you gave Officer Daugherty a physical description, correct?”

“Yeah, but it wasn't much. I chased him off my property pretty fast.” Frank looked as if he'd failed me.

“Then perhaps your niece could give us some details about her stepfather.”

“Yoo-hoo. I'm sitting right here so you can talk directly to me,” I said. “And the last time I saw him was when his meth lab exploded and killed my friend Rosa and gave me this lovely facial.”

Officer Daugherty cleared his throat and grinned ever so slightly. I liked him much more than Monroe.

“But he followed you just a couple of days ago. Did you see anything then?”

“There was nothing to see,” I said. “The car windows were too dark.”

Monroe sighed heavily as if I hadn't tried hard enough.

“I understand it's been a number of years since you saw him, but could you tell us what you can remember?” Office Daugherty took a gentler tone. “Any distinguishing marks?”

I told them what Frank had already told them. I remembered my stepfather as tall and thin. He almost always had his hair in a ponytail. And he had fancy script letters tattooed across his chest.

“And you don't know what the tattoo said?” Monroe asked.

“I already told you no. It's not like I saw his chest that often.”

Frank leaned in and whispered, “They're trying to help.”

“How long had your parents been together?” Monroe continued, ignoring Frank's plea for me to behave, but the longer I sat there, the angrier I became at Lloyd for reentering my life.

“Lloyd wasn't my parent, but he'd always been around … as long as I can remember. They got married when I was seven.”

“And your biological father?”

“I don't know anything about him.” Mom made sure of that. She'd deflected every question I'd thrown at her over the years and had instructed her friends not to talk about him. Maybe she thought I'd desert her and try to find him.

“Can you remember anything else about Mr. Hanson? His friends or hangouts?” Monroe scribbled in his notebook instead of looking at me.

“I was only nine when the accident happened. I don't remember much about that part of my life.”

“Uh-huh.” He took an awful lot of notes even though I said very little. Still no eye contact.

“I really have to get to school now. Is that all you need?”

“We've verified the warrant on Mr. Hanson,” Monroe said. “He's wanted for three counts of manslaughter in addition to drug-trafficking charges. We're taking this seriously, Miss Betts.”

Three
counts of manslaughter. That meant his two cooking buddies died in addition to Rosa. How did Lloyd survive? I was alive because Rosa had followed me back to the apartment … because she'd scooped me up and held me like a swaddled child, pressed tightly against her chest. My sopping-wet hair had covered most of my face and neck. She'd saved my life in two ways that day—by washing my hair and then by being brave enough to come after me despite Lloyd's threats. I shivered to think that Rosa's daughters and grandchildren blamed me.

The detective's assurances that Frank and I would be safe fell on deaf ears. No amount of police surveillance could deter Lloyd. He'd avoided the law for close to eight years. And he'd been brazen enough to walk straight up to Frank and demand to see me.

Lloyd wasn't hiding anymore. And there had to be a damn good reason for it.

The rest of the morning crept by at an excruciating pace, leaving me plenty of time to mull over excuses not to meet Cody during our lunch break, but at 11:45 a.m., he was waiting for me at my locker. He grabbed my elbow and we made our way down the hall and to the parking lot. A stealthy exit appeared unlikely, especially since I was leading one of the handsomest guys in school to my best friend's car.

“You're lucky you can't see all these assholes staring,” I said.

Cody's pace slowed just slightly, but enough to wake me to the fact that I'd just put my foot in my mouth.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean you're lucky to be blind,” I stammered.

“No offense taken,” he said. “But I don't care who sees us. Why do you?”

“Almost to Mo's car,” I said. “Just a few more steps.”

I opened the passenger-side door to let him in and then ran around to the driver's side.

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Cody pressed.

“God, no,” I said. “It's just that I don't want people giving you a lot of grief for hanging around with me.”

His easy laugh offended me.

“It's not funny,” I said.

“No, not funny. Just stupid. Why would I care what people think? I want to be with you. It's nobody's business.”

The ringing in my head drowned out all his words except, “I want to be with you.” Did he mean that literally, as in be with me in this car at this moment? Or be with me as in boyfriend-girlfriend?

I struggled to insert the key in the ignition. I winced to think the jingling of the keys gave away my nerves.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

I hadn't thought that far ahead, but I needed time to clear my head after the meeting at the police station. This hour was for Cody alone. I drove down El Camino.

“You turned left out of the parking lot, so I can tell we're headed south. Are you kidnapping me and taking me to Albuquerque?”

“Funny, but no. We're going to Santa Rita Park. Won't be too cold for you?”

“Not a bit,” he said.

When we arrived, Cody waited by the passenger side of the car until I could offer my elbow. He slipped his hand in the crook of my arm and I led him to the paved trail that ran parallel to the Animas River. The trail was busy with cyclists, runners, and walkers—but definitely not other high-school students, who stayed closer to campus.

“You don't have to be nervous,” he said.

“I'm not. Why would I be?”
Charming, Arlie. Start out on the defensive
.

“Things didn't exactly end on a high note for us at the dance.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I spotted a bench and suggested we sit. Cody stretched his long legs. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and put his hands in his pockets. Despite the chill in the air, I perspired profusely. I unwound my scarf and wiped the back of my neck. Had I forgotten my deodorant in my rush to get to the police station? Without being able to taste, I didn't even know if I had bad breath.
Breathe, Arlie
.

“Mo explained—” he began.

“Mo shouldn't have explained,” I interrupted him. “She means well, but she can't know exactly how I feel.”

“About your scar?”

“About everything.”

I stared at the muddy river. Snowmelt from the mountains had churned up the river floor. In six weeks or so, the river would be at its peak flow, and rafters and kayakers would clamber into their wet suits to take advantage. I'd always wanted to try rafting, but Mom and I couldn't justify the expense. Maybe Frank and I could try this year.