Life Before (15 page)

That’s my girl.

“The cop—quote—relieved himself in the field—endquote—before he got back to the radio. And I think both of us know what he relieved himself of. By the time he was back in his cruiser, Gary was long gone.”

I was so right not to trust the police. “Tell me again where this was.”

“County Road 421 in Columbiana.”

At least Gary was headed in the wrong direction. “That’s near where his mother lives!” I am a better sleuth than all of those cops. We haven’t seen Ethel Fife for years, but Mom saved everything. “Her address is in my mom’s red Christmas letter book.”

“They thought of that. Ethel is long dead.”

Damn.
My family is tumbling like dominoes.

“Natural causes,” Jill says. “Three years ago.”

That’s embarrassing. I haven’t seen Gary’s mom for years, but I should at least be able to place her on the right side of death’s door.

Okay. Okay, okay. “What’s the new plan?”

Jill’s sigh takes the wind out of my sails from hundreds of miles away.

“Jill?”

“There is no new plan, Xander. They’re looking as hard as they can. My dad comes home for a few hours every night and goes back in to work. He says he’s culpable. He was home that day, did you know? He was home napping and Gary was two doors away, and Dad did nothing.”

It sounds kind of bad, but nowhere near as bad as my having actually caused the whole thing. Or being three feet away when Gary killed Mom. “Tell him it’s not his fault.”

She’s quiet. “Well, he feels like it is. Last night I leaned on his guilty conscience enough that he let me go out with Tucker. Now that the police have made a huge production about you being gone, Dad feels like we’re safe. He
is
sort of getting suspicious about my recent appetite for Pizza Works, though. And he’s watching my email. He’s worried about you. We all are. Can’t you just come home?”

I wish. “I will when it’s all over, I promise.”

“You’re entering paranoid territory, Xander. No one can find you on a trail that is a week cold. I think you maybe need to let the conspiracy theory die.”

This from the champion of the conspiracy theory. She’s right, though:
Xander Fife
isn’t in Burlington, nor is his phone or anything else that would point Gary here.

Okay, but even as we assume Gary isn’t after me at this very moment, we also agree that I wouldn’t exactly be safe in Laurel, either. This is an endless loop. I might spend the rest of my life kicking around as Graham Bel, just because Gary is only halfheartedly interested in finding me.

We should have laid a trap for him instead.

I’m done talking about this. “Enough, Jill. I’m not coming home until I feel safe.”

“Sightseeing, right?”

“Actually, I’m trying to lay low and keep out of sight.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Xander I know.”

“I’m Graham, though, right? This isn’t exactly an adventure.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe that you’re not touring the Empire State Building or seeing the Statue of Liberty or playing soccer in the Central Park.”

“Central Park, no ‘the,’ and I promise I have done none of those things. I want to remain unseen. Like a shadow.”

“Or a ninja.”

“Yes, but less violent.”

Jill giggles and I ache for home. “You know, if you tell me where you are in New York, I could arrange an accidental meeting with Gretchen.”

I should have stayed in New York. Gretchen is just the slice of home I need right now. And she’s exactly what I want. “Jill, for many reasons, that won’t work. And don’t you dare tell her I’m in New York.”

“Oh-kay. So when should we talk? I have a new curfew—ten o’clock every day—so we can’t really move it later.”

“How about nine in two days—Wednesday?”

“How about afternoon instead?” She’s thinking of her mom’s working hours.

“Noon on the nose.”

“Sure. And remember there are other perils in the big city. Take care of yourself.”

“You take care too, Jilly.”

I haven’t called her Jilly in years. I wish we were nine again, marching through the woods behind my house and making pacts with neighbors and inviting half the class to sleepovers in her basement and freezing Tucker’s—Tucker!

“Wait—wait, Jill, wait!” I scream into the phone.

“Yeah?”

“You said your dad just let you go out with Tucker? What’s that all about?”

Her gargantuan pause discloses the entire story. Holy. Crap.

“We may be having a date or two, to test the waters.”

“Damn, Jill, you
lead
with that. You lead with my two best friends getting it on.”

Her laugh is another warm hug from the old normal. “Your priorities never cease to amaze me.”

“Wow. Well, keep me posted on that, too. No naked details though, okay?”

“Yeah.” She laughs again. “Xander, if we’re veering into this territory, I think you should also know that we saw Gretchen at the Mocha House with Evan.”

Damn.
Closing my eyes I envision Gretchen making out with smartass Evan, captain of the speech team. I guess that ship has sailed, and rightly so. Gretchen can’t just pine away for me while I’m stuck up here in mosquito country. It would be nice if she pined a little, though.

“That’s okay.”

Jill knows it’s not okay. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.”

“Jill, who knows how long I’ll be here? Gretchen deserves to be happy.”

“Maybe you should remove that particular phrase from your lexicon.”

“Duly noted.”

“Night, Xander.”

“Good night.”

My friends are marching forward while I’m walking in place. I guess I wouldn’t have been hanging out with Tucker and Jill this summer anyway. Perhaps they’ve been waiting years for me to be out of the picture.

I guess it makes sense. They do have tons in common, and they already know how to put up with each others’ pain-in-the-assedness. Maybe the tension between them was fueled with desire. Sexual tension. I can’t really think about that, but good for them, I guess.

Pushing the idea from my head, I pull my cap over my face, and tug Gretchen’s lip balm from my backpack. I want to go back to Tucker’s backyard party, when everything was fine and life was good and Gretchen was warm. I want to live there again.

If I’m going to live in Burlington much longer, I need cash. And a job.

Back at The Byte—because, really, I’m not eager to go back to the woods—I stuff my duffel under my chair and dig into the Internet.

It turns out job sites are for professional people who have degrees and work experience and stuff. I buy another hour on the web, but the extra time does me no good.

I am so screwed. I am so without a bed and so without a job. And so screwed.

And sleeping in the woods again.

And screwed.

T
WENTY-THREE

Tuesday morning, I have $56.87 in my wallet, which means I’ve already started digging into my Gretchen Sixty. Desperate times, I guess. Sixty bucks would be enough for two nights at the hostel but is nowhere near enough for one night anywhere else in Burlington.

Just as well, because two nights at the hostel would have left me with no money for food. There must be cheaper food in Burlington, but I don’t know where it is, and Curt’s is like a second home now.

“Back again?” Curt says. “I gotta recommend something else today. Man cannot live on Reubens alone! How about a meatball sandwich? Rolled the meatballs myself this morning.”

“Okay.” I hand over my cash, but it’s not okay. A Reuben is my thing. It’s the (very distant) next best thing to eating at home. And life in Laurel isn’t even that good! Jill and Tucker and Gretchen, yes, but my family life was total crap. And school is school wherever. Why am I so eager to go back when it wasn’t so great in the first place?

I am deep into pathetic, self-loathing territory when Curt delivers my sandwich. “So what was that all about the other day?”

My mind is as blank as my face.

“You? Peeking through the blinds.”

Oh. Right.
“Long story.”

Leaning in close, Curt whispers, “You playing the spy game with the rising seniors?”

What the hell does that mean? “I thought I saw someone I didn’t want to see. Someone I didn’t want to see
me
.”

A half-grin suggests Curt’s been there. “Some girl hunting you down?”

“Something like that.”

“Gotta mix it up! If you eat here every day, she’ll catch on.”

“I was staying at the hostel? Up the street? They sent me here and I love your Reubens.”

He hands over my plate. “Sorry about the meatballs.”

“No problem.” I try a bite to prove that it’s no problem, but the meatballs are huge, and already the sauce has permeated all but the very crustiest bits of the bun. It
is
a problem. With sauce all over my fingers, I shrug in a way that I hope conveys
no problem
.

“So, why you in town?” Curt asks.

“I needed a break. My family is sort of out of control.”

“Parents?”

“Yeah.”

Curt thinks he understands my emotional abyss. “It gets better. You’re what? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

I could pass for one of those.

“Tell me about it,” Curt says. “My parents were a nightmare when I was in high school. I moved out. They got divorced. Everything got better.”

He has an inkling, so I throw him a bone. “Divorce definitely helped.”

“Yeah. Helps everyone. My dad is the Curt who owns the deli, so now I work with him almost every day.”

The only guy old enough to be his dad is the balding dude who knows everyone. “The grumpy guy?”

“You’ve seen him? Yeah. So I work with him. Mom moved in with me after the divorce. It’s complicated, but honestly? It’s a lot easier. It will get easier for you, too. How long can you stay away?”

“Not sure.” That’s the truth. “I’m going to, uh, Tulane University? In the fall?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s in New Orleans.”

Curt’s eyes shine at the very idea. “Rockin’. I’ve been to Mardi Gras twice. Nice way to lose yourself. Complete with lots and lots of girls. You won’t even remember whatsherface who was chasing you Sunday.”

It takes me a minute to catch his drift. I already forgot I had let him believe a girl was after me.

Curt chuckles. “Here I am thinking this summer is the hottest ever, and it’s only June! But you’re headed into the hottest, steamiest place on the face of the earth.”

“Yep. And I can hardly wait.”

We’re swapping stories now, or Curt is filling me up with his. Why does everyone go straight to Mardi Gras? There are fifty-one other weeks in a New Orleans year, but everyone wants to talk about the party.

Curt has a lot of experience with the party. “I’m jealous, man. How long you kicking around here?”

“I might be going back home as early as tomorrow. I am really, really missing my friends right now. You know, summer and all that. Tulane doesn’t start until August.”

“Well, I hope you can endure the family life. Know what really helped me? Moved out of their house at eighteen. When I really, really didn’t need them anymore, I felt better about being around them. When Mom moved in with me, it was on my terms, and I know I can take care of her.”

Well, there’s that.

The old, balding Curt calls my Curt into the kitchen.

“Hey, sorry I scared you off the Reuben if that’s your last sandwich from us. If you stick around, come on back, okay?”

“You got it.”

Curt hustles back to the kitchen and I feel … fine. I have just divulged about as much as I am willing to share, without having to lie or use a lawyer’s answer.

On some level, Curt gets it. I can almost breathe again. We have a connection. Maybe Curt could give me a job? I need one off the record. Mom used to call it being paid under the table, but you can’t exactly Google for that. If Curt has work that needs to be done and I’m right here …

I’ve never started this kind of conversation. On Curt’s next trip through the dining room, I flag him down. “So, Curt, it seems like you and your dad are crazy busy back there.”

“Luck of the draw, I guess. Everyone wanted the same two weeks off. No big deal. Things’ll slow down soon.”

“Do you need help now?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

Wrong answer. I try another tack. “I meant to ask whether you need employees? If I stick around Burlington a bit longer, I could use a job.”

He studies the ceiling so long that I glance up to be sure nothing’s written up there. “You’d have to ask my dad about that. He’s in a mood today. Let me talk to him. We can always use a hand for a few things, particularly with a couple of our guys on vacation. Come back after the dinner rush?”

“Awesome. That would be awesome. I will do anything you need. Wash dishes, clear tables, chop meat, whatever.”

“Slow down, man. Let me talk to him and I’ll let you know.”

I actually shake his hand like I’m a businessman or something. He doesn’t mind.

I’m full of courage today. “Curt? One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any idea where I can stay on the cheap? The hostel girls—the hostile girls! Ha!—they threw me out on my ear.”

“Not these days. Month ago, you could have found a thousand kids around here’d let you sleep on their dorm floors for a little beer money. Not now. Place is a friggin’ resort. B&Bs are full and tourists have taken over.”

“Yeah.”

He eyes me again, in an almost fatherly way. “I can ask around if you want.”

“Yes! Thanks.”

He pulls out his notepad. “Man, I didn’t know things were that dire. Tell you what, I’ll talk to some friends and see whether anyone has a room or something, okay? I’ll call you if anything turns up.”

My admission that I don’t have a phone ushers in a lot of confusion; Curt has seen me with Jill’s iPod, which looks a lot like a phone. Also, he’s dubious about anyone who doesn’t have a phone.

We compromise: I’ll check in with him tonight, about the job
and
the bed.

“Thanks. Thanks, Curt.”

He nods and starts bussing tables.

On my way to the library, I’m floating, even under the weight of my duffel. Curt is like a guardian angel or something: cheap room to rent and a job off the books? Things are turning around.