Stealing Heaven (8 page)

I laugh before I can stop myself. He grins at me. "I was
surprised to see you last night, you know. I didn't figure you for a
yacht-club-party kind of girl."

"How would you know?"

"What, you don't think I get invited to yacht club
parties?" ' -

I look at him.

"Yeah, okay, I don't. It's just that you just seem too-"

"What?" I say, tensing, aware that I'm talking to a cop.
And cute or not, that's something I really shouldn't be doing.

"Nice. But I don't know why I was thinking that.".

"Yeah. Great seeing you again." I turn back around. The
guy with the screaming kids has finally reached the counter.

"Okay," he says. "Truth? You're like, too alive for
those kind of parties. There's something about you. A spark."

I turn back around. My insides are doing that fluttery thing
again. "A spark?"

"Yeah."

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I stare at him, unsure of what to say.

"Never mind," he says, blushing a little. "It's
early. I haven't had my soda yet."

"What?"

"You know. Soda. Bubbles, lots of sugar to rot your teeth.
Great stuff."

"You drink soda in the morning?"

"Now you sound like my dentist."

"It's just--well, I do too. But the first time I came in here
and asked for one they--"

"Made you take the walk of shame, right?"

"The what?"

"You know, over to the case." He points to the corner.
"Asking you if you want a glass of milk on your way there. The
usual."

I laugh. "Walk of shame? Yeah, I had to do that."

"What about the milk? They did ask you if you wanted milk
instead, right?"

I shake my head.

"Ruthie," he calls out, and an older woman behind the
counter turns around. "I hope you know I have proof you're picking on me.
I was just talking to Hortense here, and she doesn't get hassled about milk
when she orders soda."

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I feel my face turn red as everyone--and I mean everyone--turns to
look at us. And you know the worst part? Not one person says "Hortense?
That's such an obviously fake name."

Oh God, I look like a Hortense. I glance over at him. "Do you
pick on everyone like this?"

"What?" he says. "Pick on? Ruthie loves me. Don't
you, Ruthie?"

"Like the plague," Ruthie says. "What happened to
your face?"

"Broke up a bar fight."

Ruthie laughs.

"What? I could have."

"Sure," Ruthie says, still laughing, and finally it's my
turn at the counter.

"You don't want that one," Ruthie tells me as I'm
pointing at the cream-filled donuts. "You want this one instead."

"I really would rather have--"

"Trust me," she says. "And you," she tells
Greg, "have got to stop trying to help Joanie out. She was in here earlier
waving her hands around and worrying you'd broken your jaw getting hit with
that stupid so-called portable steam tray."

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"Hey, don't knock Joanie. She makes a mean lobster
roll."

"Who do you think taught her how to do that? She's my daughter
and I love her, but these fancy parties she's trying to do for the summer
people after being a caterer for a month and a half? She's going to give
herself a heart attack."

"She's not doing so bad," he says. "Really, Ruthie,
she isn't. Last night, the whole problem was traffic. That's all. Tell her not
to worry, okay? And don't you worry either."

"I don't worry. I'm too busy making these goddamned
donuts."

"Right, right. I forgot. I just meant that if you were
thinking about worrying, you didn't need to."

Ruthie waves a hand at him and grumbles something under her
breath, but I see her smile as she turns away.

When I try to pay for my donuts Greg won't let me, tells the girl
working behind the counter that no, he owes me and the last time he didn't pay
up I clocked him one.

"See?" he says, showing her his jaw.

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She laughs and takes the twenty he hands over, clearly thinking
he's the greatest thing ever. I decide I don't like her and turn away. I hope
Ruthie didn't give me some sort of weird flavored cream donut. I hate the ones
with the "special" fillings.

"Don't forget your soda," the girl calls out.

Crap, the soda. I turn back around, head toward the case. Greg is
already there, holding two cans.

"Here," he says, and holds one out to me.

"Maybe I don't want that. Maybe I want--" The only other
kind of soda they have is diet. Ick. Oh well. "A diet." *

"Yeah, the look of distaste on your face really has me
convinced. Besides, have you seen what's in the stuff? It'll preserve you from
the inside out."

"That's what I always tell my mother."

"Oh yeah?" He waves the soda at me.

Damn. If Mom were here she'd be so pissed at me. I'm not supposed
to mention I even have a mother. "Like I can drink that now. Maybe if you
shake it a little more it'll explode before I even get a chance to open
it."

"Hey, where's your sense of adventure?"

"In the car."

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He laughs, then hands me the unshaken can. "Okay, here you
go."

"Thanks." I turn to leave.

"Hey, do you--can you stay for a while?"

"What? Why?"

"Do you know you almost always answer a question with another
question?"

"Is that a problem?"

He grins. "No. I'm just saying, that's all. It's actually
very interesting." He sits down at a table, motions at the seat across
from him. "You want to sit down?"

"With you?"

"And again with the questions. Yeah, with me. You should give
me a chance. I've been told I grow on people."

"What, like fungus?"

He laughs. "Something like that."

"Hey, Hortense," Ruthie calls out. "Sit down and
eat with the poor boy already, will you? I win a buck if you do."

"Ruthie," Greg says, "I knew there was a reason why
I love you. The continual public humiliation is such a joy, really."

"Hey, at least I bet on you."

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"That's true. Who bet against me?"

Ruthie looks at her coworkers. The three other women making donuts
raise their hands.

"Oh, come on," he says, "I'm not that--oh, forget
it." He looks at me. "I don't suppose you're willing to let poor
Ruthie win a buck."

I look at Ruthie and then back at him. I sit down. Ruthie grins,
and I watch her collect her money.

"See, she's not so bad," he says, and then, pitching his
voice a little louder, "for a battle-axe."

"Don't think I won't come over there and kick your ass,"
Ruthie says. "And tell your mother she needs to call Stan about the
reunion."

"I'm not a messenger service," he says.

Ruthie glares at him.

He grins at her. "I'll tell her, I promise."

"You've lived here forever, haven't you?" Task,
fascinated. I've never known someone who's lived in one place their whole life.

"No," he says, surprised. "Why would you--oh,
because of Ruthie? She's my mom's cousin and she has lived here forever. I
moved here about a year ago."

"Because you wanted to be a cop?"

"Yeah. That and if I worked here I'd get to live

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near the beach. I like the ocean."

"Why?"

"I knew you'd go back to the questions. What do you mean,
why? Who doesn't like the ocean?"

"It's just water."

"So then why are you living here?"

"You have to like the ocean in order to live here?"

"You know, one of these days we're going to have an actual
conversation."

He grins at me, and I find myself grinning back. "I can just
imagine how thrilling that would be."

"See, progress already! That wasn't even a question. In
fact--oh hell. It's after nine? Damn."

After nine? I look around and sure enough, the donut-shaped clock
on the wall says it is. Mom is going to be mad. Shit. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, me too," he says. "I'm gonna be late for
work. But hey, it was really nice running into you."

I look at him. My heart is suddenly pounding really hard.

"No chance of getting that in reply, is there?" he asks.

"Nope," I say, and hope my voice sounds normal.
"But thanks for the donuts. And the soda."

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"Anytime. I mean, I am still waiting for a name, you
know."

"Bye."

"Hey, was that a smile?"

Yes. "No."

"Sorry, my mistake. It was a definite frown. Pretty,
though."

I look at him. He shrugs and then stands up. "What? It
is."

He thinks I have a pretty smile. "I--uh--look, thanks for the
food, okay? But I'm not--you're just--I can't--"

"Oh. Is it because--I saw you with that guy last night. Are
you two...together?"

Yes. That's what I should say. Instead I shake my head.

"Oh," he says, and grins. "That's nice to know.
Maybe-"

"I really do have to go," I tell him. I feel weird. I
want him to keep talking. I'm very sure that I shouldn't.

"Right," he says, and grins at me, a crooked sad little
smile. "Me too. I'll see you around, Hortense."

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I watch him leave. I like talking to him. I really do. But he's a
cop.

"A cop," I mutter to myself, and get up. I have to
remember that. I drive back to the house, back to Mom and everything that's
familiar.

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12

Morn's gone when I get back, a scribbled note telling me she'll
see me later. There's nothing angry in it, nothing about missing

donuts or anything, and I know that means she left soon after I
did, probably forgetting I was out picking up something for her.

Upstairs I find one of those free real estate guides lying on her
bed, a red circle around one of the entries. She must have seen it and-decided
to pay Harold a visit. I sit down and read the whole thing: house for rent, two
bedrooms, water view, right by an ocean inlet, blah blah blah. The person
listed as contact is--yep, that's right, Harold. I bet we'll be moving real soon.
'

I pack up my things and most of Mom's. Under the pile of maps
she's been working with is a piece

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of paper with a list of names on it. Maid to Order, Merry Maids,
that sort of thing. I can guess what's coming. We've never done anything
exactly like it before, but going in as a maid to snag the silver is a good
option, a smart one. I can't think of any reason why it wouldn't work.

This means in a few days Sydney will be gone and someone else will
take her place. We won't need any more information and I'll become someone who
will do--well, whatever Mom tells me to. Someone who won't have time for the
beach, for hanging out. It's for the best and I know it. I can't keep
talking--really talking--to someone I'm going to steal from. I should be able
to but I just... I don't like how it makes me feel.

I leave the house, go for a walk. I head toward the public beach
but don't go there. Instead I stop at a convenience store at the beginning of
the tourist strip and grab a bottle of water.

"Sydney?"

"Allison?" What is she doing here?

"Hey!" She grins. "I didn't expect to see
you."

"Same here."

"I'm just--well"--she lowers her voice--"I

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thought Brad might, I don't know, be here. I know it's dumb but he
lives nearby, so ...." She blushes. "How about you?"

"Just out for a walk."

"Everything okay? You look a little--"

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

I nod.

"You know what?" she says. "You should totally come
to my house for dinner."

"What?" Dinner? Inside the Donaldson house? That would
make Mom's year.

"It'll be fun. Well, not like wild party fun or anything. But
you get to watch my dad try to light the grill, which is always
hysterical."

"I--well, the thing is, I--" I can almost hear Mom
hissing "Go!" in my ear.

"Filled up on water?" Allison laughs. "Besides, you
never did tell me where you got your dress."

"Okay, I'll come." I tell myself I'm going because I
have to, because Mom would want me to. But I'm not. I'm not going because of
Mom. I'm going because I want to. I'm going because I want to have dinner with a
friend. I've never done that before.