The Comeback Kiss (2 page)

“
No.”
Tessa finally willed her legs to m
ove forward. “
It
’
s not. Go to school.”

“
No way,”
Izzy said. “
I want to
—”

“
School,”
Tessa said, her voice hard. “
Now.”

Izzy muttered some complaints, hauled her backpack up over her shoulder, and marched off in the direction of the school. Tessa watched unt
il her sister was out of sight, then slowly moved forward. Her feet felt strange beneath her, unconnected to either her legs or the ground, just numbly carrying her to the thing she was absolutely sure could not possibly be parked in front of her house.

An
d yet. There it was. Boxy. Yellow. Covered with flowers she
’
d painted herself. She rubbed at her eyes and took a step closer, focusing on the driver
’
s-side door. Two daisies, pink in the centers with orange petals, the stems wound together with the initia
l
s D.F. and T.S. spelled out discreetly in their twirly waves. She moved closer, opened the door, and glanced around the empty interior, then froze when she saw the keys dangling from the ignition. She slumped down into the front seat and pulled them out,
h
er heart pounding as she held the key chain up in the waxing morning light.

It was the same key chain she
’
d had in high school, a simple silver rectangle with “
Tessa”
engraved in the center. On the day she got the car, Finn had given her that key chain.

An
d then, eight months later, he
’
d taken it back.

Which led to the question
—
who had returned it?

Finn.

Her heart rate revved up, and she instantly tamped it down. She cared more about the car than Finn. It was the car she had missed all these years, the car
she had wanted returned to her. And now that it was here ...

She twirled the keys in her hand, her teenage years coming back to her in flashes. Laughing with Finn, kissing Finn, sneaking away with Finn, stealing the town bell with
—

Oh. Crap.
She gasped and
gripped the steering wheel tightly in her hands as, for the second time that morning, the weight of a decade
’
s worth of lies fell down on her. Finn couldn
’
t be back. He wasn
’
t supposed to come back. Ever. She
’
d been banking on it, counting on it, and if
s
he
’
d miscalculated, it would ruin everything.

Tessa twisted around, glancing in the backseat for some evidence of what had happened, hoping against all hope that maybe the police had left a note explaining that they had confiscated and returned it, or that
there was a fairy godmother sitting in the back with a wand at the ready. There was nothing except a snow brash and an empty Tic Tac container. Her heart pounded in erratic rhythms as her eyes darted about, finally catching on something lying on the head
r
est behind her. She reached up and plucked it off, and even in the faint morning light, she knew exactly what she was seeing.

One short red hair, slightly stiff with styling gel. “
Well,”
she said finally. “
Shit.”

***

“
Hey, Babs.”
Dermot Finnegan huddled
in an alley, leaning against the brick wall of Lucy
’
s Lake
’
s only movie theater as he held his cell phone to his ear, feeling like a criminal even though he hadn
’
t done anything illegal yet that day. “
Where
’
s my car?”

“
Finn?”
A yawn stretched through the p
hone. “
Is that you?”

“
Yeah, Babs, it
’
s me. Where
’
s my car?”

“
Goodness,”
she said. “
What time is it?”

Finn glanced over his shoulder at the street behind him. It was still empty, for now. He tugged his brown knit hat down over his ears and forehead. “
I have
no idea, but the sky
’
s kinda pink. I hear it
’
s called sunrise. It
’
s really not as great as they make it out in the movies. Now where
’
s my car?”

“
What car?”

Finn rubbed his fingers over his eyes and tried to keep his voice even. “
The car you said would be
here.”

“
Oh,”
she said, her voice gaining strength. “
That
’
s tomorrow.”

Finn went still. “
Gee. You don
’
t say. Because the eight thousand times we talked about it last week, I could have sworn you said it was today.”

“
Hmmm, really?”
He heard the rustle of pap
ers in the background. “
See? I
’
ve got it right here.
Rental car. Max
’
s Diner, Lucy
’
s Lake, Vermont. Tuesday, February 10.
That
’
s tomorrow.”

Finn raised his eyes skyward. “
Beg to differ, crumb cake. Today
’
s Tuesday, but it
’
s the ninth. Now, think. When you
made the arrangements, did you say Tuesday or the tenth?”

Finn already knew the answer. For fifteen months now, he
’
d been working
—
for lack of a better word
—
for Babs Wiley McGregor, the slightly off-center widow of Manhattan real estate king Bryson McGregor
. He should have known this wouldn
’
t go smoothly. Things involving Babs, no matter how tangentially, rarely did. But getting paid to do odd little “
favors”
for Babs
’
s nutty rich friends beat petty bird thieving, his previous occupation, by a country mile.
As of yet, none of Babs
’
s insane friends had bitten him, crapped on him, or woken him up in the middle of the night with incessant chirping.

“
I said the ninth. And I
’
m almost certain... wait, my calendar
’
s right here...”
There was a pause. “
Oh. Whoops.”

Fi
nn heard voices on the street behind him and slid deeper into the alley, pushing himself flat against the wall.

“
I need that car, Babs. Now. There
’
s no way I
’
m making it to Boston by tonight if I have to hitch.”

“
Oh, that
’
s okay,”
Babs said. “
Now that I
’
m
looking at my calendar, I realize that the favor isn
’
t until Saturday night anyway. Isn
’
t that funny?”

Finn glanced out at the street. A woman huddled in a white coat passed by, leaving a thick trail of perfume in her wake. Finn huddled flat against the br
ick wall; the woman passed without noticing him. A lucky break, but every moment he spent in Lucy
’
s Lake made it that much more likely he
’
d be spotted, and that was not part of the plan.

“
No,”
Finn said. “
Not funny unless public hangings are your brand of
comedy. People in this town don
’
t like me much.”

“
Oh, tosh,”
Babs said. “
What
’
s not to like? I think you
’
re absolutely charming.”

“
No argument,”
Finn said. “
But these people haven
’
t seen me since I was a teenager, and I was a little”—
he paused, searching f
or the right adjective to describe himself in high school
—“
unruly
back then.”

“
Everybody was unruly as a teenager. When Dana was in high school
—”

“
I blew up the nativity scene in front of the church using half a pound of black powder and a homemade mortar,
”
Finn said. Although that was among the least of his youthful infractions, he figured it trumped anything Babs
’
s daughter had ever even thought about doing.

Babs paused. “
Well, lots of kids
—”

“
During the outdoor Christmas Eve vigil.”

“
Ooh,”
Babs gushed, d
rawing from her endless supply of fierce loyalty. “
Like fireworks. Must have been lovely.”

“
Reverend Diggs was a Vietnam vet,”
Finn said. “
He dove to the ground, knocking over the school librarian, whose flaming candle flew out of her hand and landed on t
he mayor
’
s toupee. Do I need to keep going?”

“
I don
’
t think so.”
Babs paused. “
Dana set a priest on fire once, did I ever tell you about that?”

“
No, but it sounds like a great story.”
Finn glanced over his shoulder again. “
Look, people in small towns like
this are long on memory and short on forgiveness, and if the term
‘
lynch mob
’
means anything to you, you
’
ll get me a car. Now.”

Babs sighed. “
I
’
ll try. But it
’
s not like you
’
re in the hub of civilization. Why can
’
t you just wait it out until tomorrow? I
’
m
sure it
’
s not as bad as you think.”

“
Babs
—”

“
Okay, okay. I
’
ll make some calls and see what I can do. But I do think you
’
re overreacting, Dermot.”

“
Point of information: calling me Dermot does nothing to endear you to me right now.”

“
You really should go se
e your family,”
Babs went on, ignoring him. “
You
’
ve got five whole days and nothing to do. I
’
m sure they
’
d be happy to see you.”

Finn opened his mouth to speak, then paused as realization sank in. “
Hey. Babs. Just to soothe my curiosity
—
you didn
’
t do this
on purpose, did you?”

Her voice rose half an octave and dripped innocence. “
Do what, dear?”

“
Hey, and there
’
s my answer,”
he said, running one gloved hand over his head. “
Look. I told you. I don
’
t wanna see them, and they don
’
t want to see me. I came here
to do one thing, and I did it, and now I need to get out of here.”

“
Oh! I
’
ve got a beep,”
Babs said suddenly, although Finn heard no interruption on the line. “
It
’
s Dana. I
’
ll be in touch.”

“
Get me that car!”
Finn said quickly before Babs disconnected the
call. He flipped his cell shut and tucked it into his pocket, then let out a grating chuckle.

He was an idiot. He knew when he started on this whole thing that it was a bad idea. It had been a bad idea to go back to Westchester and drive by the house of t
he old lady he
’
d sold the Thing to. It had been a bad idea to hit the doorbell, and pay twice the car
’
s value to a woman who probably wouldn
’
t have noticed if he had just hot-wired it and took it straight from her driveway.