Twisted (13 page)

CHAPTER 24

A
idan and I pass the rest of the morning in silence. Neither of us works till later in the day. I focus all my energy on staying out of his way. I know he's doing the same.

I would have gone out, gone downtown or something, but it's snowing again. Since the big storm it seems as if it's hardly stopped for more than a few hours at a time. One mini storm after another, like aftershocks from an earthquake.

Aidan's pissed, offended, and I guess he has every right to be. No one likes getting the third degree, but he must know it's only because he's my brother and I care. I should probably go find him and clarify that, but I've never been very good at the olive-branch thing. I shove everything down inside, act like I'm right, even when I'm not. Even when I
know
I'm not.

I think I understand now why he didn't want to tell me about Marla. And the lock, well, he explained all that. It makes sense — the whole gate thing.

I should go apologize. My hand hovers on my bedroom door- knob, but I can't make myself turn it. I let my arm fall back to my side.

I hear him leave for work. He doesn't say goodbye.

Shortly after, I leave too and head off to the coffee shop.

“Hope you're ready for a giant snooze-fest,” Erin says when I come in the back. “It's been like death in here.”

“That's fine,” I say, hanging up my coat. “Sort of suits my mood.”

“Anything wrong?”

“Nah. Just in a bit of a funk.”

“You sure? You want me to kick somebody's ass?”

I tilt my head to one side. “Is this place a front for the mob or something? Liam's made me a similar offer.”

“No.” She laughs. “We're just very protective of our staff.”

“That's a good thing … I guess.”

“Damn right.” Erin takes off her apron and pulls on her jacket. “Molly's probably running late as usual. She should be here any minute. In the meantime, try not to die of boredom.”

“Okay, see ya tomorrow.”

“No, I'll be back later. I'm closing for Liam. Warn Molly so maybe for once she'll keep track of her cash.”

My heart drops, slips a little further down in my chest. “Oh? So, uh … Liam's not working tonight?”

Erin raises her eyebrows. “God, Lyssa. I wish you could see your face.”

“My face?” I scrunch up my nose. “Why?”

“You look like I just shot your dog. You're sooo obvious.”

“What are you talking about?” I mutter, knowing very well what she's talking about. “I don't even own a dog.” But she's already out the door and doesn't hear me.

After my shift, I trudge home, berating myself the whole way be- cause apparently it's “sooo obvious” I have a thing for Liam.

Talk about hopeless, stupid. I mean, he has a girlfriend. Yeah, she's a lying, cheating whore, but
he
doesn't know that. I blast out a mouthful of air. I really need school to start so I can make some new friends. My world is a little too small right now.

MY CLOCK RADIO GOES
off at 7:05 a.m. I picked up a shift for Molly. I didn't sleep great, so I'm regretting it now.

Aidan's door is shut. He's still asleep. I don't know when he got home last night, but I was up around quarter after two to go to the bathroom and his bed hadn't been slept in.

I decide to skip breakfast, not wanting to crash around the kitchen and risk waking him.

It snowed again overnight. The sidewalks are slushy, and my feet get soaked almost immediately. Trees line the street, all their branches coated with heavy, wet snow. Some branches are so weighted down they curve precariously over the power lines and almost touch the ground. One good gust of wind and it's lights out for the entire neighbourhood.

When I get to the coffee shop, I dig out Molly's key, but the service door's already unlocked. “Hello?” I holler and step inside.

Liam sticks his head around the corner. “Oh, hey. What are you doing here?”

My heart does a little somersault. “I picked up a shift. What are
you
doing here?”

He frowns. “If you're supposed to be the first one on, why would you say hello and come in when the door's already open? I could have been a burglar.”

I take my apron off the peg. “I actually did think of that.” I didn't. “But it was after I said hello. So what
are
you doing here?”

“I needed some breakfast before class. There is no food, I mean
no
food, at my place. Even the mice have given up and moved out.”

I smile. “I'm going to put in a batch of muffins. How much time you got?”

“I grabbed a couple of day olds. I'm good. Just didn't want my stomach grumbling all through the lecture. That would be … awkward.”

“Definitely.”

“So, um …” He pours himself a coffee. “You blew out of here like a bat out of hell the other day. Did what I said upset you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I was just tired. I wanted to get home.”

“I know you're worried about your brother,” he says.

I get out the mixer and don't respond.

“I think you're worried he might be schizophrenic.”

I still don't say anything.

“Where did you find the pill anyway?”

“Oh, just around.”

“Do you know if he's taking them?”

I plop a brick of butter into a bowl. My silence gives me away.

Liam rips the tops off a handful of sugar packs and dumps them into his mug. “No matter what he's suffering from, if he's not taking his medication, that could be serious, Lyssa.”

“He's fine,” I say. “Just fine.”

“Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, you know.”

“What?” I think for a second. “Ha, ha.” I smirk. “And I'm not in denial. Yeah, Aidan has issues, but we all do.”

“So you don't see any … red flags?”

“Red flags?”

“Well, like, is he different? You haven't seen him for a while, right? Is he acting different than you remember?”

I shrug and start measuring out the sugar. “It's been two years. I don't expect him to be the same person. People change.”

He nods, stirring his coffee.

“They do, you know,” I insist. “People. They change.”

“I know,” he says. “You're right.”

We're both quiet for a moment.

“Listen, Lyssa,” Liam starts. “I have an uncle who's schizophrenic.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. He was diagnosed when he was sixteen — more than twenty years ago. He leads a totally normal life, is a teacher, has a family. Every summer we go backpacking in Newfoundland. He's, like, my favourite person ever.”

“Oh, that's nice.”

He opens his mouth, but I turn on the mixer before he can say anything else.

He watches me with an exasperated look on his face and drums his fingers against his cup. When I finish creaming the butter and sugar, there's another stretch of quiet, then he says, “Uh, totally off the topic. I broke up with Rosalyn last night.”

My head jerks up. Did he just say what I think he did? Why is he telling
me
? I zero in on some random spot on the wall behind him. “Oh, yeah?” I ask casually.

“It was time,” he says. “The weird thing was, neither one of us seemed that … torn up about it. I think she knew it was time too.”

“Wow.” I can't think of anything else to say.

“There was no scene. We're not like enemies or anything.”

“That's good. I mean, that's the best you can hope for, right? Like in these sorts of situations. It makes things easier, cleaner, when there's no drama.” I marvel at how moronic I sound.

He smiles, probably
captivated
by my pep talk.

“Well, I better get to class,” he says, draining his coffee. “And if you want to talk about your brother, I'm always available.”

I give him a tiny nod. “Thanks.”

“Anything you need before I head out?”

“Just flip the sign to ‘open,' I guess.”

“Sure.” He goes to the door then stops, his hand on the push bar. “Listen,” he says, looking back over his shoulder. “It's cheap night tomorrow at the movies. I always try to go if I'm off. There's usually something half-decent to see. Interested?”

I stare at him like he's speaking a foreign language. Is he asking me on a date? I mentally shake my head. He just broke up with his girlfriend —
last night
.

“Umm …,” I say, stalling.

He raises his eyebrows.

He's just asking me to catch a movie. It probably means nothing, because who wants to go to the movies by themselves? I'll offer to pay. He's done so much for me. Yeah, that's what I'll do, I'll offer to pay.

He's waiting. There's a strange look on his face. He probably thinks I'm having a stroke. I'm sure twenty minutes have passed since he asked me about the movie.

“Yeah,” I croak, then clear my throat. “That sounds good.”

FROM THE FRONT PORCH
I can hear the phone ringing inside. I shift my takeout container of pad Thai to my other arm, unlock the door, and run to the kitchen. I don't make it in time.

I wait a second to see if the message light blinks. It doesn't. I reach for the receiver and press the back arrow to check the call display. It's a 351 number. River John. Home. But not my home. I know that number, though, I just can't place it. The phone starts ringing in my hand.

“Hello?”

“Lyssa? Is that you?”

I recognize the voice. “Yes, Mary. It's me.”

There's a few seconds of silence, then: “My God. He was right.”

“What? Who was right?”

“Vince. He said you'd end up with Aidan.”

“I'm just staying here while I go to school.” I don't know why I feel the need to explain myself to her.

“Is he there?” she asks curtly. “I need to talk to him.
Immediately
.”

It's like she's trying to brush me off. It brings back a flood of memories, her running Mom's funeral, her standing next to Vince greeting the mourners, her taking over Mom's kitchen as if she owned it. I don't think I'll tell her
immediately
that Aidan's not here. “How did you find him?” I say. “How did you get this number?”

“I looked it up in the phone book.”

Right. That's what I did
. Something occurs to me. “Have you known all along Aidan's been here in Halifax? Has Vince?”

She pauses, then: “Yes.”

“Have you talked to him before? Called here?”

“No. Vince forbade me to make any contact.”

“But —”

“Listen, Lyssa. I don't have time for this right now. Is Aidan in?” She's sounding extra curt now.

“No. Can I take a message?” I answer, syrupy sweet.

There's another pause. A sigh. A sniff.

“Vince is missing,” she says.

“Missing. What do you mean?”

“He went off to check on the cabin after the storm, like he always does. You know how he worries about the roof collapsing when there's a lot of snow.”

“Yeah, yeah. The hunting cabin. The love of his life. When was he supposed to be back?”

“Yesterday.”

No point beating around the bush. “He's just probably face down, passed out drunk,” I say.

She doesn't say anything. She's mad. I can feel it through the phone.

I realize that was a little harsh and make an effort to soften my tone. “You know, Mary, this is kind of what he does. He used to go on binges all the time, disappear for days.”

“He doesn't do that … as much, anymore.”

“Trust me. He'll turn up. He always does.”

There's a clattering sound — her earrings against the receiver. She always wears dangly earrings. “I know you don't give a flying fig about Vince, Lyssa. But he's Aidan's father, and I think he should know.”

“Fine. But know what? We don't really know anything yet.”

“I'm telling you, something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones.”

What does she want me to say? Does she want me to agree with her? “If you're that worried, you should call the police, or the search and rescue, or whatever.”