Twisted (14 page)

“They won't do anything,” she snaps. “He hasn't been missing long enough.”

“Okay then …” So much for trying to offer advice.

“It's dark now,” she continues. “First thing in the morning I'm sending Tommy and Brian out to look for him.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Good luck then.” I want to get off the phone. My pad Thai's getting cold.

“Could you please track Aidan down and tell him, tell him his father's missing?”

“He's at work. I'm not bothering him about … this.” I want to say, “Because it's hardly an emergency,” but instead I say, “Because it might upset him and there's nothing he can do about it right now anyway. I'll let him know when he gets home.” I leave out that he won't be home until well after midnight.

“Fine. Thank you for your
help
,” she says sarcastically.

Rolling my eyes, I hang up the phone.

I stick my pad Thai in the microwave. As I wait for the beep I think about Vince, think about what if something really has happened to him. No. Mary's totally overreacting.

I come to the realization that I'm not so sure I care one way or the other.

I'm not so sure Aidan's going to care either.

CHAPTER 25

“L
yss,” a voice says. “Time for bed.”

I drag my eyes open, blink to get rid of the fog. “Aidan?”

He unzips his jacket and kicks off his boots. “The one and only.”

I yawn and swing my legs off the sofa. They feel heavy, like weights are attached to my feet. “What time is it?”

He sinks into the armchair and lets his long arms hang over the sides. His fingers almost touch the floor. “A little after one.”

“Already?” I rub my neck to get out a kink.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

Then I remember. “Waiting for you.”

He looks surprised and smiles. “That's a first.”

I reach for the remote and turn off the
TV
. “Mary called.”

His smile vanishes. “Mary? From home?”

I nod. “She, uh … she says Vince is missing.”

“Missing.” He leans forward in his chair a little. “Like how?”

“He went to check on the cabin after the storm. He hasn't come home yet.”

“So … when was he supposed to be back?”

“Sometime yesterday.”

He frowns. “Then he's really only a day late, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, I'd hardly panic yet.”

“That's basically what I said.”

“I mean, we both know what probably happened, don't we?”

I raise my eyebrows. “According to Mary, he's not
like that
anymore.”

“Really,” he says, staring past me out the window. “Did she seem worried to you?”

“Yup.” I pop the
p
.

Neither one of us says anything for a while. I dangle the fringe of the sofa blanket just out of Bingley's reach. He swats at it a bunch of times but doesn't make any real attempt to catch it. I keep doing it, letting it get really close then yanking it back at the last minute. He remains stubborn in his laziness and finally ignores me altogether.

Aidan moves from his chair to beside me on the couch, almost crushing Bingley, who hisses loudly but refuses to give up his spot. “What if she's right?” he says. “I mean … maybe I should be worried. Should I be?”

I hope he's not waiting for me to give him an answer.

He slumps back and closes his eyes.

I study him. I think he
is
worried, and it surprises me. I thought he would say something blasé and indifferent, something like, “Keep me posted.” But I was wrong. I give his arm a squeeze. “I'm sure he's okay.”

“Mary should call somebody, don't you think?” he says. “The police or something?”

“She said she's sending Tommy and Brian back to the camp in the morning.”

“Yeah. Give him some more time to resurface. She probably wants to make sure that … it's not a false alarm. That would be embarrassing.”

Not really. Small town. Everyone knows Vince, knows about his epic binges. But I bite my tongue. “Don't worry, they'll find him.”

Without opening his eyes, he places his hand over mine. “Yeah, you're right.”

“And you know how much snow we had, you can only imagine how much
they
got. He might just be snowed in or something.”

He turns his head and looks at me. “Plus he has food out there, canned stuff, firewood and all that.”

“Exactly,” I say, smiling encouragingly.

“I bet you find it bizarre that I even care.”

Again I bite my tongue. “He's your father.”

“It's okay, I find it bizarre too. I think I'm just operating on not enough sleep.” He stands and stretches. “I can't do anything now any- way, so might as well hit the sack.”

I let him haul me off the sofa. “Yeah. I'm sure we'll hear something tomorrow.”

He puts his arms around me and hugs me tight. I hug him back, all the friction of the past couple of days forgotten.

SOMETHING WAKES ME, AND
for the second time that night I'm forced to drag my eyes open. I'm sure someone's in my room — sure I felt the breeze of a person walking by. It has to be a dream. I notice my door is open and Bingley's curled up on the bottom corner of my bed.
Bingley!
I do a scissor kick and push him off.

His paws thud onto the floor and he eventually settles on the rug under the window.

Not able to get back to sleep, I lie there for a while and try not to think about Vince. Because when I think about him, it makes me think about home, and Mom. Yeah, there are some happy memories in there, but they can't compete with all the bad ones. To turn my thoughts in another direction I start playing the alphabet game in my head. Aidan and I always played it, always tried to stump each other. This time I do candy bars. Aero, Butterfinger, Coffee Crisp, Dairy Milk, Eat More …

Then I hear something. I sit up on my elbows and listen. It's not outside, it's coming from somewhere in the house. Voices? I'm sure I turned the
TV
off. I reach for my housecoat and get up. Down the hall I go and stop just outside the living room. Aidan's in there. He's talking to someone. I inch around the corner. It's dark except for the pale light shining in from the street lamps. I can see the outline of him standing in the front window. He's alone. I strain my ears, but I can't make out what he's saying.

“Aidan?” I whisper.

He doesn't move. Maybe he didn't hear me. “Aidan?” I repeat a little louder.

Slowly he turns. “Lyss. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Uh, no. I think it was … ” I look over at the black
TV
screen, “a bad dream.”

He nods.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Talking to?” He sounds confused. “Oh. Ummm … that. It was just Franco.”

“Who's Franco?”

“The cleaner.”

“What do you mean, the cleaner?”

“Huh?”

“Cleaner for what?”

“Oh, sorry. Bar cleaner. Franco cleans the bar. He called me.”

I figure it out. The bar where he works.

“Franco comes in after closing,” Aidan continues. “Usually on Sundays. He has a key.”

That doesn't explain the call in the middle of the night. “So, what happened?”

“It's Monday. They had to change their night this week. Blake forgot and set the alarm when he locked up. Then Franco and his guys set it off when they arrived.”

“Oh,” I say.

“He was just letting me know so I'd call the security company right away and tell them not to send the police.”

“So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Call the security company.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I did. Just gave Franco the all clear.”

I stand there for a second, rocking on my heels. “Guess I'll go back to bed then.”

“Sure. Goodnight. And again, sorry if I woke you up.”

As I make my way back to my room, I happen to glance down at the hall table. It's where we dump all our junk, spare change, keys, whatever's in our pockets, the mail. There, partially covered by a stack of grocery store flyers, is Aidan's cellphone. An impulse leads me to the kitchen. Our one and only cordless phone is on the counter by the fridge, the receiver resting in the cradle.

CHAPTER 26

F
rom the hall I see Aidan sitting in the armchair, fingers steepled and pressed against his lips. The cordless phone has moved from the kitchen and is now on the coffee table. Since he's staring at it like he's willing it to ring, I conclude he's heard nothing. I'm sure he's been there all night.

Seeing the phone reminds me of the whole fake conversation thing, Aidan and the cleaners. Could he have been sleepwalking or something? Could I? Maybe it never happened … No, it happened.

I take in Aidan's dishevelled hair, the dark circles under his eyes. He's obviously exhausted and strung out. I reflect on all that's hap- pened to him lately. Me showing up, Marla, now Vince. Not to mention the medication that he may or may not be taking. It's a lot for anybody. It can only be making everything worse. Perhaps a few minutes of strange behaviour isn't that much out of the ordinary.

The sound of kids shouting out on the sidewalk interrupts my train of thought.

“Chances are Tommy and Brian haven't even left yet,” I say, going over to the sofa and gathering up the blanket I used last night.

“I called Mary. She said she sent them out at dawn,” he says with- out taking his eyes from the receiver.

“Yeah, well.” I check my watch. “It's only nine-thirty. With all the snow, it'll take them forever to get back in there.”

He doesn't answer.

“They're going to find him anyway. You know he's at the cabin doing …” — I search for the right word — “… whatever.”

“I know.” But he doesn't sound very certain.

“Are you off today?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I called in sick.”

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Part of me hopes he'll make some reference to our encounter in the middle of the night. Offer up an explanation or something.

“I think I dozed at some point.”

So that's that. “Okay then. I'm off to work.” I get my coat, slip it on, then stop in mid-zip. “Look, uh, do you want me to stay here with you? Wait till you hear something?” I cross my fingers that he says no. Exam week is about to start, and there isn't a chance in hell I'll be able to find someone to cover for me.

“No.” He smiles weakly. “You go. Someone's gotta bring home the bacon.”

The circles under his eyes appear darker all of a sudden. “It's going to be fine, Aidan. Just fine.”

He nods.

“You'll call me as soon as you hear anything?”

“Sure. When will you be home?”

“I'm working a double, but, um …” I chew on my lip. Tonight's the night I'm supposed to go to a movie with Liam. Is it wrong to still go when Aidan's sitting here all worried? Is it wrong to still
want
to go? Surely we'll know Vince is okay by tonight.

“We could make pizza for supper,” he suggests, sounding a little brighter. “I've got a boxed kit. We could load it up with hot dogs, just like we used to.”

“Actually, I, uh, I'm going to a movie after work.” It
is
wrong to still want to go. At least it feels like it is.

“Oh,” he says. He looks like a kid who's dropped his ice cream cone.

“It's cheap night.” As if that somehow makes it better.

“Who with?”

“What?”

“Who are you going to the movie with?”

The word
Liam
gets stuck in my throat and won't come out. “Just some people from work.” Not a complete lie.

“People from work,” he repeats. “Coffee shop boy one of those people?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought he had a girlfriend.”

I don't bother answering him. “Promise you'll call me. You can get me at the shop all day.”

“Until you go to the movie,” he points out.

“I'm positive you'll hear from Mary way before then.”

He sits back in his chair, not looking at me, a scowl on his face.

“I'll talk to you later,” I sigh and hook my bag over my shoulder.

“Have fun at the movie,” he says all sulky.

THE WIND CUTS RIGHT
through me, but I don't care. Right or wrong, I'm thankful to get out of that house. When I arrive at the coffee shop, the place is full, seemingly all with students, textbooks and laptops covering every inch of table.

“Welcome to exam week,” Erin says, tossing me my apron. “It looks like it's packed, but it's an illusion. It's actually a graveyard.” She sweeps her arm in an arc. “They camp here. All day. And don't buy
anything
.” She says the last part really loudly.

The phone rings. I listen when Erin answers. It's not for me, so not Aidan.

I get out the binder of recipes. “I may as well get a head start on the baking for tomorrow since it's so quiet.”

“Okay, keener.” Then she sidles up next to me. “So … you and Liam have a date, huh?”

“What?” I slam the binder shut. “How did you know? Did he say that? Did he actually call it a date?”

“He
may
have mentioned something or other about it earlier this morning,” she says coyly.

“You saw him? He was here?”

“You just missed him. He opened for me. I had a dentist's appointment.”

“Well, it's not a date,” I say, my face getting hot.

She crosses her arms and leans against the fridge. “I'm thinkin' maybe it is.”

I shake my head. “Uh-uh. Just two friends going to a movie. It's cheap night,” I add.

“Oh, I know all about cheap night.” She gives me a smug look, as if there's some big secret about cheap night, like it's code or something.

“What's that supposed to even mean?”

“Do you get to pick the movie?” she asks without answering my question.

“I don't know.” I shrug.

“If he lets you, then for sure it's a legit date.”

“Then I guess he'll be picking the movie, because it's not a date,” I insist.

“Listen. I think it's awesome. You and Liam. Five-ever.”

She's making my brain hurt. “Five-ever?”

“It's longer than forever.” She smiles.

“You're crazy.” And I go off to assemble my baking supplies.

The phone seems to ring constantly all day. Every time it does, I stop what I'm doing, hold my breath, and wait. I should have heard something from Aidan by now. It's for selfish reasons I'm desperate to hear. I don't want my guilt hanging like a cloud over my time with Liam. I check my watch again. Four-thirty.

Erin's working the double with me. She's the only one who's answered the phone. “There haven't been any messages for me, have there?” I ask, thinking perhaps she forgot to tell me. But she says no.

I duck into the back kitchen and call home. It rings and rings. I try Aidan's cell. It goes straight to voicemail. Maybe he's finally sleeping, so … everything must be okay? It probably just slipped his mind to call. Or maybe he tried and got a busy signal, which is totally possible. So yeah, everything must be okay.

My shift is almost over. I start grinding up a supply of coffee beans for Zack, who's on next.

“I'll do that,” Erin says, pushing me out of the way. “Liam will be here soon. Go make yourself pretty.”

“What?”

“You brought some makeup or something, didn't you?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Well, time's a-wastin'. That mascara's not going to put itself on.”

I grab my bag. It's easier to do what she says.

Liam's standing at the front counter when I come out of the washroom. He looks up and smiles. “Ready?”

“Yup,” I say, taking my coat off the hook. “Let's roll.”

“Wait.” Erin disappears then returns a minute later with a handful of tiny pieces of paper that she presses into Liam's palm. “Here. On me. It's Monopoly time at McDonald's. They're all freebies. Put some meat on that girl's bones.”

My jaw drops open.

“Uh … ” Liam squints as he tries to read the stamp-sized coupons. “Thanks?”

Erin herds us toward the door. “You two kids have fun now.”

Liam shakes his head all the way to the car. “You must bring out the nurturing, motherly side of Erin.”

“Is
that
what that is?”

He laughs. “Considering she's the same age as me, it's the only thing I can think of. She seems to like you, and, well, Erin doesn't like … anybody.”

WE STAND IN FRONT
of the theatre, gazing up at the marquee.

Liam tries to muffle a burp. “I'm regretting that second Big Mac.”

“I warned you it wasn't a good idea.”

“Okay, smarty pants, what do you want to see?”

“You pick,” I say. “Too much pressure.”

“My only request is no chick flicks. Other than that, you can make the final choice.”

“Okay.” How would Erin interpret that? I study the start times, eliminate anything with a hint of romance. “Everyone seems to like that Sandra Bullock one.”

He nods. “She is a chick, but it's about space, so yup, we're good.”

Inside, Liam jumps in front of me in line and buys the tickets. I keep shoving money in his face, but he tells me to relax, it's only six bucks. I buy us frozen yogurt. It costs more than both our tickets.

We're early enough that we get our pick of seats — in the very centre of the theatre, in the very centre of the row. We sit close together but not touching.

The lights dim and the trailers start, my favourite part. But then there's one for a horror movie, and it shows a little girl in a nightgown walking down a dark hallway following some whispery voices. It makes me think of me, last night, and finding Aidan, talking to … himself? I shouldn't have left him today. I shouldn't be here. What if he gets, or has already gotten, bad news? Through the entire movie, my head is filled with all these thoughts.

I feel Liam looking at me as we walk to the car like he's waiting for me to say something, so I do. “What did you think?”

He shrugs. “It was pretty intense. The ending was kind of predictable.”

It's a safe, generic answer — basically what I would have said. It makes me wonder if maybe he couldn't concentrate on the movie either. Was he thinking about Rosalyn?

“You wanna grab a coffee?” he asks. “There's a rumour going around that there are other places that serve coffee besides where we work. I never believed it till now.” He gestures with his head. “There's a Starbucks over there in the bookstore.”

I gaze longingly at the green and white sign. There's nothing I'd like more than to go with Liam for a coffee, but I know I can't. “I should really get home.”

“Okay, Cinderella.” He stops at the car and holds the door open for me.

As I crawl inside, I can see flakes beginning to fall, captured in the headlights of the other cars in the parking lot.

“It'll take a while for the heat to …”

He's talking to me, but it sounds fuzzy in my brain. I'm hypnotized by the snow. I should have made more of an effort to contact Aidan, found out for sure before I left with Liam. Maybe even called Caroline to see if she knew anything. Yeah. Why didn't I call Caroline?

After a while Liam's voice breaks through. “Lyssa. I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm thinking you're a little distracted.”

I turn from the window. “No, I'm not. Why would you say that?”

“I just told you my favourite part of the movie was when Nicolas Cage stole the Declaration of Independence and you didn't bat an eyelash.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Isn't that the plot of
National Treasure
?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh.” He got me. “I may have one or two things on my mind.”

“Is it your brother?”

Why deny it? “Yes. Sort of. And some other stuff.”

“Did you ever ask him about the medication?”

“It's … not really a good time,” I say, shaking my head.

“Lyssa. We're talking about someone who's been prescribed an antipsychotic drug, and I can't shake the feeling that you think he may not be taking it.”

“I never said that.”

“You don't have to. I can tell by the way you repeatedly say he's fine.”

I keep quiet.