Twisted (23 page)

CHAPTER 36

I
'm back at the place I always seem to go to when my life goes to hell. My stone wall feels extra cold today. The damp is seeping through my jeans. I glance down at my hands. They're shaking.

I have only a vague recollection of how I got here. At some point Mary and I must have said goodbye. Did I thank her? Thank her for what? Heaping more shit on me? All I really remember is feeling claustrophobic and needing to get out of that bakery.

I rest my elbows on my knees. My pulse throbs in my ears. I'm sure it's racing twice as fast as it should.

What just happened? I force myself to go over the conversation with Mary, but it's all jumbled inside my brain. The only thing I can focus on is,
“He either really, really loves you … or really, really hates you.”

So which is it? Love or hate?

Again I think back to that first time I saw Aidan, standing in our yard by the car — all lanky and awkward. In the beginning I treated him like shit, didn't want him anywhere near me. Maybe he never forgot, never got over it.

No
. I shake my head. It can't be that. My meanness didn't last. We became best friends. I was closer to him than anyone. And I told him that all the time — how much I needed him, how he was the only one I could count on, the only one I trusted.

I hear the echo of Mary's words,
“really, really loves you …”
So … could he have gotten things all twisted up? Goosebumps break out all over me that have nothing to do with the cold. “I'd rather he really, really hated me,” I say out loud.

I jump off the wall and start pacing up and down the sidewalk, shaking my hands at the wrists like a rag doll. “Okay,” I breathe. “What's my plan? I need a plan.” I try to calm myself, but it's not work- ing. I feel the panic rising inside, about to strangle me.

Just then, I see a guy coming up the street, keys dangling from his fingers. I hop back up onto the wall to get out of his way. He gets into a car parked at the curb in front of me. As he pulls away, the car sticks on some ice. He guns it and proceeds to spray me from the knees down in chunky, wet slush. I stare at the darkness spreading up my legs. My nose begins to tingle. I won't let myself cry.

When I finally look up from my drenched pants I notice a pay phone, down the block on the other corner in front of a sub shop. “A friendly voice,” I whisper.

As I hurry to the crosswalk, I dig for my change purse, which is always crammed with coins thanks to my share of tips. At the phone I dial the operator then feed some money into the slot.

It rings and rings, then a recorded voice says,
“I'm sorry, the per- son you are trying to reach …”
Caroline's cell. I disconnect.

Again I feed in more money, try another number. This time someone picks up.

“Hi,” I say. “Is Caroline there?”

“No, she's — wait, is this Alyssa?”

“Yeah, it's me. Hi, Mrs. Dobson.”

“Oh, she'll be so sorry she missed you. She's away in the States on a ski trip with the Andersons. You know, the family she works for?”

“Right.” I feel my shoulders droop.

“She's looking after their kids,” Mrs. Dobson adds. “They'll be home Christmas Eve day.”

“Right,” I say again.

“How are you doing, honey? Sorry to hear about Vince.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks.”

“Is there a message?”

“No … I'll try her … after Christmas, I guess.”

“Okay, sweetie. Take care. I'll tell her you called.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“And Alyssa?”

“Yes?”

“Since I won't see you, Merry Christmas from the Dobson family.”

I try to say Merry Christmas back, but the words catch in my throat and come out all garbled.

I hang up the phone, shuffle sideways, and sit on the ledge of the sub shop window. The wind whips some sandwich wrappers, straws, and other assorted garbage in and around my feet. A piece of foil sticks to the toe of my boot. When I reach down and pull it off, it leaves behind a glob of some kind of white sauce. I feel something in me snap. There's a trash can less than a metre away. “Goddamn lazy, shithead assholes!” shoots from my mouth as I scoop up all the mess and throw it in the can. When I finish, I realize there's an icy wetness coating my cheeks. I'm crying. And I didn't even notice.

I look longingly back up the street. Part of me wants to return to my spot on the stone wall until I get myself together and work everything out, but I'm freezing, I need to keep moving. I start walking and eventually pass a caramel-coloured house with a turret. It looks familiar. It dawns on me that I'm close to Liam's. Did I subconsciously head this way?

It doesn't matter if I did or didn't. All I know is I have to see him. He's really the only one I can talk to about all this. There's a chance he'll slam the door in my face, but I'm going to try anyway.

It doesn't take me long to find his building. I press the button by his name and wait. The buzzer sounds without anyone asking who's there, then there's a click and I pull on the handle.

Music vibrates through the entire hallway. Every few seconds I hear a yelp or shout of some kind. The unmistakable smell of marijuana hangs in the air. I marvel over the fact that it's only mid-afternoon and make my way toward Liam's apartment, all the while hoping I'm wrong, but as I get closer, I know I'm not — it's all coming from behind his door.

I stand there for a minute, contemplating turning around and leaving.
To go where, though?
Squaring my shoulders, I knock loudly, one, two, three times. I raise my hand for a fourth when the door swings open. A cluster of guys fill the doorway. One has a hand on the top edge of the door frame, seemingly to hold him up.

“Hey,” he says.

I take in his bright blue T-shirt with “Nova Scotia Drinking Team” emblazoned in yellow across the front. “Um, is Liam here?”

“Nope. Will I do?” He jams his thumb into his chest.

“Uh, do you know when he might —”

“He went to P.E.I.!” shouts some guy from the back, jumping up and down like he's on a pogo stick.

“Oh.” I don't bother to hide my disappointment. It's not like any- one would pick up on it.

The jumper moves to the front of the group. That's when I see he actually
is
on a pogo stick. He's also wearing a T-shirt that says “Drink. Refill. Repeat.” “Can you believe he left early and missed the party?”

“Loser!” someone calls out.

“I know, right?” the jumper answers. “It's the end of exams, man!” Then he bounces away.

“Since you're kind of hot,” the guy hanging off the door says, “you can wait for him if you want.”

“Won't he be gone for, like … a few days … ?” I say.

“Uh-huh.” He nods. I think he's trying to wink at me, but he's so buzzed, it looks more like he's having a spasm.

“Thanks, I'll, um, catch him later.” As I head back down the hall I hear someone yell, “Dude! Use a coaster!”

Holding on to the stair rail, I slump down onto the bottom step.
What now?
I press my forehead against the metal railing and take a couple of deep breaths.

The only thing I know for sure is, if I wasn't afraid of Aidan before, I sure as hell am now. I have to get away from him. It feels like I'm betraying him, but I can't help it. So there's just one option. I'm going to have to stay in a hotel, at least till I can figure some- thing out. I'll burn through everything I've saved in no time, probably have to start taking from my student loan.
Shit.

My feet start toward the coffee shop. The cold makes my face sting, and I zip my jacket up to my chin, hold my gloved hands over my ears.

A blast of coffee-scented heat hits me when I pull open the service door. It's a delicious feeling, and it makes me shiver as I begin to thaw. I hang my coat on the hook, go over and stare at the schedule.

“What are you doing here?” Erin asks, coming around behind the counter. “You don't work today.”

I have nowhere else to go.
“I wanted to see when I was on next.”

She gets closer. “Your eyes are red.”

“The wind.”

“Right, the wind.” She points to a stool. “Sit. I'll make you a hot chocolate.” Then she calls out to Molly, who's clearing a table by the fireplace. When Molly comes over with a tray of dirty dishes, Erin takes the tray, hands her a coffee pot, and says, “Trade ya. Can you check on table five for me? We're low on cranberry muffins, so I'm going to mix up a batch.”

Molly glances over at me, then back at Erin. “Sure. No problem.”

Erin dumps some chocolate powder into a mug, adds hot water, and stirs. She tops it with her signature obscene mountain of whipped cream and sets it in front of me. “Down the hatch,” she says.

I poke at the cream with my finger. “Can you pass me the phone book? It has the Yellow Pages, right?”

“Yup.” She takes it from a drawer and slaps it on the counter.

“Thanks.” I flip it open, turn to H.

She bends at the waist so that she's practically lying across the counter, her nose all crinkled up. “Why are you looking up hotels?”

“I, uh …”
What should I say?
I lower my head, letting my hair cover my face. “I need a place to stay.”

“Come stay with me,” she says immediately. “Problem solved.”

I look up. “That's really nice of you, but —”

Waving a hand in the air, she takes out her cellphone and dials. “Yo. Me. We're having a guest for a bit so I need you to get all your shit out of the living room.” Pause. “Lyssa.” Pause. “Yeah, and clean the bathroom too.” Pause. “No, I'm off at six.” Pause. “Um … check the freezer.” Pause. “K. Love ya.” Then she hangs up.

“Listen,” I say. “This is way too —”

“Stop. Ever since Josh finished exams he's been horizontal on that couch drinking beer and watching Netflix.” She shakes her head and mutters, “Party's over, big boy.”

I sit quietly for a moment, feeling not so completely alone anymore, and watch her break eggs into a bowl. “Thanks,” I say.

“No worries … Now, I should warn you, he's offered to make dinner, so I hope you like chicken strips and fries.” She rolls her eyes. “It's the only thing in his repertoire.”

“I love chicken strips and fries.” My voice sounds all gravelly because I'm about to cry again.

She gives me a long look, pulls her phone out again and dials. “Hey. Forgot something. Liquor store.” Pause. “I dunno. An assortment.” Pause. “Yeah, that'd be good. Maybe some Baileys for coffee after your gourmet feast.” Pause. “K. And don't forget the bathroom.”

Their conversation makes me smile.

Erin leans over closer to me and says in a low voice, “You said you need a place to stay …” She waits a bit, like maybe she thinks I'll fill in the rest of the sentence. When I don't, she continues, “So I assume you can't go home …”

I still don't say anything.

“Okay.” She nods. “What about all your stuff?”

“Yeah.” I tug on my bottom lip. “I'll have to figure that out.”

“You can borrow whatever you need from me for now. I'll get Josh to take you to your place when you're ready.”

I love her for not asking for any kind of explanation.

“Actually …” I check my watch. “Can you pass me the phone?”

She passes it to me and I dial the house. No answer. I think for a minute, and then I flick through the phone book again. “Collins, Collins …” I punch in the number. “Hi, Glady? It's me, Lyssa.” I go on to ask her if she knows if Aidan's home. I tell her I tried calling downstairs, but there was a busy signal. She says she hasn't seen him all day and that the car's gone. I make up some story about how Bingley must have knocked the phone off the hook. I thank her and hang up.

I think some more then dial Aidan's cell number. It rings and rings. Perspiration blisters along my hair line. He finally answers. “Hello?”

“H-hey,” I stutter. “It's just me.”

“Hey,” he says. “What's up?”

“Nothing. Is this a bad time? You're not driving, are you?” I try to make myself sound normal.

“No. I'm in a parking lot.”

I grab on to that. “Oh? Where?”

“Down by the Split Crow. I'm meeting a guy I used to work with.”

“Sounds like fun,” I say, full of fake enthusiasm.