Crash & Burn (Tessa Leoni, #3)(54)

“I get out of the car. I’m trembling. I don’t feel good. Maybe I will throw up. But I like the rain. It drips from my hat brim, dances across my cheeks.

“I go inside the store,” Nicky murmured. She wasn’t looking at them, but staring straight ahead. “I’ll just look around. She might not even be working tonight. I never asked that question. Plus I might not recognize her. It’s been so long, decades, people change, you know. But then . . . What if she recognizes me? I hadn’t even thought of that. Or maybe I have, because I have my cap pulled low. Why bring the hat, if I hadn’t already known I’d want to hide my face?

“I can do this. I walk by the cash registers. The store is very busy. Three lanes open, crowded with people. One cashier is tall, a man. I can see him. The others . . .

“It’s too crowded. I shouldn’t have come. This was stupid. Better to let it be. But I can’t leave. I’m this close. So close. The closest I’ve been in God knows. Then . . . I can’t see her, but I feel her. I know she’s here.”

“Who’s there, Nicky?” Wyatt asked. “Who are you looking for?”

But she shook her head, agitated again. “I’m going to throw up. I think my head is on fire. Oh God, I gotta get out of here. I make it to the bathroom. I turn off the light, close the door. I stand in the pitch-black until finally I can breathe again. I like the dark. I used to hate it once, but since the headaches . . . I find the sink, turn on the cold water. It feels nice against my wrists. I wish I had my quilt. Then I would curl up on the floor. I would stay here.

“Knocking. Someone else wants in. It takes me a moment, but I pull myself together. I open the door. A guy is waiting. He doesn’t say anything. Just moves in as I move out.

“Now what? I don’t want to go home, but I can’t just stand here. I wander. Up and down the aisles. I pretend I’m looking at wine or flavored vodkas, but really, I’m trying to check out the store clerks. Then from the back, I see her.”

“See who, Nicky?”

“That’s her. I know it. I’m staring at the back of her head and even that’s too much. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. If she turns around . . . I panic. I march into the scotch aisle, grab a bottle. You don’t understand; I need it. Fuck the concussion and my stupid headaches. I need this.

“I go straight to the nearest checkout line. It’s her line, but I refuse to think about that. This is normal, nothing special. I’m a customer; she’s a cashier; end of story. Nothing to see here. Then it’s my turn. She’s busy, barely even glances at me. Is it better this way? Do I want her to truly look at me? Do I think . . . Do I think she’d really know?

“She rings up one bottle of Glenlivet. I swipe my card.

“We’re done. Just like that. Thirty seconds or less, and now she’s moved on to the next person. I’m shaking so hard I’m afraid I’ll drop my bottle. I clutch it against my chest like a baby. Then I leave the store. I walk into the parking lot. I climb into my car. And I . . .

“I should call Thomas . . . ,” Nicky whispered. “Tell him what I have done. He’ll be angry but he’ll help me. Poor Thomas, still trying to save me after all these years. I should dump out the scotch, drive home. So many things I should do. Things I know I should do. But I open the bottle instead. The smell. My God, it’s like a long-lost friend. And the second I smell it, of course, I have to take a sip. I don’t understand, I’ve never understood, how something so evil can taste so good.

“I’m bad. I’m weak. But then, I already knew that.”

“What do you do next, Nicky?”

“I sit. I wait. I drink. Eventually, by the time the store empties out and the lights turn off, my limbs are loose, my face is rubbery. I’m not nervous. I’m not shaking. I’m not scared. I’m happy. Is this really the only time I’m happy?

“She comes out. Just like I knew she would. It’s still storming. I can’t see her that well, raincoat pulled over her head. But I recognize her, even though she hadn’t recognized me. No, she’d stood three feet from me, not a flicker of realization on her face. Not even a sense of déjà vu, hey, haven’t I seen you once before? Nothing. Nada. Nope.

“That pisses me off! She should know, dammit! I never forgot her. How dare she forget me!

“Her car. It’s pulling out of the parking space, headed for the road. I don’t know what I’m going to do; I just do it. Jerk my own car into gear, head out after her. I’m not driving great. The night is very dark. My headlights bounce off the raindrops, which makes me dizzy. It’s hard to find the road.

“At least there are no other cars around. I follow her taillights. I don’t know where I’m going or what I will do once I get there, but I can’t stop either. I can’t . . . turn away. I drive. I grip the wheel, I force my eyes to focus and I stay behind her.

“Around and around we go. Along this road, then there. And here, and there and everywhere. A dark and stormy chase. We drive through one town, then another. Then she turns off the main road and now we’re bouncing and heaving along some little side street. It needs to be repaved. I keep hitting the potholes and my stomach heaves.

“Brake lights. She’s slowing before a house, probably going to turn into the driveway. I don’t know what to do. There is no place for me to go, no place for me to hide. I can’t just stop in the middle of the road. I can’t turn in after her; that would be too much. So I . . . hit the gas, pass her right on by, just another driver with places to go and people to see. But then, when I’m far enough way . . . I hit the brakes, loop around.