Aftermath(75)

“Neither of us did.”

She turns to face him. “The guy we saw last night. The one who attacked me. He was Chris’s build. Chris’s height.”

Damning evidence, but not concrete proof. Jesse doesn’t say that. Skye doesn’t want to hear it right now.

Skye continues. “I thought Chris was just being nice to me. I’d been kind to him, so he was repaying it.”

“That’s what he told me,” Jesse says. “Exactly that. If I suspected anything, it was just that maybe he wanted to be more than friends, eventually. But that he was setting you up? It never crossed my mind.”

“He stabbed me,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “He had a knife and he – he —” She looks over. “How could he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now what? He kidnapped Tiffany. The right move is to go to the police. But no one’s listened to us so far, and all we have for proof is that he was printing articles on the shooting. The police won’t buy that.”

“Then we’ll get something they will buy. We’ll get proof.”

Skye

Earlier, we texted Chris asking if he can meet up after school. He can’t – he has to work and is on closing shift. We drive by the McDonald’s to confirm he’s there. His mother’s car is, and I remember him saying she lets him borrow it when he gets off late. So his excuse is valid. But if he’s at work all evening, and he’s holding Tiffany captive, he’ll need to stop and check on her later. We’ll follow him after his shift.

That means we have time to kill, so I’ve suggested we make dinner for Jesse’s parents. We used to do that sometimes – I thought it’d be nice for his parents to come home to a ready-made meal. Jesse tells me he still cooks for them when he doesn’t have track, which goes to show that however much he may think he’s changed, he hasn’t really. Not the parts that matter.

We’re making biryani when Mae texts. I sent her a message an hour ago to say I was having dinner at Jesse’s and would be hanging out with him tonight. She hadn’t answered, and I took that as an answer in itself – she wasn’t happy.

When she texts, I figure she’s had some time to prepare for battle.

Mae: I’m going to talk to Tiffany’s stepmom.

Me: ???

Mae: I don’t see anything in the news about the kidnapping, and I want Tiffany’s family to know they should take this seriously.

Me: ok

A long pause, as if she’s waiting for more. Waiting for me to understand the import of what she’s saying – that’s she on my side now.

Mae: I know her stepmom. Her company has done cleaning for me. I hired her after North Hampton. She’d lost some work because of it.

Me: ok

Another pause. She wants some acknowledgment that she did a nice thing, but I don’t think that’s the purpose of doing nice things.

Mae: I just wanted you to know.

Me: ok

I pause a moment, and then add:

Me: thanks

Me: should be home by dark, if not I’ll text Mae: I’d like you home by dark.

I don’t respond. If I’m late, it won’t be because I’m hanging out at the mall. I’m trying to save Tiffany.

I show Jesse the text stream.

“She’s right about Tiffany’s stepmom. She did lose a few clients. It was nice of Mae to hire her.”

I sigh. “I should have said that, right?”

He leans against the counter. “I think she’s trying, and I know why you don’t want to cut her slack, but maybe, when you talk to her, you could say it was thoughtful. And it’s good that she’s talking to Mrs. Gold.”

“I know, and I’d love to interpret this as meaning Mae’s being supportive, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s also going there to get a feel for the situation. To see what Tiffany’s family thinks, if they have evidence that she hasn’t been kidnapped. I just… I don’t trust Mae to be on my side.”

Jesse moves forward and puts his hands on my waist. “She let you down. I’m just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. You need more people on your side, and I don’t understand how anyone can not be there.”

I smile. “You may be biased.”

“Only if knowing you makes me biased. Anyone who does would realize you couldn’t do anything like this.”

I put my arms around his neck. “I missed you.”

“I know.”

I laugh and duck my head, and when I come up again, he’s right there, his lips going to mine. Or that’s what he must intend. Instead, we collide, his nose hitting my mouth, his lips kissing my chin. We both laugh, a little embarrassed, and try again, only we overshoot and, yeah, still not quite right, and even when we do find each other’s lips, it’s…

I always read about perfect first kisses. This isn’t it. We spend about two seconds trying to figure it out, and then both back away, fast, as if we can salvage the moment by pretending we weren’t actually trying to kiss.

“Sorry,” I say, as my cheeks blaze. “I, uh, I haven’t… I don’t have a lot of experience… Well, none, actually.”

“Ditto.”

I look up.

He shrugs. “No one was you.”