How to Disappear(83)
Nicolette Says
Now that it’s officially behind me, I can breathe. The untrue story of what happened is such old news, nobody even wonders anymore.
Anytime I get slightly upset, people think I have PTSD. They make me sit down, and they get me a glass of water and a doughnut.
(I say, “Oh no, it’s a frosted doughnut from my hideous past. I’m having a flashback.”
Jack says, “Shut up and eat your frosted doughnut.”
Jack so gets me.
Almost.)
I was a perfect, pure girl for six months.
No infractions.
No detention.
No back talk.
I sent the real Catherine Davis a thank-you card. (Plus her license and four hundred dollars.) For Luna, eight honest words. “I’m safe. Thank you for taking me in.”
Steve finally relented about Jack. It took a while, but how could he miss that Jack was trying to save me? And that I would never give up.
Five seconds later, I’m on the green burner. I’m pretty sure Jack’s crying. God knows, I am.
Jack says, “Before you say anything, I love you.”
I say, “You better. I’m not loving some guy who doesn’t love me back.”
I’m safe.
Jack’s safe—he doesn’t even know how safe.
We’re all safe, and it’s all kind of over.
Steve says I ought to thank my lawyer for the story of what happened. The one that got me back into Cotter’s Mill Unified High School and straight onto homecoming court. Treated like I was a kitten that got rescued from a drainpipe.
The fake yet useful story.
Which is, Jack Manx has self-control and I don’t.
Which is, I was a total victim and therefore can’t be blamed for anything.
(The part where I was good at hiding, jumped on a flatbed truck, took cross-country buses, hitched, changed my name repeatedly, got jobs, gained thirteen pounds, stole things, disarmed Jack, had a plan—not in the story. Nothing that makes me sound like Xena, Warrior Princess made it into the story.) My part of the action is screaming, “Knife, knife, knife!” like an out-of-control wind-up toy. Reaching for the gun because I was scared that Jack would hurt my daddy. That’s what my lawyer keeps calling Steve. My daddy. It makes me sound like a crazed, blameless little kid.
I’m nobody’s crazed, blameless kid.
As soon as I figured out Jack wasn’t lying to me anymore, in the mountains, in California, I knew what had to happen.
Here’s the thing:
When Jack said it was Yeager who wanted me dead, I knew he was right.
It wasn’t Steve sending Jack after me at all. This made me almost happy it was Yeager.
And I knew which Yeager.
The one with the reason to want me dead.
Alex.
Not Karl Yeager. Alex.
“The whole Yeager clan is rabid pit bulls,” Jack said.
“They won’t stop until they stop breathing,” he said. “As long as they’re breathing, they keep coming at you.”
Alex Yeager wouldn’t have quit coming after me until I was dead.
And after Alex disposed of me, he would have found Jack. On Jack’s secret eggplant plantation in Paraguay or wherever. And Alex’s guys would have killed Jack too for not doing the job. For not tossing me off a cliff.
But with Alex Yeager gone, there would be no reason to get rid of me or Jack.
Jack, in his effort to show me how illogical I am, demonstrated how syllogisms work.
Bob is a crow. All crows are black. Therefore Bob must be black.
Alexis Yeager was going to keep coming at me until he stopped breathing. Alex Yeager had to be stopped. Therefore?
Alex Yeager had to die.
And I had to take care of it.
I mean, Jack wasn’t going to—at least not on purpose. Try going, Hey, Jack, let’s go kill someone who’s really bad on purpose.
His big brother already tried telling him to do that to me, and look what happened. Look at me. Not dead.
I just needed Jack to think it was Steve he had to protect me from for as long as it took to get from that ugly California forest to Cotter’s Mill. I thought it was Steve who was after me for so long. Why wouldn’t Jack believe it for a couple of days?
And so I called up Alex. When Jack and I were halfway to Ohio, and I was supposed to be taking an extra-long shower in a motel bathroom. Several extra-long showers.
I said, “It’s me.”
“Nicky?”
“Zandy, why are you hounding me? Don’t you know I’d do anything for you—just like what you did for me? You’re amazing. I want to be with you. Which won’t work if I’m planning my funeral. Don’t you want me?”
“It isn’t me who’s after you,” he says.
Liar.
“It’s my dad,” he says.
Double liar. I heard you whine, “Don’t tell my dad,” so many times while you were digging the hole. Over and over.
“Oh God, Nicky, can I see you?” Alex says.
Bingo.
Come into my kitchen, said the spider to the guy who stabbed Connie Marino eleven times. When, where, and unarmed because if Steve is there, he’ll take your gun and your stupid SOG SEAL knife right off you. He keeps a pistol loaded in the drawer under the toaster in the kitchen if you need one.