Part 17 (1/2)
”That depends. What's my chance of being burned to a crisp?”
”If he molests you, I will selflessly throw my body over yours as a subst.i.tute.”
Meg shook her head. ”I don't even want him to know what I look look like.” like.”
”For G.o.d's sake, Meg, this isn't even about him. I'm thirsty thirsty is all. He probably won't come out from the back. We'll see Crazy Addie and get our milk shakes and go.” is all. He probably won't come out from the back. We'll see Crazy Addie and get our milk shakes and go.”
Slowly, Meg backed away. ”Sorry, Gill. My dad said I shouldn't.”
Gillian fisted her hands on her hips. ”Well, so did mine!” Meg was already halfway down the street. ”Fine. Be Be that way!” Smarting, Gilly pushed inside the diner. It was virtually empty, except for an old fart at the cash register who was hunched over a crossword puzzle. She sat down and rapped her nails impatiently on the table. that way!” Smarting, Gilly pushed inside the diner. It was virtually empty, except for an old fart at the cash register who was hunched over a crossword puzzle. She sat down and rapped her nails impatiently on the table.
Within moments, Crazy Addie came over. ”What can I get for you?”
Gilly glanced at her dismissively. She couldn't even conceive of living a life so small that you'd grow up in this nothing town and work and die there. Clearly, the woman was a loser. Who looked at the bright ball of her future and thought, Oh, one day I want to be a waitress in a totally deadend job Oh, one day I want to be a waitress in a totally deadend job.
”A black-and-white shake,” Gilly said, and then, from the corner of her eye, saw Jack come down the hallway from the bathrooms carrying a large trash bag.
He didn't notice her.
”Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not hungry,” Gillian murmured, and walked out. The sunlight was blinding; she stumbled before slipping along the edge of the building, where a fence cordoned off the green Dumpster. Jack was moving around in there; she could hear metal clanging and the rustling of plastic as trash was hauled over its wide lip.
Gilly sucked her lower lip between her teeth, to give it some color. She unb.u.t.toned her jacket, then slid the zipper of her cropped sweats.h.i.+rt low enough to show the rise of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Walking to the gate, she waited for Jack to notice her.
He did, after a minute, and looked away.
”Hey,” Gilly said, ”what are you doing?”
”Skiing the Alps. Can't you tell?”
Gillian watched his muscles flex as he lifted another bag of garbage high. She thought about him pinning her, grabbing her wrists in his hands. Hard. She wondered if the girl he had raped had liked it, even a little.
”Food's a lot better inside,” Jack said.
”I'm not hungry.”
G.o.d, his eyes were a color blue she'd never seen. Dark and smooth, like the inside of a fire. There should have been a word for it-Jackquoise, maybe, or- ”Then why did you come here?”
Gilly lowered her lashes. ”To ski, of course.”
He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe she was standing here in front of him. It only made her more determined. ”Bet you were the kind of kid who used to poke crabs on the beach to get them moving,” Jack mused, ”even if it meant they might snap.”
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”It means stick to the bunny slope, Gillian,” Jack said flatly.
Her eyes darkened, caught somewhere between tears and rage. Jack started to leave, but Gillian was blocking the exit. For an uncomfortable moment, they danced around each other, Jack unwilling to let his body brush up against hers, Gillian unwilling to let him go.
”Gillian.”
At the sound of another voice, they jumped apart. Wes Courtemanche rounded the corner, dressed in uniform. ”Something tells me your father wouldn't be delighted to find you standing back here.”
”Something tells me you're not my father,” Gillian said testily. But she stepped away so that Jack could get by.
”Going home now, aren't you?” Wes said to the girl.
”I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anyone.” As if to prove it, Gillian turned on her heel, pa.s.sing close to Jack. She blew a kiss as she sailed by, a gesture meant for his eyes only that might have been a promise, or might have a threat.
7:40. Wes had twenty minutes left on duty before he could head home. Usually, this time of night, high school kids were hanging in small clots near the rear of the post office or idling in their cars in the parking lot, but these days Main Street looked like a ghost town, as if kids believed the closer they got to the Do-Or-Diner, the more likely they were to fall prey to the local criminal.
The sound of footfalls behind Wes had him turning, his hand on his gun belt. A jogger approached, reflective markings on his stocking cap and sneakers winking in the glare of the streetlights.
”Wes,” said Amos Duncan, slowing down in front of the policeman and drawing in great gulps of air. He set his hands on his knees, then straightened. ”Nice night, isn't it?”
”For what?”
”A run, of course.” Amos wiped the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt. ”G.o.d, though. You'd think there was a curfew, based on what this town looks like.”
Wes nodded. ”Dead, for about seven-thirty.”
”Maybe people are eating later,” Amos suggested, although they both knew this was not the case. ”Well, I'd better get home. Gilly'll be waiting.”
”You might want to keep a close eye on her.”
Amos frowned. ”What's that supposed to mean?”
”I saw her this afternoon, down by the diner. She was talking to St. Bride.”
”Talking?”
”That's all.”
A muscle along Amos's jaw tightened. ”He started talking to her?”
”Can't say, Amos.” He chose his words carefully, knowing that alienating Duncan would put him in the doghouse with the department for months. ”Just seemed to me that Gilly ... well, that she didn't have a real strong sense of how dangerous he is.”
”I'll speak to her,” Amos said, but his mind was elsewhere. He was wondering how a guy could come into a town where he wasn't wanted and act like he had a right to be there. He was wondering how many innocent conversations it took before a girl followed you home, a deer eating out of your hand. He envisioned St. Bride calling out his daughter's name. Imagined her turning, smiling, like she always did. He saw what he wanted to believe had happened.
Amos forced his attention back to Wes. ”You off soon?”
”Ten, fifteen minutes.”
”Good, good.” He nodded. ”Well, thanks for the tip.”
”Just trying to keep everyone safe.”
Amos held up his hand in farewell, already moving off. Wes headed back toward the green again. He never noticed that Amos had turned away from the road that led to his house and was running quickly in the opposite direction.
Tom O'Neill swung the door open, surprised to find Amos Duncan on his doorstep, panting hard.