Kiss Me If You Dare

20

I was released from the hospital with nothing worse than an irritating cough, curling eyebrows, and a section of singed hair, which Maize agreed to shape into a spunky layered style.

“You are so lucky to be alive,” she said while I holed up at her apartment a day later.

I watched more and more hair drop to the ground as she snipped and talked, snipped and talked. “I think that’s enough off the ends,” I told her before I ended up bald. “It looks really good just like that.”

“Sure. Whatever.” She put the scissors down and picked up a yo-yo, performing a bevy of tricks as she kept her hands occupied. “So you’re taking off for a while?”

“Yeah. I hate to abandon Celia and Portia at a time like this, but I really have to check into things back home.” “Do what you have to. We’ll keep plugging away at things until you get back. Probably won’t get very far without someone telling us what to do and how to do it, but we’ll give it a shot-”

I touched her arm, interrupting her nervous prattling. “You guys will do great.”

“Listen,” Maize said, “if there’s anything you need while you’re on vacation, just call Koby. The guy’s a magician when it comes to getting flights out of thin air.

He can probably hook you up with a ride home. I know you have to take the bus there since you don’t have any identification, but he could probably even get you a fake ID if you’re desperate…”

I didn’t even want to know how she knew all that. With a nudge from my hand, I stopped her monologue. “Thanks. I’ll keep his number handy. You guys have been so understanding. Thanks for not being mad at me for misleading you about my name and stuff up front. Just, you know, try to keep it a secret until I can figure out how to make it all go away.”

“No problem there. I never tell secrets. And even if I did, no one would listen to me anyway, since I’m always talking so much. They barely hear a word I say as it is, unless it’s something really juicy like the time I found out about the college president…”

I smiled, letting her ramble on, tuning out the gossip as I focused on plans that would get me safely home to Brad.

The Sacramento station was hopping at four thirty in the afternoon. The cab driver stopped across the street in the dimming light. “Watch yourself in there. And don’t use the bathroom.”

I thanked him and stepped into the cool December air. On the way downtown, we’d passed a towering Christmas tree-the only indication it was time to deck the halls. I wrapped my black slicker close. No snow, just chilling, damp air so close to dusk.

I stepped toward blinking neon lights and pushed through the glass entry door. Bodies milled aimlessly through the overly bright interior. I couldn’t tell if they were homeless folks or passengers restless for a getaway driver. I sat on a plastic seat defaced with ink and carvings. A smell like ripe baby diapers permeated the air. I kept my nose tucked close to my collar. As the 4:50 departure time neared, more passengers trickled in, waiting for the only cross-country transportation that eluded Big Brother’s radar.

I adjusted the black flapper-style wig on my head and pushed my sunglasses a notch higher on my nose, hoping to avoid eye contact with my fellow travelers, who looked as directionless and despairing as I felt. I kept my luggage on my lap and both eyes peeled for trouble.

I’d planned the perfect escape-so far. I knew I couldn’t leave from the Del Gloria station without Denton or Detective Larson tracking me down. So I’d hired a cab to drive from the nearest big city and pick me up at the Del Gloria McDonald’s, then drop me here. With so many cab drivers in this city, what were the chances they’d question some guy named Ferdinand Olivares? And it had been easy enough walking into the fast-food restaurant as Alisha Braddock, and exiting the bathroom a few minutes later as the temporary me, Tasha Stewart. The name seemed both mysterious and boring, and hopefully would never have to be uttered before my arrival in Michigan.

A loudspeaker announced the bus’s arrival. Passengers filed past the driver, handing him their tickets and boarding.

I hovered at the back of the line, contemplating if I really wanted to be in an enclosed area with the fellow up ahead who kept mumbling to himself and waving his arms. Or the woman with the cleft chin and Adam’s apple.

“Watch your step,” the blue-jacketed driver muttered as I nudged by, passed him my ticket, and climbed the three stairs inside.

I took a seat as close to the driver as I could manage, whispered a prayer for protection, and geared up for a trip scheduled to last two days, ten hours, and forty minutes. If I didn’t jump out a window first.

Somehow I’d misread the itinerary. Had they really meant I’d be arriving at 4:30 in the morning Manistique, Michigan, time? The bus pulled away and I stood outside the twenty-four-hour gas station, wondering how I’d managed to mess that up.

The sign of a major hotel chain glowed in the distance. I started walking. Snow melted in my sneakers as I cut along US-2 toward shelter.

The clerk gave me a strange look when I told her I didn’t have a credit card. But I flipped enough bills on the counter to satisfy her need for a security deposit while I slept the next four hours. During my stay at Cliffhouse, Denton had provided a monthly stipend to cover my day-to-day expenses. My frugal nature meant I had enough set aside to make a run for it.

I stuck the plastic hotel key into its reader, got the green light, and pushed in. A shower before bed. The thought of sleeping in sheets contaminated with whatever germs I’d picked up over the last two and a half days didn’t sound appetizing.

While steam cleared the grime from my nose, I scrubbed with soap and a washcloth, hoping some plan would form before I turned the water off. Warmed through and squeaky clean, I slid beneath the sheets and pondered my next move. Sleep came before any strategy.

I woke up rested some time later.

A glance at the clock told me I’d slept past ten.

“Uhh.” I’d better get moving before the maids came knocking at my door. I stared at the phone, knowing I’d have to pick it up sooner or later if I were ever going to get to Port Silvan.

I grabbed the handset. Dial tone blared long and loud as I hesitated.

“If you’d like to make a call…,” the recorded voice kicked on.

I pressed the disconnect and waited. The phone dangled by its cord from my hand. Calling Brad was out of the question. Even if I knew where he was right now, I couldn’t call him. He’d be so mad at me for… something. Coming back before he gave me the green light. Leaving when I should have stayed. Something.

I swung the phone back and forth in a gentle motion. Who would be most understanding? My cousin Joel? My grandfather? Maybe I should call the snowplow guy. No one would suspect I’d contact him.

The handpiece banged my shin. I scooped it up and dialed my grandfather. My heart thumped like crazy as the phone rang.

He answered. “Hello?”

I almost burst into tears at the sound of his voice.

“Hello?” he said again.

I cleared my throat. “Um, hi. I heard you helped women who are in trouble.”

Silence at the other end.

Tears streamed down my face. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Can you come get me?”

“Who is this?” His voice held a note of panic.

I evened out my breathing before answering. “Ti-” I almost said my real name. “Tasha… Stewart.”

More silence. I prayed he knew from my voice that it was me.

“You’re at the Econolodge?”

I nodded, knowing he had caller ID. “Yes,” I spoke into the handset.

“I’ll be right there.”

I hung up the phone and broke into loud sobbing. My chest heaved and my back shook and tears and snot got everywhere. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my family. How much I missed my life. I was so grateful to be back. Puppa would help me work through the hurdles facing my return. I was so glad to be home.

A little while later at the sink, I splashed cold water over my face hoping to bring the redness and swelling down. I pulled the wig over my hair, packed my luggage, put on my sunglasses and slicker, and waited at the window, watching for Puppa through sheer curtains.

An eternity passed before his black truck arrived. The vehicle hesitated, finally pulling slowly down the row of motel units. I opened the door and stepped into the parking lot. His brake lights blinked red as he stopped and backed up. I pulled open the truck door and climbed into the passenger seat. I kept my eyes straight ahead so I wouldn’t look at him and start crying again.

“Thank you,” I whispered, afraid to say more.

The truck made a circle and headed west on US-2. The road curved toward the lake. Out in the harbor, waves washed over thick ice already covering the jetty. The lighthouse stood lonely and cold, bleeding red against gray water and white snow.

A sorrowful sense of déjà vu crept over me as we passed places it seemed I’d only just left. But it had been nearly a year since I’d first returned home. Perhaps the scenery hadn’t changed much, with ice and snow and cold being the same from year to year. But the people would be different now, having lived through another year of experiences. I knew I was different.

Sneaking a glance toward my grandfather, I wondered if he’d be happy for the changes I’d made in my life or if he’d be angry at me for continuing to make the same mistakes over and over. Life could be so frustrating when the old adage “the more things change, the more they stay the same” came into play.

Puppa’s hair had whitened in the last ten months. And from my angle, his face looked weary and sad.

“How have you been?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question, though I wasn’t sure I could bear the answer.

He stared at the road ahead, driving another mile or so in silence. I fidgeted, worried he was passing judgment on me.

At the passing lane, he swung his eyes in my direction, staring at my profile. I pulled off my sunglasses and returned his look.

So much sadness in his eyes. What had happened while I was gone?

“Where have you been?” He croaked the words.

It never occurred to me that he had no idea where I’d been all this time. I just assumed Brad had let him in on the plan. Or Denton had contacted him so he wouldn’t worry. But what good would disappearing from the face of the earth do if everybody knew where you were?

I bit my lip. “Puppa. I’m so sorry. I hope you weren’t worried. I thought Brad would have told you.”

At Brad’s name, he snapped his head in my direction and blinked hard. “Brad? How could he tell me?” He looked straight ahead. “We’ve all thought you’ve been dead since June. They told us you died in a car crash in Minneapolis. We had a funeral.”

I shook my head. “No. I was in a car crash, but I’m fine. I got away to California, where Brad told me to go so I’d be safe from Frank Majestic.”

He gave a little nod of his head. “A faked death.” He hummed in disgust. “And we all fell for it.” He glanced at me. “You were safe as long as you were dead. Now here you are, back in the thick of things.” His eyes watered up. “And you’re alive. You’re alive.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Yes, I’m alive. And I’m home. But I wasn’t safe in Del Gloria. Someone’s been trying to kill me. I’m not sure there is anyplace safe for me.” I looked in his eyes. “I might as well be home.”

A mile of pines passed by the window before he spoke.

“Patricia, things have changed. Things happened… You were dead, for crying out loud.”

I nodded in agreement, still smiling to be home. “I know. I’ve been gone a long time. I kept waiting for Brad to call.” I gave a little laugh. “I guess if he thought I was dead, that was a pretty good reason not to call…”

My brow scrunched. Something wasn’t right. Denton assured me Brad would call when it was time. They must have been in touch. Denton should have told Brad I was still alive. I put a hand to my forehead. Brad must know and was just keeping it a secret. Because if Denton hadn’t told him the truth, and Brad really thought I was dead, Brad might have moved on with his life. He could have met someone new. He might be engaged to some other future Mrs. Walters instead of me.

I gave a ferocious shake of my head. It wasn’t possible. Brad knew I was alive. He had to know.

We turned onto the Silvan Peninsula. Just a few more miles to my log home on the lake. I looked at Puppa. “I’m sure there’s no heat or anything, but I’d like to stop at my house and see if I can get things going.”

I’d lived a few places in my life, but none felt as much like home as the lodge. I’d spent summers there as a girl, wandering through half-pint pines that now towered skyward. And after I’d been ripped from the secluded safety of the lodge by well-meaning grandparents, I dreamed of the day I would return to Port Silvan and buy the log cabin and make it my own. And I’d done just that. Now that I was back from my leave of absence, I could finish the renovations and get the yard ready for an outdoor wedding, sometime next summer.

Puppa stared straight ahead, not responding.

The miles flew past in snow-covered splendor.

“Looks like we’ll be having a white Christmas this year.” The closer we drew to home, the more the goose bumps raced up and down my arms. Three days ’til Christmas. I was home just in time.

My driveway was around the next bend. My right leg pressed against the floorboard as I willed Puppa to slow down for the turn.

He turned in. The drive was plowed, the banks pushed back in tidy order. Tracks from multiple cars covered the surface, and strangely, a large wooden sign was posted to a tree. VALENTINE’S BAY LODGE, it said in burgundy and cream, with a phone number and website address beneath it.

“What’s going on? Who’s been down here?” I was used to my house being off the beaten path and my drive only lightly traveled. Who would post a sign?

“Patricia, this isn’t a good idea.” Puppa stepped on the brakes. “Stay at the lake house with me. We’ll come back another day.”

“Keep going.” I got a sick feeling in my gut. “I need to know what’s happening here.”

The vehicle slowed. “You’ve been dead since June. Things have changed.”

“Obviously my house is one of them. Keep going.” I pressed my Tasha Stewart sunglasses onto my face and set my mouth in a tight line.

Puppa accelerated, though I could tell by the set of his jaw it was only against his will.

We crossed the creek and came around the corner. And there it was. My log cabin. Or was it mine? The logs were newly stained, the door was painted a welcoming shade of red to match the new shutters, and Christmas lights and garland hung in joyous celebration of the holiday. I took a jagged breath. I hadn’t expected this. A dilapidated cottage in need of repair, yes. But this pristine building with a perky sign announcing Guest Parking where my shed once stood had never entered my mind.

I did a double-take as we passed. My Explorer-there it was in new condition, as if it had never been crunched by a murderous truck.

But the lodge… What if they’d sold it? What if it didn’t belong to me anymore? Could they do that? Maybe they thought I was dead, but now that I was alive again, it was still mine. Right?

Grandfather pulled close to the entry. Welcome to VAENTINE’S Bay arched over the door. Window boxes filled with cedar boughs, pinecones, and red bows garnished the porch.

The car doors slammed as I stepped into the crunching snow. A woman came to the door as we approached. She smiled, her dark hair and eyes sparkling even in the dingy gray light of early afternoon.

“Hi, Bernard. It’s great to see you. Who’s your friend?” she asked, holding the door wide.

I came to a dead stop. Samantha Walters. Brad’s sister. What was she still doing here? She’d been scheduled to return to Rawlings and her Coney Island diner back in September. It was now December and there she was. Standing at the door to my home like she owned it. And didn’t she realize that frumpy blouse made it look like she was pregnant?