Closer Home (20 page)

“You don’t like the pizza?” Ariel asks me.

“It’s fine.”

Dale is still holding the piece she gave him. Bits of sauce and cheese have run down over his hand and onto the table. He startles and grabs a napkin.

“Sorry. Not hungry, either, I guess.”

Ariel cuts her eyes from him to me and back again. “Oh for God’s sake. Just kiss her already and get it over with.”

“Ariel!”

She rolls her eyes at me. “What? The two of you are making me crazy.”

“It’s not like that . . .”

“Oh, come on. That picture of you two at the airport is worth a thousand words. Make that two thousand.”

My cheeks are flaming. I’m going to kill her. Right now, I just need to shut her up. “You of all people know how the tabloids—”

“Oh, please. Spare me. That was not a photoshopped kiss, and don’t try to tell me it was.” She points at me. “You’re all guilty because you think you dragged him into this mess somehow, only you didn’t, that was Mom. And me. As for him . . .” She pauses to scrutinize Dale, whose face gives nothing away. “I’m not sure what his problem is, but he can’t keep his eyes off you. Whatever it is, the two of you are ruining a perfectly good pizza.” She closes the lid on the box and picks it up. “I’m eating in the other room. Use the bed, do whatever.”

The door closes behind her, and the two of us are left alone. Now that Ariel has ripped the scab off, there’s no way to skate along on social niceties or pretend that everything is okay. I swallow and clear my throat, searching for a safe thing to say.

Dale starts, and it’s not kissing he has on his mind. “You want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Ariel was dead set on running off to find her father.”

“And you thought this was a good way to track him down? Running a dog-and-pony show all across the countryside?”

“No. I thought . . .” My voice fades away into nothing. Beneath the weight of his anger, I can’t clearly remember what I’d thought.

“You weren’t thinking!” He’s on his feet now, close enough for me to see a vein pulsing in his forehead. He seems bigger than I remember, all muscle and sinew and rage. I want to run into the bathroom and slam the door, but I hold my ground. I have to explain, make him understand what isn’t even clear to me.

“I couldn’t stop her, and I didn’t want her to go off with Shadow. I figured it was better—”

“And you couldn’t have called?”

“She wouldn’t give me time to get my phone.” This sounds lame, even to me.

“Of course. And there were no phones along the way. At the airport, or the hotel. You couldn’t have borrowed Ariel’s phone, or Shadow’s, to let me know where you were and that you were okay. Come on, Lise. Tell the truth. You didn’t want to talk to me.”

I have nothing to say to that. He’s right.

He raises both hands in frustration. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you care? Or am I even on your radar at all?”

“Look, I’m sorry!” Traitorous tears fill my eyes and start flowing down my cheeks. I refuse to brush them away and force myself to hold his gaze. “I did call once. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”

His hands drop to his sides. “That goddamn kiss.”

Too many emotions, too many thoughts. Before I can pick one, he draws a deep breath and turns away so I can’t see his face. “I’m sorry, Lise. I took advantage.”

This is worse than anger. I cross to him and put my hand on his arm. “Dale. Please don’t. I . . . kissed you back.”

“But it’s why you didn’t call.”

“Okay, yes. It’s why I didn’t call. But only because I didn’t know what to say, and then there was that stupid newspaper thing. I ran. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran away.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t turn. His arm feels unyielding beneath my hand.

“Please,” I say again, not knowing what I’m asking for. Desperation forces words out of me that I never meant to say. “It’s not the first time. I ran before, at prom. I was confused and scared, but I wanted . . . I didn’t . . . and then Kelvin asked and it was just . . . easier.”

I hear him take a breath that sounds like a sob, but I know it can’t be. Dale doesn’t cry. I tug on his arm, and he lets me turn him around to face me. His eyes are wet, his breathing ragged, and the intensity of his gaze is too much. I look away, down at my sock-clad toes so close to his familiar sneakers.

He cups my chin in both of his hands, so warm, so strong, and turns my face up to his. One moment, one long look, and then he’s kissing me again. Not gently this time, not with hesitation, and all of the things neither of us has said are in that kiss. It consumes me. It’s love and anger and passion all unleashed. His hands shift and my whole body is pressed against his, my softness molded to his strength.

Through the tumult of emotion and sensation, a question rises in my mind. I try to shove it back; it’s going to ruin everything, but it won’t be silenced.

Dale breaks the kiss and pulls away. Both of us are breathing like we’ve run a marathon, and his fingers hold my shoulders so tightly it hurts when he asks, “What is it?”

“Callie,” I tell him, watching his face. “We have to talk about Callie.”

He flinches, as if I’ve slapped him. “Now?”

Before I can answer, the door to the adjoining room slams open and Ariel runs to the window. “Something’s up. They’re all leaving.”

I detach myself from Dale and sink onto the bed in an attempt to hide the way my whole body is shaking. “Pack up. Looks like Melody bought us a window.”

“Melody who?” Ariel asks.

“Paparazzi chick. The one who took a little swim in Callie’s pool the other morning.”

Ariel spins around. “And you talked to her? What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t tell her much. But you are going to.”

“I am not talking to any reporter!”

“You will, because that was the deal. She’ll get us out of this motel, and you’ll get a chance to tell your side of the story, just once, to somebody who will give you a fair shake.”

Ariel’s chin juts stubbornly.

“We’ll discuss it later. For now, let’s just get out of here, okay?”

After a long moment, she stomps over to her suitcase and scrambles everything back into it. “So, how’d she do it?”

“Check your Twitter.”

She plonks down on the bed beside me and pulls out her phone. “She’s posted a picture of us having lunch in downtown Pasco and says we’ve been spotted there—where did she get the picture?”

I grin. “Maybe I told her there was one on Shadow’s Tumblr.”

“Genius,” she says. “But they’re not all falling for it.”

“And it won’t be long before the rest figure out it’s a trick,” Dale adds. “Better make the break while we can. Either one of you have a hat or dark glasses?”

We both look at him blankly, and he shakes his head. “What kind of celebrities are you, anyway? I’ll get the car. Be ready.” Before he hits the door, he turns back and jams his baseball cap onto Ariel’s head.

“In case,” he says, and he’s gone.

The room feels empty and I can’t stop shaking. Ariel stands at the window, watching.

“What will happen to all that stuff they left for Mom?”

I cross the room to stand behind her. Without the crowd, the little shrine looks sad and neglected. A teddy bear wearing an “I ♥ Callie Redfern” shirt has tipped over and lies on its back, blank eyes turned up to the sun. Some of the flowers are wilting. Callie stares directly at me from her picture, smiling slightly.

“Come on, Ariel. Grab your bag.”

She lingers long enough to raise my blood pressure, but at last she comes away, and we’re both waiting in the other room when Dale drives the rental over and pulls up right in front of the door.

“Ready?”

Ariel nods, pulling down the brim of the cap to cover her eyes.

“All right, then. Here we go.”

Pictures I’ve seen in supermarket tabloids flash into my memory. Stars at the beach with their cellulite exposed for the world to see. Drunk stars. Crying stars. Botched plastic surgeries. I’m not a star, and this is crazy. I keep my chin tucked and my head down so anybody with a telescopic lens won’t get more than the top of my head.

My window reconnaissance told me everything I need to know. There are still three panel vans, parked back behind the shrine, along with a smattering of other cars that could belong to guests but might be fans or paparazzi. Impossible to tell. None closer than fifty feet. I make a beeline for the car, a warm wave of relief rushing over me when my hand makes contact with the front passenger door.

I glance up for Ariel, but she’s not there.

A frantic sweep of the parking lot shows her heading the wrong way, toward the shrine and not the car.

My vision goes into fast frames.

Ariel, head down, backpack slung over her shoulders.

A glint of light beside one of the panel vans. A camera. Click, click, click.

Two reporters pop out of each of the vans. More cameras. Car doors open. Reporters swarm toward us. I’m too frozen to move or even shout at her to
get back here now
!

Dale’s door opens, and he’s out of the car and running toward Ariel. The two of them converge at the shrine, the camera people only a few steps behind. He says something to her that I can’t hear and she nods, running the back of a hand over her eyes. Dale grabs the poster of Callie. Ariel bends down and scoops up the teddy bear, cradling it against her breast like it’s alive and wounded.

One of the reporters holds a microphone toward Ariel. “Such an outpouring of love for you and your mom. Does it give you any comfort?”

“How do you feel about your boyfriend sharing private information?”

“Is Annelise really your aunt? Was this her idea?”

Another zeroes in on Dale. “Sir, are you her father?”

Ariel tucks her chin down and says nothing. Dale keeps himself between her and the cameras, carrying the poster in one hand, his free hand on Ariel’s shoulder steering her toward the car, making himself a shield. I hold the back door open for her and she climbs in, hiding her face in her lap. Dale shoves the poster in beside her and slams her door shut. Once he’s safely back in the driver’s seat, he hits the door locks and I breathe a little easier.

One of the idiots stands right in front of the car, camera to his eye, snapping away. Dale starts the car. The photographer doesn’t move. Another one comes up and leans against the window, tapping on the glass with one hand while taking pictures with the other. Ariel covers the window with the bear, blocking him out.

Dale rolls forward until the bumper of the car must be touching the camera guy’s knees, but he’s still standing there with a superior smile, as if he’s pulled a fast one on us. Dale’s white-knuckled hold on the steering wheel and the murderous expression on his face say otherwise.

“Dale, no!” I grab at his arm, hard and unyielding as an iron bar.

The car rolls forward another inch, then stops.

The cameraman doesn’t move.

Another inch.

The smile is gone now, but still he doesn’t get out of the way.

Two more agonizing inches. In slow motion, the camera swings away in a wide arc as he folds forward at the hips. The car keeps moving and now we have a cameraman for a hood ornament. He’s shouting, scrabbling with his whole body for traction. Dale keeps driving, turtle slow.

“Dale!” I shout at him. “What if he falls?”

“Won’t hurt him at this speed.”

“And if a tire rolls over him?”

“Then he gets what he deserves.” He jerks the wheel to the right and steps on the gas. Fingernails screech on paint as the photographer careens across the hood and takes to the air. Peering back, I see him rolling on the tarmac, then climbing to his feet and brushing dirt off his pants.

Ariel squeals with glee.

I turn on her. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was just—”

“You don’t want people to think you’re playing along with the media, but a stunt like that makes everything that psychologist said look true. Do you hear me? Sometimes I actually know what I’m talking about!”

“Lise,” Dale says, in a warning tone.

“Don’t Lise me! You’re as bad as she is.” Anger heats my blood, and it feels damn good. I’m strong and capable and right, for once. The shaking is gone. “We had a plan. Get in the car. Drive away. How hard is that? My God! Have either one of you thought about how that little stunt is going to play out on the news?”

“She wanted the bear,” Dale says. He pulls the car onto the street and turns left, heading for the freeway. His eyes are watching the rearview more than the road ahead, and that means trouble. I turn around to see a car following right on our tail with a camera-wielding woman in the front seat. Behind it is one of the panel vans.

Ariel clings to the bear, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Callie stares at me from the poster propped up sideways on the backseat, as if she’s lying down for a rest.

I clutch at my anger as desperately as Ariel holds on to the bear, but it’s already giving way to remorse. I’m not sorry. I won’t be sorry. Why oh why am I always the one in the wrong? No one says a word as Dale exits for the freeway and merges onto the bridge. Our entourage follows.

“Now what?” I say, finally. “I’m out of ideas.”

“We’ll keep driving.” Dale is every bit as mad as I am. I’m not sure if any of it is directed at me, but one way or the other, if somebody lit a match, the whole car would explode in one fiery ball of emotion.

“We can’t drive forever,” I argue.

“You have a better idea?”

“We could fly . . .”

“You want to try the airport with that lot on your tail?”

I picture the Pasco airport. Outdoor parking lot, long walk to a single terminal. No, I don’t. It’s not that I have a better idea, I just don’t like this one.

“I couldn’t leave it there,” Ariel whispers in the backseat. “It looked so . . .” Her voice fades to silence.

Dale shoots me a look. Yep. He’s pissed at me. I’m not happy with myself, either. I turn to look at Ariel. “What do you want to do?”

“Can we go to Mars?”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. Where else am I going to go?”

“We could drive to Vegas, if that’s what you want.” Dale is watching her in the rearview mirror.