Page 37 of Haven't Killed in Years
“Tell me.”
“No.” He chuckled. “Trust me.”
“Give me a hint.”
“It has to do with Abel Haggerty. That’s all I’ll say.”
“I’m shocked,” I scoffed, as if it weren’t the exact piece of information I needed to hear in order to agree to this secret plan. “You know, I was saving up my days for a nice vacation.” There was no truth to that. I had plenty of time saved and was never going on a vacation. The short notice was the bigger issue, but after making such a big deal about my weekend, I could say I had food poisoning.
“Last time, I promise,” he said.
“Fine,” I agreed, not at all appreciating the mystery of it. What if he was bringing me to Edgar Valley to introduce me to my own father? What if he thought that was some kind of honor? I would have to practice the appropriate fit I would throw in the parking lot if that was the case. Other than that, I guessed I had to wait until tomorrow and try not to lose my mind in the meantime.
- - - - -
Painting Pots was alwaysslow when the weather was nice. Sunday was supposed to be Porter’s shift, but since he had disappeared off the face of the planet, I was stuck with Jasmine, an actual high schooler. She was a great fit for the job—bubbly, patient with thekids, proactive with cleaning/restocking/setting up—but she was horrible with boredom. Why couldn’t they have hired one of those teenagers who were glued to their phones?
Jasmine had huge, curly red hair that kept bopping into my periphery. She was buzzing around me. I tried taking my headphones out, thinking maybe she thought they were letting her presence go unnoticed, but then she started talking to me. She was sweet, but talking to her was doing the opposite of calming me down.
When stuck in conversations I didn’t want to be a part of, my thoughts wandered fromwhatthey were saying tohowthey were saying it andwhythey were saying it. I couldn’t help it. I listened for pauses, for emphasis, for word choice. I studied body language. It was a skill I was taught—a great tool, if only I could turn it off when inconvenient. I was at Painting Pots to numb my brain, not fixate on why Jasmine had first described her boyfriend as “chill” before shifting her weight and adding, “but, like, really passionate about everything.” I couldn’t have cared less about Jasmine’s boyfriend, but when an insane man raises a child to expect coded messages, some of the wires get crossed.
I offered several times to watch the store if she wanted to leave early, but the damn girl was too responsible and insisted on staying until the end of her double shift. Finally, when the clock hit seven p.m., I made a peculiar cuckoo clock noise and she checked the time.
“Oh, wow. It’s already seven.” She hopped off the counter. “Are you gonna stay?”
“Yeah, just for a few.”
I stayed another hour. I let my creation spin through my hands, chasing perfection, music blasting in my ears—finally the chance to zone out. It was late enough now. I could go home and go to bed, pretending that I would be able to fall asleep immediately, and then it would be tomorrow and all would be revealed. I flipped down thelast light switch and Painting Pots went dark. I stepped outside and inserted the key into the lock.
“Gwen?” A voice that I knew well came from my right.
I turned to see Elyse step out of the shadows. The cojones on this girl never ceased to amaze me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Sorry, is this weird? I was walking to my car and saw you.” She let out a nervous laugh. She was good, almost too good.
“No, of course not.” I tucked my bottom lip in and bit down.
She glanced up at the Painting Pots sign. “I’ve never been to one of these places.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure you want to get home.”
“It’s fine.” I removed the key from the lock and pushed open the door. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
I turned on the light in the back, just enough so that we could see but not enough for the place to look open, and she followed me inside.
“Do you work here?” she asked.
“No, but I have keys. I know the people who work here.”
“Porter?”
I nodded, still very sensitive to his proximity to the world I was trying to separate him from.
I pointed at the shelves of gray unfinished pottery. “You pick a piece from there and then you paint it however you want and they fire it in the kiln in the back.”
