See Me, See Me Not Read online

  Another waitress arrives. She’s older and when she smiles at me, I cringe. Shit. Donelle—Shawna’s older sister. Shawna and I only had a short fling, but she introduced me to her sister at a game. Donelle’s ebony skin is flawless like Shawna’s, and her smile is warm as she shakes my hand.

  “I heard Tessa had another shitstorm to deal with.” Her voice is bitter. “This is ridiculous. Oh, come on, don’t make that face. Shawna moved on. I’m not going to kick your butt for dumping her.” She ties her apron in the back. “If our big brother heard about it though, you might be in trouble.”

  Their brother could become an NFL star. He currently plays for Texas A&M but he could be picked by the Ravens.

  “Come on, Casanova, let’s get back to work. I have bills to pay.”

  Kenneth enters the restaurant with his parents and I force myself to not march him back out. Tessa doesn’t need his shit. The hostess sits him in Donelle’s section and I breathe a bit easier.

  It seems the entire town decided to have brunch today.Or maybe they all heard about the psychic visiting. For a first day, I’m getting the hang of it. And tips aren’t bad. But I keep on looking over where Tessa is sitting with her mom and the weirdo.

  She reminds me of a past I’d rather forget.

  Blind trust in her own power.

  People sure of their absolute power can fuck you up. They can destroy you. They destroyed Mom and our family. I punch the order in.

  “Don’t break the computer. We all need it.” Donelle sounds half-serious.

  I mutter an apology. My fists clench. The anger boils but I won’t let it win. If there’s one thing the juvenile home and my case worker did for me, it was to make sure I got help. I can control myself.

  Most of the time.

  But it’s harder around my uncle, whose tall and lanky frame is right outside the restaurant’s window. The station is across from The Flying Pig but he told me once he doesn’t come in very often—apparently today is my lucky day.

  I always analyze what he says to me, how he acts around me, and yet one of my favorite pastimes is to push his buttons. My therapist said it’s because I want to test his loyalty to me, that deep inside I’m afraid he’s going to kick me out and leave me in the dust.

  It’s because he knows. He knows my past. He knows where I come from and what I escaped. He knows I left Lacey behind and agreed Lila was safer with the foster family. Safer with them than with me.

  I crack my neck and knuckles, hoping to calm down, but that doesn’t work. I’m still angry. Angry at the world but mostly angry with myself.

  This psychic at the table leave a sour taste in my mouth. The power of words. People doubt the power of words. People should be judged by their actions, they say.

  It’s true.

  But words have power too.

  I hurry to Mrs. Dalton with her water. She pats my arm and then turns to stare at my uncle.

  His entrance is met with whispers. The psychic stops talking and bites the nail of her index finger, glancing from Tessa’s mom to my uncle. But Tessa’s mom seems unaware of everything. She waves him over. “John, please come here. She knows where Mellie is.”

  His eyes widen for only a split second but it’s enough for me to see it. Then, his cold and impassible front comes back. His steps are slow and deliberate. He waves at Tessa’s mom. “I’ll be right there.” And then stops right in front of me. “How is your first day?” His voice sounds like the one he uses when talking to his officers: direct and no nonsense.

  “It’s fine.”

  “You’re staying out of trouble?”

  “Always, sir.” I infuse my tone with self-deprecation because he hates it. Mrs. Sienna—my counselor—would tell me to knock it off.

  “I need to see what’s going on with Mrs. Gardner, but…” He leans toward me. “Cut the attitude. That’s not going to help you, your sisters or Tessa.”

  My throat tightens. My eyes are drawn to Tessa. Her shoulders are slumped. Her forearms are planted on the table and her forehead rests on her hands. Even from here, she looks defeated.

  And my uncle is right—baiting him seems stupid.

  His hand lands on my shoulder and I tense under his touch. He’s never hit me but old habits die hard. “We’ll talk later.”

  I want to tell him I’m sorry. But I’m sorry for so much that it might open gates I’d like to keep shut.

  “John!” Tessa’s mom waves his way and she sounds impatient.

  “Probably another scam artist.” He clenches his fists. “But I have to make sure.” He sighs. “I need to pay attention to all possibilities.” He clears his throat. “If only I had paid more attention to your mom, I’d have known what was happening.” He turns away from me then, not giving me any opportunity to reply or to tell him that I really don’t think what happened was his fault.

  He’s all shades of fucked up, but what happened to Mom or to us isn’t on him.

  He didn’t bring us to that compound—Mom did.

  All because a guy promised her a golden life. A life full of meaning and love.

  Instead, he made our lives hell. He played games. He pretended to be polite and charming and caring. The other members didn’t know him. Not really. But I did. Shit, even our leader wasn’t as psychotic as the man my mom chose to fall for. Our leader truly believed in his fairy tales. My stepdad only wants revenge. Revenge and power. “Luke, can you bring me some coffee?” my uncle calls from the table where he pulled up a chair and is now sitting with Tessa, her mom and that self-proclaimed psychic.

  Tessa slowly stands up. “I’ll get it. I need to get back to work,” she says and squeezes her mom’s hand before almost sprinting straight to the kitchen.

  Donelle sneaks up on me. “We need some refills for the iced tea pitchers. Do you mind taking care of it? And tell the kitchen I got a big order coming.” She shoves the pitchers in my hands and then steps around me to get to the computers. “Oh, and Tessa is a sweetheart.”

  Not sure if she’s encouraging me or warning me. But I don’t care. I hurry to the hallway. Tessa is leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. She doesn’t open them when she speaks. “Mom is convinced Faye’s telling the truth.”

  “What about you?” I lean on the wall next to her, our hands almost touching.

  “I wish I did but…why would she know? How is she different from all the other people who claimed they’d help us?” Her voice rises with anger and she exhales loudly. “So many people told us they could find Mellie. They never did. They made money off our tears.”

  She turns to her side. I do the same. My hand reaches out to hers and for the first time in what seems like forever, I’m holding a girl’s hand to try to comfort her. She glances down and our fingers interlink. The buzz of the kitchen and the restaurant dims.

  “I wish we could find Mellie. I still hope she’s alive.” She clears her throat. “But it’s been more than six years. And Mom’s a mess. And our lives are a mess. And I don’t know…”

  She licks her lips and purses them as if what she’s about to say is physically painful. “Last year, when we thought the Angel Killer would finally admit to killing her, it almost felt like closure.” She shakes her head. “It’s awful to think that knowing she’s dead would be closure.” She doesn’t pull away but there’s a challenge in her eyes, like she wants me to be the one to break contact.

  She has no clue how much I understand her pain.

  I don’t say a word. I squeeze her hand and slowly caress her palm with my thumb.

  “I want her to come back. I want her to be alive. I want her to tell me everything is going to be okay,” she finally whispers. “But if I think like that, I’ll be like Mom, I’ll never be able to function because I’ll always be wondering what she’s doing or thinking. Is she crying or has she laughed even once in the last six years?”

  Her voice breaks and she blinks her eyes rapidly. But not fast enough. Tears fall down her face. I pull her to me and wrap my arms around h
er. Her body tenses and I’m ready to let her go when she buries her head in my shoulder and relaxes into what I hope is my calming embrace. “I’m sorry. I say Mom is such a mess, but look at me…”

  I can’t tell her everything is going to be okay, because I know it won’t.

  I know that everything isn’t a happy movie.

  I wish I could make her smile or make her forget for only a moment. Instead, I whisper in her hair the only truth I can: “I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

  Chapter Fifteen - Tessa

  Luke’s embrace is warm and unexpected and yet natural. His words are soothing without promising me the moon. It’s like he does understand.

  But these moments don’t last forever. Snot comes down my nose and if I don’t want to leave a trail, I should probably step away.

  One more second.

  He smells like pancakes.

  One more second.

  And then the reality will come back to bite me in the ass.

  Someone clears their throat. “I don’t want to be a pain,” Donelle says and while she usually has a warm voice, she sounds concerned. “Your mom is crying.”

  “Oh.” I wipe away my own tears. “I guess drama runs in the family.”

  “Drama runs free pretty much everywhere.” Donelle grabs a pitcher. “Trust me. People like to focus on other people’s drama, hoping theirs never comes to light.”

  “She’s right,” Luke says. He turns on the water and with a wet napkin slowly erases what must be quite a mess underneath my eyes. The one day I do decide to wear both eyeliner and mascara, I can’t help but cry.

  Donelle tilts her head to the side, watching us with a smile. Then she frowns. “Kenneth’s here with his parents. He asked to be in your section but I made sure he and his parents were in my area.” She knows about what happened with Kenneth because before going on what I thought was a date, I was nervous and she helped me choose an outfit. After I told her about the bet, she’s been making sure I don’t have to wait on him. She sways back into the dining room.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “I’m usually not that…” The word “emotional” is on my tongue but that’d be a lie. I’m plenty emotional, but it’s usually not something I show the rest of the world. “I’m usually not that real.”

  He raises one eyebrow. “Anytime you need a hug, I’m your guy.” I almost expect him to rush away but instead his hand finds the small of my back. “I can come with you if you want. You know, since technically, you’re currently training me.”

  “I’ll be okay. Plus, I’m pretty sure Donelle needs help. I’m surprised no one came to tell us to get moving.”

  Pablo, the cook, raises his voice from the kitchen. “We’d have told you to get moving but we didn’t want to disturb….awww.” He’s leaning against the door and cracking up.

  Normal. This is normal. This, I can deal with.

  I snicker. “Whatever, Pablo. You don’t want me to start dishing about what I see when the lights go off.”

  His laugh gets even louder. Then he points to the kitchen. “Come on, muchacho, let’s go…Donelle does need help, and Diane will kill me if I don’t get those dishes out in less than ten minutes.”

  I nudge Luke. “You’d better listen to the boss.”

  Luke glances from Pablo to me. “The boss?”

  I check myself in a pocket mirror I have tucked in my apron. At least I don’t look like a raccoon. “He and Diane own this place.”

  “So not only the boss, but the boss-boss.”

  Pablo stares at Luke, but without the animosity from this morning and that makes me smile. “Yep, pretty boy. Let’s get moving.”

  I chuckle. “Pablo tries to put on a mean act from time to time, but it never lasts. He’s a sweetheart.” I shift from one foot to the other, not wanting to face my mother but also not sure of what to say. I’ve been wondering about crossing that invisible line with Luke. Unsure and uncertain. “Thanks,” I finally manage to utter. It almost sounds like a question.

  I hope his own chuckle means he understands. “I told you. Anytime.”

  Mom’s hugging Faye and by the time I make it back to the dining area, she’s no longer crying. Instead, she’s full-on sobbing. The guests in the restaurant pretend to avert their eyes but Mrs. Dalton is whispering to her neighbor and Major Asshole Kenneth’s on his cell phone, clearly recording the scene. My threat yesterday to reveal to the school he’s more on the small side—not that I even know or would actually go through with it—didn’t seem to stick for long. Anxiety mixed with anger explodes in my chest and up my throat.

  Nothing ever changes.

  Not the fake psychics and their lies.

  Not the pain of knowing we might hope for nothing.

  Not Kenneth and his assholeness.

  My eyes dart to the exit door. If I run fast enough, I could make it to my car and back home and hop under the covers or go see Mrs. Fernandéz. And pretend none of this happened. But unlike Mom, I can’t escape.

  I march to Kenneth’s table. He’s sitting with his parents. Luke takes a decided step toward us but I stop him by raising my hand up. I don’t need him to fight my battles. At least not this one. I know Kenneth doesn’t always have it easy. Two years ago, I overheard his dad telling him he’d never be as good as his older brother and last year, his dad yelled that he was a loser at a swim event, humiliating him in front of the team and the school.

  His mom doesn’t defend him. At least not in public. Kenneth seems to compensate for hurting: he always wants to be in the spotlight, always first, always the best. But putting down other people shouldn’t be the way to rise up.

  “Hi, Kenny.” My voice is all sugar and cream. My smile is as sweet as the Texan layer cake I decided to bring back to Mrs. Fernandéz. I put my hand on their table and sway my hip to the right. “Remember last month, you asked me about…?”

  Kenneth’s eyebrows would reach the roof if they could.

  “What, sweetie?” his mom asks me while his dad stares at Kenneth like he knows they might not like the ending of that question.

  “Nothing, Mom,” Kenneth mutters.

  “I think it had to do with pictures…or something like that,” I continue and Kenneth turns red. Funny how at school, he can call on me to take pictures of my tits and share them with everyone, but here with his parents, he’s playing the part of the innocent altar boy.

  He jumps up. “That’s right. I needed help with my settings. Mom, Dad, can you excuse us a second?” They both nod and we walk to the side, by the wall in the corner of the restaurant. Only a few feet from his parents.

  “Delete that video of my mom crying and your parents won’t find out what a prick you are.”

  “That’s not what you said…”

  I force myself to remain calm and not throw my hands up in the air. “What? What I said last year when you tried to trick yourself into my pants for a fucking bet?”

  “Simon said…”

  “Don’t hide behind Simon. Simon didn’t say shit and even if he did and if any of it were true, that doesn’t give you the fucking right to ask me for boob pictures, you idiot,” I hiss and turn to the table where Mom is sitting. She’s slowly wiping her eyes and it seems she’s reaching for her purse.

  Great.

  “Kenneth Jeremy Berson…please don’t be rude and come back to the table.” His dad’s voice booms and Kenneth’s shoulders slump.

  I hiss and hold Kenneth back by his arm. “Delete that video or I tell your Pop and Mom.”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes but deletes the video.

  “See, that wasn’t hard.”

  I walk him back to his table and smile widely at his parents. “I’m sorry I took so much of his time. Kenneth was very helpful.” Kenneth shrugs like he’s the best son in the world and my stomach churns. “He’s having some issues with his camera phone though, you might want to look into that.” Kenneth’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. His dad’s giving him the side-eye but he’s not t
aking his phone. I have a feeling he knows exactly what his son is up to and doesn’t care as long as it helps his son’s social ranking. I force myself to continue pretending everything is okay. “I’ll bring you a refill shortly. Hope you enjoyed your brunch at The Flying Pig.”

  My heart beats almost as fast as every single time I stepped on stage to sing. But I need to get moving. My feet can’t freeze to the floor. Mom may have already found a way to give Faye next month’s rent in a pre-payment.

  The sheriff grabs my arm before I make it to their table. He knows how much Mom has been struggling, how she has a tendency to believe all people who say they can help find Mellie, how much I try to keep the balance. If Dad were here, he’d talk to him, and he probably will call him later. He’s been keeping him as updated as possible. The only thing he tells me says it all. “Don’t let her fool your mother.” His voice reminds me of those dark TV movies I sometimes watch. The type of voice that keeps you on your toes and makes you think maybe he’s the bad guy. He’s been through a rough patch. Everyone knows he’s been struggling too with the Angel Killer case last year and since Luke’s been living with him.

  “Okay,” I answer.

  “And call me if she bothers you.”

  I nod but don’t reply. We both know Mom’s not going to listen to me or to him. “I need to go,” I tell him and finally make it to Mom’s table. “How is everything? Do you want some more coffee?”

  Mom’s pursing her lips like she’s thinking hard. “I’ll have the money tomorrow,” she says. “I’ll talk to Tessa’s father.”

  “Why? Because she needs money to save Mellie?” I bite the words out, not caring if I sound rude.

  Faye doesn’t say a word. She keeps on looking at Mom.

  “Tessa, please.” Mom’s eyes widen.

  “I’m sorry, but if she really knows where Mellie is, then she should tell us—isn’t that what psychics are all about? Knowing?”

  “I’m sorry for my daughter.”

  Faye leans forward as if she’s about to tell Mom a secret. “There is no need to apologize. I understand Tessa is under stress and it must not be easy to know she could have saved her own sister.”