Desires of the Dead
Page 50
She hurried, hoping to be out of there before her mom came home. She threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and pulled her hair back in a ponytail that looked nothing like the ones she’d seen on the pristine Sara Priest. Violet’s hair was wild and unruly, even on a good day.
She did a last-minute mirror check to assess the damage. It wasn’t so bad. At least not once she got past the dark circles and the sallow skin. And that vacant look behind her still swollen eyes.
She decided it was probably better not to look in the mirror for too long.
She scribbled a quick note, letting her parents know she’d be back in time for dinner, and she rushed out the door, feeling better the moment her car’s engine sputtered to life.
That was when she pulled out her cell phone to arrange a meeting she wouldn’t have predicted in a million years. With the last person she’d ever expected to call.
Rafe was already inside, looking at ease for the first time since Violet had met him. She spotted him before he noticed her, and she watched him through the glass, with his inky black hair falling in front of his face. He leaned back in the wobbly-looking bistro chair, his arms folded across his chest, his chin down. He was someone who was accustomed to going unnoticed. He seemed to prefer it that way.
She’d recognized it the moment she’d met him. It was that indefinable quality she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He was . . . different. It was as if he didn’t belong. As if he was a boy who couldn’t quite find his place in the world.
Like her.
The thought made her instantly uncomfortable. She didn’t like the possibility that she didn’t belong, even though she’d considered that very thing more times than she could count.
He had picked the meeting place, a coffee shop in the city. A dark little café tucked within the crowded streets and redbrick buildings of Pioneer Square, an area of Seattle rich with art galleries, restaurants, and antique stores. It was also a popular gathering area for the local homeless.
Violet stepped through the doorway, the raw wooden planks thumping hollowly beneath her feet. The smell of coffee was dark and rich.
Rafe glanced up and saw her there. When he didn’t smile, didn’t respond at all, Violet was surprised by her disappointment. She wondered what she’d expected.
And she worried that she’d made a mistake, calling Rafe.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly nervous as she pulled out the chair across from him.
He lifted his chin in a brief nod and continued to watch her guardedly. He’d ordered before she’d arrived, and steam rose from the coffee sitting between them.
“Thanks for meeting me. I know I didn’t give you much notice.”
He shrugged as he cleared his throat. As always, his voice was hushed. “I was sorta surprised you called.”
Violet felt exactly the same way. “You’re the one who gave me your number.” She challenged him with a look, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. Now that she was sitting here, she felt so . . . awkward. “I was just hoping we could talk . . . maybe you could, I don’t know, answer some questions for me.”
He looked down, as if he were having trouble holding her gaze. “You’re right, I did give you my number. It’s just . . . I’m not really good at talking. Sara’s much better at it.” His eyes shifted up then, finding hers, and she was struck again by how intense they were. “I’m not really sure I’m the one you should have called.”
Violet shook her head but couldn’t find the words to argue. She could practically see the walls he had up, the defenses he had no intention of letting down.
“If you want, I can call Sara and set something up between you two, but I just don’t think I can do”—he pointed from her to him, shrugging, his face apologetic—“this.”
Violet didn’t answer; she suddenly felt like a jackass for thinking that she might be able to talk to Rafe in the first place. What have I been smoking? she chastised herself. Her eyes burned, stinging, and she blinked hard. She couldn’t believe she’d been foolish enough to think they might have some sort of connection. But after everything she’d been through, the tears were still too close to the surface, and she was afraid that if she started crying now, in front of him, she might actually die from humiliation.
She shoved away from the table, nearly toppling her chair in her haste to leave.
But Rafe reached for her, grabbing her wrist and stopping her before she could turn away.
Violet flinched at his touch, as electricity sparked between them, shooting all the way up her arm. She jerked her hand back, clutching it tightly to her pounding heart.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking just as confused by the strange current as she was. He flexed and unflexed his fist, and Violet could see that his fingernails had been filled in with Sharpie. His eyes lifted to hers. “Look, Violet, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please . . . don’t go. Not yet.”
She hesitated, trying to decide, but she couldn’t ignore the sincerity she heard in his voice. Finally she pulled her chair back to the table and sat down. But now she was the one with the mistrustful look in her eyes.
He smiled then; it was a sly, wicked sort of smile. It suited him. “I told you I was bad at this.”
Violet winced, not yet ready to let him off the hook. “That’s kind of an understatement.”
“Can we try this again? What did you want to talk about?”
Violet exhaled noisily as she propped her elbows on the table and tried to explain. “I don’t know why I called you, really. I just . . . I didn’t want to be alone anymore. And that doesn’t mean I think we have to be friends or anything.” She made a face at him. “It’s just that you’re the only one who knows about Sara Priest. And that I found that little boy. At least, the only person I can talk to.” She thought about Jay, about how she should have been able to tell him.
She did a last-minute mirror check to assess the damage. It wasn’t so bad. At least not once she got past the dark circles and the sallow skin. And that vacant look behind her still swollen eyes.
She decided it was probably better not to look in the mirror for too long.
She scribbled a quick note, letting her parents know she’d be back in time for dinner, and she rushed out the door, feeling better the moment her car’s engine sputtered to life.
That was when she pulled out her cell phone to arrange a meeting she wouldn’t have predicted in a million years. With the last person she’d ever expected to call.
Rafe was already inside, looking at ease for the first time since Violet had met him. She spotted him before he noticed her, and she watched him through the glass, with his inky black hair falling in front of his face. He leaned back in the wobbly-looking bistro chair, his arms folded across his chest, his chin down. He was someone who was accustomed to going unnoticed. He seemed to prefer it that way.
She’d recognized it the moment she’d met him. It was that indefinable quality she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He was . . . different. It was as if he didn’t belong. As if he was a boy who couldn’t quite find his place in the world.
Like her.
The thought made her instantly uncomfortable. She didn’t like the possibility that she didn’t belong, even though she’d considered that very thing more times than she could count.
He had picked the meeting place, a coffee shop in the city. A dark little café tucked within the crowded streets and redbrick buildings of Pioneer Square, an area of Seattle rich with art galleries, restaurants, and antique stores. It was also a popular gathering area for the local homeless.
Violet stepped through the doorway, the raw wooden planks thumping hollowly beneath her feet. The smell of coffee was dark and rich.
Rafe glanced up and saw her there. When he didn’t smile, didn’t respond at all, Violet was surprised by her disappointment. She wondered what she’d expected.
And she worried that she’d made a mistake, calling Rafe.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly nervous as she pulled out the chair across from him.
He lifted his chin in a brief nod and continued to watch her guardedly. He’d ordered before she’d arrived, and steam rose from the coffee sitting between them.
“Thanks for meeting me. I know I didn’t give you much notice.”
He shrugged as he cleared his throat. As always, his voice was hushed. “I was sorta surprised you called.”
Violet felt exactly the same way. “You’re the one who gave me your number.” She challenged him with a look, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. Now that she was sitting here, she felt so . . . awkward. “I was just hoping we could talk . . . maybe you could, I don’t know, answer some questions for me.”
He looked down, as if he were having trouble holding her gaze. “You’re right, I did give you my number. It’s just . . . I’m not really good at talking. Sara’s much better at it.” His eyes shifted up then, finding hers, and she was struck again by how intense they were. “I’m not really sure I’m the one you should have called.”
Violet shook her head but couldn’t find the words to argue. She could practically see the walls he had up, the defenses he had no intention of letting down.
“If you want, I can call Sara and set something up between you two, but I just don’t think I can do”—he pointed from her to him, shrugging, his face apologetic—“this.”
Violet didn’t answer; she suddenly felt like a jackass for thinking that she might be able to talk to Rafe in the first place. What have I been smoking? she chastised herself. Her eyes burned, stinging, and she blinked hard. She couldn’t believe she’d been foolish enough to think they might have some sort of connection. But after everything she’d been through, the tears were still too close to the surface, and she was afraid that if she started crying now, in front of him, she might actually die from humiliation.
She shoved away from the table, nearly toppling her chair in her haste to leave.
But Rafe reached for her, grabbing her wrist and stopping her before she could turn away.
Violet flinched at his touch, as electricity sparked between them, shooting all the way up her arm. She jerked her hand back, clutching it tightly to her pounding heart.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking just as confused by the strange current as she was. He flexed and unflexed his fist, and Violet could see that his fingernails had been filled in with Sharpie. His eyes lifted to hers. “Look, Violet, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please . . . don’t go. Not yet.”
She hesitated, trying to decide, but she couldn’t ignore the sincerity she heard in his voice. Finally she pulled her chair back to the table and sat down. But now she was the one with the mistrustful look in her eyes.
He smiled then; it was a sly, wicked sort of smile. It suited him. “I told you I was bad at this.”
Violet winced, not yet ready to let him off the hook. “That’s kind of an understatement.”
“Can we try this again? What did you want to talk about?”
Violet exhaled noisily as she propped her elbows on the table and tried to explain. “I don’t know why I called you, really. I just . . . I didn’t want to be alone anymore. And that doesn’t mean I think we have to be friends or anything.” She made a face at him. “It’s just that you’re the only one who knows about Sara Priest. And that I found that little boy. At least, the only person I can talk to.” She thought about Jay, about how she should have been able to tell him.
