say, gasping to catch my breath.
“Then why are you asking about bikers?”
“A bunch of them came into the bar, and now I’m just curious. One of them said something about Mom—”
“Who? What? Some outlaw biker knew Mom? What did he say?” Marissa’s voice is so upset and urgent that I want to take the words back. I wish I’d never brought this up.
“He just looked at me and said I look like Mom.” It’s easier to just say part of the truth than all of it.
Marissa lets out a deep, long breath. “He’s right. You do. Of the two of us, you look the most like her.”
“I know.”
We sit in silence, the seconds tickling. The quiet is comfortable. If we can’t be there for each other in person, at least we can be someone to turn to by phone.
“That’s weird, though, that he knew Mom. I wonder...no. Never mind,” Marissa says quickly.
“What?”
“I was just thinking something stupid.”
“What?”
“Maybe we could ask Jeff if he knows the biker.”
Oh, boy.
This is getting way, way too complicated.
“Ask Jeff something like that? He’ll bite my head off.”
“And serve it as an appetizer for happy hour tonight,” Marissa adds with a double dose of bitterness.
We both laugh, but it isn’t a happy sound.
“Wait a minute,” she says slowly. “Is this about that guy?”
I stop breathing.
“Allie?” she says, drawing out my name like I’ve been a bad little girl.
And she’s kind of right.
I cringe. “Yeah?”
“You mentioned some guy. Chase Holland or something like that. When I was on the phone with you the other night.”
“Chase Halloway,” I say, correcting her. I can’t help it.
“Is he a biker?” Her voice is filled with steel and judgment. I feel like a little kid who did something wrong, knows it, and can’t help myself.
Yep. That describes me right now. Exactly.
“Um, maybe?” I squeak.
“Oh, God, Allie. No. Just...no. Those guys are killers!”
“What? Chase never killed anyone!” Now I’m mad at her. Who says something like that? She’s my sister and I love her, but now I’m angry. Chase would never, ever murder someone. He dealt drugs because his father gave him no choice, but killing someone? No.
“Allie,” Marissa says in a forced-calm voice. “That’s how biker gangs work. If you’re in the gang, you have to kill for the gang. Everyone knows that.”
“You know that from watching Sons of Anarchy ,” I scoff.
“I know that because I read the freaking newspaper and watch the news, Allie. Ask your new boyfriend.” She says the word in a mocking tone that makes me want to reach through the phone and slap her.
“I’ll ask him. But I know the answer already.” My voice feels dead.
“Hmm,” is all she says.
I hate this. We never fight. She’s my lifeline, the only person I can talk to about anything. Without Marissa I’m completely lost.
“Why’d you really call?” she finally asks in a grudging tone. “You didn’t call to argue about bikers.”
The tree-man from my nightmare last night pops into my mind. He still has no face. “I, um, had a nightmare. A really weird one. And I don’t have any friends here, and no one to talk to about it.” I’m still angry, though. The thought of Chase killing someone because it’s a motorcycle club requirement won’t get out of my head. I’m upset that Marissa put the idea in my head.
And now it’s there, like a weed that spreads its seeds as far as possible to grow and choke out all the good plants.
Someone opens the front door to the bar. Weird. I thought I locked it.
“We’re not open yet!” I call out.
“I’m not here for a drink,” says a man’s voice. The sun is blinding behind him, and I can’t see his face. Then I realize I do know that voice.
“Hey, Marissa. Gotta go. David’s here for a visit.”
“Tell him I said ‘hi.’ And Allie—David’s way better than some biker gang member.”
Click . I hang up on her. It makes my stomach hurt and
“Then why are you asking about bikers?”
“A bunch of them came into the bar, and now I’m just curious. One of them said something about Mom—”
“Who? What? Some outlaw biker knew Mom? What did he say?” Marissa’s voice is so upset and urgent that I want to take the words back. I wish I’d never brought this up.
“He just looked at me and said I look like Mom.” It’s easier to just say part of the truth than all of it.
Marissa lets out a deep, long breath. “He’s right. You do. Of the two of us, you look the most like her.”
“I know.”
We sit in silence, the seconds tickling. The quiet is comfortable. If we can’t be there for each other in person, at least we can be someone to turn to by phone.
“That’s weird, though, that he knew Mom. I wonder...no. Never mind,” Marissa says quickly.
“What?”
“I was just thinking something stupid.”
“What?”
“Maybe we could ask Jeff if he knows the biker.”
Oh, boy.
This is getting way, way too complicated.
“Ask Jeff something like that? He’ll bite my head off.”
“And serve it as an appetizer for happy hour tonight,” Marissa adds with a double dose of bitterness.
We both laugh, but it isn’t a happy sound.
“Wait a minute,” she says slowly. “Is this about that guy?”
I stop breathing.
“Allie?” she says, drawing out my name like I’ve been a bad little girl.
And she’s kind of right.
I cringe. “Yeah?”
“You mentioned some guy. Chase Holland or something like that. When I was on the phone with you the other night.”
“Chase Halloway,” I say, correcting her. I can’t help it.
“Is he a biker?” Her voice is filled with steel and judgment. I feel like a little kid who did something wrong, knows it, and can’t help myself.
Yep. That describes me right now. Exactly.
“Um, maybe?” I squeak.
“Oh, God, Allie. No. Just...no. Those guys are killers!”
“What? Chase never killed anyone!” Now I’m mad at her. Who says something like that? She’s my sister and I love her, but now I’m angry. Chase would never, ever murder someone. He dealt drugs because his father gave him no choice, but killing someone? No.
“Allie,” Marissa says in a forced-calm voice. “That’s how biker gangs work. If you’re in the gang, you have to kill for the gang. Everyone knows that.”
“You know that from watching Sons of Anarchy ,” I scoff.
“I know that because I read the freaking newspaper and watch the news, Allie. Ask your new boyfriend.” She says the word in a mocking tone that makes me want to reach through the phone and slap her.
“I’ll ask him. But I know the answer already.” My voice feels dead.
“Hmm,” is all she says.
I hate this. We never fight. She’s my lifeline, the only person I can talk to about anything. Without Marissa I’m completely lost.
“Why’d you really call?” she finally asks in a grudging tone. “You didn’t call to argue about bikers.”
The tree-man from my nightmare last night pops into my mind. He still has no face. “I, um, had a nightmare. A really weird one. And I don’t have any friends here, and no one to talk to about it.” I’m still angry, though. The thought of Chase killing someone because it’s a motorcycle club requirement won’t get out of my head. I’m upset that Marissa put the idea in my head.
And now it’s there, like a weed that spreads its seeds as far as possible to grow and choke out all the good plants.
Someone opens the front door to the bar. Weird. I thought I locked it.
“We’re not open yet!” I call out.
“I’m not here for a drink,” says a man’s voice. The sun is blinding behind him, and I can’t see his face. Then I realize I do know that voice.
“Hey, Marissa. Gotta go. David’s here for a visit.”
“Tell him I said ‘hi.’ And Allie—David’s way better than some biker gang member.”
Click . I hang up on her. It makes my stomach hurt and
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