Not Quite Dead Yet, page 20
Sophia shook her head. “Funny,” she said. “ ’Cause that’s not how I remember it. You’re the one who stopped responding to me, Jet. I didn’t have anybody when you left Woodstock. You were my everything, and then you were gone, so focused on Dartmouth, on trying to be Emily, that you forgot to be yourself.”
That stung, Jet felt it behind the eyes. “No!” she barked. “You never met Emily. You don’t get to talk about her like you know anything. You stopped responding first.”
“I remember it differently.”
“You remember it wrong!”
“Fine!” Sophia snapped, coming back. “You can hate me as much as you want, but I did this for Luke. I’d do anything for him, for the people I care about.”
“Poisoning your father-in-law seems a step too far, if you ask me,” Jet said. “Why couldn’t you just wait until Dad was ready to retire?”
“Luke can’t wait,” Sophia said, tensing like she’d accidentally said too much.
“Why?” Jet stepped closer. “Why can’t Luke wait? Has he done something?”
“No, no, no,” Sophia said, two nos too many. “He’s just waited too long already, that’s all.”
“Sophia,” Jet growled. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell!”
“Where were you when I was being murdered?” She stepped forward again, squishing a piece of cake into the floor. “10:46 p.m. on Halloween. I know you and Luke weren’t here together, like you said. One of you was out. Was it you? Was it him?”
Sophia blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”
“—Not this again,” Jet cut her off. “Yes, you do. You lied to me. You texted Luke, saying Call me at 10:52 that night. Look, go get your phone, if you want to keep playing dumb. One of you was not in the house like you said. Was it you, Sophia? Where were you?”
Sophia blinked. “I was here,” she said, voice deflating.
“So it was Luke?” Jet pressed. “Luke went somewhere?”
“No.”
“Sophia, tell me!”
“I can’t tell you anything! Luke was here with me!”
“You’re lying!”
“I’m not!”
“What about those cuts on his hands?” Jet pressed even harder. “Did he come home with those?”
“Luke didn’t leave home!”
“Oh, fuck off, Sophia.”
“Not everything is about you, Jet,” she shouted. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know!”
“Well, I’m the one dying this week, so it can revolve around me just a little bit, ’kay? Temporarily.”
Jet drew back, a phantom itch at the back of her neck, heat just below the surface. She pointed to the Lotrel capsule.
“Does Luke know? About you poisoning Dad? Did you plan this togeth—”
“—No, he doesn’t know.” Sophia sniffed, a wet sucking sound, though there weren’t any tears. “And, Jet, you can’t tell him. You have to promise me you won’t tell him.”
Jet folded her lip, scoffed in Sophia’s desperate face. “I’m not promising you shit.”
Sophia grabbed Jet’s arm. Her right arm. Jet only knew because she watched her do it, couldn’t feel a thing. Sophia could squeeze as tight as she wanted, dig those nails right in, and Jet wouldn’t flinch. Not a bit.
“No, Jet. You can’t tell Luke about this.”
Jet narrowed her eyes, took aim, right up through Sophia’s head. “I can do whatever I want. I’ve got three days to live. No consequences, Sophia.”
She shoved Sophia away.
Walked past Cameron—happily picking away at the rest of his broccoli—toward the hallway.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Billy Finney this week, haven’t you?” Sophia called after her, breathless between the words, forcing them out.
Jet ignored her, kept going for the front door.
“Does Billy know?” she called. “What you did to him? How you ruined his life?”
Jet’s feet faltered, stopping her on the welcome mat. She pressed her teeth together, swallowed the guilt back where it belonged. Deep down. Farther than that.
“If you tell Luke about the pills, Jet, I’ll tell Billy about his mom!”
Jet’s heart followed the guilt, down into her gut, hissing in the acid.
“Fuck you, Sophia!”
“Fuck you, Jet!”
“Don’t fucking swear in front of the fucking baby!” Jet yelled, wrenching the front door open.
Dark outside, the moon hanging low in the sky.
She slammed the door behind her.
They still had a jack-o’-lantern on the front porch, uneven toothy smile that was closer to a smirk, like Sophia’s, upside-down triangle eyes, just starting to soften and sag.
Jet let it take over, the rage, starting in her gut, chewing on her doubled-up heart, clawing behind her eyes. She smashed her heel down onto the jack-o’-lantern and the pumpkin exploded, orange innards everywhere. She stamped again, and again, until it was flat, just chunks and the little stringy goo that held them together.
It helped, actually, to pretend it was Sophia.
The rage burned itself out, but Jet suddenly lit up, here on the porch. A spotlight—no, two. Covering her eyes against the glare.
Headlights.
A car pulling up on the drive, parking beside the blue Range Rover.
It was Luke, coming home from work.
Jet scraped the pumpkin guts from the sole of her shoe—these Birkenstocks, man, been through a lot this week—and hurried down the steps, reaching the car before Luke had even switched the engine off.
Left hand. She grabbed the passenger door handle and opened it, dropping inside, shutting them in together.
“Um, hi.” Luke stared across at her, keys clutched in his hand. Scabs starting to peel off his knuckles.
“Yeah, um, hi,” Jet replied.
“Did you just smash our pumpkin?” He looked through the window beyond her.
“Yeah, I was mad,” Jet said, no hesitation. “Where’s my list?”
“What?”
“The list of Mason Construction employees, Luke.”
Luke pinched his nose, sighed. “Fuck, Jet, I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Jet leaned closer, a new glimmer of rage with a different face. This one lived in her chest. “Not like this is life-or-death or anything, Luke.”
“I’m sorry.” His eyes flashed, catching the moonlight, reflecting it back at her. “Work has been crazy, with the North Street site shutting down and—”
“—Is there a reason you don’t want me to see it?” Jet said, knowing there must be, that there was something more here. “Because you’ve sure been stalling a lot.”
“I just forgot, sorry.” He looked down.
“I don’t think you would forget. You know I have three days to live, how important this is to me. What’s going on, Luke?”
“Huh?”
“Just tell me. I know something’s going on.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“You didn’t kill me, did you, Luke?” Jet laughed but it was cold, empty, not quite sure of itself.
His jaw tensed, chewing on the stale air inside the car.
“You seriously asking me that?”
“You weren’t here, at home, during the time when I was attacked. I know you lied about that.”
He sniffed. “Yes, I was. Me and Sophia—”
“—Sophia just told me,” Jet said, a lie of her own. But she was pretty sure she was right, that Sophia had been home, and Luke hadn’t. “Those grazes on your hands, you didn’t get them Friday morning. There’s photos of you at the fair, Luke, I’ve seen them. Your hands are fine. You must have hurt them after, sometime Friday night.”
“While I was smashing your head in with a hammer?” he asked, a laugh, just as empty.
“I’m just asking.”
“Well, don’t.” Luke wiped his face, stubble hissing against his fingers. “You know it wasn’t me. You’re my sister, why would I want to kill you?”
Jet sat back. She could think of only one reason: if Luke knew about Dad’s plan to sell to Nell Jankowski, if getting rid of Jet was his only option.
Silence, too heavy, pressing down on Jet’s shoulders as she watched her brother, scoring his fingernail along the metal of his keys.
“Is…” Jet faltered, tried again. “Is getting Dad’s company really that important to you?”
Luke laughed, pressed the keys into his palm, little teeth leaving indents behind, marking him. “The most important. It’s literally the only thing that matters.”
“Really?” Jet asked, trying to find his eyes. “Like you’ve spent your whole life fixated on this one goal, on achieving this one thing to prove to everyone that you can. And when you have—when you finally get it—life can actually, really begin, and you’ll finally be happy? Like that?”
“Yeah.” Luke stared ahead. “Something like that.”
“But do you think it will?” Jet looked out the windshield too. “Make you happy?”
Luke thought about it, sucking in all the air, leaving none for Jet. Pushed it back out.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “It has to.” He glanced over. “Why?”
Jet shrugged. “Just been thinking. About you and me, how we grew up. If we really understand what happy is supposed to look like. Because of Emily, because of what happened. Always being compared to her, the things she was going to do. Happened so much that I wonder if we think that life is just about constantly comparing ourselves. To Emily, to each other, to everyone else. To prove something, to Dad, to Mom especially. Like we can be good enough too. But is that right? Is that what it’s all supposed to be about or…” Jet trailed off. She didn’t know where that was going either, what came after the or, what other choice there was. It was a stupid thought, blood leaking into her brain, making her think stupid things.
“No, I don’t think about that,” Luke said, shutting her down, unbuckling his seatbelt, like he was finished with this conversation.
But Jet wasn’t, and the world revolved around her this week.
“You know,” she said, raising her voice, bringing him back in. “You know you’ve always said you would give Dad one of your kidneys?”
Luke nodded, something new in his eyes, shifting. “I would have given you one too.”
Jet smiled, too wide. “Lucky it’s my brain that’s killing me, because you really can only give away one kidney, Luke.”
“Right.”
“Well,” Jet said, “you might have to do that, for Dad, sooner rather than later. You can thank your wife for that.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked across at her.
“Tell Sophia Jet said to ask about the Lotrel and the salt.” She smiled. “Make sure you do—it’s a pretty funny story, actually.”
Jet leaned her left arm across herself, reaching for the door handle. “My right arm doesn’t work anymore,” she explained, catching the confusion on Luke’s face, opening the door. “Aneurysm’s leaking. Means it’ll only be a few days, so…”
Jet stared out the open door, the wind picking up, howling as it trespassed inside the car.
She swung one leg out, hesitated, turned back.
“Luke?”
“Jet?”
If Luke knew about Dad’s plan to sell the company to Nell Jankowski, then that gave him motive, and Jet couldn’t write him off. Even though he was her brother, even though they grew up together, even though he was supposed to be her ally, even though no one had truly felt like an ally inside the war zone of 10 College Hill Road, after Emily died.
His reaction would tell Jet everything she needed to know.
“I found something out,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And I think I should tell you, because it’s you, and it’s me.”
Luke shifted in his seat, facing her. “What?”
Jet swallowed. Luke could never hide his temper, never, so if it came out, then didn’t that clear him?
“Dad isn’t planning to leave the company to you,” she said, quickly, before she lost her nerve. “I know that’s what we all thought his plan was, when he retired. But…”
A shadow crossed Luke’s eyes, face shifting, crowding the corners of his mouth.
“…He’s planning to sell the company, to Nell Jankowski,” Jet continued, studying Luke, watching the shadow spread farther, bringing a flush of angry red out in his cheeks, creeping down his neck. “She owns a big home construction business, wants to expand here in Woodstock. Dad’s planning to sell to her, because he doesn’t think it’s fair to give you the company when he has two kids. Even though I would have never wanted it, Luke, you know that.”
His bottom lip dropped open, teeth bared.
“Is this true?” he said, voice just a dark whisper, holding it all back. “Or are you trying to hurt me?”
“It’s true,” Jet said. “I spoke to Nell.”
Luke exploded, came apart at the seams, his eyes empty black holes, mouth one too. “Fuck!” he roared, strings of saliva binding his teeth, just about holding his face together. “FUCK!”
He punched the steering wheel.
Screamed.
Punched it again with the other hand, opening the scabs on his knuckles, a trickle of blood across his wedding ring.
“Fuck!” Luke screeched, taken over by his temper, possessed by it, hitting the steering wheel over and over.
The horn rang out as his fist connected.
And again.
Kept going, bloody knuckles, like the noise fueled him somehow. The soundtrack to his fury.
“FUCK!”
Jet stepped out of the car, left the door open, left her brother behind.
She walked down the darkened street.
Luke’s screams and the staccato of the wailing horn followed her all the way.
Twenty-One
A car beeped outside on Central Street, the sound rattling the windows in Billy’s apartment, breaking up the silence.
Then Billy broke it again.
“I’m sorry, we’re going to what?”
He stared at her, sandwich clutched between his hands, open-mouthed, matching the bite mark in the bread.
“We’re going to break into Mason Construction,” Jet said, pulling her jacket zipper all the way to the top, one-handed. She could do it now, if Billy started it off for her, pulled the two halves together, up a few inches. “You really should listen the first time.”
“I did listen, I was just giving you a chance to reconsider.” He abandoned the sandwich.
“I’ve considered,” Jet said. “Reconsidered.” Grunting as she stepped into her shoes again. “And re-reconsidered. Luke is hiding something. There’s a reason he doesn’t want me to have that list of employees; he’s not that forgetful. What’s the time now?”
Billy tapped his phone screen. “Nine-forty.”
“Perfect,” Jet said. “No one will be there. All ours.”
“And what will we be looking for?” Billy folded his arms, hugged them over his chest, wearing the same shirt Jet had borrowed last night at the bar.
“That damn list,” Jet hissed. “And the reason Luke is being so cagey about it. He didn’t know about Nell Jankowski, but there’s something going on at Mason Construction, I’m sure of it. Why Sophia felt she had to poison my dad to make him retire sooner, stop him poking around. She said Luke couldn’t wait. And I want to know why. Because maybe it’s the same reason someone took a hammer to my head five days ago. It’s all connected to the company, so that’s where we’re going.”
She moved toward the closet, her dead arm catching on the back of the couch, making her stumble. Or maybe it was the fact that everything had doubled again, her eyes tripping over the interwoven edges, Jet trying to find her way through, somewhere down the middle.
“You got a flashlight?”
“Er, yeah.” Billy pointed. “Should be in that closet, maybe on top of the tool kit.”
“Duct tape?” Jet asked, pulling the closet door open, missing the handle the first time, scrabbling to its left.
“Why do we need duct tape?”
“Billy.”
“In one of those side pockets, I think.”
Jet found the flashlight resting on top, the tape just on the shelf beside. Struggled to hold them both in one hand as she avoided Mrs. Finney’s eyes in the framed photo above.
“And you’ve got the flashlight on your ph-phone.” She nodded toward it, on the counter. The nodding unbalanced her.
“You going to eat anything before we go?” Billy asked. “The sandwich I made you?”
“Not hungry.” She leaned against the wall, tried to blink the world back together. Blink. Stitch it. Glue it. Hell, duct tape it. Blink.
“Jet.” Billy softened his voice, already cloud-soft. And what was softer than a cloud? “You sure you’re OK to do this? You don’t look—”
“—I’m not dead yet,” she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“No,” Billy whispered.
“Not quite.” Jet forced out her old man laugh, gruff and breathy, stopped because it hurt her head. “You ready?”
“To break and enter? To commit a crime?”
“I’m committing the crime, Billy.” She hooked her good arm through his. “You’re just the getaway driver. And the get-there driver. You’re my Emotional Support Billy.”
“Physical support too, huh?” he said, arm tensing, holding Jet up, taking half her weight.
“Just for the stairs. I’ll be good in a minute.”
“Can’t believe we’re really doing this.” He scooped up Jet’s truck keys from the counter, and his phone.
