Kiss Me If You Dare (12 page)

Daylight sifted slowly over the landscape. Brown lawns and shriveled plants made their plea for water.

The bus stopped in front of the old depot. The driver opened the door for unloading.

“Thanks, Mr. Kim. See you later.” I made my walk toward Rios Buena Suerta. The other passengers stayed in the station, waiting to make their daily commute to the city via the Amtrak.

I shuffled along dim streets thinking about my latest stab at college. I was holding steady with a 3.5 GPA. The four-point in my Non-profit Organizations class was dragged down by the three-point on the Revamp Project.

I had asked Denton first chance I got why he gave me a B instead of an A.

“I assigned you to be the leader,” he’d replied. “You’re letting others do your job. You’re skating through. You’re lucky I didn’t give you a C.”

I paused at the intersection, smiling to myself. Despite Denton’s rebuff, I was proud of my accomplishment. I almost wished I could complete my degree here at Del Gloria. It would reverse the fact that I’d had to drop out of Michigan State. But Brad’s phone call would come any day. I just knew it. And as soon as I hit the disconnect button, I’d be on the first flight out of here and back in Brad’s arms.

Guilt hit me at the thought of walking out on my teammates. They were counting on me to be here ’til the end. But once I explained the whole situation, they’d understand and wish me the best.

I turned the corner onto Rios Buena Suerta and covered the distance to our mostly completed House Number Four. I grabbed the hidden key and climbed the ramp that covered the front steps. A swift turn of the handle, and I was in.

The dining and living rooms still needed paint before the project was complete. And, we were waiting for a friend of a friend of Dagger’s to drop off his extension ladder so we could finish plugging the leak near the chimney. But with no rain in the forecast, there was no hurry.

I flipped on the lights and stooped over the paint cans. We’d gone with my favorite neutral, a pale ivory, to keep the rooms bright and warm. Rubbery paint separated as I pried the top off and poured a stream into the tray. The roller made a slurping sound as I wet it with color. I stood and turned toward my target wall.

I froze, staring at the wall and gasping for air.

PATRICIA AMBLE WAS HERE. The words were sprayed in huge black letters across the smooth surface.

14

The letters blurred as I shrank to the floor, instinctively holding the roller away from my clothes. I gave myself a mental kick. Whoever had written it knew I worked alone every morning. That meant they could be watching me right now. Waiting for me.

Caring more about protecting my secret than avoiding bodily harm, I dragged the roller across the words, painting them out. But the black showed through and I raced to get a fresh supply of paint to blot the letters.

By the time I was satisfied, tears and sweat had made a mess of my face.

Outside, the porch creaked.

I whirled as someone entered the room.

“Celia! Thank goodness it’s you.” My heart thudded out of control.

Her chair made a quiet whirring as she steered to me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, still gasping.

“You shouldn’t work so hard this early in the morning.

You look like you’re ready to pass out.” She took the roller from my grip. “Put your head between your knees.”

She wheeled over to the wall, emptied the roller over its surface, then maneuvered to the tray for a refill. “When the rest of them get here, we should have these two rooms done in no time.” She painted a patch of drywall.

“Yeah.” I kept up my pattern of breathing, feeling my brain connections coming back on line. “Who was the last one to leave last night? Do you remember?”

“Uh oh. Did someone forget to lock the door? Usually I’m the last one out. But Maize, Koby, and Portia were still here when I left.” She finished a lower section and went for more paint.

We’d started hitting the night shift pretty hard when some of the team members took jobs in addition to classes. Dagger and Simon showed up in the mornings. The rest arrived after supper and stayed until dark. I managed to cover both shifts.

The chaotic schedules didn’t make it any easier to weed out my antagonist.

Today, Dagger and Simon pulled in around ten. I watched their behavior to see if either one acted strange around me. They both seemed normal, if they could be called that.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” Simon asked as we taped off the trim in a back bedroom.

I figured if I told him his birthmark was fading again, he’d think I was loony. I gave him a shrug of apology and went in search of Dagger.

“When’s your buddy bringing his ladder?” I found him on the porch, flipping his cell phone closed.

“Said he’d drop it off tonight. I’m working late at the pizzeria, so I won’t be here. Can you meet him?” When he wasn’t speaking the lingo of his ’hood, Dagger sounded like any other surfer dude.

I glanced down the street. The heat of a California autumn rose in waves from the pavement. Birds in tree branches sang at the top of their voices. Perhaps they were praying for rain.

I nodded in Dagger’s direction. “Yeah. I’ll be around.” Inside, I took a last look. One more coat of paint later that afternoon and we’d be done. I tidied up the supplies and went to class, doodling while the youngish prof jotted his points on the whiteboard.

Godly Decisions in the Secular Corporation
had a double underline. Eight steps followed. I dutifully copied them in my notebook, knowing I’d be able to memorize them later and ace a test. As for putting them into action . . . it seemed too monumental a task for real life. I figured I’d probably keep living the way I always had: react to the slightest situation as if an atom bomb was about to detonate in my hands. That worked well for me as the CEO of Tish International.

My pen slid to a halt. According to Denton, my atom bomb lifestyle is what had put my mind into cortisol-overdrive in the first place. Maybe I needed to take the processes being presented in class more seriously. More than my grades depended on it.

The instructor launched into a lecture. As I listened, I tried to imagine life without daily drama. Even in all the years I’d lived completely alone, I’d spent my energy rehashing the past, feeling guilty for the smallest mistakes, and crucifying myself over and over for the big ones. I didn’t need an audience to be a drama queen.

Then when I met Brad . . . At the very hint that things could ease into a comfortable, long-term relationship, I was running for cover, ramping up the drama, determined to escape a ho-hum, albeit peaceful, existence as Brad’s wife.

And I’d nearly succeeded at ruining things for myself. Brad’s patience and forbearance had kept intact the ties that bound us.

Then just when everything was about to go right . . . I rubbed at the ache in my arm that flared up every time I thought of Brad. I hadn’t asked for Frank Majestic’s drama in my life. It wasn’t fair that other people’s baggage kept showing up and wrecking things for me. Tuning in to the man at the podium, I wrote down the details that would help me take a deep breath and make better decisions next time around.

After class, I grabbed a salad at the cafeteria, then took the bus back to Rios Buena Suerta. The team had polished off most of the painting by the time I arrived. “Wow. It looks great.” I marveled at the transformation the once-dilapidated house had undergone. “Some family is going to be proud to call this place home.”

I helped Koby and Portia with the cleanup, rinsing the last of the brushes and laying them on the counter. “Why don’t you two go ahead and take off? I’ll shine the sink while I wait for the ladder.”

Roofs were technically off-limits to students in the
Revamp Program. For safety’s sake, the department required
the work to be contracted by professionals. But due to a localized construction boom, it was another
week before the block of homes would be sealed from
the elements. While House Numbers One, Two, and
Three would hold up in bad weather, House Number
Four wouldn’t be so lucky. The metal flashing around
the chimney had peeled away in previous years, leaving
easy access for the rain. To protect the work we’d done
so far, we planned to plug the leak ourselves, at least
temporarily.

“I’ll wait with you,” Celia said. “No one should be here
alone past dark.”

I shook my head. “It won’t be long. Anyway, don’t you
work in Dean Lester’s office tomorrow morning?”

She groaned. “And I’ve got a test to study for.”

“You go study. I can handle it.” I shooed them out the
door and wiped the new stainless steel sink and fixtures
until they shone. The wood floors were worn, but we’d
taken out the squeak and put on a new coat of finish,
which gave off a lustrous glow even in the dimming light.
A good sweeping and the place would be ready for its
new occupants.

I poked my head out the screen door. No ladder guys
yet. I sat on the porch surround, dangling my feet as I
waited. In the distance, over open water, lightning bolted
across the sky.

I straightened. Maybe Mr. Kim was right. It only
rained when you didn’t want it to. My thumbs twiddled
with nervous energy. If the ladder would just get here,
I could climb the roof and patch the leak before the
downpour.

Lightning flashed again, followed by the rumble of thunder. My feet thudded impatiently. I’d almost given
up hope when a pickup with a ladder strapped to its
rack pealed around the corner and screeched to a halt
at the curb.

Two swarthy men in blue jeans and tank tops got out,
their skin darkly tanned. “You the one who needs the
ladder?” the tallest of the two asked.

I gave a relieved smile. “You’re at the right place.”

“Where do you want it?”

I turned toward the house. “Right there on the side.
I have to get up to the chimney.”

“Not tonight, I hope. There’s a storm coming.” The tall
man unfastened the rope and slid the ladder down. The
other caught one end, and between them, they moved
it into place.

“Thank you so much,” I said over the crank of the
engine. An arm waved out the window as the truck did
a U-turn and headed toward the main road.

I checked the western sky. Giant black clouds blotted
out the last rays of sun, bringing on night like the drop
of a curtain.

The chimney made a desperate sentinel alone in the center of the roof. There would never be enough time to seal the leak now. But if I draped the stones with a drop cloth, there might be enough protection to keep out the storm. I grabbed duct tape and the plastic and climbed the first rung . . . then the second . . . Halfway up, the ladder shifted. I leaned in the other direction to compensate. The ladder stabilized. Heart pounding, I took another step. My stomach knotted as I reached the top rung and the steep incline of the roof. Earlier, the guys had cast a rope over the peak, then thrown it back over, looping it around the chimney. The theory had been to provide a handhold for Dagger, who’d volunteered to make the climb. Too bad for me the rain decided to show up earlier than expected. Finding the twin lengths that dangled all the way to the ground, I hoisted myself toward the bricks like a mountain climber conquering Mt. Everest. At the top, I pressed my cheeks to the chimney, praying God would overlook my stupidity in tackling this project alone.

Lightning flashed directly above me. I cringed at my decision to climb a rooftop in a thunderstorm. If Denton could see me now, he’d throw me off the project. If Brad could see me now . . .

I didn’t want to go that route. At the moment I could only hope to live to see Brad.

Straddling the peak, I tossed a corner of plastic over the chimney. The wind caught the edge, blowing it back in my face. I stood and tried again, legs shaky beneath me. I managed to get the sheeting over the stones. With a pull, the material tightened. I stuck tape to the plastic and wound it around. By the time I was done, the chimney looked like I’d taken it hostage.

Satisfied, I took a breather with my back against the stones. A raindrop landed on my cheek. Then the plastic beneath me crinkled. Surprised, I twisted to find the source of the movement.

The rope.

In the near blackness, one side sped up toward the chimney, while the other rushed down toward the ledge.

I gave a shout as I realized my sole means of getting off the roof safely was quickly disappearing. I made a grab for it, but the plastic interfered and the fibers slipped through my grasp.

What was happening? It was as if someone on the ground was trying to strand me on the roof.

“Hey, stop! I’m up here!” I screamed, my voice billowing in a thousand directions in the storm.

The end of the rope slid past. I instinctively made a grab for it, clenching the final three inches in my hands for less than a second as it continued with force on its way to the ground.

“Hey!” I screamed again, hoping for mercy. “Help! I’m up here!”

In desperation, I calculated the trajectory of my body in a slide down the roof. With friction, wind direction, and speed taken into consideration, the chances of landing at the top rung of the ladder without toppling to the ground were basically nil.

And yet at this point, with rain about to ruin my chance of escape, a good dose of lunacy was my only hope.

I laid on my stomach, clinging to the peak, angling for the best course. Visions of broken legs, punctured lungs, and shattered vertebrae, followed by a lengthy confinement, kept me frozen in place.

I looked behind me, down the slope of the roof. It could be possible . . . I might actually pull it off . . .

I watched in horror as the top of the ladder jiggled and pulled away from the roof. A moment later, it keeled sideways out of view. A muffled cry floated up from the ground along with the clatter of metal.

Someone stole my ladder.

“Whoa! Hey! That’s my ladder!” I climbed, straddling the peak once more, praying I’d see the top rung come back into view. “Help! Help!”

Rain splattered my cheeks. The
tap tap tap
around me as drops landed on the shingles soon turned to a deafening roar. In seconds I was soaked, the heat of September exchanged for icy wetness.