All the Secrets We Keep (Quarry Book 2) Page 22

  “I don’t remember you not being nice, so don’t worry about it.” Theresa looked in the box she’d brought out. Hers was also stuffed with papers and folders. She glanced at Alicia. “All of that was a long time ago, anyway. But sometimes I do still wish I had a sister.”

  “I was lucky. We fought. Jenni could make me crazy. But she was a good sister. I miss her,” Alicia added matter-of-factly. “I always think that one day I won’t anymore. But I still do.”

  After a beat of solemn silence, Alicia leaned over to pull out a handful of papers and started sorting them. Theresa dug in to her own box and began sorting things quickly into piles. Artwork, report cards, handwritten notes, miscellany. She glanced up to see Alicia giving her a bemused look.

  “You’ll have to decide what stays and goes,” Theresa explained with a gesture at the piles and another small sneeze. Her allergies were starting to act up. “But I can sort them into some kind of order for you.”

  Alicia looked impressed. “You’re very efficient.”

  “One of my talents.” Theresa grinned. “Or flaws, depending on how you look at it. I know it’s been making Ilya kind of crazy.”

  The words hung between them. Awkward. Theresa cleared her throat, thinking she’d try to explain them away, but Alicia waved a hand.

  “I believe it. He’s never exactly been very organized.” She tilted her head to look at Theresa. “Hey. How is it going, by the way? You can talk to me about it. It’s not a secret.”

  Buying the diner wasn’t, anyway, but there was a secret Theresa wasn’t yet willing to reveal. It had been a week since Ilya had put her up against the prep counter. A week since he’d kissed her, been inside her. They hadn’t talked about it since then. Only about the diner, the lists, the chores and tasks.

  Theresa sat back, leaning against the bed. “It’s going all right. He’s full of big ideas about the business. I’m the one who makes the lists. Keeps it in line. But I think it’s going to be great, actually. Kind of a checks-and-balances thing.”

  Alicia nodded. “That’s good. I always loved the diner. I’m happy you guys bought it. I’m glad working with him is going all right. It can be frustrating. I know.”

  Theresa thought again of the night in the diner kitchen. Ilya’s hands on her. His mouth. Heat flushed through her, and she sorted through some more papers so she wouldn’t give any of that away. It wasn’t going to happen again because she wouldn’t let it, so it wasn’t like she had to own up to anything. Not even to Alicia. Especially not to her.

  “But when he really wants something, he can be focused. He will work hard, when he thinks it’s worth it,” Alicia said after a few minutes of silence while they sorted papers.

  Theresa paused in sorting a file full of fourth-grade essays to nod thoughtfully. “Yeah. I see that in him.”

  “Ilya’s worst enemy can be himself. He thinks he’s a screwup, and don’t get me wrong, he can be.”

  “We all can be,” Theresa said.

  Alicia laughed. “Truth. But Ilya does have the ability to pull things together. He’s smarter than he wants to think he is. I think because he didn’t go to college, he wants to pretend like he couldn’t go. Not that he made some dumb choices and didn’t.”

  “Going to college isn’t my standard of excellence,” Theresa said. “I went to college for accounting, and I’ve never been an accountant. Nor have I worked for one. All I did was spend a lot of money on a degree I’ve never used.”

  “I think about going back to school. Getting a degree in something. I just don’t know what.” Alicia shrugged, her hands full of more elementary-school artwork. “For now I’m going to focus on getting this house on the market and my trip to Scotland.”

  “Exciting,” Theresa said. “Tell me all about it. You’re going to Loch Ness, right?”

  They spent the next hour or so chatting and sorting through the boxes, discarding years of old papers and keeping only the ones Alicia felt she couldn’t part with. Most of the boxes were easily sorted, although some of them contained years of financial paperwork and things that Alicia said she’d need to clear with her parents before destroying. Overall, they managed to clear away ten whole boxes and fill four trash bags before Alicia declared they should quit.

  “I need a shower, and then Niko and I are going out to dinner. You want to come along?” Alicia took a long gulp of water from her glass.

  Theresa shook her head, which had started to throb a little bit with what felt like the beginnings of a sinus headache. “Oh, thanks, but no. I don’t want to be the third wheel. And I told Ilya I’d meet him later tonight to go over some things for the diner.”

  “On a Saturday night?” Alicia made a face. “There’s a shocker.”

  Theresa paused before saying, “Yeah, he’s usually got something going on.”

  “He must really be into making this business a go. Saturday night I’d expect him to be out, that’s all.” Alicia shrugged and closed the lid on the single box they’d been using to store all the things she’d decided to keep. She glanced up.

  Theresa kept her expression neutral. “Maybe he’ll go out after.”

  “Probably. He’s a revolving door.” Alicia shook her head, but something in Theresa’s face must’ve caught her attention. “Sorry, was that too rude? I sound like I care about his love life, but I really don’t.”

  “Especially not since you’re dating his brother,” Theresa said lightly.

  Alicia made a small noise. “Wow. Sheesh, Theresa.”

  “Sorry,” Theresa said. “That came out wrong.”

  “No, you’re right. I am with Niko. I shouldn’t give a second thought to what Ilya does. You’re right.” Alicia clapped both her hands onto her thighs. “It’s an old, bad habit, and I should quit it. It’s not any of my business whose hoo-ha hole he puts his dingle in, as the saying goes.”

  Theresa forced a smile, wishing she could laugh at Alicia’s deliberately silly choice of words. “Nope. Not mine, either.”

  “Hey, let’s toss this garbage, and I’ll get this box out of the way so you’re not tripping over it.” Alicia glanced at the wall clock. “I have to get moving. You sure you don’t want to grab dinner with us? There’s live music tonight at the Brewhaus.”

  “No, really. I’m fine. I’ve got that meeting at the diner, and I want to put together a few lists—” She broke off when Alicia laughed, then joined her. “Hey, I’m organized! There’s a lot to do!”

  Together, they cleaned up the mess, and each took two bags of trash out to the curb. Alicia went in to use the shower, while Theresa lingered, looking across the street. Ilya’s car wasn’t in the drive. Although it was nearly seven, dusk had not quite started to fall. The windows in the Stern house were dark.

  She had her phone in her pocket, but she didn’t pull it out. She wasn’t going to text or call him to find out where he’d been. They’d agreed to meet at the diner at eight so they could go over some upcoming tasks, and he’d promised to bring takeout. There was nothing else she needed to know about where he was or what he was doing.

  Maybe I want you to care.

  His words poked at her as she went upstairs to the room that had not yet started to feel like her own, and now never would. She picked out a pair of jeans and a pretty top from the drawer as she listened for the sound of the shower shutting off. She glanced at her phone, telling herself it was to check the time, but really seeing if she’d somehow missed a text from Ilya.

  “Do not do this,” Theresa muttered as she searched for a pair of socks, clean panties, and matching bra. “You’re not that girl.”

  And the thing of it was—the terrible, truthful thing was—Theresa was not that girl. She’d never been that girl. Even after three years of presumable happiness with Wayne, she hadn’t so much as cast a second look over her shoulder when she left him. If she’d had regrets, it was that she’d hurt him enough to cause him to kick her out, not that she’d decided she couldn’t marry him.

  So why, the
n, did thinking about Ilya feel like regret?

  A missed chance not taken, an inevitable desire to have another. Theresa had never seen the point of looking behind when all that mattered lay in front of her. So why, then, now?

  Because people could change, she thought. But usually they didn’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Then

  Jenni hadn’t said more than a word or two to him in two weeks. Ilya tried to act like he didn’t give two shits about what she did or whom she did it with, but the truth was, he’d been going crazy. She knew it, he thought, watching her from the back booth in the diner while Jenni moved from table to table, refreshing coffee and taking orders. Maybe she didn’t know he was there.

  More likely, she was ignoring him on purpose.

  It would be easier if they’d had a fight. Something he could blame this on, the slow but inexorable distance growing between them. It wasn’t even a cold shoulder—that he could handle. He could think she was a bitch and blame her for pushing him away, but the truth was that Jenni hadn’t been cold to him. Or mean. She’d simply been . . . gone.

  Looking at her now, he studied the faint dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks seemed hollower. Her blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail but looked messy, all the same. She looked tired, even when she smiled.

  He was suddenly, achingly, desperate to figure out what was going on.

  What had gone wrong between them? Was it that he hadn’t made her his girlfriend, officially? That he hadn’t told her he loved her, hadn’t bought her flowers, hadn’t given her his class ring to wear? All that stuff might’ve made a difference, or not, but it had never seemed to be their thing. She’d been the one to scoff when he suggested it, but Ilya knew that meant nothing.

  Women, he thought.

  When, finally, she looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Coffeepot held high, Jenni came to his table and stood with a hip cocked. She didn’t pour him a cup, even when he shoved the plain, thick white mug toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” Her demand was crisp. Cool. And dammit, so distant, it made every part of him cringe.

  Ilya sat up straighter in the booth. “Getting something to eat, what does it look like?”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  He started to laugh until he saw that she was serious. “What? No!”

  “Look, this is where I work. You can’t just show up here. I don’t have time for this.”

  “Time for what? I’m not doing anything.” It wasn’t the truth, and he knew it. She knew it. Still, he tried to charm her with a smile.

  It didn’t work.

  “You’re going to get me in trouble.” Her frown was genuine. “Reggie doesn’t like kids just hanging around. I can’t give you anything for free. Don’t even ask.”

  “I don’t need free anything. I came to get a burger and fries.” Ilya pointed across the room. “There are tons of kids from school here, and he doesn’t seem to mind them hanging out.”

  Jenni fixed him with a long, stern look that dug right into him. “I don’t need you checking up on me, Ilya.”

  “I’m not even . . .” Defeated, he tossed up his hands and shook his head. There was no talking to her, and if he made a scene, she’d get even angrier with him. That wasn’t what he wanted. “Whatever. I’ll just eat and go, okay? Sorry to cause you such distress.”

  For a second, he thought he might’ve earned a response, a softer one. Then, she didn’t answer him but instead took her coffeepot and returned to her section of the diner. She didn’t look at him again, and something about this was worse than if she’d continued to shoot him daggers. All he wanted was her attention, for them to fix whatever it was that had gone so spectacularly wrong, and she barely seemed to notice he existed.

  The burger arrived overdone, the fries limp, but Ilya wasn’t hungry anyway. He picked at it, forcing a smile when Lisa Morrow invited herself and her best friend, Deana, to sit in the booth with him. Lisa wanted him; he did not want Lisa. Wasn’t that how it always went?

  Sensing his distraction, Lisa put on more of a show, giggling and tossing her hair. Her laughter was loud and braying, determined to draw attention to the fact that they were sitting together. She was trying to mark a territory that was not hers, and he let her because maybe if Jenni saw them, she’d decide she missed him.

  Over Lisa’s shoulder, Ilya watched Jenni talking to a man in the diner’s far, opposite corner. He had to be in his fifties, at least. Older than their parents. A trucker, by the looks of his stained ball cap, rough beard, and belly pushing at the front of his plaid lumberjack shirt.

  The trucker slid a wad of money across the table to her—way more than it would take to pay for the eggs and pancakes he’d been shoveling in his mouth hole. Jenni tucked it into her apron pocket and counted out some change. She put it on the table. The trucker covered it with his hand, sliding it toward him. For a second, both of them seemed to fumble with something, a stray dime, perhaps, but it was too hard to see from this distance. The trucker slapped his hand on it. He said something to Jenni, who nodded and moved away without a backward glance. She took the money and the check to the cash register and rang him out. The trucker passed her on his way through the front door, and whatever he said to her this time earned a pale hint of a smile from her.

  “Ilya?” Lisa leaned across the table to tap his hand. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

  He hadn’t heard. Didn’t care. Once, last year, Lisa had offered him a hand job at Ben Masterson’s party, and maybe Ilya had let her. He couldn’t remember now; it had been dark and he’d been drinking. By the way she looked at him, he was pretty sure he had.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I gotta go.”

  Out back, he waited in his car for Jenni’s shift to end. When at last she came out through the kitchen door, untying her apron and balling it into her fist, he thought about driving away before she could see him. She was already pissed off that he came into the diner. What would she say about him lurking in the parking lot?

  A soft drizzle fell, and Jenni tipped her face up toward it. She was so beautiful that every part of him thrummed and burned and hurt from looking at her. Ilya got out of the car.

  Wasn’t this love? This fire, this sting? It had to be, and he moved toward her, thinking he would just tell her. Anything she said in reply couldn’t hurt him any worse than these past few weeks had.

  “Jenni.”

  She twisted, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might need a ride home.” He moved closer. Love was on his lips. He meant to say it, no hesitation, but she wasn’t giving him the chance.

  “I have a ride home! Go away, Ilya! You need to go away right now!” Incredibly, she shoved him hard enough to make him skid on the parking-lot gravel. “Get out of here. I don’t want you here! What is wrong with you?”

  “I love you, that’s what’s wrong with me!” His shout was hoarse. His voice, cracked. Not the declaration he’d intended. He sounded like he might cry.

  Jenni pushed him again. “I don’t care. You can’t be here. I don’t want you here, okay? Just go.”

  “What did I do wrong?” he demanded, refusing to go. “Just tell me that.”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t . . . nothing . . . it’s just that I don’t need you here. Okay?”

  “It’s not okay!”

  “Leave me alone, Ilya!”

  “Fine. If that’s what you want. Fine. Fuck you, Jenni.” Ilya backed away, turning from her. “Forget it.”

  By the time he got back to his car, Jenni had walked around the corner of the diner. Out of sight. The rain was really coming down now, and it spattered the roof of his car, streaked the windshield. He couldn’t leave her out there, not even after what she’d said. But when he drove around the corner, there was no Jenni. There was the distant blink of some taillights, a car pulling out of the lot, but it was raining too hard and too dark for him to see what kind of car.

  Jen
ni was gone, and that was the last time he ever saw her alive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Theresa had been sorting through one of the crawl-space boxes when she found the pictures. The Harrisons had been big fans of their camera. She remembered every hallway in their house being lined with framed family portraits as well as candid snapshots. She’d been lucky if her dad remembered to send money in on picture day so that she could come home with a single eight-by-ten. And the wallet-size photos all the kids passed around like trading cards? Forget it.

  The photos in her hand now had been tucked inside the original paper envelope, along with the negatives. Alicia had gone through them to pick out the ones she wanted to keep—only one, a snapshot of the five of them in the Sterns’ backyard, sitting around the old picnic table with platters of hamburgers, hot dogs, and potato salad in front of them. The ones of her sister and Ilya she’d looked at without comment and tucked back into the envelope, then put them into the pile of stuff she planned to toss.

  The idea of simply destroying the pictures had bothered Theresa enough that she’d pulled them from the discard pile when Alicia wasn’t around. Other than that one Alicia had kept and promised to make a copy of, there were no good ones of Theresa, just a glimpse here and there of curly hair and a flash of a brace-faced grin off to the side. Most of the pictures were of Ilya, a few of him with Jennilynn, both of them looking into the camera in vintage selfie poses.

  Jennilynn had taken these pictures; Theresa knew it. She vaguely remembered a small pink camera attached to the older girl’s wrist, along with commands to “Smile.” Of course it made sense Alicia wouldn’t want to keep the pictures. It wasn’t likely she needed any kind of reminder that the man she’d married had been in love with her sister first. Ilya, however, had the right to decide if he wanted these memories.

  She hadn’t texted him first, but his car was in the driveway. She did knock, though. There’d been a number of times, even recently, when she’d let herself into the house like family, not a guest, but it didn’t feel right to do that now. She was smiling when the door opened, though it faded at the sight of Galina.