I needed to get myself together. I might be stunned to see her, not to mention afraid of her ability to draw me in like a magnet, but none of that was her fault. If I’d wondered if anything had changed in twelve years, just having her in my house for ten minutes had proven that it hadn’t.
But she deserved better than me acting like apendejo. Of course she was confused. The Artie Decker she’d known before had talked a lot of shit.
“Sorry, Cori. I guess I’m just surprised to see you. I asked Johnny not to tell you I was here. Or that we were back in contact.”
She recoiled slightly at my words but seemed relieved I’d finally uttered more than a few in a row. “He didn’t tell me. I snooped out this address on my own, thinking he might be here…long story. I didn’t know it was your house.”
I sat down next to her, maintaining a careful distance. “So you came here looking for your brother? Is he alright?”
She sighed thickly. “That probably should have been my opener, huh? I guess I got distracted…seeing you. But yes. I’m looking for him. And I don’t know if he’s alright. That’s why I need to find him.”
Cori explained how she’d ended up here—Johnny staying over last night, the stolen credit card, the address in the app, and hanging out on my front porch for twenty minutes, ringing the doorbell. Part of me wanted to tell her she’d been foolish to leave her purse on the counter, that of course an addict was going to take that opportunity, but I understood what she meant when she said, “I think I’m always trying to prove my brother still cares, in his way. Subconsciously, giving him easy access to my purse was like a test of our relationship.” She stood, agitated. “He failed.”
I watched her pace across the builder-grade beige carpet in my living room, ponytail whipping around. Good thing we had an urgent task to focus on. I needed something to think about other than how beautiful she looked. She’d been can’t-argue-it attractive as a teenager, but this grown-up version…peligrosa. Fucking dangerous.
“Don’t worry, Cori, I’ll help you find him.” What else could I say? She looked so lost. And I had an idea where Johnny was.
She stopped moving. “Thanks. And, so we’re clear, I realize it was kind of insane showing up at a random house. I know youcould have been an axe murderer. But it’s also been a hell of a morning on top of a really weird few days.” She reached into the purse that was still slung over one shoulder and pulled out a slim black cylinder. “In my defense, I brought pepper spray.”
“Hey, I get it,” I reassured her, almost smiling. “You don’t grow up where we did without becoming at least a little insane and a lot fearless. I’d have given teenage Cori at least fifty-fifty odds against an axe murderer, so I wouldn’t expect thirty-year-old Cori to be scared of a quiet house in Mountlake Terrace in broad daylight.”
“Watch it. I have six more months of my twenties.” She laughed before sobering. “It’s just that Johnny’s never stolen from me before. And I’m mad at him, but I’m mostly worried.”
I decided not to upset her further by admitting I’d also been extremely concerned about her brother lately.
My stomach dropped as her expression turned grave. Grave and eerily familiar. Unbidden, an image of her face on the last night I’d seen her surfaced in my mind. But I couldn’t allow myself to think aboutthatright now. Not if I wanted to function while she was near me.
“Try not to get too freaked out yet, Cori. I have a thought about where he might be.”
“Well, thank goodness for that, because I’m officially out of leads. Honestly, I can’t believe Johnny didn’t tell me he was talking to you again. He never mentioned a thing.”
“Like I said, I asked him not to.”
“I know you said that. But…why?” She frowned, letting out a deep, slow exhale before asking, “Why have you been back two years, and I didn’t know?”
I eyed her levelly, speaking in a low tone. “I think you can guess.”
An exasperated huff left her. “I’m not sure I could, Deck.” Her shoulders sagged. “But we can leave it for now.” Blowing outanother massive breath, she sank back onto the couch. “This is all so surreal, seeing you and—”
A poofy gray hurricane jumped up on the cushion. Cori looked at him, disbelieving, as he rubbed against her and purred noisily.
“Is that…” She glanced at the feline again before whispering reverently, “Bastardo?”
“Yep,” I replied, glancing down at the furry little intruder. “Mamá was more than happy to part with him when I got this place. In fact, the day I closed escrow, Pop showed up and dropped Bastardo in my living room. I believe his exact words were, ‘Es tu problema ahora, tonto.’” I did my best impression of my dad’sgringoaccent.
Cori gave Bastardo scratches under his chin, and I recalled her doing the same thing in our kitchen fourteen years ago. She looked up at me with a grin, and I couldn’t help but return it. Maybe I could convince myself it was merely a fond smile between old friends. That our reunion was simple. After all, I’d gotten good at pretending. I’d spent the past two years pretending she didn’t exist.
It was a testament to the historybetween us that Cori seemed fine getting into the truck with me. She didn’t have her own car because she’d apparently lent it to a friend for the weekend. Her face got a little lopsided when I told her we were heading to the old neighborhood, but she didn’t change her mind.
My truck was extremely reliable and necessary in my line of work, but I wondered what she thought of the beat-up old Ford. At least it was neat. I always got on Juan about how his truck smelled like french fries. My time away had taught me that I felt more in control when I kept things tidy. Call it a tic, but it worked for me.
Also, the truck wasn’t flashy, an advantage for where we were headed.
Cori seemed unfazed by the rusty wheel wells as she climbed into the cab. She sat up straight with her purse in her lap, hands folded neatly over it. Although she appeared calm, I registered the tightness of her jaw. I remembered that tough facade. Seeing it in my truck now felt surreal.
Surreal. She’d used that word in my living room. It triggered another memory. She used to come over to my house to watch Marisol—my parents never made me do that unless they were desperate—and I helped her practice SAT words. Cori had these shitty homemade flash cards, rectangles cut up out of old cereal boxes, and I would quiz her at my kitchen table after my sister went to bed.
I’d memorized those words along with her. No way would I have learned them otherwise.
