Nicole Young - Kiss Me If You Dare

I stuck out a hand as I drew near. “Hi. I’m Tasha.”

She fumbled with her plate, nearly dropping it. “Suzette. Nice to meet you.” Her hand felt sweaty in mine. “Oh, you’re Monique’s mom.”

I turned to the man, expectant. “And you must be Roger. Therese couldn’t wait to introduce me to your daughter. From the looks of it, Monique and I could be sisters.” I was the only one laughing.

Keeping his head down, Roger stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

I grabbed his fingers in mine. A shock of static zapped us on contact.

“Woo. Sorry about that,” I said. At my words, he looked up and I got a peek at his face. “Hey. You’re the guy I ran into at the mess hall. We’re just doomed to have one painful encounter after another.” I’d hoped he’d loosen up at my joke, but he seemed to have the same sickened reaction as our last meeting.

“Excuse me,” he said, heading off down the hall.

Suzette covered for him. “He’s not feeling his best today.”

I nodded, surreptitiously wiping my hand on my pants to get rid of any virus before I touched my food again.

She jumped in to fill the silence. “So you’re from the States?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What brings you to town this time of year? Skiing?” “Good heavens no. It’d be like a giraffe on ice skates.” I got the smile I’d hoped for. “I’m actually here looking for a lost relative.”

Her face seized up. I was touched by her concern.

“What have you found?” she practically whispered.

“Nothing yet. But here-” I dug in my purse for Can-dice’s photo. “This is what she looks like.”

Suzette took the picture from me. Her body visibly relaxed. “She’s very lovely.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No. Never,” she said, handing it back to me.

I took the photo. “I suppose it would be too simple if she were here.”

Suzette pulled at the collar of her blouse. “What makes you think she’s in Churchill Falls?”

“Travel plans made but never used. I thought maybe she arrived here later, by some other means.” I shrugged. “Might be a wild goose chase.”

“Best of luck to you,” she said.

Therese called from the kitchen. “Time to sing. Gather round, everybody.”

I made my way to a corner near the refrigerator and fought tears as we sang to the beaming birthday girl. I tried not to compare my special day with hers. Why go there? But I couldn’t stop the tug of memories. Gram’s kitchen back in Walled Lake. The guests were her church friends, gabby women who somehow thought a sixteen-year-old would prefer a round of bridge over capture-the-flag with people her own age. I took my slice of cake into the living room, curled up on the couch, and read Jane Eyre for the third time. It was late when the gaggle left. Gram said good night, and I cleaned up the mess.

Therese gave her daughter a big hug. “My baby is sixteen!” She held her by the shoulders and smiled. “Just look at you. So beautiful! I love you, Renee.”

“Love you too, Mom.” The girl returned the hug, tears in her own eyes.

I looked out the window and stared at the pattern of lines made by blue siding on the house next door. Aluminum made a very practical covering for homes this far north. Very practical, I decided, as Renee screamed in glee from her dad’s bear hug. I probably would have gone with tan. The baby blue gave me a headache.

“You are the best daughter a man could have.” The affectionate voice cut through my musings.

I brought the lines back into focus. Yes, tan would have been a better choice. Much softer on the eyes.

The crowd in the kitchen started to break up, and I turned toward Therese, my head pounding. “Thank you for the invitation. I had a wonderful time.”

She took my hands in hers. “It’s been a pleasure. I hope we will see you again while you’re here. Let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable. Anything at all.”

“I will.” I located my outerwear and hurried to put it on. “Goodbye,” I said to the faces behind me and walked out the door.

The cold shocked me into action. I took off at high speed toward the inn, the rub of my parka against my ears and the thud of my feet hitting the ground the only sounds in the darkness.

The hotel clerk had her nose in her book again as I hurried through the lobby and up to my room. I shut the hotel room door behind me. The slam echoed in the emptiness, reminding me I was alone. I leaned against it, focusing on the rasp beneath my breath, hoping to drown out the sounds of family and friends gathered for a special occasion.

After a minute, I blew out a puff of air and hung my coat. Boots off, I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. The towel felt rough on my skin, increasing circulation to my capillaries as I rubbed. My headache lightened up with the massage. I stared in the mirror, face red and raw. How come I was the one inside this body? Why couldn’t my soul have been born in that girl Monique instead? Same mouth, same nose, same face, but a thousand miles and two parents difference.

I leaned on the counter and gave a disgusted sigh. Why did I always do that to myself? Why did I think everybody else had it so much better than Patricia Amble? I met my eyes in the mirror. The green seemed extra bright through tears. Mother dead when I was eight, father out of my life since birth, raised by a drunken grandfather and a bitter grandmother, a prison sentence, betrayed by a friend, a boyfriend dying by his own free will, house pilfered by an almost sister-in-law, and now stuck in the middle of an arctic wasteland looking for the only thing that could possibly make me feel better. Revenge.

I was pathetic.

I took two aspirin and curled up under the covers. I could feel myself sliding down that dangerous but somehow soothing path toward despair. It was no state of mind to be in before ending the killing rampage of the woman who virtually ended Brad’s life. I had to stay sharp, pull myself out of this slump if I was going to get the job done. Of course, I had to find her first.

But, too emotionally exhausted to do anything about it tonight, I stretched to reach my suitcase on the floor by the bed and pulled out the envelope of photos I’d brought along for the trip. I set the pile on the bed next to me and picked up the top one. My mother. A line of tape ran down the center of the photo where I’d patched it together. Cousin Joel had torn it in two in a fit of rebellion when he first learned I was moving into the old lodge, a home he once considered his inheritance. My fingers tightened their hold on the shiny paper. And now the traitor and his wife had snatched it from me.

I looked at my mom’s playful eyes. I’d almost forgotten what her face looked like, but now I could remember her smile.

“Bedtime, Tish,” she’d say.

“In a minute, Mom.” I never obeyed the first time.

“Uh oh. Here comes the tickle monster.”

“Eeeek!” I’d scream and run and she’d chase me and grab me in her arms and haul my little body to the bedroom. Then we snuggled and read bedtime stories. I yawned after the first one, but whined until I got a second story. Then it was kisses and a tuck in.

My eyes went back to the tape stuck across her beautiful face. My mom. Taken from me the day Frank Majestic’s clowns forced her Ford into the quarry. Maybe I should be going after Majestic instead of Candice. He was the true source of my pain.

I tried to block out images from the birthday party, but the thought of Therese hugging her daughter invaded my mind. The more I tried to push it away, the more I could feel my mother’s arms around me, tickling, holding, loving.

My hands flopped to the bed, the picture landing facedown. Oh, how I loved to torture myself. I left the photo where it was and grabbed for the next one. Why stop now? I was on a roll, reaching for my next dose of pain like an addict.