Tim Wynne-Jones - The Uninvited

She sat on the bed, her hands in her lap. She felt good. Rested. Seeing these sketches made her feel as if she belonged here somehow. She would ask Jay if they could share the house at the snye. It wasn’t his fault-or hers-that they were both here. She’d stay out of his hair. And it would be good to have two people there, really.

She got up and started sorting through her clothes. She had understood Jay’s caginess with her. It was kind of a weird variant of waking up after a one-night stand. Now there was a thought! He’d get over it. So would she. Had to.

But then what about her need to be alone? She had a lot of thinking to do, in somewhere other than New York. Somewhere Lazar Cosic wasn’t.

Decisions. Oh, well. For now she would be this useful sister who went out and found something nutritious for lunch. She turned to her suitcases.

What to wear? Something serious. Something that said, This girl is not a freak. This girl means business. This girl is reliable. She started sorting things out. Did she own anything like that? But after another moment of sorting, the idea of what to wear to impress her brand-new brother had gone clear from her mind.

She was missing something. A silver-framed photograph of Jamila and her at the Hassanalis’ summer place on Long Island. They were goofing around on the beach, mugging for the camera. She hadn’t forgotten to pack it. She remembered wrapping it in her pink polka-dotted top. The top was still there. But the picture was gone.

It was like a blow to the solar plexus. Mimi sat, weak-kneed, without anyone to hold her up this time. She felt as if she had wandered into the middle of a battlefield. It wasn’t her war, so why was somebody taking potshots at her?

She had lied to Jay; she wasn’t exactly fearless. But by the time she had dressed, set the security alarm, and climbed into the Mini, she could already feel her anger start to nip away at the big lump of fear and resentment in her gut. Jack Russell terrier takes on the Blob.

She squealed out of the Pages’ driveway onto Riverside Drive. And the Mini Cooper beeped twice, surprising a bicyclist off the road.

She found a nice-looking organic grocery store in town. She found a bakery where they made bagels.

“Bagels,” she said, and sighed, clutching the bag to her chest. “All is not lost!”

She found a bookstore and the library and a street of charming shops. A village with a river running through it.

Jay was home by 12:45, and they sat down at a table of warm bagels, aged local cheddar, kosher dill pickles, sliced-up veggies, and freshly whipped mayonnaise.

“Listen,” said Jay, “I’m sorry about the Grinch act this morning. I was worried about the house.”

“It’s cool. Everything okay?”

“As far as I could tell. I took the padlock off the ladder and put it on the storm door. I hope that’ll do the trick.” He frowned. “Hope he doesn’t know the starter fluid trick.”

She nibbled at a piece of celery, trying to decide whether to tell him her latest news, figured she’d better. “There was this photograph of me and a friend,” she said. “Jamila, the one you thought was hot?”

He nodded, but from the expression on his face, he was already guessing the worst. “What about it?”

“I brought it with me,” she said. “I remember packing it. But it’s gone.”

He stared at his sandwich. “You’re saying this guy went through your stuff?”

She shrugged-didn’t want to admit that Mr. X had pawed through her clothes, her underwear. She shuddered.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s hardly your fault.”

Jay shrugged and looked forlorn as if somehow it was.

“Jay, I don’t know what’s going on up there, but it doesn’t change my mind. I mean I’ve come this far.” She took a deep breath. “I want to ask if we could share the house. For a while, anyway.”

He stared hard at her a moment. “Did you talk to Marc?”

She shook her head. “I’m too angry.” She broke off a piece of bagel, crumbled it in her fingers. “He’s such a jerk! I can’t believe he didn’t say anything about you.” She shook her head. “All these jerks! What am I, a jerk magnet?”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, stop with the hurt routine. You know what I mean.”

Jay blundered into a bagel sandwich that was too thick. She shook her head in disgust. He stopped. “Kidding!” she said. She made an open-face, took a bite. Swallowed.

“Actually, I’m not being entirely honest,” she said. “About Marc, I mean. I can believe him not telling me about you. He’s… Oh, I don’t know. It’s like he’s a sociopath or something.” She glanced at Jay, whose mouth was open, his sandwich raised halfway there but stopped in midair. “Not in the Anthony Perkins-slash-Norman Bates way, but in the seriously irresponsible conduct way.”

Jay was frowning now, and Mimi realized she was freaking him out. “Forget it,” she said. “I have taken precisely one psych course. All I meant was that Marc doesn’t seem to get it about caring, about family, about giving a shit.”

She took another bite of bagel. She glanced at Jay again and felt guilty at the bewildered look in his eyes. She reached across the table and was about to give his hand a squeeze but then thought better of it; she wasn’t sure why. “He’s not a murderer or anything. I don’t want you to think that. It just wouldn’t occur to him to bother saying anything. That having relatives somewhere would be a big deal-that, like, I might care. ” Jay summoned up a smile. “Believe me, Marc won’t see this as his problem,” she said. “You and I wanting the place. He won’t care what we do.”

Jay nodded. “Well, you’re right about that.”

He had a weird look on his face. “How do you mean?” she asked.

“My mother phoned him.”

“Get out of town.”

“Last night. If it makes you feel any better about him, he probably didn’t warn you because he thought I was still in school. So he didn’t expect you’d run into me.”

Mimi was almost pleased. It was sort of like an excuse. But when she thought about it, not much of one.

“He said pretty well what you said. It was up to us.”

Mimi drank a sip of water. Didn’t want to look at Jay. Didn’t want to see no written on his face.

“What is it you want to do up there?” he asked.

“I want to write.” She glanced up. Was he silently howling with scornful laughter? No. He looked impressed.

“Like a book? A novel?”

She shook her head. “A screenplay. I just finished my first year at NYU. Dramatic writing.”

“Very cool,” he said. “What’s it about?”

Ah. She dropped her eyes. Then glanced at him, a little furtively. “It’s about a girl who gets herself in a big mess in her first year at college and runs away to another country.”

There. It was out. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite. When she looked, Jay was regarding her with what… concern? Affection?

“Boy-type trouble?”

“Worse,” she said. “Professor-type trouble.”

Jay picked up his own sandwich and took a bite. It was as if they were building a little wall of sandwiches between them. The kitchen was filled with the sound of two people not talking. A motorboat went by out on the river. Jay swallowed, took a drink of water.

“The phone call you didn’t answer last night?” he said.

“Right. That was him.”

“Why don’t you block his number?”

“I did, so he’s started calling from pay phones. Different ones.”

Jay looked concerned, and it annoyed her because it only proved what she was worried about-that there was reason for concern. “So get a new cell phone from this area code,” he said. “It’ll be cheaper.”