A Desire So Deadly

Chapter 2

“Harlin?” I repeat, looking at Soleil. “What kind of stupid-hot name is that?”

Soleil laughs, clicking the remote to unlock her car as we cross the school parking lot. “I know, right? I nearly died when he told me. He was pretty quiet, though. Doesn’t strike me as a big talker.” She pauses next to her driver’s door. “Still, I got his name and a basic rundown: originally from Oceanside, lived in Portland and Arizona. I was about to ask if he had a girlfriend, but then Roth came in and wanted to teach.”

“So inconvenient.”

“Totally. Okay, sunshine, are you off to work?” she asks. When I nod, she opens her door. “Cool. Then I’ll see you at the bonfire tonight. I have a date with the ocean in about ten minutes.”

I hold up my hand in a wave as Soleil gets in her car and leaves for the beach. Although I know it’s kind of wrong, I think about Harlin. And then I wonder what he would have said if Soleil asked him if he had a girlfriend.

There are several customers sitting at the outdoor tables of the Costas Bakery when I show up for my shift. I don’t normally work during the week, but after my phone took a dip, I asked my parents for a new one. My request was met with laughter, and then extra shifts so I could afford to buy one myself. Which will hopefully be by next paycheck.

I park the Jeep on the side of the building and then take a minute to look in the rearview mirror and tie up my long red hair, which is stringy and salty-dry. I brush sand from my temples and then close my eyes for a second, still feeling the sway of the waves. When the sensation threatens to rock me to sleep, I blow out an exhausted breath and then smile as hard as I can for ten seconds.

“Six, seven . . .”

By the time I get to eight the smile turns real, and I’m ready to serve up some cinnamon lattes. My parents have owned this bakery since I was a toddler, naming it after my mother’s family in Mexico. Our place is a hit; then again, we’re the only bakery in Deseo other than the donut case in Safeway. I don’t mind working here; it’s not like the job doesn’t have its perks. I get free coffee.

I approach the back door and see Tanner—our busboy—sitting on a milk crate, smoking a cigarette. Tanner’s in his early twenties, with long black hair he wears in a ponytail. He used to be a riot, but lately he’s been calling in sick. Distracted. Cranky. Today, he’s staring off across the parking lot, pulling a long drag from his smoke.

“Hey,” I say as I pass him. He turns slowly, his dark eyes rimmed in red. I’m about to ask if he’s okay, but then I feel a wind blow through me, although it doesn’t brush against my skin or move my hair. A tingling inches up my veins until my entire body tingles. I take in a sharp breath, and suddenly knowledge floods me—knowledge I could never have had on my own.

Panic starts to bubble up, but then a vision materializes and I’m immersed in it, as if I am there. It’s months ago, and I see Tanner sitting at a bar, talking to a woman who’s not his girlfriend. I know everything then—what he’s thinking, feeling. Tanner thinks this woman is everything his girlfriend is not. The scene fast-forwards and I watch their affair, watch how Tanner becomes obsessed. His mind twists around the thought of being with her, only her. And he doesn’t want her with anyone else.

I try to pull myself from the vision, terrified of what’s happening to me. How can I see this? How can I know? But it’s like I’ve lost control of my body, and I’m submerged once again.

Tanner watches as the woman, Kira, flirts with other men at the bar. He begs her to stop, tells her he’ll leave his girlfriend. But Kira says it’s too late—she’s moved on. Tanner won’t accept it. His passion brightens into anger—murderous anger that turns my stomach and makes my body shake.

I stagger back a step, cutting off the vision. “What’s happening?” I ask as Tanner stares at me, wide-eyed. I realize then that he saw it too—we shared the memories.

“How are you doing that?” he demands, jumping up from the crate. He drops his cigarette on the ground and stomps on it. Tears begin to sting my eyes. I’m scared, but I don’t answer Tanner because I can still see his plan; the gun in the glove compartment of his car. He’s going to use it to kill Kira and then himself. He’s going to ruin everything.

How do I know all of this? How can I possibly have this much information? I press my hands to my temples, afraid I’m having a nervous breakdown. But then . . . comfort rushes over me. Peace. Words form in my head, as if whispered in my ear from beyond me, beyond here. They are compassionate, but firm.

“You won’t be able to take it back,” I say, lifting my eyes to Tanner’s. My bones ache, but with each word I speak, I find a little relief. “You’ll never find peace. You need to let this go. You need help.”

“Go to hell!” Tanner snaps, and kicks over the crate he was sitting on. His cheeks have grown red with anger—he doesn’t want me to know; he doesn’t want me to stop him. His desire has made him desperate.

Tanner’s posture grows impatient, and he moves quickly to push past me. But the minute he touches me, his body convulses, stopping him. I moan, a sudden rush of light pouring from me, draining me. Tanner sways on his feet.

My arm heats up, my hand, my fingers. I can feel my skin burning Tanner. He gasps but doesn’t pull away; instead tears race down his cheeks. In my mind, in our shared vision, we watch Tanner commit the crime—murder Kira and himself. But then the scene is overwritten. A new future is offered, one in which Tanner leaves town without hurting anybody. He heads back to his home in Texas, with his mom and dad. The medication that will even him out—control the rage that has built up. The therapy and eventual calm.

The rush stops, but Tanner stands rooted in place. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His eyes glaze over, and I know then that he’s listening. He’s going to take the other path. He plans to leave town, head back to Texas. He won’t hurt anybody—but even so . . . I’ll know how close he came. I’ll know what he’s capable of.

“I have to go,” Tanner says as he looks around, broken from the spell. I expect to see more of the anger, but he’s distracted. “Claire, will you tell your mother I quit?”

“What?” I can’t even process his words as I try to figure out what happened. I think I am having a breakdown. Tanner shakes his head and then starts for his truck, half-dazed. I’m about to call out to him, demand that he explain to me what just happened, when I’m struck with a sense of euphoria—an airy sense of completion, comfort, love. I sway, falling back into the cement wall. I’ve never felt so peaceful. I still, closing my eyes, and let the fear evaporate.

When I open my eyes again, Tanner’s truck is gone. For a moment, I wonder if I imagined the entire exchange, but I see the crushed cigarette still on the ground. My stomach is twisted in knots, my body trembling. I rush inside to the bathroom, afraid I might throw up. Bursting through the door, I slam it shut behind me before locking it. At the white pedestal sink, I rest my hands on either side, my head hanging as I try to gather myself.

Tanner almost killed somebody. Should I call the police? I should. But say what? I saw inside his head, knew his intentions? I helped him; I saved someone’s life today.

Holy hell. I turn the cold water on high and splash a handful over my face. As it runs over my lips, I taste the salt water wash off my skin. I do this over and over until I start to feel more like myself. I look at my reflection, trying to discern if I’ve changed, if anything is different. But I’m exactly the same.

“Keep it together, Claire,” I murmur, and grab a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. I pat my face dry, studying it one more time. There is a murmur of voices outside the bathroom door, and I know I have to go to work.

Tanner quit. All the rest could have been some weird hallucination—could be from my colossal wipeout this morning while surfing. After my shift, I’ll talk to my mom, maybe stop by the urgent care. But my head doesn’t hurt now. I don’t feel sleepy.

I’m fine. I have to be fine. I scrape back the stray hairs into my ponytail. I repeat my mantra until I’m calmed, until I’m together. I change into my Costas T-shirt, and swipe on lip gloss and wash my hands. I’ll just work and see how I feel in a couple of hours. If things get weird again, I’ll leave. Ready. Go.

I walk out into the packed store. The tables are littered with leftover plates and cups; there’s the hum of conversation, and the smell of coffee beans and confectioners’ sugar hanging in the air.

My brother River glances up from where he’s stacking coffee cups at a table, teetering ceramics in his hand. He lifts his arm in acknowledgment, and the movement causes the stack of cups to waver. He quickly steadies them before smiling at me. The moment is so filled with normal, I return his smile and then cross the room to where my mother is making a latte.

“Um . . . so Tanner just quit,” I say to her back, dreading the follow-up questions. I can tell her about everything that happened, but I’m not sure she’ll believe that Tanner planned to kill someone. And she probably won’t believe how I found that out either.

My mother turns, setting down the metal container. “Are you kidding?” she asks. “When did Tanner quit?”

I lower my eyes, taking the end of my ponytail to twist the bright red strands. “Just now. He told me when I was walking in. I don’t think he’s coming back.” I know he’s not coming back.

My mother shakes her head and wipes down the machine with her rag. “I should have figured. He’s been unreliable lately.” She shrugs. “Well, looks like you and River will have to stay late to cover Tanner’s shift.” She flashes me a smile, but pauses. “Hey, you all right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just hasn’t been a great morning.”

The customer waiting at the counter is watching us, but the crease of concern between my mother’s eyebrows doesn’t fade. Now isn’t the time for me to worry her like this.

“I’m okay, Mom,” I tell her, and force a smile.

She runs her gaze over me, taking motherly inventory to make sure I’m really fine, and then nods. “Take it easy today, then,” she says. “I’ll have River pick up the later shift.”

“Lucky guy,” I say, and reach behind the register to grab an apron. My mother smiles at my sarcasm, a sure sign that I’m stable, and then she goes back to her customer.

I meet my brother at a corner table near the front, opting to help him bus so that I have something to do. I start to stack plates, but then feel tiny pinpricks spread over the back of my neck, sort of like I’m being watched. I roll a careful gaze across the room but don’t notice anything strange. Well, besides me, I guess.

River sets the gray tub on the chair, and then reaches to grab my pile of plates and puts them inside it. With one more uncomfortable check around, I turn to him.

“Today’s weird,” I tell him. He lifts one eyebrow. “Okay, yes, most days are weird. But this is weirder than usual.”

“I’m sorry doing nothing all morning was so strange for you,” River says, brushing his dark hair behind his ears. “I, on the other hand, was busting my ass here. I assume you were out with your life-sized Ken doll?”

I smile and toss a rogue chocolate chip from the table in his direction. My brother doesn’t dislike Ezra, but he seems to feel it’s his personal mission to trivialize our relationship at every turn. He says it’s an older-brother thing.

“I had class, dipshit,” I say. “And yes, Ezra’s fine. I’ll let him know you asked about him.”

“Oh, please do. Tell him he’ll have to show me around Barbie’s Dreamhouse sometime.”

“You suck.”

“And you’re dating a dude. I win.”

I move past River to the next table, but I’ve barely started before he takes the plates from my hand to restack them. “If you’re always going to be late for your shift,” he says, “you can at least learn how to bus properly.”

“Good thing I work with the bussing master. By the way, Mom said you have to pick up the later shift too. Tanner quit.”

“Damn, Tanner quit? I’ll be bussing all week.” He tosses a look at our mother. “Mom won’t make me stay,” he says when he thinks it over. “Listen, I need a break from the monotony of cleaning coffee cups. Are you going to the bonfire tonight? Because I could be persuaded to join you.”

Although I’m not in the mood to socialize, I know I should keep doing normal things. And nothing is more normal than a bonfire on a Friday night. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Soleil mentioned it in class.”

“I’ll bring chips.”

I laugh. River’s made no secret of his crush on my best friend, and they hang out all the time. But Soleil’s not into him that way. She likes her guys a little higher on the delinquent scale.

We finish cleaning the room just as the rush starts to die down. My mother sends me behind the register to work. My neck is sore from today’s wipeout, and I’m reminded of my exchange with Tanner. I could really be hurt. I could really be crazy.

I shake my head to try to clear it, and in the quiet that follows I let myself dwell on other things—like Harlin. His haunting hazel eyes, the grin that teased at his lips. What I’d give to see him smile. It strikes me then that I don’t think I’ve ever felt so attracted to someone. It’s a scary thought because I’m not sure what it means. What it means for me and Ezra.

The sun has turned the sky a fading gold as I take the right up the long gravel hill of my driveway. My muscles ache, and I predict a nap and hot shower are in my immediate future. My conversation with Tanner feels more like an out-of-body experience, and I’m starting to believe it was more hallucination than reality.

I park behind my brother’s car—and he was right: Our mother didn’t make him stay late. The blinds are drawn as I approach our white ranch-style home, palm trees swaying on the side of the house. They’re in desperate need of a trim, and the black paint on our window shutters is peeling off in big chunks. My mom calls it shabby chic, but really that’s code for home improvements my dad hasn’t gotten around to yet.

My father is the typical California surfer, and I’ve often wondered how he got paired up with my mother in the first place. He’s rarely out of beachwear, and his skin is deeply tanned from years on the ocean. He’s easygoing, slightly distracted—basically the opposite of my mother, who is high-strung and fully capable of running the world. They’re happy, truly happy, so I guess sometimes opposites really do attract.

The screen door slams shut behind me when I walk inside. I slip off my sandals and drop my bag near the front door. The house is a mess—as usual—but it’s a comfortable kind of mess that makes it feel like home. I collapse onto one of the rattan sofas and let my head fall back against the cushion.

“There you are.” My brother’s voice carries through the room. “Ezra called my phone. Said he’d be here at nine to pick you up. Please let him know I’m not your personal assistant.”

I slowly lift my head, finding River in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe. He’s wearing a different Costas Bakery T-shirt, this one faded with old splatters of paint on the sleeve.

“You could have told him yourself.”

River shrugs. “Naw. I like to keep up the pleasantries. Soleil asked for a ride, so we’ll catch you guys there. We might grab some tacos first.” My brother notices my goofy grin and shakes his head. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

River picks at his fingernails like he’s bored, and I feel the weight of the day crashing down on me. “I’m going to shower and nap,” I say, and stand up. “Let me know before you leave to get Soleil.” I grab a towel from the linen closet and head off for a shower.