The diner was where I had my last real conversation with Mike on June 9th 2004. I left that date so certain that he was the most special person in the world. Hidden behind an exhausted waitress, there was a huge cork board full of polaroids going back to when the diner opened. Of course we had a picture of us. Of course I looked sickeningly in-love. Why did I agree to come back?
Scanning the room, I found Edward in a corner booth hiding behind a menu. When I sat, he handed it to me, recounting it as if by heart until I cut in.
"We didn't come here to talk about burgers."
"I suppose not."
"So…" Nothing. I flattened the menu and looked at him. "Who were those people at my house and what did they want?"
He glanced around then leaned forward.
"Look. For what it's worth, I don't think that they'll come again. And I don't think they were specifically after you."
"What were they after?" Another pause. I leaned forward. "You obviously know something because you said you told them to leave."
"I didn't."
"Who, then?" A theory jumped into view. "Was it your dad? They spoke to your dad, didn't they?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly, not specifically. Edward, they must have done something specifically for some exact reason. Why are you dancing around the point?"
He looked down at his hands.
"The man you heard me arguing with is called James. He's… You've seen the sort of person he is."
"Lauren shot him," I said quietly. "He didn't even flinch."
Edward rubbed at an imaginary stain on the menu.
"Maybe Lauren missed - or he was wearing a vest… Lauren probably isn't the first. James has enemies. Carlisle knows some of those enemies and could make things hard for James."
"Now would be about the right time."
He almost smiled.
"The hope was more that the threat would be enough to keep him away."
"Well that worked."
"It used to." For the first time, he looked me in the eye. "I'm sorry that it didn't work for you. You looked terrified."
It came to me again: Lauren's voice, Angela's tears, his face.
"You looked terrified, too," I said quietly. He smiled briefly but brightly. "We should probably order something. What would you like?"
While he ordered, I sifted through what he'd told me. Did this mean I could put my dad's gun back? I'd been practicing – just in case Lauren missed – but it's hard to judge your aim without actually loading a gun or firing it. As he set down a tall, frothy milkshake, I asked, "So what happens now?"
"I suppose Carlisle talks to his contacts and James either makes a run for it or gets caught."
"What about the police? If he's done this before, there must be a record or that - fingerprints and DNA and stuff."
"That needs a match. He isn't normally this big a risk-taker. Mostly, he poaches - "
"And that's why you said about animals."
"Yes… Jessica? Carlisle would never have risked it if he once thought that James would target a person. Ever."
"How does your dad know somebody like that?"
"That, I can't tell you."
"Come on, you must have an idea. You said he talked to James, right?"
"Honestly, I prefer to keep out of it," he said. "The farther out, the better."
"Okay... Hang on. So how did you know about the break-in in the first place.
He didn't turn quick enough to hide his face before saying, "I suppose you could say I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing."
"You suppose. So you're not going to tell me."
"Nothing to tell. I had a gut feeling. I got lucky."
Typical. I lifted my straw and stabbed it into my milkshake.
"Could you at least give me a heads up? If you suppose he's coming back."
"Of course. Do you want me to walk you home?" he offered, pushing his untouched milkshake at me.
"Sure. Thank you… I just need to freshen up first."
Maybe I should have left the polaroid where it was. I would have stewed about it for a week or two but after that… The waitress left it unguarded. Besides, I had to pass it to get to the restroom. I'm sure polaroids fall away sometimes when people go to close to the wall – when someone knocks the pin out. I wasn't even going to keep it, I swear. I was going to stuff it in a trash can - or burn it - or flush it away in a million pieces.
Have you ever tried to rip a polaroid? Or two? It turns out waitresses don't get paid enough to find a new space for every happy couple. Sometimes they just pin your picture over someone else's – someone who might still be going to couple's night at a diner.
When you go to put an old picture back on a cork board, sometimes you take a closer look at it.
I saw a man who looked like my maths teacher, alone at a table, watching a red-haired woman.
Thank you to the anonymous reader who reviewed the last chapter and gave me a boost to get this chapter out.
