? ? ?
At work later that evening, I tried to ask Vernon his opinion on my conversation with Sundog, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. I helped him with a seek-and-find puzzle instead and wondered if there’d ever been a point in his life when he started over. That’s when I noticed that Vernon and Sundog weren’t that far apart in age.
How could Sundog be traveling around the country, getting high with a band of young people and preaching about the dangers of chemtrails and fluoride, while Vernon’s hands shook while he drank coffee, and I was never sure if he heard the things I said to him while he worked on his puzzles.
Why do some people get old faster than others? Is it just luck? Like how some people are lucky enough to be born as one of the Lizzie Lovetts of the world?
“Deep thoughts?” Christa asked me, coming out of the kitchen.
I shook my head. “Sort of zoning out.”
She poured a cup of coffee for herself and leaned conspiratorially over the counter. “Daydreaming about Enzo?”
“What? No.”
“He likes you. I can tell.”
“How?” I asked, not that I was interested. Maybe. Probably.
“The way he looks at you.”
“He looks at me like he’s anxious for my shift to end so we can look for his girlfriend.”
“I think you like him too,” Christa said. She was teasing me, and I knew it, but I could still feel my face getting red.
“Weren’t you the one who called him weird and creepy?”
“Well, maybe I was wrong. You wouldn’t hang out with him if he seemed messed up, would you?”
I didn’t know how to tell Christa that being a little messed up was exactly what would make me interested in a person.
“He’s taking me to the homecoming dance,” I admitted.
Christa squealed.
Vernon looked up and shouted, “Homecoming dance!”
“I knew it,” Christa said, not even blinking at Vernon’s outburst.
“It’s not a date. I just found this ridiculous 1980s dress that I want to wear.”
“Hawthorn, it’s a date,” Christa said.
I bit my lip and stacked the coffee creamers in front of me, one on top of the other, until the tower fell down.
“It’s just…isn’t it too soon?”
“Because of Lizzie, you mean?” Christa asked.
I nodded. I didn’t imagine going on dates while Lizzie was still missing would do much for Enzo’s reputation. Or that anyone would be thrilled I was the one he was going on dates with.
Christa thought about it. “It’s been a few months.”
“Barely two.”
“It’s not like she died.”
“We don’t know that,” I said. “Not for sure.”
“If she were dead, someone would have found the body by now. Lizzie walked off. She left Enzo, not the other way around. If he’s found someone to help him get over his loss quickly, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, but I was still dubious.
“Besides, I doubt he was very happy with her.”
I looked up sharply. “Why not?”
Christa shrugged and looked away. She checked to make sure the tops were secure on the salt and pepper shakers. She lined up the ketchup and mustard and Tabasco in a neat row. But she didn’t make eye contact or answer my question.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I know you want to tell me.”
“She was standoffish,” Christa said finally.
“That’s all?”
“She hated being here. Hated everyone who worked here. Like she thought we were all beneath her, you know?”
I raised my eyebrows. Maybe Lizzie hadn’t changed after high school. Of course, that didn’t fit with Enzo’s version of her.
“Enzo told me Lizzie always saw the best in everyone.”
Christa snorted. “Yeah. When she wanted tips. She sure knew how to turn on the charm for customers, but the second her back was turned, it was a different story. I always figured she must be like that with Enzo too.”
“He never said anything like that about Lizzie.”
“Well, of course not,” Christa said. She fiddled with the sugar packets. She sighed. “Maybe I’m totally off base. I didn’t know her well, but I got a bad vibe.”
Every new piece of information I learned about Lizzie muddled my idea of her more. It was as if she was a different person every day. Like she woke up in the morning and decided which mask to put on. It sounded exhausting.
“Enough about that,” Christa said. “Tell me about this ridiculous dress of yours.”
So Christa and I talked about girlie homecoming things, and she squealed a lot. It was probably a conversation I should have been having with girls my own age, who were getting ready to attend the same dance, but I guess life would never work like that for me.