Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [140]
The whole thing could turn out to be an exercise in futility because he never heard back from Ariella. She was the supposed messenger between Yasmine and him—the reason why he was caged in his car for who knows how long on a brittle, overcast January day.
He hadn’t heard a peep from Yasmine in the last eight months. As far as he could discern, she had walked off the face of the earth. There was no phone number, no computer address to receive e-mails, and her Facebook had been shut down. So Gabe had used the old-fashioned method to contact her. He wrote letters, all of them going unanswered. Ariella was his last-ditch effort to make contact.
I don’t see her anymore, Gabe, she had told him. Her parents moved and she lives in the city. She goes to another school and we lost contact.
Please, please try for me, he had begged her. Just tell her I’ll be outside her school for the entire day. He gave her the address of where he would park and the description and license plate of his car—his second-most-prized possession, the Steinway being numero uno.
I don’t know if I can get hold of her, Ariella had said.
Just try. With resignation, he said, Just tell her I’ll be here. If she comes, she comes. If not . . . well, then I’ll know.
The entire morning dragged. By midafternoon, he got a sinking feeling. By four, he almost decided to get out and go look for her. But that would defeat the purpose.
If she comes, she comes. If not . . . well, then he’ll know.
By five o’clock his stomach hurt. He hadn’t eaten all day except for an apple. No big deal really. Fasting wasn’t anything new to him. He had dropped twenty pounds in the last eight months.
How’s she doing? he had asked Ariella.
I told you, we lost contact. A pause over the phone. Not great.
Join the club, he thought to himself.
It was almost dark. He could feel a bottomless pit of sadness gather inside his chest. He’d give it another half hour. By then . . . well, then he’d definitely know.
He leaned back in the seat of his Beemer, his iPod fixed to Brahms, and closed his eyes. It seemed like only a few minutes had passed, but he must have fallen asleep because the knock woke him up. He saw her through the window and his heart started thumping. He opened the lock and she slid inside the passenger seat, closing the door as she sat down.
“I only have about ten minutes.” She didn’t look at him when she spoke, her eyes on her lap. Her hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, exposing a severe jawline. She was painfully thin even though she was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and a long plaid uniform skirt.
“Thanks for coming.” No answer. “How are you?”
A shrug.
“How’s school?”
“S’right.” Another shrug. “It’s okay. No boys.”
“You don’t like boys?”
“I hate boys.”
Gabe rubbed his eyes under his glasses and stuck his hair behind his ears. He had grown it out until it brushed his shoulder blades. It had become his trademark at school. “I hope you don’t hate all boys. I hope you don’t hate this boy. Because this boy still loves you very much.”
No response. Not even a tear.
He sighed. “Yasmine, just look at me and tell me that it’s over. Say that to me. Say, ‘Gabe, it’s over.’ If it’s over, it’s over. I’ll be heartbroken, but at least then I can attempt to move on.” A pause. “Anything’s better than being in limbo.”
She glanced at his face. “You look like a ghost.”
He clenched his fists, and then folded his arms across his chest. “Thank you very much, Yasmine; it’s good to see you, too.”
Silence. Then she whispered, “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t answer.
She swallowed hard. “It is good to see you.”
Gabe softened. “I do look like a ghost.”
“No,