1
I methodically tugged at the bottom of my sleeves, pulling them down as far as they stretched, covering the horrors hidden beneath its thick cotton. It was something I did naturally these days, like an itch always begging to be scratched.
As soon as I left the bathroom, I saw him in the corner booth. Nine-fifteen. You could set your watch to his nightly arrival. I waved to the man and headed to the cooler behind the counter to grab his beer before heading over. “Hey, Joe,” I said. “How was work today?”
“Same ol’, same ol.” He immediately grasped the icy bottle. I swear he didn’t know how to function without it, almost like it was an extension of his right arm that was separated at birth.
“You want your usual?”
“Yeah.” Before I could get even two steps away, he added, “Hey, Megan. A bunch of us are goin’ fishing tomorrow. There’s gonna be some girls there, too. You should head out with us. Get some sun on your pasty ass.”
My lips pressed together. Joe still hadn’t given up. When his attempts to get me alone repeatedly failed, he began with the group outings. Don’t get me wrong; he wasn’t unattractive. Though I never saw him outside his oil-covered blue coveralls and dirty baseball cap, I was sure he could clean up well enough. And with a body only achievable through countless gym hours, crisp, Caribbean blue eyes and light brown hair, I understood why some of the local girls flaunted themselves for his attention. I just wasn’t one of those girls. In another life I might have actually said yes, but not this one.
“Thanks, but fishing’s not really my thing.”
“Seems like nothing’s your thing. Fishing, camping, drinking, pool. What the hell do ya’ do?”
“It’s nothing personal, Joe. I just don’t go out anymore. And I don’t date.”
He rolled his eyes and took a long swig of beer. I took the opportunity to leave, but I still heard his mutters behind my back. “Jeesh. Who the hell f**ked you up so badly?”
I sighed. You have no freaking idea…
Instead of placing my order through the pass-through, I avoided staying in the front room all together and went to find Paul in the kitchen. “He wants his usual.”
“Already got it going. Ready in three.”
I leaned against the tall, stainless steel refrigerator and watched Paul do his thing, flipping the burger on the grill and frying up the greasy fries that came along with it. You wouldn’t think by looking at the burly man that he’d be the softy that he was. He was probably fifty pounds overweight, with dark brown eyes and curly black hair that always seemed to look wet, with unsightly pit stains on his yellowed white cook’s uniform. But behind his typically sour expression was an incredibly kind and gentle man, like a big teddy bear. He and his wife Darla owned Breenie’s Diner and not only gave me a job when I came into Myrtle Creek, Oregon, but let my broke ass stay in their guest room until I got a couple of paychecks under me. He was almost like the dad I no longer had. Which was why it was a little awkward when he asked, “That boy still trying to ask you out? Because you can do better.”
“I think you’re a little biased. I’m no better than anyone else that hangs around this joint.”
“Maybe not. But you seem the most likely to get the hell out.”
Not much of a stretch since I was the only one working here who willingly fled from my old home to come to a town with only three thousand residents. “You trying to run me off, Paul?” I teased.
“Nope.” He passed me the burger deluxe. “I just never thought you’d stay this long. You’ve got the looks and the smarts to be something far greater than a waitress.”
So I’d been told. I just lacked the desire for attention. “Don’t worry, Paul. I’m not bailing on you anytime soon.”
He flashed me a tired smile. I grabbed another beer on my way and laid it all out before Joe, taking the empty bottle with me as I hurried off to avoid further conversation about my lack of socialization. Somewhat ironic, I know. Unfortunately, I still had to go back once more, and there was no way I could be rude enough to ignore him twice.
Grabbing the ketchup-smeared plate that now resembled something similar to an abstract painting, I asked, “You want anything else?”
“Let me ask ya’ this.”
Shit. I pulled his ticket from the black apron tied around my h*ps and laid it aside.
“So ya’ don’t wanna date. Why won’t ‘cha at least hang out as friends?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You really going to be satisfied with just a friendship?” When he didn’t answer quickly enough, I added, “Night, Joe,” and walked back to the kitchen.
After a few more late night tables, midnight hit and the diner was empty. I spent the next hour sweeping and mopping the dining room floor, then headed over to the bathrooms to clean them up. When I came back out, I noticed a young woman had taken up the seat at the end of the counter, her perched feet on the metal footrest twitching irregularly.
“Hi,” I said, forcing a friendly smile, trying to maintain the façade that I wasn’t utterly exhausted and my feet weren’t aching something fierce.
Her body straightened and stiffened, eyes widening and lips pulling apart, hovering in air without purpose. Even her voice seemed stunned when she asked over a heavy breath, “Claire?”
My head rotated backwards and I peeked through the kitchen doorway, even though I knew there was no one else back there. Well, Paul was. But a big guy like that was never going to be mistaken for any Claire. I returned my attention to her, putting myself opposite, with only the counter between us.
“Megan, actually. Can I get you something?”
She continued to stare, her alabaster skin white as a ghost. I sometimes got looks like this, but they were usually because a part of my damaged skin peeked out beneath my clothing. Casually dipping my head, I made a quick sweep of my body.
Nope. Nothing showing.
The silence almost uncomfortable, I lifted my eyebrows and gently shook my head. “Nothing, then?”
After a few more seconds of unnecessary staring, the muscles throughout her body began to relax, and her eyes glanced down at her hands. She sighed slow and deep.
“Megan?”
It really wasn’t a question, just a confirmation on her part, but I’d never heard my name said with such disappointment before.
She was actually really pretty, even with her light brown eyes cast in shadows and her cheeks so slackened her lips naturally curled downward. She couldn’t have been much older than me, possibly legal age already.
“I’m sorry,” she said, beginning to shrug off the negative demeanor for a saddened one. “Is the coffee fresh?”
“About two hours,” I replied.
“Good enough.”
I turned my back to her, and while I was pouring her mug and collecting creamer from the cooler, she added, “I’m sorry for staring. It’s just… Well… Here.”
I served her coffee as she pulled a sheet of paper from a collection just inside her bag, which lay atop the stool next to her. My eyes drifted to the picture as she handed it to me. “Oh, shit!” I blurted.
“Yeah,” she said dismally, taking a sip of the black coffee.
No wonder she couldn’t keep her eyes off me. The colored flyer was for a teenage girl that went missing a few years back. Claire Whitaker. Same five-foot-three height. Same brown eyes that were as dark as the cocoa bean. Same creamy beige skin. I know they say everyone had a twin out there, but damn! The only significant difference was the ten extra pounds she had on me. And her hair. Where Claire had brown, highlighted hair with bangs and a length that fell to her shoulders, mine was just plain brown, layered and long all around.
“Wow,” I murmured, still mesmerized.
“Sure you’re not really Claire?” Though she tried to hide it, there was a twinge of hope in her voice.
One year, five months, nine days since the fire, since I sealed my fate, a decision that would haunt me until the day I died.
Shaking my head of the thought, I asked, “Are you her sister?”
“Yeah. Thea. Claire’s my only sister.”
Curious of the age difference between me and my newfound twin, I scanned the flyer. Born September 17, 1993. She’d turn twenty later this year, just four months before me.
“Sorry,” I soothed, laying the sheet of paper on the counter, though not necessarily returning it, as I still felt the urge to study it. Claire’s eyes were so full of life. You could tell just by looking at her that she was incredibly happy, her smile bursting from seam to seam. I wondered what she was looking at, who was physically standing behind the camera that could invoke such a pleasurable smile.
There’d never been anyone in my life that lit up my eyes like that. And it saddened me a little because I doubted I’d ever get to have that now, not when I may have to up and leave as early as tomorrow. And I suddenly felt a little jealous of Claire. Like I was the bad twin, doomed to scavenge in the shadows of her life. But then I realized how royally screwed we’d both been. We’d both gone missing at one point, but Claire had one thing I didn’t. Someone to notice. So why was I the one still here and she the one still gone?
“I’ve never even been to Seattle, let alone lived there. I’m from South Cali, and I have my own parents.”
Thea nodded solemnly, sucking on the corner of her bottom lip. Curiosity was getting the best of me. I mean, seriously, what were the odds of this ever happening?
I fidgeted nervously. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to her?”
To Claire.
Thea sighed, her eyes falling to the mug with sadness, and I began to feel like an absolute bitch for prying. I was about to say never mind but she found her voice before I did. “No one knows for sure. She was a senior in high school, on her way to class one morning. Best we can tell, her car got hit from behind and she pulled off to the side. But she never called anyone for help, and by the time her car was found abandoned, the other car was long gone. She just vanished.”
I imagined that answer was memorized and had probably been delivered so many times it made Thea feel lifeless and emotionless inside. She certainly looked that way. Eying the stack of flyers in her bag, I expected she’d been at this all day, driving from town to town giving them out. Still looking after all this time.
Two years, five months, twelve days since Claire went missing.
Six months before me.
Had I been her replacement?
“That’s awful. Never knowing one way or the other…” Instinct told me to lightly cover her hand and gently squeeze.
Thea nodded, looking up at me again, a pathetic half smile on her face. “You’re sure there’s no way you’re Claire?”
Was it so wrong for her to hope? Though statistics would probably say Claire was already gone from this world, there was always the chance she’d been kept alive.
Like I was.
Though I begged for death every day. Maybe Claire found a way to end her misery.
Was she dead the moment that car came up behind her, maybe intentionally hitting her to get her out and alone? Or was she used, spoiled, before meeting her untimely demise? I found it hard to believe that the vibrant girl in the picture before me simply walked away. Not when she had someone to smile for – a smile like that was reserved for someone special. She was loved, and possibly in love herself.
No, Claire did not simply walk away. She was forced to go. Taken.
Like me…
My lips pressed into a straight line as my head shook. “Wish I was. I always wanted siblings growing up, but my mom couldn’t have any more after me. I do hope you find her though. Just keep looking. Tomorrow may be the day she needs you most.”
“We’ll always look for Claire. She was the heart and soul of our family. We just haven’t been the same without her.” Thea’s hand went to cover her mouth, but it was her eyes that needed tending, as they glistened with fresh fluid on the verge of spilling.
I hated the way she couldn’t look at me anymore, like it pained her to see her sister’s look-a-like alive and well while Claire was possibly neither of those things. If she only knew what I had to do to be here today…
Fire billowed on the ceiling, reaching down, down, down…
Again I tugged on my sleeves.
“Can I keep this?” I asked softly, drumming my fingers atop the flyer to draw Thea’s attention from the black hole she was on the verge of falling into. “I don’t want to put it on the window or anything, because you’d just get calls about me. But I could place it on the bulletin board in the back and my co-workers and I could keep our eyes open for her.”
“Thank you,” she whimpered, and I saw a tear land in her coffee, initiating a glistening ripple that bounced against its ceramic prison.
I felt pity for Claire, and heartache. Because I had a pretty good idea what happened to her. But even more, I feared telling Thea what I believed may have been her sister’s fate.
2
A few minutes before four o’clock, I walked the windows in front of Breenie’s Diner, scanning its occupants for a face I hoped to never see again. Once I determined the all-clear, I went inside. As always, the dinner rush had already begun and would continue to be heavy through eight. Of course, I used the word heavy lightly, since the diner only held ten tables: five booths and five four-tops. Saying hello to those I recognized, I made my way to the back and stuffed my purse in the cabinet next to Darla’s and Tish’s.
“Megan. Good, you’re early,” Paul said from the oversized closet he used for his office. He stood from his chair, but didn’t come out, so I moved to lean against the door frame. As he shuffled through the papers on his desk, he added, “Our new cook started today so I’ll need to introduce you.”