Twisted by Lisa Harrington Page B

first twenty minutes.
    Why won’t Aidan tell me what happened? Not just about the shed, but about all of it. We used to share everything. No secrets.
    The mid-morning rush is over. I grab a cloth and start wiping down the counter. The answer has to be somewhere in those last couple of months before he took off. That whole summer was a mess — things went from bad to worse. It started on Aidan’s high school graduation day. I’d just finished grade ten. He and Vince had some huge blow- out. No matter how much I begged, Aidan wouldn’t tell me what it was about. But instead of leaving, he packed up his stuff and moved into the shed, to live . Vince made it perfectly clear, Mom and I were to have nothing to do with him. It made me crazy that she went along with it — now I blame it on her illness. I’d sneak out in the dead of night to visit him. Stay for a couple of hours. Sneak back.
    That was until Vince caught me. “Where the hell were you?” he demanded, his breath stinking of booze.
    â€œI — I heard something. I thought the cat wanted in.”
    His eyes swept the hall. “So where is it?”
    â€œThe cat?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œIt wasn’t him. I, uh … don’t know what it was …”
    I could tell he didn’t believe a word I said.
    The next day, I came back from the beach to find a lock on my door.
    At the end of that summer, Caroline and I attended a weekend leadership camp in Truro. When I got home, the shed was nothing more than a pile of ashes and Aidan was gone.
    â€œI think it’s clean now,” a voice says.
    Startled, I look up. “Oh. Liam. Hey.”
    He leans both elbows on the counter. “You’re scrubbing like you’re trying to take the paint off.”
    He’s so close I can smell his shampoo — coconutty. “There’s like ink, or maybe it’s marker … someone must have signed a receipt …” I peer down at the non-existent stain. “Yeah, I think I got it.” I rub some more. “Yup, it’s gone.” Why am I talking like I’ve just downed a dozen shots of espresso?
    â€œSorry I haven’t been in for a while,” he says. “I should have given you a heads-up. Are you making out okay?”
    â€œIt’s totally fine. Don’t feel you have to —”
    â€œI guess I still think of you as my trainee, that’s all.”
    â€œI pretty much know the ropes now.”
    â€œNo, I know. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you needed to be checked up on or anything.”
    â€œOh no, I didn’t think that.”
    â€œIt’s just that I do normally come by every —”
    â€œYeah, but you work here, you shouldn’t spend all your time —”
    â€œI had a paper due, and then it was Lynnie’s birthday dinner, and —”
    â€œReally. It’s all good. Everything’s running smoothly …”
    At this point, the conversation peters out.
    I fold up my cloth and hang it over the edge of the sink. “So, the dinner. Where’d you go?”
    He rolls his eyes. “Some hipster place down on the waterfront. She’s been wanting to go forever.”
    â€œAnd how was it?”
    â€œLet me put it like this. I blew almost two hundred bucks and still had to stop for a donair on the way home because I was starving .”
    â€œYikes. Can I buy you a coffee? You’re probably tapped out.”
    He smiles and brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah. That’d be great.” He looks back over his shoulder. “So any sign of your friend? Has he been back?”
    â€œKyle?” I reach for a mug. “He’s not my friend, and no.” I don’t feel like telling him about round two of his last visit.
    The front door swings open.
    I hold my breath. Part of me thinks it might actually be Kyle, because … that’s how my luck is going lately. But it’s not.