Twice Kissed. Lisa Jackson

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      Bile shot up Maggie’s throat. She gagged, suddenly on her knees as the contents of her stomach spewed onto the ground. No! She couldn’t have seen what she’d thought. No way. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. They had to be.

      “What was that?” Mary Theresa’s voice, slurred.

      “Nothin’. Just a dog or somethin’.”

      “No…stop…quit it…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

      “Oh, come on, M.T. Please. You give it away to every other guy—”

      “I…I can’t, this…oh, God, what if Mom and Dad came home?”

      “They won’t. They’re at the Kavenaughs. When they do show up they’ll both be shit-faced.”

      “What about Maggie?”

      “Wha’ about her? She don’t know nothin’. She’s out ridin’ that damned horse, isn’t she? If you ask me, she’s havin’ a love affair with it. Won’t be home for hours.”

      “She’s smarter than you think. Stop it. Mitch, for God’s sake—” There was splashing as someone climbed out of the pool. Maggie struggled to her feet. She had to run away, to hide, to—

      She heard the sound of footsteps, tried to dash behind an olive tree, only to see Mitch looming, his silhouette cast in shadowy relief with the back lights of the ornamental lamps. “Jesus Christ,” he said, ramming a hand through his hair. “What’re you doin’ slinkin’ around here and spyin’ on people?”

      “What is it?” Mary Theresa rounded the edge of the hedge and her eyes collided with Maggie’s. “Oh, shit.” She was tying the straps of her bikini bra.

      “Nothin’ happened,” Mitch said, taking a threatening step forward, his foot slipping on the pool of vomit. “Oh, hell. What’s this? Puke? You were pukin’ here?” Twisted in pure, outraged fury, his face suddenly suffused with bright, burning color. “How long you been here?”

      “I…I just got here. Just this minute and I got sick and you…you came,” Maggie stammered, wishing she was anywhere other than under his hard stare. She couldn’t believe what she’d seen, wouldn’t! They both had swimming suits on and though Mary Theresa was disheveled, her hair dripping, mascara running down her face, she and Mitch weren’t…they wouldn’t…

      “Nothin’ happened,” Mitch said again.

      “I…I know.”

      “I mean it, Maggie. No matter what you heard or saw, nothin’ was goin’ on.”

      Oh, God, how she wanted to believe him, but the look of sheer terror in Mary Theresa’s eyes convinced her otherwise. Her stomach quivered, she turned away and nearly retched all over again. Her head was thundering, her heart pounding, denial pouring through her bloodstream. This couldn’t be happening! It couldn’t. Not Mary Theresa and Mitch. Oh, God, no!

      “Maggie—” Mitch warned, the hard edge to his voice testament to his feelings.

      Emotions roiling, Maggie didn’t wait. She pushed past him and started running, through the bushes, down the gravel path, and into the street. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t care. She just had to get away. Far away.

      The soles of her boots, the ones she’d worn riding, slapped on the cement of the sidewalk. The hillside homes seemed to pitch and whirl as she flew down the street. Somewhere behind an electronic gate a dog barked. Neighboring house lights snapped on. Tears of disbelief and shame filled her eyes. Denial tore at her soul. Racing ever faster, tears streaming down her cheeks, she tried to outrun a vision that was burned into her brain. Gasping, half-sobbing, she tore down the prestigious hill with its stately million-dollar homes and the silent isolated lives within.

      Mary Theresa and Mitch! Blood relatives. They were practically brother and sister! Oh, God, no. Ever downward she ran, telling herself that what she’d seen was a mistake, that somehow she’d witnessed something entirely different. It was just her wild careless imagination that was jolting her out of control, that was it.

      Above the illumination from the streetlamps, the stars seemed to jumble and collide. Inside, her heart pounded hard. Ready to explode. Her guts cramped.

      Reeling, she stopped at a corner, panting, crying, placing her head between her knees, and wondering what in God’s name she would do. So her sister and brother were kissing, making out in the hot tub. It wasn’t a big deal, was it? So they’d been touching…that was part of growing up and exploring and…oh, who was she kidding? It was wrong. Way beyond wrong. It was sick. Even if they weren’t actually brother and sister. Still, they were related. What Mary Theresa and Mitch were doing violated some deep and primitive moral code.

      Nothing happened. Mitch’s words rang in her ears, echoed through her mind.

      Somewhere in the distance a police siren wailed through the night. A garage door opened and a neighbor dragged his trash can to the curb. Think, Maggie, think. You’ve got to go home. Face them. Face Mom and Dad. Her knees threatened to give way and she clung to the lamppost, taking in deep breaths of air laden with the scents of honeysuckle and roses.

      She forced herself to her feet, began running again.

      Not far away tires screamed on pavement.

      Just pretend it didn’t happen, she told herself, like you didn’t see anything, just like you don’t see Mother pour vodka into her orange juice in the morning, or that you haven’t found bottles stashed in the laundry closet or behind the gardening tools. The hot-tub scene didn’t happen. You imagined it. Saw something else.

      Headlights flashed on the asphalt as the sound of a car’s engine, Mitch’s Mustang, neared. Maggie started running again, faster and faster along the sidewalk that skimmed the edges of brick fences and wrought-iron gates and the secrets they guarded.

      The thrum of a bass guitar reached her ears, the rhythmic cadence of drums. Mitch, driving his Mustang slowly, rolled down his window. “Get into the car, Maggie,” he ordered over the loud music.

      “No!” She tried to run again.

      “Listen—”

      “Go away.” She reached the curb, stumbled, then dashed across a side street as another car caught her in its headlights.

      “Damn.” Mitch gunned his engine, and at the far curb, Maggie turned sharply, up the side street. Her lungs burned, her thighs ached so bad they quivered, but she gritted her teeth and kept running. Adrenaline spurred her on. She heard the sound of Mitch’s tires screeching as he threw the gearshift into reverse and burned rubber. There was an ominous moment of silence when all Maggie could hear was her own ragged breathing and the thudding of her heart—then the squeal of rubber on asphalt, the sound of an engine being gunned angrily, and the smell of burned rubber hanging in the air.

      In a second his car was beside her. Mitch leaned over and rolled down the passenger side window. “Get in.”

      She didn’t answer, just kept running, uphill past the houses as her calves screamed in pain.

      “Jesus Christ, Maggie, get in the car!”

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