The Weight of Blood by Laura McHugh

immediate plans to conduct the necessary research to determine whether a kiss would turn my legs to jelly. I stuck out my hand.
    He took it in his, not crushing it like he had at Dane’s, not letting it go. “I know it wasn’t easy, earlier, for you to tell me those things. About Cheri and all.” He examined my hand in his, contemplating the confluence of lines as though preparing to read my fortune. “I said I knew you from school, but we met before, at the river. Spin the bottle. I figured you didn’t remember or were too embarrassed to bring it up. But as I recall, it wasn’t half bad.” He grinned. “Actually, I think you kinda liked it.” He released his grip and stepped off the porch. “So, anyway, just wanted to get that out in the open.”
    His truck sputtered down the road as I watched from the living room window, tipsy from our prolonged handshake, which could almost legitimately be classified as handholding. Sure, he’d been teasing me, at least a little, but he remembered. I didn’t have many friends, didn’t confide in anyone except Bess, and had never had a boyfriend, but I’d let Daniel right in, based on no more than a gut feeling and the fact that he’d offered to help with Cheri. He hadn’t assumed, as most people did, that it was pointless, that the trail was cold. And as always, when I thought of Cheri, I thought of my mom; as I approached her age at the time of her disappearance, I realized how young she truly was. Cheri and Lila, two lost girls, bookends with a lifetime of mysteries between them. And then it occurred to me: If it was possible to find one, why not the other? It couldn’t hurt to ask around. Someone out there might know what happened to my mother. It might not be too late to find out.
    I was tired and beyond ready to take off the white dress, which I looked forward to tearing into dust rags. As I reached up to close the window shade, I saw a lone figure on the road, moving slowly, a bent silhouette. Birdie on her night patrol.

Chapter 8
    Lila
    Crete was waiting for me at the garage a few days later when Carl dropped me off after work, and seeing him there made me nervous. He joked around with Carl like he always did, like everything was fine, but it wasn’t. Things had been tense between us since I brushed him off, and he’d barely spoken to me. No more friendly conversation. No more mention of installing AC. I figured he wasn’t used to getting turned down, that he was pissed or embarrassed, but sooner or later he’d get over it.
    â€œHey,” he said when Carl’s truck pulled away. “It’s payday.” He handed me an envelope.
    â€œThanks,” I said, opening it up. Instead of a check, there was cash. And not much. I knew room and board were being deducted from my pay, but how much could it possibly cost to put me up in the crap-hole garage? “Where’s the rest of it?”
    â€œI was thinking it might be best if I put the money straight into a savings account, so you don’t have to mess with it. I know you’re wanting to save it all anyhow, and you don’t have much in the way of expenses. That pocket money there should cover whatever you need.”
    â€œThanks, but I’d rather handle it myself,” I said. “I could go into town and set up an account.”
    He sighed. “Sorry,” he said. “I think it’s best this way.”
    â€œWell, I don’t. It’s my money, and it’s not up to you what I do with it.”
    â€œContract says otherwise,” he said. “Guess you didn’t read the fine print.”
    I was so angry I was shaking. I stood there mute and watched him get back in his truck. “ Asshole! ” The word tore out of my throat as he disappeared down the road. I knew he was trying to get back at me, to show me he was in control, but he was taking it too far. He couldn’t keep my money.