Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  Archie to group: I’m having trouble following these messages. Why can’t we have a conference call? Smiley face.

  Imogene to group: Because it’s not 1992 and you don’t need to type smiley face! Emoji or emoticons, Archie! They’re on your damn phone!

  Archie to group: Is this Imogene speaking to me? Dear, I have no idea what these science-fiction words mean. I feel like we’re in Logan’s Run!

  Emma to group: Who’s Logan?

  Cooper to group: What nut let my wife create this group? Cross her at your own peril. I cannot save any of you.

  Imogene to group: Oh, shut up <3

  Dylan to group: I feel the love here. This is the perfect group to do an untrained intervention on a perfectly nice, unsuspecting human being. Perfect group to serve Satan.

  Talia to group: I’m on my way home now. I’ll let my mom know.

  Archie to group: Talia, you’re great! We will all be there to support Mila. LOL!

  Talia to group: LOL? I’m scared.

  Imogene to group: GOOD GOD, ARCH! What’s with the LOL?

  Archie to group: I’m sending Talia our love! Lots of love, dear!

  Imogene to group: THAT’S LAUGHING OUT LOUD! We’ve been over this! Remember the debacle in the email chain for Mr. Harigrove’s emergency brain surgery? You were LOL’ing all over that thing.

  Archie to group: I forgot. Sad Face.

  Eleanor to group: Reading this hurts my head. Should I bring booze to this event?

  Jess to group: Alcohol at an intervention? Seriously?

  Eleanor to group: We’re not intervening because she’s a drunk. We’re intervening because she needs to get out more and booze it up.

  Dylan to group: Yeah, that’s why we’re doing this. Mila needs to drink more. You should bring your bong while you’re at it. Mila could use some of your flashbacks to the 60s.

  Lois to group: Not a bad idea! Pot is medicinal. Mila could use it!

  Aleska to group: Someone pray for us. My mother bites. I’ve seen her do it! Tequila shots might subdue her.

  Lauren to group: I just got caught up on the texts and I’m very concerned that some people are missing the point of what we’re doing today. This is not funny! Peyton, would you please explain the mission?

  Peyton to group: Please don’t drag me into this texting circus. I’ll go help Talia with the setup. I will send out the signal “NOW” when we need you to head to Mila’s house. Walk in all at once.

  Imogene to group: It’s like we’re getting ready to nab a unicorn!

  Leo to group: What’s the plan?

  Imogene to group: OMG, LEO! If I see you, I’m going to run you over with my car! Drink a Red Bull and get with the program!

  Carson to group: Can you delete me from this group? My back pocket is pinging with all these notifications. Everyone at work is staring at me like I’ve got a bomb strapped to my ass.

  Jess to group: Carson, don’t you dare mute your phone. If you don’t show up on time, I will paint our house pink.

  Talia to Mila: I’m on my way home.

  Mila to Talia: I made chicken salad sandwiches. Love you.

  Peyton to Talia: I’m on my way.

  Talia to Peyton: Great! I love you.

  What? What? No, no, no, no.

  I stare at the message intended for my mother. I told Peyton I love him?

  I pedal home fast, a little out of breath. Before I get to our driveway, I see Peyton’s truck parked on the shoulder of the road. He flags me down as if I could actually miss him of all people, on an empty road.

  “Hey,” he says, holding my handlebars as I come to a stop. “I didn’t want my truck to tip off your mother in case she’s looking out the window, so I’ll walk in with you, okay?”

  “Good. I am nervous.”

  The breeze picks up his natural, musky scent, and all at once I am enveloped in Peyton’s exquisite protective maleness. I look around as if Harmony has private investigators following me.

  He takes my bike from me and walks it to the house. The bike is between us, so I tell myself I’m not breaking my agreement with Harmony. And I’m not going to feel guilty about his involvement in this farce of an intervention. There’s nothing romantic about it. A dozen neighbors showing up to coerce my mother isn’t what anyone could categorize as seducing a man.

  “Well?” He looks at me with a sideways glance. “Your hot text? To me?”

  I love you.

  “It was an accident!” I blurt out. “I was talking to my mom. I sent it to you by mistake.”

  “I figured,” he says. “But some people say there are no accidents.”

  “Some people are stupid.”

  “Fair enough.”

  As we approach my front door, I realize I miss this with him—being a team, the strong feelings I can’t ignore when we’re together. Our eyes meet, and there’s a second when I foolishly hope he’s thinking the same thing.

  Peyton props my bike by a large concrete planter that bears the dead stalks of perennials that haven’t been cared for in years.

  When we first moved into the home, my mother gardened with a vengeance, beautifying the front yard and squaring off a plot in the backyard for vegetables. Now Aleska and I take care of the lawn and trim the hedges, but our limited efforts don’t camouflage the abundance of dead vegetation. It gives the outward appearance of something sad happening inside the home. Considering our hundred-year-old neighbor has hopeful blooms popping up all around her yard, thanks to a pricey landscaping service, they make our home look that much shabbier.

  I reach for the doorknob and hesitate. “All of a sudden, I have no idea what I’m going to say to her.” I search Peyton’s face for an answer. “How am I going to start this conversation? Maybe I should let Lois—”

  “You’ll talk to her as her daughter. You love her, and she knows it.” He puts his hand on my shoulder for a few seconds then removes it. “Open the door.”

  The front door opens right into the living room, and my mother is there in her short bathrobe, a thick terry cloth that swaddles her body like a heavy blanket, but it only reaches midthigh. She has her back, or I should say butt, to us as she bends over the coffee table to put out two plates with sandwiches and chips.

  “I thought it would be nice to sit out here,” she says, assuming she’s talking to just me. When she stands and turns around and sees Peyton next to me, she does some sort of backward bunny hop and quack. “Ack!”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing company? I just got out of the shower!” She touches her wet hair and tugs at the hem of her robe as though she can cover her legs.

  “Hello, Mila,” Peyton says. “Sorry if it seems like I’m barging in at a bad time.” He walks right by her to the entrance of the hallway that leads to our kitchen and the rest of the house. He’s going to block the hall and any escape routes to other rooms with doors that lock.

  “We’re here!” Imogene says, walking through the front door, which is still wide open.

  “What are you doing?” The panic in my voice is evident.

  “Talia, what’s going on?” My mother looks at me, then turns sharply to see what Peyton is doing.

  “What the hell? I didn’t send you the signal,” Peyton says to Imogene.

  Imogene brushes by me, followed by everyone else. They parade in like a herd; Jess and Emma first, followed by Lois and Eleanor, who push by us to claim seats on the couch. Then Archie and Emily both shuffle in with their walking canes in hand and perch themselves next to one of our two armchairs. Leo and Lauren walk in holding hands. Cooper, Carson, and Dylan enter with mumbled greetings to my mother, who stands there, clutching her robe closed around her neck, wearing an expression of petrified rage. Aleska saunters in and is about to close the door when Norma pushes her way in with her walker.

  “I saw all the people and got over here as fast as I could,” Norma says with a huff as she leans on her walker.

  “Good to see you, Nor
ma.” Imogene then turns to address Peyton. “We got a little confused on the timing. So we all drove over, and when we saw your truck on the side of the road, we parked there, too. Then we stood around and decided we should start walking toward the house.”

  “I told you all to wait for me. Jesus.” Peyton looks at them in disbelief.

  “It happened so fast!” Imogene says.

  “We couldn’t help ourselves,” Lois adds, not at all sorry for her untimely arrival. “We’re givers. It’s why we’re here.”

  “Aleska? Would you care to explain what this is about since your sister won’t?” our mother huffs. “Can you tell me why fifteen people are crammed into my living room?”

  “This is an intervention,” Aleska replies with a sigh, plopping herself into one of the empty armchairs.

  “Mila, have a seat. Please,” Peyton says.

  My mother lets him guide her to the couch where he puts her between Lois and Eleanor. Then he reaches behind her for the hand-crocheted throw on the back of the couch and gently drapes it over her lap so she feels less exposed. Honestly, the robe covers a lot more than the string bikini my mother used to sunbathe in before she became the town hermit. But when you have a room full of unexpected guests and you’re only wearing a ratty, short robe that shows off your naked legs, it must feel a little risqué.

  Lois claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s leave the bullshit at the door! We’re here in love. And now Talia has the floor.”

  I gape. I don’t know how to follow that introduction.

  “Talia,” my mother snaps. She crosses her arms. “Start talking!”

  “Hey,” Peyton says as he makes his way to me. “Talia’s not the bad guy here. There is no bad guy. She’s trying to start a dialogue to help this situation. She wants to help you, Mila.” He snakes his arm protectively around my back.

  “You know why we’re here, Mom. This has gone on too long. You’ve been living like a recluse in this house for four years. You’re too young to waste your life like this. We’re all here to help you get out of this situation, whatever it takes, so you can live again. Really live.”

  “This is my life,” my mother says, directing her anger at me. “I don’t tell you how to live. It’s no one’s business.” Her eyes flare.

  I’ve seen her angry before, but this is something new. She’s got crazy eyes, as if she’s possessed.

  Aleska shakes her head at me with that this is going to be impossible look.

  Everyone’s eyes are on me. Sure, none of them can speak up and tell the angry lady in the bathrobe that she’s two seconds away from crazy town. They’re waiting for me to impart great words of wisdom that will magically inspire my mother to address her illness?

  “Fine,” I growl. “You want to argue instead of agree, then let me tell you that it’s my life, too. And it’s Aleska’s life!”

  The old Talia comes alive. She’s been lurking underneath all these months, beaten down by a shitty ex-boyfriend and a deceptively cruel heart. I’ve walked the line gingerly with too much care, pretending that certain men don’t affect me and carrying on with a family charade of normalcy. There’s nothing normal about my family or me, which is fine, as long as we can talk about it. And now I’m going to talk about it to half the town in the middle of our living room, which feels very much like a public square at the moment.

  “I’m tired of pretending that this is okay,” I start. “Our life is not okay. Having my mother chained to her house out of fear is not okay with me or Aleska, or any of your friends. And this shouldn’t be okay with you. You should fix this and have a life again.”

  My mother stares at me with a face of stone.

  “Stop looking at me like that!” I shout, and she twitches. “Of course, this is our business. Our lives revolve around you and this house. We are grown women with our own business, but we’re afraid to move out because we have to take care of you. We’re the only ones who see you every day, so we have to make sure you’re safe. We love you, so of course we’re going to support you, but giving you shelter and food isn’t enough. You are completely dependent on us, and I know that makes you unhappy. This is not living. You’re just existing and pretending, like the rest of us, that we can continue to be happy with expecting so little. You are an educated, outgoing woman. This cannot be enough for you.”

  “I have my online support group,” my mother exclaims, and the others in the room look around at each other, wondering what to do with that information.

  “They aren’t your support group!” I shout. “They are anonymous commenters! You could be talking to a rapist or a murderer who’s pretending to be agoraphobic!”

  “That’s silly.” My mother rolls her eyes. “A murderer needs to be out among people in order to murder them. He doesn’t have time to be agoraphobic.”

  “Do you hear yourself?”

  Aleska sighs forcefully. “You have to get out of this damn house, Mom. You need to work again and be with people. You need to feel productive, and you need to socialize and have fun again. Talia is right. This isn’t okay. Not at all. And you haven’t seen a doctor in years! You need yearly checkups! You are wasting your life!”

  “Do you think my time here is wasted?” My mother shoots her scary eyes at me again. “I’m the one who nursed you back to health. Every hour of every day.”

  Once again, the attention in the room shifts to me. Everyone’s confusion is apparent.

  I feel pressure from Peyton’s hand on my lower back, and then he squeezes my side. The place most women hate to be touched, the extra fat that taunts us, but now I know why they’re called love handles. Through my cotton blouse, I feel the heat and comfort of Peyton’s touch, and for once I’m thankful I have a little extra flesh there.

  “I took care of you because I’m your mother. I wasn’t wasting my time taking care of you after your surgery. I am the person who kept track of all your medication and proper dosages, and I’m the one who made you stay on top of all your physical therapy exercises. I think I was very productive, and I thought my help was important to you.”

  “Of course, it was, and I have told you how much I appreciated having you take care of me. Do not treat me or Aleska as if we’re being unkind. This intervention is hell because you’re making this all about you. This is about all of us. Your condition affects all of us.”

  “Wait. Stop.” Imogene raises her hand in the air. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Exactly,” Eleanor adds. “What’s going on? I thought this was about Mila’s agoraphobia. What family secret have we stumbled on? Please share.”

  “Ah, shit.” Peyton crosses his arms.

  “Great,” I mutter.

  “What did you expect!” Aleska slouches back into the armchair and puts her legs up on the armrest. “She’s not going down without a fight.”

  “Talia,” Peyton says to get my attention. “Talia, you have to tell them. It’s time.”

  “Yes, Talia. You have to tell us,” Jess says. She’s the best friend I have pushed aside for many months, and her knowing look tells me she expects an explanation.

  “Lordy, this is going to be good,” Lois declares. “Come on, sugar; give it to us straight.”

  “Tell them,” my mother prods. “You’ve kept it a secret from them for months, and I went along with it. Tell the truth, and I’ll go outside. Do we have a deal?”

  “You’ll go outside? If I tell them, you’ll go outside?”

  “Yes. I will,” my mother challenges.

  I open two buttons on my blouse and pull the collar tips wide to reveal the scar that slices down my chest under my bra. After a whispered chorus of “oh,” I button my blouse up again.

  “I had surgery. I was going to tell all of you … eventually.”

  “Surgery? That’s all you can say?” Jess asks. She looks like a little kid who just found out there’s no Santa Claus.

  “Your brevity is appreciated.” Peyton smiles. “But you kinda have to
give them more than that.”

  I’ve been holding myself so stiffly, but his beautiful smile cracks my tension-filled limbs, and I give in and share a brief laugh with him.

  “I had surgery to repair a defective heart valve. I’m perfectly healthy now.”

  “You had open heart surgery and didn’t think to tell us? I’m your best friend. How could you not tell me?” Jess asks.

  “Take it easy,” Carson says. “Talia doesn’t need an inquisition.”

  “I’m sorry. When I was diagnosed, things moved quickly, and it coincided with Scotty’s birth. I was seeing so many doctors and specialists in the city, and whenever I came home, I just wanted to not talk about it. I didn’t want to put my stress on you while you were pregnant.”

  “Wow. Heart surgery,” Lauren says. “That’s huge. What were your symptoms? I can’t believe all of us missed the signs.”

  “I didn’t have symptoms other than a cold that wouldn’t go away. A doctor detected a heart murmur. Another doctor diagnosed me with mitral valve prolapse. A leaky heart is what they call it.”

  “A leaky valve? Those things can kill you,” Cooper says.

  “That’s why I got busy, seeing the best surgeon, getting the pre-surgery testing done. Jess went into labor, and then I went in for surgery soon after Scotty was born.”

  “I knew it!” Jess says. “I knew you couldn’t possibly spend two months in Florida with your father—you barely speak to the man. You were in the hospital, right?”

  “I was only in the hospital for one week. I spent two months here, recovering.”

  “You’ve been here this whole time, and we all thought you were in Florida? I could have been here with you. I could have helped with whatever it was you needed. I was home all day with a baby, and I had no idea my best friend was two minutes away. I thought you were two thousand miles away.”