Buried in the Stars
By Gretchen Tubbs
Text copyright ©2016 Gretchen Tubbs
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means- except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews- without written permission from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Thank you, Mom and Dad,
for giving me everything I needed in order to be who I am.
Love you!
Table of contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Prologue
The first time Sutton Winters ever came to my rescue, I was twelve years old. Disheveled, distraught, and curled into myself, I didn’t hear him approach until he was right above me, blocking the sunlight from my eyes when I glanced up at him.
“Are you lost?” he asked.
I didn’t quite trust my voice yet, so I just shook my head and tried to hide my face in the crook of my elbow. Before I could get settled back into position, though, he was squatting in front of me, putting his warm fingers under my chin.
“Hey, let me look at that.”
His warm eyes were focused on the nasty cut on my face, but mine were on the ground. I didn’t want to look at him and see pity reflected back. That’s all I ever saw when people looked at me. I was growing tired of everyone feeling sorry for me.
I wanted something different here. We were forced to pick up and move when my last school starting noticing the marks on my body and stopped buying my excuses. I guess it was too much to ask that my mother would have been scared into sobriety with this latest move and the fact that social services was hot on her heels again.
“Let me take you to my house,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “My mom can clean this up for you.”
“NO!” The single word came out much angrier than I intended. He didn’t back away or even bother to drop his hand from my chin. It felt nice there. I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like being touched in a gentle manner, and I immediately felt bad for screaming at him. He certainly didn’t deserve it. “It’ll be okay.” The marks she left on my body always seemed to heal with little or no lasting effects.
It was the marks on the inside that always seemed to linger.
He put the tiniest bit of pressure on my chin and forced me to shift my gaze from the pile of leaves by my feet to his face. I knew in that moment that this boy was not someone that would hurt me. Somehow, right then and there, I knew that he would do what he could to protect me and keep me safe. For the first time that day… for the first time in many days, I smiled.
“These trees back here can be brutal. My mom knows exactly how to fix up a scratch from their branches.” His hand gave another gentle squeeze and his eyes softened.
My secret was safe. He knew just as well as I did that no tree did this to my face.
As he helped me up from my spot on the damp ground, I hissed from the pain that radiated through my back. He murmured a low curse and let his grip slide from my hand to my elbow as we started to walk down the muddy path that led us out of the woods. I didn’t mind his hand there; I needed it… both mentally and physically. Besides, I had seen him and his brother outside earlier that day and he seemed harmless.
“I’m Sutton Winters, by the way.”
“Scarlett Cook.”
We left the wooded area behind my new street, walked around the small pond behind the cul-de-sac, and passed the house my mom and I were renting, moving boxes still littering the front yard. He tilted his head toward it and asked if it was my place. I answered with a nod.
“My family is a few doors down.” He looked at me and smiled, his face lighting up at the notion of us being neighbors. My insides warmed to know that someone so kind was just a few houses away.
Over the years, the Winters’ house became more of a home to me than my own. Sutton’s mom, Vera, opened the door to me that day, fixed up the scratch on my face, served me lunch, and never looked back.
I wonder if she ever regretted it. Would she have opened her house and heart up to me if she knew that I would nearly destroy her family, all those years later?
Chapter One
The last rays of the sun were starting to disappear and the mosquitos were out with a vengeance. I knew it would only be a few more minutes until Vera Winters’ voice would come booming through the trees, calling her sons inside for dinner. Not only did my mom have no idea that I was back here, but the thought of her actually caring enough to prepare a meal for me was humorous.
I’ve been living here for a full two weeks. After Mrs. Winters cleaned the cut on my face and gave me something to eat, she made it perfectly clear that I’m welcome over at her house anytime. I’ve stayed away, though, figuring it’s safer to spend time in the woods with Sutton, his brother Easton, and their cousin Emily. It’s easy for grown-ups to figure out that my mom doesn’t exactly take care of me; it takes longer for people my age to come to that conclusion.
“Boys, time for dinner,” Mrs. Winters calls, as if my thoughts pulled her from her house.
“You headed home, Scarlett?” Easton asks before leaving his perch in the tree.
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.” I quickly sneak and undo my shoe laces. “I just need to tie my shoes before I walk home. You two go ahead.”
Sutton looks at me and grins. “Bye, Scarlett.”
The two brothers jump down from the tree branch and jog down the trail. I linger, just like I do every night after they leave, waiting until they’re out of earshot before I go and make myself comfortable in the old treehouse I discovered the second night I moved here. I spend most of my time there, only daring to go home to bathe, change my clothes, and eat a real meal when there’s no chance of running into my mother.
I’d rather gamble with what’s living in the woods than have a run-in with Amy Cook.
Mrs. Winters called the two of them later than usual for dinner tonight. By the time the woods are quiet again I can’t see a thing. I’m too scared to get down from the tree and go further into the darkness to climb into the treehouse, where I have various snacks stashed. Every time I work up a bit of courage, an unfamiliar sound convinces me to stay put.
I cling to the branch tighter, fighting against the panic that I know is about to set in, when I hear the leaves rustling. This isn’t the soft movement from animals that I’ve been hearing since Sutton and Easton left; this is heavier and more deliberate. A single beam of light catches my eye, and I want to weep with relief. It seems for the second time in two weeks, Sutton Winters has come to my rescue in the woods.
“Scarlett?” he ca
lls. “You still back here?”
Feeling brave, I make my way down the tree and get to the bottom just as the beam from the flashlight hits my worn shoes. “I was just about to walk home.”
“No you weren’t.”
My eyes widen as my face grow hot. For the first time since the sun set, I’m glad it’s gone. I’m an awful liar, and Sutton would see that he’s right if he had the flashlight aimed at my face.
“I was.” Terrible reply, but it’s all I’ve got.
“You never leave. I listen for you every night, but you never head home.” The beam of light shines in my eyes, blinding me for a few seconds while Sutton drives his point home. “You shouldn’t stay back here alone. It’s not safe.”
He’s right, but being in the dark woods is better than the alternative, so I’ll risk it, every single night.
“Mom cooked enough food to feed the whole neighborhood,” he continues. “Why don’t you come eat with us?”
“I don’t know…”
“Please. Emily just got home from a friend’s house, and she’s coming over, too.” Instead of waiting for me to answer, he takes my hand and guides us out of the woods. I don’t suppose one dinner over there would hurt.
As we make our way to his house, which is only a few down from mine, I take a moment to look at the strange mixture of homes on our street. The neighborhood my mom picked for us is older, and the original houses are all quite large with huge yards. The lawns are well-kept and clean. It’s obvious that the owners take pride in their homes. Randomly thrown in the mix are smaller rent homes that were built much later, like the one we live in. You can spot these from a mile away. They’re huge eye sores throughout the whole neighborhood. The lawns are not cared for, toys and bikes are strewn all over the yard, the paint’s peeling off the front of the houses, and most of them have cars parked on the curb instead of in the garage.
We pass my house, and I spot a beat up car in the driveway next to my mom’s clunker. This is the second time since we’ve been here that there’s been an unfamiliar car in the driveway. And it’s not the same car. My mother certainly can make ‘friends’ fast. I think this is a new record for her. She has a job waitressing somewhere- I never bothered to get the name of the place. Based on the fact that she’s already met and befriended two men- I’m sure people she’s met there- it’s probably not a very reputable establishment.
“Who’s at your place?”
“Oh, um, I think someone my mom works with.”
“Do you need to go tell her you’re eating with us?” Sutton asks. That’s what a responsible daughter would do. Most moms would be concerned if the sun was long gone from the sky and their young daughters were not home yet, had not been home all day. My mom? It probably hasn’t dawned on her that she hasn’t seen me all day.
“I’ll call her when I get to your house.” That’s a lie. She doesn’t even have a phone. Her cell service was cut off months ago because she never bothered to pay the bill. Getting a landline hooked up when we moved here would require responsibility, which she doesn’t possess.
“Mom’ll be excited,” he says. “She’s been asking about you since the other day.”
My defenses instantly go up. Adults asking questions about me throw up red flags. This is how it starts, and we haven’t been here long enough for anyone to become suspicious.
“What’s she been asking?”
Sutton laughs, and I can tell right away that my concerns are unnecessary. “She just thought that you’d have been back over by now.”
“Oh.” I can’t tell him why I haven’t, so I remain silent as we walk up his driveway. Sutton’s family lives in one of the older, bigger homes in the neighborhood. I’ve seen his dad in the yard three or four times cutting it or working in the flower beds. We don’t even own a lawn mower.
Sutton throws the back door open and pulls me through. “Mom, I brought Scarlett for dinner.”
Mrs. Winters comes hustling out of the kitchen and into the small utility room that we are standing in, greeting me like I’m her long lost child. No one’s ever been this excited to see me before. It’s a little strange. Just like the last time I saw her, her hair is an unruly mass of light brown curls. I’ve never seen Mr. Winters up close, but Sutton has his mother’s hair and eyes. They can’t seem to decide if they are blue or green, so they’re a strange mix of both.
“Scarlett, honey, I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve been asking Sutton to invite you over.” She gives me a brief yet strong hug, her eyes dancing as she moves in close. “But like I said before,” she tells me as she pulls away, “you don’t need an invitation to come over. I’m here all the time. Another girl in the house would be a welcome addition.” She leans close again and mock whispers, “These boys tend to drive me crazy sometimes.”
She keeps right on speaking before I can fit a word in. “I hope you brought your appetite with you. It’s Mexican night, and I went a little overboard.”
On cue, my tummy starts rumbling. I haven’t eaten since the granola bar I had at breakfast, and the mere mention of food has my stomach going crazy. She laughs as she guides me through the kitchen and into the living room. I never made it this far into the house the first time I came over. The room is huge. I think our entire rent house could fit in this one area. The furniture is older but in good condition; nothing like the random mixture of garage sale stuff that’s falling apart at my own house. Sutton and Easton are sprawled out on the sectional sofa, talking to their dad, who is standing at the other end of the room. He’s loosening his tie and shaking off his jacket. Mrs. Winters leaves my side and rushes over to greet her husband, her smile growing tenfold at the sight of him.
The scene steals my breath.
I had this life once.
I wasn’t always Scarlett Cook, daughter of Amy Cook, the raging alcoholic and abusive mother.
This used to be our life. My dad would come home every night to dinner on the table, me waiting for him to talk about the events of the day, my mom rushing to greet him at the door. We were the picture of a perfect family.
But that was before.
Now, my life couldn’t be further from this happy scene.
This hurts to watch. This is why I never made friends after. Seeing what I used to have dangled in front of my eyes is too hard. I slowly start to back out of the living room. The Winters Family reveling in their joy is not something I want to witness. Before I can cross the threshold into the kitchen to make my exit, Sutton jumps up from the couch and takes my hand.
“Scarlett, come meet my dad.” I don’t have a chance to make my hasty departure. He drags me over to his father, who is still wrapped up with his mom. “Dad, this is Scarlett. Scarlett, this is my dad, Dr. Robert Winters.”
He unwinds one arm from his wife’s waist and extends his hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Scarlett. And please, call me Doc. Dr. Winters is my father. The boys have been talking nonstop about you since you moved in. I’m glad you’re here… I was starting to think they made you up.”
I don’t know why, but his comment makes me blush. He shakes my hand and then goes back to his conversation with Mrs. Winters, completely hanging on her every word. I watch them for a few more seconds, but then force my gaze away. There’s no reason to put myself through the self-inflicted torture. The two of them are a picture-perfect example of married life and good parents- a painful reminder of what I had and lost.
As if he can sense the impending meltdown, Sutton nudges me with his shoulder. “Come on, Squirt. Let’s go call your mom so she doesn’t worry.”
“Squirt?”
He smiles. “Yeah. I think it suits you. You’re a tiny little thing.”
I don’t know how I feel about the actual nickname, but the fact that he gave me one makes me feel good.
I also know I shouldn’t be getting attached to these people. Letting others into my life isn’t smart.
“Here’s the phone.”
He motions to the cordless at the edge o
f the kitchen counter. I wait for him to go back into the living room with his family, but he leans against the row of cabinets, so I have no choice but to fake a phone call. My mom’s phone hasn’t been cut off long enough that I’ve forgotten the number, so I dial it and wait for the recording to tell me that it’s no longer in service. I smile at Sutton, pressing the receiver hard against my ear, praying the volume is low enough so that he thinks I’m simply listening to my own mom’s voice asking me to leave a message. When the automated recording finishes, I leave a fake message telling my mom I’m over at Sutton’s, even adding in a false I love you for good measure. That’s what most kids would do, right?
The rest of the family files in the kitchen just as I’m hanging up. Their cousin, Emily, comes breezing through the room like she owns the house and declares that she’s starving.
“Well, by all means, let’s sit down and eat before you meet your untimely death,” Dr. Winters says.
They all move to their seats with choreographed ease and I stay tucked against the counter by the phone, not sure of what I’m supposed to do or where I fit in the dynamics of this carefully orchestrated dinner. I don’t have friends so this is completely unfamiliar to me. Every chair at the table is taken and I don’t want to be here anymore, an imposter at this perfect family meal. Besides, how long is it going to take for them to realize that I’m a mess? That my mother is a drunk who doesn’t take care of me?
“Sutton, where are your manners?” his mother calls in mock horror, breaking me out of my pity party. I’m mortified that I’m just standing there, but no one else seems to notice; they’re too busy piling their plates with food. “Go get a chair from the dining room,” she continues, “and squeeze it in between you and Emily.”
He jumps up from the table and is back with a chair before I have to stand here any longer and wallow in my embarrassment.
“Have a seat and I’ll fix you a plate,” he tells me.
“Uh, okay.”
He starts to scoop and slide unidentifiable things onto my plate. I’m not sure where this compulsion of his to take care of me comes from… and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
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