by Ashley Logan
More lies.
Sighing again, I lean my head on the cold window as I watch the trees blur past. To protect the kids from learning of my unsavory life, I’ve told them I’m the live-in cook and cleaner for the dancers, and that I get free board, which is a good deal, because the salon job is only part-time.
“I take time off during the year to come home too Tim. It all adds up. It’s fine. The work pays well and keeps life in Franklinville as close to normal as the James family can get. Just leave it okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees still frowning. “At least you should get some peace tonight.”
Lifting my head, I look at him. “What do you mean?”
Grinning, he bounces in his seat a little. “I have a date.”
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
Shaking his head, he smiles happily. “Nah. She’s new in town. Likes cars and responsible young chaps like moi.”
Snorting, I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you use your brotherly love as a way to pull in the ladies.”
“What can I say? It’s works. Women love a man who takes care of his family.”
Catching my next sigh, I look out the window again. “They sure do.” Pushing Lennox Green from my mind, I look back to Tim. “So it’s just me and the girls, huh? I feel a chick-flick marathon coming on.”
Grunting, Tim mutters a remark about how he’d hate to miss that, then shakes his head. “Actually, Jem’s got a date too.”
Before I can say anything, his hand comes up between us and flaps slowly as if he’s telling me to calm down.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already vetted the guy. It’s her friend Adam from band. The guy’s a total sweetheart,” he says with a slow smile before continuing. “Of course, that didn’t stop me from threatening to damage his spotty little face if he treats her wrong.”
Shaking my head, I lean back in my seat. “Adam? I can’t say I’m surprised. They’ve been friends since grade school. Is this their first date?”
“Yeah. Apparently it’s taken him this long to get up the balls just to ask. I think her virtue will be safe for quite a while yet.”
Laughing a little as he does, I feel the tension in my shoulders ease a bit as the scenery becomes more picturesque. We’re getting closer to home.
“So me and the twins then. How did the party go?”
“Everything was fine. Thanks for sorting that, by the way,” he says, shooting me a grateful smile. “In fact things swung so far in the opposite direction that both girls are going for a sleepover tonight and then ice-skating with Sarah Matheson and her family tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I know,” Tim says, incredulous. “Girls. They change their minds every five seconds. I honestly don’t understand how their relationships work at all. Anyway, you’ll have the house to yourself until Jem gets back. I told her to be back by midnight, but I figure she’ll be in by ten. Seriously. It’s Adam - with his mom, the dude probably has a nine o’clock curfew.”
Returning Tim’s smile, I sink even lower in my seat and look out the side window again.
Great. An evening alone. After doing my best to get home to my family as soon as possible, they don’t even want to see me.
Reminding myself that it is a wonderful thing that they all have happy, fun-filled lives, I push away the selfish thoughts of when I might get to have mine.
“So what will you do with your wonderful peace and quiet?” Tim asks as we drive through the quiet streets of our little town. “You must never get any real peace in the city; living with so many others.”
Shrugging, I keep my eyes on the rows of houses with their yards and picket fences. I used to want one of those. “I like living with lots of people,” I say quietly. “It reminds me of home.” Inhaling deeply and pulling myself back into shape, I force another smile. “I guess I’ll run a hot bath and have an early night so I’m fresh for everyone tomorrow.”
“Or,” Tim says, pulling into our driveway, “Have a relaxing soak, and enjoy one of those lame movies you love, and just put your feet up, because you deserve a break.”
Smiling at my dear, sweet brother, I nod and keep the brave mask on my face as I study our house with an assessing eye. It’ll need painting this summer; I’d better work that into the budget. Our modest house is the last on the street before the park, and has only one neighbor I can compare it to.
The house next door is, of course, immaculate as always. I’d dreamed of living there when I was younger. I’d dreamed that the boy next door would fall madly in love with me - as I had with him; and that he’d invite me into his happy little family with their perfect little lives. A fairytale dreamed up by a stupid, naive child to distract herself from the reality of her shitty life.
Climbing out onto the driveway, I look to the dark windows of the neighbor’s home and shudder as a chill clings to my spine. Forcing my eyes away from the Coulson’s house, I help Tim pull things from the car, keen to get inside and forget about the neighbors.
Our house is empty and it just seems so wrong.
Setting the groceries on the kitchen counter, I turn to Tim as he arrives with his arms full of presents. Walking past me to the living room, he eases to the floor and lets the gifts slowly flow from his arms to pool around the base of the naked, plastic pine tree.
“We wanted to wait for you before we decorated it,” he explains, as he rises to find me looking at him.
“Thanks,” I reply, still frowning. “I thought dates and sleepovers would start later, Tim. Nobody’s here.”
Smiling, he nods. “I know. We did it on purpose. Peace and quiet is part of your present, but none of us wanted to stay away from you on actual Christmas, so today is the day.”
Suddenly speechless, my mouth opens and closes without sound. I’m sure they meant well, but time alone with my thoughts is the last thing I need. “That’s very sweet, but-”
“But nothing.” Cutting me off, Tim gives me a quick hug before moving in the direction of the car again. “You’ll be sick of us after five minutes tomorrow, so enjoy it while it lasts,” he says, disappearing out the door to get more things from the car.
I follow him, trying to keep calm by keeping busy. That’s what I do; what I’ve always done.
When the last of the gear is inside, Tim hugs me again, tells me it’s great to have me home, and gives me a joyful wave as he shuts the door behind him on his way out.
Slumping into a chair at the empty kitchen table, I look around at the mountain of stuff that needs putting away. Thank the stars for stuff!
Jumping straight back up, I open the fridge. If I wasn’t in need of distraction, I might surely have sighed at the sight before me, but stacking near-empty containers of questionable-looking leftovers in my arms, I dump them in the sink, silently praising my siblings for being gross. Emptying the fridge entirely, I wipe it out thoroughly before separating anything expired and re-stocking it with all the fresh stuff I’ve arrived with.
Tidying the kitchen and turning the dishwasher on, I smile as I put the kettle on. Tapping my fingers on the bench as I wait for it to boil, I glance through the double doors to the living room. My fingers tap a little faster.
Pushing away from the counter, I head for the hall closet to retrieve the vacuum cleaner. Once the living room is clean, I move through the rest of the house with the Hoover before storing it away again.
Flicking the switch on the kettle again, I wonder if anyone has mopped the kitchen floor since my visit last month. My fingers drum the counter-top like speeding cavalry. Leaving the water to boil, I fetch the mop and bucket.
Having painted myself out of the kitchen with hot soapy water, I do the bathrooms too before I’m back at the kettle. The house smells lemony-fresh, and my fingers begin tapping again. Squeezing my hands into balls, I cross my arms and move to the big glass doors that lead from the living room to the backyard. Pulling them open, I’m blasted by the cold, but I don’t care.
The air is fresh and crisp and s
mells nothing like my mother’s old room before she died.
I would’ve mopped that room twice a day. More at the end. Each time with a mixture of love and hatred.
Stepping out onto the porch, I see that one of the kids has pulled all the potted plants under the shelter. Liana, probably. Neither Roslyn nor Tim would have cared, and Jemima would have known that mom’s bulbs wouldn’t mind a bit of snow. Crouching by the nearest pot, I pluck a few small weeds from the largely bare surface. Swirling specks of white catch my eye and I look skyward to see a few flakes falling.
The ground already has a white coat that will stay for another week or two at least, kept that way by regular powdery dustings like this one. For a while, I watch. Tiny flakes float down from the dark sky, into the glow from the living room doors like tiny dancers entering the spotlight on a stage.
This yard used to be my stage too.
Standing, I walk down the steps and out into the framed light on the cold ground. Lifting my face to the sky, I watch the snowflakes gently tumble from the darkness above. With my arms raised, I dance with them as they drift in the light breeze and collect at my freezing feet.
I dance until my feet are numb and no longer want to keep me standing. Then I make them carry me back inside, where I shut the doors and drum my fingers against my thigh. I put the kettle on again and leave the kitchen in search of Tim’s slippers, because although Jem’s are by the door, they won’t fit my big clown feet.
Clomping back to the kitchen, I make a cup of tea and keep my fingers busy holding the cup so that they won’t drum the counter. I look at the clock on the stove. Six.
Six. I won’t be sleepy for hours yet.
Sighing, I set down my cup and open the fridge. Butter. Eggs. I set the oven to temperature and keep moving. Sugar. Flour. Soda. Vanilla. Chocolate chips. Butterscotch chips. Keep moving. Bowls, trays, spoons and cup measures.
By eight I’m surrounded by cookies. More cookies than my family could eat in a week. I have a serious problem. It’s not a hobby. It’s an addiction. My fingers twitch as they begin to get restless again.
Dropping to the cupboards below, I rummage around for clean biscuit tins or Tupperware. Unable to find any, I begin to panic until I remember the dishwasher. Breathing a sigh of relief, I fish a few out and wipe off the lingering drips before I start loading them with cookies from the rack.
Once they’re all cleared away, I find my cup of tea. Still full, it’s now stone cold. Tipping it down the drain I put the kettle on again and jump when the doorbell rings.
Grabbing containers, I try to hide the evidence of my unease by shoving them into any available gaps in the freezer, but still three containers sit on the counter. Throwing a dishtowel over them, I run to the front door.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Andy?”
The same bright smile that lit up my world for years comes crashing back into my life.
“ThunderKat!” he cries, pulling me into a warm hug and swinging me in a tight circle.
Inside I’m screaming. Initially it’s from excitement, but that’s quickly replaced by terror as I think about all that has happened since I last saw him. Commanding myself not to actually scream out loud, I convince myself that acting naturally is the best disguise. Just act cool.
Cool is way beyond me. Outwardly, I feel as frozen as my feet did not so long ago.
Andy Coulson sets me back on the stoop and holds me at arm’s length as he grins at me. My eyes seem to be the only part of me able to move and they run a quick assessment.
Dimples - check
Bright blue eyes and tidy blond hair - check.
Cute as ever - check.
Filled out nicely - double check. The boy next door is gone. This is a man. The man next door. Fuck.
Covering my mouth as if I’d actually said the word, I take a step backwards.
Andy must take this move as surprise, because he nods and just keeps grinning.
“Katarina James, you look as beautiful as ever. Can I come in?” he asks, already stepping forwards. “I saw you dancing in the snow like an angel and just had to come and catch up,” he continues, shrugging out of his coat. “I would have been over straight away, but Dad needed help to find something.”
Apparently taking my retreat as me making way for him to enter, Andy casually hangs his coat on one of the hooks inside just as he did when we were younger. It all seems so normal, and yet so bizarrely disturbing.
Closing the door, behind us, I take another look at his grinning face. He has no idea.
That’s good. That’s very, very good. You can do this Kat.
His smile shrinks a little. “Are you okay Kat?”
Nodding, I plaster a smile on my face. “Absolutely. Just... surprised,” I utter, because truly, I am. “Wow. Andy Coulson. How long has it been?” As if I don’t know. As if I didn’t count the hours and then the days, pining for my friend when he left for college. As if the thought of him wasn’t what got me through the hardest times of my life.
“A solid seven or so years, as I see it,” he replies, with that great smile beaming more brightly again. “I’ve only been back to Franky-town once since then, but I didn’t get to see you! Damn,” he says wistfully, shaking his head. “I was missing out, Kat. Great job on the growing up.”
Feeling my cheeks heat, I retreat to the kitchen to put the kettle on again. “Um... thanks?” Keeping my eyes on the task of making tea, I avoid looking at him. “You too.”
So he likes the way I look. I think he always did, though he’d never have said it back then. There was a time when I would have lapped that compliment up like it was my next meal, but now I can’t take it as anything but a man appreciating a woman’s body, and I certainly can’t be entertaining the old fantasies of Andy Coulson sweeping me off my feet and into the life I’d always dreamed of. That ship has sailed - off the edge of the earth.
“Tea?”
“Sure,” he says, making himself at home as he sits at the kitchen table. Just like old times. It’s as if we’re about to have our after school snacks before we head out to play; as if the years haven’t passed, and we’re still young and free.
Maybe he is.
Andy swivels his head around as if searching for something. “I wasn’t expecting to find you alone,” he says, still smiling as he turns back to find me watching him. “Dad told me that you had a house full of kids,” he says, his smile fading just a little.
“They’re all out,” I say with a shrug, setting his tea in front of him. “Cookie?”
“If you made it, definitely,” he says, smiling in thanks for his tea.
Am I smiling as much as he is? I remind myself that this is probably not weird for him at all, and that he is just excited to see an old friend. Releasing my breath fully, I collect a tin of cookies from the counter and put them on the table before sitting down myself.
“So... How have you been?” I ask casually, hiding behind my teacup somewhat as I watch him over the top of it.
“Busy,” he says with a weary expression. “College, Law school, classes and study, then work and internships filling my every break. I mean, I know Dad was just setting these things up to make sure I’d have a great start to my career - which I have, and I’m grateful, but honestly, it was as if he was finding ways to keep me away from home. Probably because of his troubles with Mom, I guess.” Shaking his head, Andy takes a sip of his tea and smiles sadly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring that up. It’s been a few years since she left now, but I guess being home makes me wonder where it all went wrong.”
Swallowing with difficulty, I give a casual shrug.
“Anyway,” he says, moaning in appreciation as he takes a bite of a cookie, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Pardon?”
Chewing more slowly, Andy frowns for the first time since his arrival. “The lucky guy,” he repeats, looking around the room again with a more studious gaze. “Your husband. The one that has taken your kids away for the evening so
that you can dance in the snow.”
My teacup clatters to the table as I choke on my tea.
Patting me on the back until I stop coughing, Andy stares at me in concern. “Was it something I said?”
“Ah, yeah.” Laughing, I push up from the table and head for the sink to get a cloth. “I’m not married, and I don’t have kids. Well, I do,” I correct myself, wiping up my spilled tea. “But the twins are eleven now, Jem’s in her last year of high school, and Tim-bones hates it when I call him one of the kids.”
Frowning again, Andy looks around again. “Where’s your mom?”
I stop wiping. “Excuse me?”
“Where is your mom Kat?”
Oh shit. He doesn’t even know that?
“Mt. Prospect Cemetery,” I reply calmly.
“What? When?”
I finish up with the cloth and return to the sink. Rinsing it out, I take a deep breath. “She got sick in my final year of high school. Turns out Daddy wasn’t the only drinker. Mom just did it in secret until her body gave out on her. I looked after her here until she passed. That was nearly five years ago.”
“Five years?” he repeats, his jaw still slack from the shock. “I’m so sorry,” he says, moving his head slowly from side to side. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I should have been here for you. For all of you. The twins- you were all so young! I-” Interrupting himself, his wide eyes study my face as I sit down again. “You’ve raised them all on your own?”
Raising one shoulder in a half shrug, I lower it again slowly. “Tim was sixteen by then, so he helped. He still helps. A lot. We make a good team.”
“Hmm,” Andy agrees. “I remember.” Still frowning, he adjusts himself in his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, hanging his head a little. “When you stopped texting, I tried to call you, but your number didn’t exist anymore. I thought-” Shaking his head, he looks up at me with sad eyes. “It wasn’t long after I left. If I ruined things with that kiss, Kat... if you weren’t interested, I... I was still your friend. I still would’ve tried to help. I...” His voice fades to nothing as I recall the last time I saw him.
