A Life Less Extraordinary

by Mary Frame

  No sign of my parents, not that I expected it to be that easy. I’m not sure what I’m going to say if I do find them. I’m not sure I want to find them at all. I just want to know where they are. I brought one of our extra spy cameras too. Even if I can’t find their room number, I can leave a camera somewhere to catch their comings and goings.

  Once it’s my turn, I smile at the receptionist—a young, dark-haired guy in his late teens with a smart suit on. His nametag reads Justin.

  “Hi.” I give him my best and brightest smile. “I’m looking for a couple that’s staying here, Mr. and Mrs. David Hampton?”

  An inside joke of sorts. They always use aliases of famous con artists.

  The kid types something into the computer and then his eyes lighten and meet mine. “Are you Charlotte?”

  This is not good. “Ye-es?” I finally answer.

  He nods and smiles. “Your aunt and uncle were expecting you. Super nice couple.”

  They must have tipped well. Does that mean they’re coming off a big score?

  “They checked out this morning, but they left something for you.” He turns to get something from behind the counter. When he comes back around, he hands me a white envelope.

  “Thanks.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  The outside of the envelope is blank. While I’m walking away from the counter, I tear it open.

  Inside is a crisp, white piece of paper. It has the hotel logo at the top.

  Nice try, it reads.

  I groan in frustration.

  How did they know?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Back at Ruby’s, I pace in the office. They had to know I was coming. But how? Have they been watching us somehow?

  I stalk to the window, then gaze down on the street.

  Nothing.

  I resume my pacing.

  But what if . . .

  I stop in the middle of the room and turn toward the phone.

  It’s an old-style handset. So old it even has a cord. I rush over to the desk, then stare down at it. I need to think rationally. If they did bug the phone, I don’t want them to know I know.

  Carefully, I pick up the handset and unscrew the bottom of the mouthpiece.

  Sure enough, I find a bug. They bugged the phone. That’s how they knew I’d found them. They heard my conversation when I called the hotel.

  Racing downstairs, I check the phone in the kitchen. It’s also bugged.

  How did they get past the cameras?

  Not that it matters. What matters is they’ve been listening in on the phone conversations I’ve been having. Granted, other than talking to vendors and taking the occasional customer call, or calling Paige at Jared’s to make sure she got home from school, there’s nothing much that I’ve given away that they couldn’t have figured out on their own.

  I walk back up to the office at a slower pace.

  The good news is that I know about the bug, and I can use it to our advantage.

  And with that thought in mind, a plan emerges.

  ~*~

  On Sunday, we pick up Naomi and Jared drives us all the thirty minutes out of town, to the fields north of Castle Cove.

  Tabby and Naomi are more excited than I would have imagined. Who knew teenage girls could get so worked up over a swap meet?

  Jared takes the top off of the Jeep so the breeze is in our hair. It’s going to be a hot day. I wore a thin-strapped tank top and short-shorts that were in the stack of clothes Tabby gave me. The sun warms my bare shoulders while we drive, and Jared’s occasional glance at my exposed legs warms the rest of me.

  I can’t hear the girls over the wind, but I see their happy faces and catch wisps of their conversation in the back seat.

  Jared and I are a bit more sheltered in the front seat because of the windshield.

  I haven’t told Paige about our parents. No need to worry her. I’m going to find a way to trick them, beat them at their own game so they can’t find us on Friday night. I have an idea.

  “I got a list of the people who’ve been attending the mocktail party from Ben,” Jared tells me, jarring me from my thoughts. “I figured we could talk to a few of them, see if anyone has noticed anything suspicious the past few Thursdays. And you can feel them out.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “Some of the people on the list we’ve already talked to, more than once. Like Mrs. Olsen.”

  No shock there.

  “Stop talking about work and turn up the music!” Paige leans forward to yell at us in between the driver and passenger seats.

  Jared complies and turns up the radio, which is playing some old country song I don’t recognize, but Paige and Naomi are singing in the back seat.

  The sun is warm on my face and I can’t help but lean back and enjoy the moment while it lasts.

  The swap meet is set up in a giant grassy field. Much like the other festivals I’ve been to around town, there are various booths selling wares and food, and they have games and other activities for kids. We park in a nearly full dirt lot. It takes a few minutes to find an empty spot.

  Once we’ve parked, Paige asks if they can go searching on their own, so I hand her some money and tell her to meet us at the entrance in three hours. They take off almost immediately, giggling and chattering the entire time.

  “I guess it’s just us,” Jared says.

  We follow the girls, walking side by side through the parking lot. Close enough that our hands brush if I lean slightly to the left. “I guess so. Do you think you can handle it? We’ve been around each other a lot lately.”

  He grimaces. “Yeah, it’s been a real struggle.”

  “I’m pretty needy.”

  He laughs.

  We reach the entrance of the swap meet. Quite a few people are already meandering about, families, couples holding hands and perusing items at various booths, and some elderly people with walkers and fanny packs. The smell of fried food wafts through the air on the slight breeze.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  I didn’t think I was but whatever I’m getting a whiff of is making my mouth water, so I nod.

  “They have the best taco truck. Come on.” He grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine while we wind through the booths and people. It’s not too crowded. He doesn’t need to hold my hand and he doesn’t need to wind his fingers through mine. This isn’t the way friends hold hands. My heart flutters with the contact. He’s been a little more distant lately. Our late-night swimming sessions have been nothing but platonic, which is what I wanted. Or thought I wanted. Is it fair of me to grab at what little happiness I can get, even if I know it will be over in a week and I’ll be leaving Jared behind with no explanation? Is it fair to use him and let him discover later that it was all a lie?

  It’s not all a lie, though. Not the flip in my stomach when his hand tightens around mine, not the rush of my heart in my ears when his eyes drop to my mouth and definitely not the pang in my chest when I think about the future. Or lack thereof.

  “They’ve got chicken, beef, or shrimp,” Jared tells me.

  We’ve stopped at the end of a line outside of the taco truck. Right. Food.

  “Are you okay?”

  I force myself to shake off my thoughts. “I’m good.” I smile at him, and I mean it.

  We order our tacos and find a seat at one of the many picnic tables lined up in the shade of a giant tent near the truck.

  “After tacos, we have to play the swap meet game,” Jared says.

  “What game is that?” One of the carnival game booths?

  “It’s a challenge Troy and I made up. To find the worst, most tacky or bizarre or disgusting item for sale in this whole place.”

  I laugh. “How do we determine who wins?”

  He shrugs. “We can have Naomi and Paige decide. But we can’t tell them who picked what. I don’t want you to have any sisterly advantage.”

  “And what does the winner get?”

  “W
hat do you want?”

  That stumps me. I can’t ask for him to cook dinner, he already does that almost every night. I can’t ask him to teach me to swim, he’s already doing that, too. Hell, he wants to fund Paige’s college education. A topic that thankfully has not come up since the night at the bluffs.

  Pretty much anything I want or need, Jared provides without me even having to ask. And he never wants anything in return.

  “I don’t know,” I finally answer him. “What do you want?”

  His eyes search mine before he responds. “A date.”

  “A date?” My brows lift. “With who?”

  “With you. Who else?”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You want to go on a date with me?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Like a real date?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  I’ve never been on a date.

  “Well now I don’t want to win.” Immediately my face is on fire. I can’t believe I admitted that much to him.

  And what am I thinking? I can’t date Jared.

  His brows surge upward, and he can’t suppress his grin. “It’s a date then.”

  “But what about the game?”

  “Winner gets to pick where our first date will be. We can go next weekend, if you’re free?”

  And immediately the happiness bubbling up inside my chest is doused in a cold vat of ice water. We won’t be here next weekend.

  I force myself to smile and nod and then take a giant bite of one of my tacos so he hopefully doesn’t notice my heart sinking.

  I can’t agree to a date, although it would appear that I just did.

  “Hey guys.” Troy plops down on the bench seat next to me. “Those look good.”

  Before I have a chance to say or do anything, Troy grabs a half-eaten taco off my plate and takes a giant bite.

  “Dude,” Jared says.

  “I’ll get you another one,” Troy says through a mouth full of food. “I didn’t eat a lot when I was sick.”

  “That’s okay, I’m stuffed anyway.” I push the paper plate in Troy’s direction.

  “Awesome.” Troy takes another big bite, finishing off the whole thing. “I’m glad you guys are here. You can help me find a birthday present for Tabby.”

  “When’s your birthday?” I ask.

  “Three weeks. We have a tradition. Every year we use the swap meet to give each other the most bizarre present we can find. Last year I found this miniature toy rat in a box, and it has a button on the bottom and when you click it, it screeches like it’s dying. It’s so weird. I totally won. I’ve won for the last three years and I don’t want to lose my streak.”

  “Well, you’re in luck because we’re searching for bizarre today,” Jared says.

  “That’s the best game ever,” Troy says.

  “What did Tabby get you last year?”

  “A baby doll formed out of used staples.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “We definitely saved some poor kid from tetanus. And nightmares.”

  “Hey, Troy can help us determine who wins the bet. He can choose who picks out the worst item.”

  “And I can give that to Tabby for her birthday,” Troy adds. “As long as it doesn’t suck. Which it might, because no one can beat me when it comes to bizarre. Let’s face it, I’m the champ. What’s the bet?”

  I watch Jared as he answers. “The winner gets to choose where we’re going on our date.”

  Troy’s brows lift. “A date, huh?” He jabs me with an elbow.

  “Shut up Troy, or I’ll hex you.”

  He presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

  “Where’s Tabby?”

  “She’s working the booth.”

  “Shouldn’t you be helping her?” Jared asks.

  “I was. I told her I had explosive diarrhea. She won’t expect me back for a while.”

  I laugh. “You’re gross.”

  “Hey, if it works . . . She’s leaving in an hour anyway. You guys can meet me at our booth later with your chosen items. Choose wisely,” he intones dramatically.

  A few minutes later, Troy leaves us to find Eleanor—the library has a booth somewhere nearby.

  Jared finishes his food and throws away the trash, and then we meander through the meet, stopping at places that look like they have interesting items.

  “So tell me,” Jared says when we’re perusing the shelves in a booth full of small painted figurines. “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “So I can figure out where to take you on our date when I win this competition.”

  There’s a pang somewhere in the vicinity of my heart and I turn away, picking up a small porcelain clown. I show it to him with a grimace.

  “Creepy,” he agrees.

  “Who says you’re going to win?”

  His answer is a grin. “I think the odds are in my favor.”

  “I like lots of different foods.” I place the creepy clown back on the shelf gently. “I guess my favorite is Italian. Carbs and wine always sound good. What about you?”

  “Cake.”

  I laugh. “Really?”

  “I have a terrible sweet tooth.”

  You can’t tell by looking at him. His lean and muscular frame is apparent even through his T-shirt.

  He picks up a small figure. It’s a porcelain clump of brown. “What is this?”

  I eyeball it. “Poop?”

  “This is a pretty good crappy present. Get it, crappy?”

  “Ha ha, cheeseball. What’s your favorite kind of cake?”

  “German chocolate for sure. You?”

  “Cheesecake.”

  “That’s not real cake.”

  “It’s called cheesecake, it’s in the name. Of course it’s real cake.”

  “If it has pie crust, it’s not cake.”

  “Then why is it called cheesecake?”

  “It’s one of those weird word things, you know, like how tomatoes aren’t vegetables, spiders aren’t insects, and Batman isn’t a real superhero.”

  “None of that makes any sense.”

  He leaves the porcelain poop behind and we head over into the next booth. This one has hats. Cowboy hats, sombreros, and baseball caps with various phrases and team logos. I pick up a shiny pink rhinestone cap and stick it on Jared’s head.

  He grins at me all goofy, making me laugh before I take it off his head and put it back on the rack.

  “What’s your favorite thing to do, you know, when you aren’t taking care of Paige or working at the shop?” He picks up a cowboy hat and places it gently on my head.

  “What’s up with the third degree?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know a lot about you, and I want to know more. You look cute in that,” he adds with a smile. Then his head tilts at me and his gaze becomes a bit more focused. “Is it okay if I ask you questions?”

  I duck my head so he can’t see the smile forming on my face. “Yeah. It’s okay. What was the question again?”

  He smiles and takes the hat off my head, using the opportunity to lean in closer. “What’s your favorite thing to do?”

  I turn away, fingering a floppy leather hat. It looks like something Indiana Jones would wear. What is my favorite thing to do? “I like to watch old movies and TV shows.”

  “I Love Lucy.”

  I smile again. “You remember.”

  “Of course. What’s your favorite movie?”

  “It’s so hard to pick. I think Calamity Jane.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

  “It’s a musical. Pretty cheesy, but I think that’s why I like it. Plus Doris Day is sort of a badass. Even when she’s singing and dancing around and that terrible part where they make her all girly. What’s your favorite movie?”

  “Tombstone.”

  “Ah. That makes sense. Law dog.”

  He grins. “That’s me.”

  H
e continues asking me questions while we pretend to look at hats.

  He covers everything, from my favorite color—dark blue, which I decide on a whim because it’s the same as his eyes while they watch me—to the first boy I kissed.

  “His name was John Smith. I was in seventh grade, and it was a dare,” I tell him.

  “John Smith, really? Are you making that up?”

  I laugh. “I’m not, swear to god. True story.”

  I went to seventh grade for two months, long enough for the excitement of being the new kid in school to get me an invite to my first middle-school birthday party. We played spin the bottle and truth or dare, and I got to kiss my first boy. It was brief, awkward, and wet.

  “What about you? When was your first kiss?” I ask. We leave the booth of hats and wander down the way, stepping around families with strollers and couples holding hands.

  “First grade.”

  “You slut.”

  “I’ll never forget Jana Fisher. I kissed her on the cheek and then she threw a clump of mud at my head.”

  I laugh. “You must have been a terrible kisser.”

  “I think maybe I’ve improved since then.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Meh. Maybe a little.”

  “No one has thrown mud at me lately.” He lifts his brows at me.

  “Maybe there was nothing within reach to throw.”

  “Okay, I get it.” He grins at me, putting his hands in his pockets. “You’ve told me about your first love. What about your last?”

  I shake my head and sigh. “I have no story. I’ve never been in love.”

  “Really? Never ever?”

  “Well, I mean, I’ve dated guys, I’ve just never . . .”

  “Wanted to settle down?”

  I nod. “We moved around a lot when I was growing up. I never really had time to form permanent attachments.” I realize I have no idea if this is true for the real Ruby. Probably not.

  I turn the tables on him before he can ask more. “What about you, ever had a grand love affair?”

  “Not really. I thought I was in love once, but in hindsight, I think it was just infatuation.”

  It shouldn’t bother me that he’s had other girlfriends. Other girlfriends? What am I thinking? In a week, I’ll be the girl he used to know. “What happened?” I am entirely too curious.