The door creaked open and I nonchalantly dropped the rock into my pocket. Dad and the preacher entered. Introductions between the men commenced and I moved back to the chair in the far corner, feeling light headed. I was in deep shit. Taylor’s dad wouldn’t let me see her and we were leaving for home first thing in the morning.
After Richard Wilson excused himself, Dad and the man who could immediately hurl my soul to Hell, stepped toward me. I stood, respectful and silent.
“Riley, this is Pastor Smyth. I gave him a condensed version of events leading to your irrational decision to chuck something through his expensive window. He’s graciously conceded not to press charges against you in exchange for monthly payments of a hundred dollars for one year. He’s also asked that you never enter this church again, but attend ours at home on a regular basis. Perhaps he believes there’s still a chance to save your sorry ass…I mean soul.”
I wicked my sweaty palm across my pants and shook his hand vigorously. “Thanks. I mean it. Sorry about the window.” I kept how I broke the window a secret. Confession would come later under my father’s relentless questioning.
The gentle smile on the preacher’s face made his soft gray eyes twinkle. “Son, I figure the good Lord heard Miss Wilson’s prayers and used you as His instrument to keep the Devil from intervening further.” His eyes turned to the ceiling, just like Mom. Maybe God just preferred attics. “I only wish when He chooses to move in mysterious ways, he’d give some advance warning.”
The tension eased with our irreverent laughter. The preacher left the room and Dad’s fingers clamped the back of my neck. “If I didn’t have to face your mother, I’d throw your delinquent butt in a jail cell for a couple of days so you could reflect on your choices.”
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me. “Dad, thanks for believing me and saving Taylor.”
“I didn’t save her, Riley. You did that all by yourself. Today, you were her hero.”
**
I twirled the empty coffee mug back and forth. The sun blazed sideways through the shutters on the diner window, giving me a headache. None of us slept much last night. Dad undoubtedly saved my interrogation for the ride home. Last night we had a quiet dinner and spent the last hours we had with Jaxson. We presently sat at the airport café waiting for his flight to Virginia.
Jax kicked my leg under the table. “Bro? What’s with the long face? You saved the day! You should be happy, not all pouty. Geesh, Riley, reach down and check your ‘boys’.”
Dad’s coffee exited his nose and I burst out laughing. Jax knew exactly what to say to cause a reaction from Dad and lighten my mood.
“Damn, I hope the army teaches you a few things, Jaxson,” Dad snarled, blotting the coffee bubbles on the plastic placemat.
“Don’t count on it old man,” Jax replied.
“Yeah, you’ll probably still hiss your ‘S’ words. Say ‘Sir, yes Sir’ for me, please?” I teased. Jax swatted me with his cap and Dad ran interference, as usual.
Simultaneously, we glanced at the neon clock over the counter. Fifteen more minutes and my brother would become property of the U.S. government and not the Martin family. Deep down I already missed him and knew when he came home for Christmas, he’d be different—changed, probably for the better.
Jax gave a heavy sigh and pulled his duffle bag from the corner of the booth, lugging it over his shoulder. “Little bro, it’s been fun breaking the law with you one last time.”
I pressed my fist hard against my mouth and stared out the window. Fighting back tears proved useless as one chased another over my cheeks. The big brother I’d spent a good portion of my life plotting his death, embarked today on a new life. I, on the other hand, would return to my old one alone…without Taylor.
“Riley?” Dad asked pensively.
A sudden sob stole my breath. Jax dropped his duffle bag and leaned over the table. “Dude, what’s wrong? You can’t be missing me already.”
I half laughed, blowing snot out my nose.
“Now that’s gross,” Jax said.
I grabbed a napkin. “I have to see Taylor. I can’t go home without seeing her.”
“I’m hurt,” my brother teased. He tapped his finger on the table top. “So go see her.”
“Her father asked that we leave her alone,” Dad explained. “Riley can call her in a couple of weeks, or she can call him sooner, if she wants.”
Jax checked his watch and lifted his bag. “Dad, if Mom had gone through all the bullshit Taylor has and you busted your balls to save her, would you go home without seeing her?”
“Hell no.”
“Exactly. Take Riley to Taylor, or check your ‘stones’. She needs to see him as much as he needs to see her.
“You two can’t be mine with those mouths. And for the record, my stones are just fine, but you better get going or you’ll miss your flight.”
I’d become a babbling bawl-baby by this point. Jaxson whistled for our waitress, much to my dad’s dismay.
“Hey sweetheart, can we get some napkins? Got a whole mess of cry babies over here.”
Laughter erupted around us and the waitress brought Jax a stack of napkins. He pulled her into him, laying a big kiss on her lips, which she seemed to thoroughly enjoy.
“I might die tomorrow and kissing a waitress is on my ‘bucket list’.”
The one thing the world could always count on would be Jax making a spectacle of himself…in our father’s presence.
**
We leaned against Bessie watching Jaxson walk across the parking lot for the airport terminal. He didn’t want either of us at the gate to say goodbye, but we managed a couple of burly hugs and shed a few more tears, before letting him go. Dad made him talk to Mom on the phone, which consisted of the two of them crying and saying “I love you” a thousand times. I swear the ground around our feet looked like a monsoon had washed through.
The long walk to the terminal building I suspect would be used to pull the pieces together and arrange them back into “bad-ass Jaxson,” who would forever be my guardian angel—with black wings and a halo made of stainless steel instead of gold. He’d probably want an electric guitar instead of a harp, too.
**
The coin toss put Dad in the driver’s seat first. We sat at the edge of the driveway waiting to pull into traffic. Going left took us to the interstate. Turning right sent us the direction of Taylor’s house. Bessie’s blinker ticked loudly, the little green arrow pointing left. My eyes gazed the other way.
“Shit. I’m going to regret this.”
Leaving a few fingers wagging our direction and horns honking on our behalf, Dad punched the gas and turned Bessie right. Joy bubbled in my chest. I’d see Taylor after all.
Thirty-Eight
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE WEIRD KIND
Taylor
Our usually empty house buzzed with people hovering and watching my every move. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without Mom standing outside the door, making it next to impossible to pee. The clock radio on the counter hadn’t been used so much since last fall when I’d blast it every morning while I got ready for school. Anyone else might welcome the attention, but I found it strange. Irritating, actually. Where did this sudden concern come from? Maybe if my well-meaning family members had shown an ounce of this concern earlier, I wouldn’t be in this damn mess.
The smell of something seasoned with garlic wafted up the stairwell and the gurgle in my stomach urged me to investigate. When Mom brought me home from the hospital, Dr. Shephard sat a bit too comfortably at the kitchen table, indulging in a cup of coffee. Even stranger, though, Dad sat across from him, the two engrossed in conversation.
I rounded the doorway to the kitchen finding much the same scene, except a new, unexpected and not wanted visitor had joined the peculiar gathering, busily making lasagna. My “screwing-my-dad-hoping-to-be-my-new-stepmother,” Olivia.
“What’s she doing here,” I snarled not hiding my disdain.<
br />
“Taylor,” my mother chided under her breath as she passed by. The fake smile on her face clued me she was every bit as happy about “company” as me.
Mom eased next to Olivia, putting together a green salad. I couldn’t help but notice the heavy chop to the lettuce head, and wondered if Olivia’s face appeared to Mom right before she wielded her culinary weapon.
“Olivia kindly offered to help out with dinner. We didn’t know how long…you would be…at the hospital.” My dad’s carefully calculated words tripped over themselves.
My teeth chomped into an apple instead of Olivia’s arm when she reached around me for more seasoning. Her strong perfume overpowered the aroma of the bubbling lasagna in the pan next to her.
“Don’t you mean to say you weren’t sure if they’d let me come home or just lock me in the psych ward?” I responded, pushing limits as usual.
The good Dr. Shephard felt compelled to interject words of wisdom at this point. “Taylor, what your father meant, was—”
“Hey, Doc. I know what my dad meant. All of you are watching me like I’m going to self combust any moment. The tension is so thick it’s suffocating. I’m not a porcelain doll. I’m not going to break.”
“Taylor Wilson, show some respect, please,” Mom scolded, protective of the good doctor. It appeared Dad’s comment that day on the phone held some merit. Respect? She wanted respect from me? How ironic. I decided to check the cautious moods surrounding the room full of plastic people.
“Mom, when you tested Dr. Shephard’s couch, was he on top or bottom?”
The glass bowl holding the garden fresh work of art, shattered when it smacked the tile floor. Olivia’s dainty scream summoned my father to her side, and Dr. Shephard’s coffee complimented his sage colored shirt.
I left my half- gnawed apple to the side of the lasagna, leaning precariously on the edge of the counter. The last ghost finally slithered out of the closet. My rape had stiff competition for priority on the “Wilson family drama scale.”
The quarter I tossed into the air, glittered in the overhead lights as it turned end-over-end onto the dark purple carpet. “Heads,” Dad would be the first one to burst through my bedroom door. “Tails,” Mom, accompanied by her outed side-kick.
George Washington’s face leered at me through the woolen threads.
“What the hell was that about!” Dad demanded. “How could you disrespect your mother in such a vile manner, young lady?”
I didn’t bother to remove my gaze from the sun, slowly dipping on the western horizon. Why turn away from one fiery ball of heat to face another?
“Who gave you the right, Taylor, to—”
I lost it.
“I. Have. No. Rights! Remember? My right to make choices was stolen from me, first by you and Mom when you decided to break our family apart, and then by Michael!”
My dad’s voice softened and the fury in his eyes changed. It remained, but not directed at me any longer. “Taylor, the thing Michael did to you was uncalled for.”
“He r a p e d me. The ‘thing’ has a name and ‘uncalled for’ is hardly the correct description. Not only did he take my virginity, the last personal thing I owned, but he took my self-respect. He did more than fuck my body. He fucked up my life!”
Mayhem exploded in the ten-by-twelve foot space. I cursed the almighty “F” word, forbidden, even under the most justifiable circumstances. Like now.
Mom shrieked so loud, my ears rang. Dad shrilled at her in response, defending my sudden right to speak anyway I wanted. The cupie doll sharing my father’s bed and the upstanding gentleman apparently acquainted with my mother’s, cowered in the doorway, witnessing the Wilson family at their finest. I closed my eyes, waiting to be struck by lightning or torn limb-by-limb by one of my crazed parents, when a third voice resounded loudly, silencing the room.
Riley.
Thirty-Nine
MEET THE WILSONS
Riley
“SHUT UP!”
I couldn’t believe the drama scene playing out in front of me. Taylor sat in the window seat across the room, watching her father and mother act out some primal control dance, probably derived from insane apes. A guy in a cardboard pinstriped suit, wearing a shirt with a huge brown stain covering his stomach and crotch, consoled a platinum blonde Barbie doll.
Dad wheezed loudly beside me, winded from running up the long cobblestone drive leading to the mansion, then taking on the hundred or so stairs leading to the sound of domestic violence. I ditched him as soon as the car slowed enough to insure I wouldn’t be ran over, and bolted through entry doors, ready to take on anybody who tried to stop me from seeing Taylor.
Knowing his lungs were too deflated to speak. His only recourse would be to discharge his weapon and fire a shot through the ceiling. I spared him the possible lawsuit and shouted again, enhancing my earlier command.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
I didn’t know humans could cease making noise so fast. Taylor jumped to her feet, frozen, her body a perfect shaped silhouette against the golden halo radiating through the window behind her.
The man closest to me straightened to a defensive stance. “I beg your pardon? Who do you think you are—”
“Riley.” Taylor spoke my name softy, sending it back to me on angel wings.
Her dark image and most of the sunlight were suddenly blocked by her father when he stepped protectively in front of her. My father mirrored him, stepping in front of me as well. All they needed were swords or six-shooters to start dueling.
“There’s a restraining order in place against your son, Sheriff Martin. His presence here could land him in jail and the charges so carefully omitted from this afternoon’s horrendous happenings, imposed to keep him behind bars for a very long time.”
“I’m fully aware of the restraining order.”
He was? Why didn’t he warn me? If I’d known I’d go to jail for seeing Taylor, I would have at least given it a respectable ten seconds of thought, before barging ahead. Dad knew a court order wouldn’t stop me. Nothing could.
“I’m calling the police,” Taylor’s mother informed in her icy, high-society voice.
Before she reached me with her purple painted claws, the “coffee tester” clamped her arms, halting her attack.
“Wait, Grace.” Keeping hold of his prisoner, his eyes glanced to each occupant in the small bedroom. “I think we should leave Taylor alone with her guest…if she wishes.”
“Are you insane?” Taylor’s father accused.
“Perhaps. But for your daughter’s sake, we need to respect her choice in the matter.”
Taylor’s father turned. “Taylor? You don’t have to do this. Not until you’re ready.”
“Ready for what, Dad? Until you’re comfortable leaving me alone with a boy? Riley’s not Michael.”
“I’m not saying he is. You’re vulnerable and I don’t want anyone taking advantage, that’s all.”
I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood before speaking. “With all due respect Mr. Wilson, I’ve never taken advantage of your daughter and I don’t like being lumped into some generic category of guys who think girls are only good for one thing.”
“Riley!” My dad’s breath was hot on my ear. “Apologize.” I glared at him for publicly chastising me. “A-p-o-l-o-g-i-z-e…out of respect for Taylor.”
I hated when he made sense.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” I moved my body in line with Taylor’s feeling the magnetic bond instantly reappear. “Taylor. Can we talk privately? We can leave the door open, if you want.”
She shuffled her feet on the carpet and bright white flashes of static current flashed.
“I think I’d like that.” She lightly touched her father’s arm. “Dad, it will be all right. Please.”
Her mother started to object, but Taylor raised her hand in defense.
“Mom, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I was out of line and disrespectful to you and Dr. Shephard, but right now
, I need you to respect my wishes, okay? Go downstairs. We’ll be down in a while.”
One by one, they passed by me, their eyes evaluating. Barbie gave me a creepy once over. Even Riley Jr. became fearful.
My dad’s body filled the doorway.
“Son—”
“Sheriff Martin,” Taylor interrupted. “Trust me. Riley is the one person I need right now.”
Dad huffed in surrender, his lip twisting into an unsure corkscrew. He leaned close to my ear. “Keep your hands off her. She’s not ready.”
As soon as I heard his footsteps retreat down the stairs, I faced Taylor, unsure of how to act. I wanted to rush to her, pull her in my arms and tell her nothing bad would ever happen to her again. That I would protect her. Believe and trust her…like I didn’t before. But I remained a statue, several feet away from the one person still possessing my heart.
“Taylor?” I released her name delicately on a whisper.
Before me stood a beautiful dream, suspended in a fragile bubble I feared reality’s needle would burst any moment.
“Riley, lock the door.”
I did.
Miles seemed to separate us. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. It felt like hours instead of seconds passed before she spoke.
“Thank you for saving me today. I prayed for a miracle and there you were.”
“You’re not mad I ruined the wedding?” She shook her head, dropping her eyes. In the corner, the lace wedding dress she wore, hung from a tall mirror.
“For what it’s worth, you looked gorgeous, but I’m glad you didn’t marry Michael.”
“Me, too.” She followed my gaze to the dress. “I picked it out. I pretended I bought it for our wedding.”
Those were the words I needed to hear. I closed out the space between us, ignoring my dad’s threats of death and wrapped Taylor in my arms. Her body eased from rigid to liquid in my embrace and when the tears came, the weight of her grief dragged us both to the floor.
Riley's Pond (New Adult Romance) Page 25
