She knew he was done when he stuck his head in her door and asked, “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” she replied.
He did a hand gesture that was rude and if Dad saw it, he’d not be happy but he did it grinning so Clarisse knew No was just being a dork which No could be (often). Then he disappeared.
When he did, Clarisse immediately went to her door and listened. If No was in his room, even if he was doing his homework, he listened to music. If he wasn’t doing his homework, he’d be playing keyboard, guitar, banging on his drums or talking to one of his crew or one of his babes. She didn’t hear that. Just the TV coming from downstairs. This meant No was downstairs.
So, racing, she ran to her Dad’s room and grabbed the books in his drawer. Closing it carefully, she ran back to her room and closed the door.
Then, lying on her bed with her back to the door so if her brother walked in he wouldn’t see what she was doing, she started with the book that had the earliest date.
And she couldn’t believe what she read.
And she also had absolutely no clue what to think about it.
Her Dad came home before she could finish. Working quickly, she shoved the books between her mattress and box springs and went downstairs to glory in his approval that she and No had his back while he worked. As usual, since Dad noticed everything, he noticed and he was surprised. He was also pleased. This meant he gave her some loving. No didn’t get any, Dad just threw him a grin. But she got loving before he went to get a beer.
So it was all worth it.
* * * * *
Between cleaning the bathrooms, doing her homework, making dinner, keeping the kitchen tidy, doing the ironing, hanging with her Dad on the weekend and trying to hide the fact she wanted to be holed up in her room with the diaries by hanging with No and Dad in front of the TV, it took five nights for Clarisse Haines to finish Dusty Holliday’s teenage girl journals.
She read every single word. Sometimes, she read whole passages over and over again. And she studied the drawings closely. And more than once, she kinda cried.
And when she was done with the last one, she knew three things.
One, Dusty Holliday loved her Dad, like, a lot. And she’d loved him that way for years and years and years.
Two, Clarisse thought it was beyond awesome that after all these years they were finally together. She liked that for her Dad, someone loving him like that when he’d had so long of the way her mother treated him. And she liked that for the woman called Dusty because, after that creep (and Clarisse knew him, everyone knew about Dennis Lowe) did what he did to her, she needed a good guy like Clarisse’s dad. Her Dad would look out for Dusty. Her Dad would never let anything like that happen again. Her Dad would make Dusty happy.
And three, Dusty Holliday, when she was a kid, thought a lot like Clarisse. Sure, Clarisse didn’t have her talent. She couldn’t draw. But she liked to write stories and used to do it all the time. She stopped and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was because No was so good with his music, everyone talked about it, Dad, even Mom, their grandparents and all the kids at school went on and on about it. She knew her stories weren’t as good as the way No was with music. Though, she’d never shown them to anyone. Not No, definitely not her Mom, not even her Gran who she knew liked reading and she knew even more that her Gran loved Clarisse. And not her Dad. But Dusty didn’t think anyone “got her” and Clarisse felt the same way. No one got her, these days, not even her Dad.
Dusty Holliday had called her honey in a real way that felt nice. Dusty Holliday had said “you take care, you hear?” and Clarisse thought the way she said that in her really pretty voice was cool. Dusty Holliday had a cool name that was way cooler even than No’s nickname.
And Dusty Holliday loved her Dad from when she was even younger than Clarisse.
So Clarisse couldn’t wait to meet Dusty Holliday.
Dusty Holliday, Clarisse knew, would get her.
And Dusty Holliday, Clarisse knew, would make her Dad happy.
Finally.
No, she couldn’t wait to meet the woman with the cool name of Dusty.
She could…not…wait.
* * * * *
The morning after she finished Dusty Holliday’s journals, Clarisse was heading downstairs to breakfast and stopped dead two down when she heard her father say, “No, Merry, I haven’t heard from Dusty. It’s done.”
Weirdly it felt like someone had punched her in the gut.
How could that be?
She didn’t know when it started but she was guessing it hadn’t been going on that long and when she heard her Dad talking on the phone with Dusty, his voice was all soft and nice. And Dusty loved her Dad, like, bunches. Everyone who knew him did. And Clarisse hadn’t even met her yet! How could it be done?
She stayed still and listened as her Dad went on, “I’m not goin’ over this.” There was a pause then, “Man, seriously, do not talk to me about this shit when you haven’t sorted yours with Mia.” Another pause then more annoyed, “I told you, I was a dick to her, three times. The first I was totally out-of-line, the last I don’t even wanna think about. She’s made it clear she’s done. I’ve called her three times. No returns. So it’s done. She’s already got some asshole makin’ her life a misery right after her brother died. She does not need two.”
Her Dad was a dick to Dusty? That couldn’t be possible. Her Dad wasn’t a dick, not even to her Mom and she deserved it.
And Dusty had some asshole making her life a misery?
Clarisse didn’t like that.
She refocused when her Dad continued, “Yeah, I told you she was The One. Problem is I made it so I wasn’t The One for her. And unfortunately, I live in The ‘Burg, she lives in Texas. I got two kids to look after and I don’t have the cake to fly down there and throw myself on my sword. And she doesn’t need that shit anyway. She was here, I could make that effort and maybe break through. She’s not here.”
She lived in Texas, that’s why they never met her and Dad was talking to her on the phone.
And if she was here, Dad could win her back.
He’d break through, Clarisse knew it.
Clarisse had to get Dusty back to The ‘Burg.
“It’s done, man, let it go. And if you quit yappin’ about it, maybe I can find some way to let it go too,” her Dad finished and he didn’t sound happy. In fact, he sounded less happy than he’d been all last week.
Therefore, Clarisse knew why he was sad and she knew that he was mad at himself. She also knew the why about that too (partly).
And before Clarisse even knew what she was doing, she turned around, ran back up the two steps and to her room. Then she pulled Dusty’s diaries from between her mattress and box springs. Then she shoved them in her book bag.
Then she took in a deep breath and ran back downstairs, this time calling out, “Hey Dad!” so he’d know she was coming.
* * * * *
Finley Holliday stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared down the back hall at his Ma who was standing at the sink in the kitchen. She wasn’t moving. Just looking out the back window and he knew she was seeing nothing. He knew this because she’d been doing this a lot. He’d scared her like he was sneaking up on her tons of times the last few weeks.
She was totally losing it.
This didn’t surprise him.
“Your Ma, she’s special,” his Dad had told him so many times he lost count. “That’s why God gave her a bunch of men, me and you and your brother. Special girls like your Ma, they need a bunch of men to look out for them. That’s our job, all of us, to look after your Ma.”
Dad didn’t mind this. Fin knew Dad thought his Ma being “special” was cute. He knew it because when she got goofy or she dropped something like she did all the time and acted like the world was going to end or she said something stupid or she got all shy around company and tripped over her words, his Dad always burst out laughing. Then he’d grab her and kiss her. She’d stop blush
ing or looking scared and grin at him.
Without Dad, she totally couldn’t deal.
Totally.
And Gram and Gramps, Dad’s folks, and Gramma and Paps, Ma’s folks weren’t helping. Hovering around her like she was a wounded bird or something. You found a wounded bird, you broke its neck and got on with shit. He’d seen his Dad do that twice in his life.
“Kindness,” Dad, his deep voice gentle, had told him the first time he saw him kill a wounded bird, “comes in a number of forms.”
Fin didn’t tell anyone he saw his Dad do that. People would think it was whacked.
But Fin got it. Then again, he got a lot of what his Dad said.
But you couldn’t break a woman’s neck when she was in pain and wounded in a way that no one could ever fix. And it didn’t help, fluttering around her and acting prepared to grab a pillow or something to throw on the floor in case she went down so you could cushion the fall.
Shit had to get done. It was nearly February. They had to think about the corn.
He could not see his mother on a tractor. And her parents weren’t farmers. Her Dad was a retired barber and her Mom never worked. His Gramps lived in Florida now. He wasn’t going to come back up and work the fields.
And his stupid Aunt Debbie was on the phone all the time now with his Ma. Fin had heard the conversations. His Ma was already totally fucked up but after a phone call from Aunt Debbie, she was a mess. So now he ran to the phone so he could answer it and lie if it was Aunt Debbie and say Ma wasn’t home. He even did this with his Ma’s cell, finding it and keeping it close just in case Aunt Debbie called. Ma never cottoned on. She often lost stuff, never remembering where she set it down.
He knew from what he heard that Aunt Debbie was on about selling the farm. He didn’t understand it but from what he heard, since Dad died, Aunt Debbie, Aunt Dusty and Finley and Kirby now owned the farm all together. And Aunt Debbie wanted them to sell.
And that was not going to happen. No fucking way.
That land was his Dad’s land. Since he could reach the pedals, Fin was on a tractor helping his father work the fields. And before that, Fin or Kirb were sitting in front of him while their Dad did it.
He had it all planned out. He was seventeen but he knew. He’d even told his Dad. When he did, his Dad was so fucking happy, he’d smiled huge and Fin could swear to God that he saw his Dad’s eyes get wet and he’d never seen that in his life.
He was working that farm. Like his Dad. And his Gramps. And his great granddad.
Fuck, Aunt Debbie. God, she was such a bitch.
Shit, he needed Aunt Dusty to come back. He didn’t know what was up her ass the last time she was there but even though he sensed something was not cool with her, she was fucking great with Fin’s Ma like she always was. Aunt Dusty didn’t treat her like a wounded bird. She acted like all was normal. She teased her, she teased him and Kirb, she laughed and did crazy shit like she always did. She sang while she was doing the dishes. Once, he saw her holding his mother while she cried but it wasn’t in a bullshit way. It was in Aunt Dusty’s way.
She was just real.
And he knew, because his Dad and Gramps and Aunt Dusty mentioned it and even Aunt Debbie talked about it, but she did it bitchy (as usual), that Aunt Dusty knew all about the farm. She’d worked the fields with Dad and Gramps before she took off.
He couldn’t do it alone. Kirby could help and would. He’d make his brother do it. But he couldn’t do it alone.
He needed help.
His Ma had a part-time job in town making coffees at Mimi’s Coffee House. She made shit money. It was just something to do with her time once him and Kirb had started getting older and not needing her so much. And she hadn’t gone to work since Dad died. So now they weren’t even getting that little bit of money in.
They needed the farm working.
And fuck it all, he’d heard her talking to somebody on the phone about them coming to “visit” and “survey”. He didn’t know what that shit meant. He just knew it didn’t mean good things.
Shit, he needed Aunt Dusty to come and sort his Ma’s shit out and help him make a go of the farm until he graduated in a year and a half and could do it on his own.
He sensed movement, looked to the top of the stairs and saw his brother coming down.
“She okay?” Kirby asked quietly, knowing exactly what Fin was doing.
“What do you think?” Fin answered and watched Kirb’s mouth twist to the side.
Shit, he also had to look out for his brother. Kirb and Ma were tight. But Kirb was only fifteen. He had no clue how to deal either.
Fin looked back at his mother and called out, “Ma, we’re goin’ to school.”
She jumped so big he saw it and Fin felt his mouth get tight.
Then she turned, her face still that pale it had been now for weeks, her eyes weird and vacant.
Then she seemed to sort her shit out and called back, “Okay.”
Fin stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he hoisted his book bag on his shoulder and he and Kirb moved to the front door.
“Do you…uh,” she called after them, they both stopped and looked back, “have, uh…your homework done?”
Too late to ask now, we’re going to fucking school, Finley thought.
But what he said was, “Yeah,” and it was the truth.
“Yeah, Ma,” Kirb said too and Finley knew that was the truth because he rode his brother’s ass last night to get it done.
“Okay, boys, have a good day at school,” their Ma told them and Finley thought she sounded like a robot.
“You have a good day too, Ma,” Kirb replied.
Fin didn’t bother. He just went out the door and got in Gramps’s old pickup that he left behind when he and Gram moved to Florida. Dad had kept it running and had given it to him last year when he got his license.
He loved that fucking truck. It was the shit. Beat up, rusted and totally fucking cool. Aunt Dusty thought the same thing. That was because Aunt Dusty was totally fucking cool too.
The truck had a bench seat. Trucks didn’t have bench seats anymore. That was too bad and he was happy as fuck his did. By the watering hole on The Back Forty, Fin had done Marisa, Julie and Tamara on that bench seat last summer (not all together, obviously). That bench seat was perfect.
He drove his brother to school and did the class gig.
It was at lunch when she made her approach.
He was surprised. Clarisse Haines was a cool customer. Fin had had her in his sights for a while. She was a little young for him but that didn’t mean she wasn’t fucking pretty. She was. Tall, great tits already and her hair and eyes were a-fucking-mazing.
But there was something about her. She was like, aloof or something. Like she was there but she wasn’t. He didn’t know if she didn’t want to be there or if she was in her head or if she just got that she was better than that place and was doing her time.
She totally was better than The ‘Burg. Honest to God, she could be a model. That was how pretty she was. He totally could see her finishing school and going to New York City or somewhere and being in magazines.
And she dressed great.
“Uh, hey Fin,” she said when she got to him and he liked it that she couldn’t meet his eyes.
She was into him.
“Yo, Rees,” he replied and her eyes skittered through his.
Yeah, fuck yeah. She was into him.
He grinned.
“Can we, uh,” her eyes went through his crew at the table around him then came back to him, “talk private?”
“I can talk private with you, Rees,” his friend Dylan said and Fin sliced his eyes to Dylan.
No way was Dyl going to cut into this action. And Dyl was a total player, he’d try.
Dyl caught his look and Dyl knew Fin could wipe the floor with him even though Dyl talked a lot about how awesome his bod was.
When his eyes went back to Clarisse he saw her looking at Dylan
like she was trying not to gag and he just stopped himself from bursting out laughing.
What he did do was get up and mutter, “Yeah, let’s go.”
She looked up at him and nodded.
They moved away but Fin turned back to his crew and at least two of them, not surprisingly Dylan being one of them, had their mouths open to say something smart. They caught one look at Fin and closed their mouths.
Fin led her to the hall, through the benches and to the foot of the stairs where there wasn’t anyone close.
“What’s up, Rees?” he asked when he stopped close to her. Close enough to smell something, her perfume or shampoo. Whatever it was, it smelled like berries.
He liked it.
She looked up at him again and said softly, “I’m really sorry about your Dad, Fin.”
That came as a surprise, like a sock to the gut but God, how could it hurt and feel good at the same time?
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“And I don’t wanna, I mean…you gotta have a lot on your mind and everything so I don’t wanna lay more on you,” she went on, the pain subsided and he felt his brows draw together.
“What?” he asked.
“I…well, I think your aunt, her name is Dusty?” This was a question and she stopped there.
“Yeah, I have an Aunt Dusty. What about her?”
“I think…” she hesitated then finished, “she was seein’ my Dad.”
Finley stared at her.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
God, he knew all about Aunt Dusty and Clarisse’s Dad. Back in the day, his Dad told him, Aunt Dusty and Mr. Haines were tight, like, tighter than Mr. Haines was with his Aunt Debbie and he was dating her (this did not surprise Finley).
Mr. Haines was a friend of his Dad’s. The dude was cool. Fin always liked him. He had that thing going on where he was a Dad, definitely, but he was also a cop and had that cop vibe. Not the strutty asshole one, the badass, cool guy one, which was awesome. To top that, he was around in a good Dad way. Always at No’s basketball games but not one of those parents who shouted or got up in their kids’ or the coaches’ shit. And he let No have a garage band which was an awesome thing to do. And Fin had seen him walking with his arm around Clarisse’s shoulders and they were always smiling or laughing.
Games of the Heart Page 14
