by D'Ann Burrow
Now, as I pushed open the rust tinged bathroom door, at least I smelled pancakes. And hash browns. The heavenly sweet scent of carbohydrates held the promise that a few days in Texas wouldn’t be too bad.
I’d be back home before I knew it.
My father promised—right before he stepped into the SUV with windows tinted so dark that I doubted it was really legal. Of course, his company didn’t exactly have to follow the rules. They were above the law, above U.S. law anyway. As a department of the United Nations that operated somewhere between the shadows and no-those-people-don’t-exist, his unit normally didn’t have to worry about local law enforcement.
His job was the reason I never watched the news. If something happened to him while he was on one of his trips, I didn’t want to find out by watching some news guy pretending to be upset.
“You okay, sweetie?” The creases in Aunt Loretta’s forehead deepened in concern. I’d been standing still for too long. Nothing on the gray highway visible out the window was that interesting.
I massaged the back of my neck and faked a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Guess I’m just tired.”
Our waitress squeezed past me on her way to our table. I didn’t realize that two people could need that many plates.
The salsa on the side of Loretta’s migas reminded me of her ankle length broomstick skirt. Swirling with colors that would have been happy at a Mexican fiesta, it was as bold and fiery as my aunt. With her untamed curly orange hair and her fondness for oversized jewelry that she said helped her channel her artistic frequencies, she should have been a teenager in the 60s. Despite the amount of times I’d visited Loretta and my cousin, Scarlett, I’d never had a chance to step into her studio. Each morning she’d disappear behind the locked door, and if we were lucky, she’d come out before dinner. I used to think that she had some kind of secret lab in there.
Now I knew better. She was just born in the wrong place at the wrong time. She would have been perfectly happy at Woodstock with more of her people. I imagined her studio was as eccentric as she was. Whenever she loaded the car for art fairs, she seemed to have a little bit of everything with her. Hand cast vases. Weird metal sculptures. Paintings that looked like Scarlett had attacked them with finger paint. Nothing either of my parents would remotely consider art worthy to hang on our walls at home.
And she definitely seemed so far removed from my overcautious mother that I often forgot they were related. Aunt Loretta was a free spirit—there was no Uncle Bob, Joe or Bill. As far as I knew, there had never been one. While my friends complained about dads who forgot about them once they left or remarried, I never heard Scarlett say one word about her dad. I’m not sure if she knew who he even was. For that matter, Loretta might not have known either.
My aunt’s earrings bobbed as she nodded. “Well, I can certainly understand being tired.”
I slid into my seat across the booth from her. My breakfast had arrived, and it was very different from the broiled grapefruit and fresh squeezed orange juice I was used to. An omelet with tomatoes, jalapenos, and ham. A handful of bacon on the side. Hashbrowns. Sourdough toast. Grits. A tiny orange slice sat on a bed of lettuce on the side of the plate to make it healthy. The girls at Our Lady of Grace would never believe this meal. I think our entire senior class could split it.
Oblivious to my confusion as to where to begin my meal, Aunt Loretta plunged on with the conversation. “We’re making good time. We’ll be home by dinner. Scarlett should be home by then too. She was sorry she couldn’t meet you. She’s in charge of the junior varsity cheerleaders this week.”
I already knew that.
Anyone who followed Scarlett on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram knew that. She had to have made fifteen posts just yesterday about the new squad—each seemed more frustrated, and the last one was vaguely threatening. She wasn’t happy with the new recruits. When Scarlett wasn’t happy, no one was happy.
And I was about to be living with her.
I stabbed a forkful of omelet in frustration. I’d spent the summer with Aunt Loretta and Scarlett when I was ten. To say it hadn’t gone well would be an understatement. The daughter of a Saudi diplomat had gone missing on the streets of Paris. I didn’t know where my parents were for almost 11 weeks. They never really told me where they’d been. That would have been violating protocol, but Mom brought me a tiny metal replica of the Eiffel Tower. She knew how to bend the rules.
Mom and Dad just showed back up on Loretta’s porch one morning to claim me. Dad and Loretta circled each other like stray cats in a back alley. They communicated best from 1800 miles apart. My mom thanked Loretta for letting me stay with them and went upstairs to pack my bags. She had a few more gray hairs, and she walked with a stiffness that I didn’t remember from earlier. She was also more distant. It seemed like a part of her had stayed on the trip.
At the time, I didn’t understand how close to the truth I was.
She gave a tired smile and made sure she only packed my clothes. As if Scarlett would have allowed me to touch hers, even back then. We were all relieved when it was time for me to pack my bags and go home.
This trip wouldn’t be like that one.
Sure, I’d been back to visit Scarlett and Loretta since then. A few days here, a week there. Never too long. No need to test the bonds of cousin tolerance. For the last few trips, it seemed like Loretta had gone out of her way to make sure Scarlett wasn’t home.
The last time I was there.
I took a breath.
I didn’t like to think about that last time. Not the way Loretta looked at me when she came into my room. No need to dwell on the way my father didn’t look at me when he cleared his throat. And I couldn’t let my mind drift too closely back to that night. I didn’t want to remember the empty spot next to my father.
The place where my mother should have been.
5
Rule #8 – Don’t play with Scarlett’s toys
3:55 P.M.
Piney Bluff, Texas
* * *
My head popped against the window with enough force that a concussion was possible. I blinked through a stream of tears at the too-bright-for-just-past-lunch landscape.
Where on earth? What on earth? I wasn’t in California anymore.
“Maria was last seen at Northstar Mall wearing a red tank-top and black denim shorts.” My aunt’s hand shot forward so quickly to turn off the car’s radio, I almost thought I was dreaming. Seagulls diving for breadcrumbs on the beach didn’t move that fast.
I didn’t mind that she switched the Spectacular Sixties station off. She saved me the trouble from turning it off before I heard too much of the Amber Alert. I’d heard some of the missing kid’s description but not too much. Not enough to be really dangerous. I stretched my neck to the side, trying to shake out the few details I’d managed to hear.
“You awake now, Kennedy?” Aunt Loretta turned her attention away from the pothole-riddled dirt road and studied my face. “You’ve been asleep since we left the restaurant. I couldn’t bear to wake you. We’ve had a little traffic, so I figured you could use the nap.”
Aunt Loretta. Traffic. Eyes that felt like sandpaper.
Everything started to come back to me. Everything from last night or maybe this morning or whatever time…it was real. A large part of me had been hoping it was a dream, but as I looked around at the never-ending pine trees trying to invade the car, I realized I couldn’t be that lucky. “Yeah, I’m awake.”
I tugged at my back, peeling the sweat-drenched hoodie away from my t-shirt. Wearing a sweatshirt to Texas in August probably wasn’t my brightest idea, but I never said I was a fast-thinker after midnight.
“I guess you’re probably not used to this weather anymore.” Sensing my discomfort, Loretta leaned forward to point the vents in my direction. Her hoop earrings bounced in time with the car. “Scarlett’s going to be so happy to see you. She was so sad when she couldn’t come to the airport to meet your plane.”
&n
bsp; “Right.” Listening to Aunt Loretta’s soft Texas drawl go on and on about Scarlett’s senior year is what put me to sleep in the first place. “I understand why she couldn’t come. It’s not a problem.”
“I can’t wait to see the two of you together again.”
Loretta was excited about this cousin reunion. I wasn’t. If I had to guess, Scarlett probably had a list of things she’d rather do than spend a few days with me. Going to the dentist was probably one of them.
Getting my wisdom teeth removed sounded more appealing than being reunited with my cousin. I played with the wrong toy once. And Scarlett decided I needed a haircut while I slept.
Oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t super-excited to get to her house, Loretta prattled on. “Y’all are going to have such a great senior year. It’ll be like one long slumber party.”
“Um. I’m not going to be here that long.”
“Of course you’re not, honey.” She wisely kept her eyes fixed on the road and blindly reached out to rub the back of my hand. “But you might want to think about it. School’s not a bad idea. I just figured going with Scarlett would give you something to do. We don’t get cable out here.”
“That’s fine. I don’t watch television.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten about that. But still, can’t have you sitting around all day just being bored. We’ll talk more about school later. For now, let’s just get you settled.”
With a bump that made me question how the car tires remained intact, we turned into her driveway, scattering a flock of chickens pecking at the weeds lining the gravel.
The two-story my aunt and cousin called home could most graciously be described as a fixer-upper. Members of my theater company would probably describe it as the perfect location for our annual haunted house. Aunt Loretta had made some changes to the house throughout the years. A hodge-podge of additions had been tacked on, leaving each section of the house a different style and color. When I was little, I was afraid of the wrought-iron fence with peeling paint surrounding the yard closest to the house. It reminded me too much of a horror movie I’d watched once with a less-than-attentive babysitter.
“Here we go.” Aunt Loretta parked the car in the middle of the circle driveway. Two of the chickens scampered to the side of the car like dogs waiting for a treat. “Get back. I don’t have time for you right now.”
“You missed a spot.” A female voice drawled from the side of the porch as the sound of a lawnmower choked to a stop. Scarlett leaned over the porch railing and stared in the direction of the side yard. A condensation-covered glass of lemonade in hand, she gestured off to her left.
“Did I?” A deep voice answered with just a hint of teasing. I'd heard voices like that in the past. They typically belonged to someone who was half-player and half-pompous jerk. Even before I saw him, I knew that I had no interest in whomever my cousin was teasing.
Scarlett glanced at me for a split second, a message already clear in her eyes: he's mine.
Well, she could have him.
Then she turned away and bent further over the rail, likely giving the guy an ample view down her crimson t-shirt’s scoop neck. She extended her arm, motioning widely somewhere off in the distance. Honestly, from the way she was circling her finger, she could have been indicating half of the town. “Yep. You missed a spot. Right over there.”
Aunt Loretta wandered to the edge of the front yard, skepticism already clear on her face. “Tanner’s doing a fine job, just like always. He doesn't need your help.”
“Thank you, Ms. Jackson.” The voice without a face answered from a distance.
Loretta approached the bottom of the porch steps. I couldn't see her face, but I knew the expression my mom used with that tone of voice, and since Mom and Loretta were sisters, I imagined my aunt’s face wore a similar don't-mess-with-me-right-now look. She pointed once at Scarlett and gestured at the front door. “Have you finished your homework? I got a call from your English teacher. Something about a report that’s two days past due.”
“It’s almost finished.”
“Get inside and get it done.” Her mom face must have been better than my mother’s based on the way Scarlett turned and scurried into the house. My cousin didn’t typically frighten that easily. But she lived with Loretta while I was just visiting.
Aunt Loretta shook her head, not turning back to face me. Instead, she walked in the direction of the still-silent lawnmower. “Before you get started again, can you come help me for a minute, Tanner?”
“Sure thing, ma’am.” The lawn guy, Tanner, rounded the corner of the house, brushing his hands against his faded blue jeans. “What do you need me to do?”
No matter how hard I tried to focus on the smug tone in his voice while he’d been talking with Scarlett, I was having trouble breathing.
God, he was attractive.
Plucking his shirt from the spot where it hung on the porch railing, he reached up and pulled it on, covering one of the best six-packs I've ever seen. And I’d seen a lot of six-packs on the beach. Sweat pooled and trickled along muscles so well-defined it looked like he might have painted them on. Lawn Boy worked out.
"Can you carry some things upstairs for me?” My aunt used her best Southern charm accent on him.
As he reached the edge of the bushes that almost obscured the railing of the porch, he stopped in his tracks, just now realizing Loretta wasn't alone. His lips curled into an amused grin while one hand slid through his brown hair. He didn’t straighten it, though. Instead, he just messed it up just a little more. Now, instead of looking like he’d been mowing the lawn in 100 degree heat, he looked like a guy on a magazine cover.
“Somehow, I don’t think you’re what I’m supposed to bring into the house.”
God, this guy was good. He probably had every girl in school praying he'd ask for her phone number. Not. My. Type.
“Yes. Um, no. Um…” Not my type but still hot enough that I was having trouble forming words. I refused to be into him. I was tired—that was all. I tried to convince myself his insanely green eyes had nothing to do with it. “My suitcase. Can you help me carry it upstairs?”
While I was determined to be a strong and independent woman, I'd already wrestled with that bag once today, hefting it off they conveyor belt at the airport. The bag almost won. Sonya must have packed a few bricks in there while I’d been in the bathroom. I'd let Lawn Boy carry it up the stairs since he was available.
And still smirking.
“Sure. Where to?”
“Upstairs, I think. At least that's where I used to stay.” I led the way up the porch stairs and into the house.
Aunt Loretta stood at the bottom of the stairwell. “Up the stairs and across from Scarlett. I've got your old room ready for you.”
Oh joy. Across from Scarlett. I'd kind of hoped she'd stick me up in the attic this time.
“You have a room here?” Lawn Boy sounded a little confused.
I shrugged. “I’ve stayed here some.”
"How have I missed you?" His voice oozing like chocolate melting inside a s’more, he followed me up the stairs just a little too closely. I had to admit I was mildly impressed that he wasn't even breathing hard. The stairs at Loretta's house weren't exactly easy to navigate. Just then, he stepped over the squeaky step just before the second landing.
He'd been up these stairs before. Enough times to know which step to skip. Was he just the lawn guy?
"I don’t stay long. And I don’t get out much."
“I guess not. I would have remembered you.” I felt his eyes crawling over me. I’d developed a sixth-sense for when a guy was checking me out. All the lifeguards had it. “My name's Tanner, by the way.”
Tanner. I nodded, irritated I hadn’t remembered it on my own. Normally I was good with names. Everything about being here was throwing me out of my normal rhythm. I didn’t associate with guys like Tanner. It was a rule. Or it needed to be.
Hot dudes are dangerous….somet
hing like that. I had to have it in the Rule Book somewhere. If I didn’t, I’d add it tonight.
I finished climbing the stairs without continuing the conversation and crossed the threshold to the older section of the house. My room stood waiting as if I’d never left.
White eyelet bedspread, old rag doll on the pillow, faded yellow wallpaper, and the vague scent of lavender mixed with old.
I glanced up, not realizing just how close he was standing to me. But then I was caught by his eyes. If eyes could be beyond green, that’s how I’d describe his. So green, they seemed to be laced with black. Eyes that looked dangerous, that knew exactly how to get what he wanted.
No. I was not going down this road. Just say no wasn't only for drugs.
The same rule applied to guys too hot for their own good. Or my own good.
Staring at his eyes was out of the question, so I decided to study his hair. Still damp with sweat, the messy locks were a deep brown, almost the color of black coffee.
Crap. This wasn't any better.
"Where are you from?” If he stood any closer, he’d be whispering down the back of my neck.
“Just outside of San Diego.” No one knew where Carlsbad was.
“I’ve always wanted to go there." He ran a hand through his sweat-tangled hair again and took a few steps back to lean confidently against the dresser. For the first time, I focused on something other than his face. I concentrated on his shirt. The words Piney Bluff Pirates were spelled out in thick, block letters. "They have a Sea World, right? I love Sea World. My mom took us once. That place is great.”
I’d never met a guy that excited about Sea World.
