Cody navigated his car into one of the few spots available and shifted into park. They’d had to swing by his place and get his four-door because her two-seater wouldn’t have fit Kyle and the extra stuff. It was a fair trade, but it made them look more like a couple than she would have liked.
“Everyone ready?” he asked.
Cody had changed into a loose collared shirt and a nice pair of jeans and cowboy boots. Donna had to admit he looked good. No, she amended, not just good. He looked like he belonged on a hot cowboy poster.
“Sure.” Kyle was sitting in the backseat, tucked between several buckets of cookies and a couple of bottles of wine. He did not look happy. In fact, he looked tired, angry, and dirty. The dirty came from the fact that the left side of his face was smeared in dirt. How it happened and why had been a short discussion, where all Kyle would say was that he didn’t want to talk about it.
Donna hadn’t been willing to push, mostly because she knew that on Kyle’s phone were incriminating photos about her relationship with Cody.
“Yeah,” Donna said.
“Don’t everyone sound excited.” Cody shook his head, making his long fall of pitch-black hair sway back and forth. “It’s not like we aren’t getting free food and good company.”
Neither Kyle nor Donna responded. Kyle because he was being a very angry teenager, and Donna because she wasn’t so sure about the second part. Most of these people she didn’t know or hadn’t known for many years. What would they think about her showing up with Cody, the town enforcer?
“There’s my girl!”
Robert Mason came down the steps wearing the ugliest “Kiss the Chef” apron she had ever seen. It flapped as he crossed the short span of yard between the trailer and the line of cars already parked up and down the street. Apparently, Liz Mason had not been lying when she’d spoken of a list.
“Hi, Dad.”
His beefy arms came around her in a great big hug. He smelled of meat and ivory soap. It was a nice combination. He gave her a squeeze and then stepped back to look down at her with shining eyes.
“You look so pretty, little girl,” he said, his voice nearly cracking. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Kyle.
Donna didn’t particularly want to look at Kyle, but she knew what her father saw. The teenage boy looked two days past sleep, and his signature hoodie had a large smear of dirt going down one arm. Donna had offered to take him home to change, but Kyle got surly about it.
“Well, look at you,” their dad said, his voice booming with pride. “Forgot how tall you are. Gonna be my height soon enough. What happened to your jacket?”
“It’s a hoodie,” Kyle snapped, as if the distinction was very important. He looked down so that his hair covered his face.
“Well, all right, but what happened to it?”
Kyle shrugged, making the dirty fabric tent up with the motion. He shoved his hands into the front pocket with enough force to send a puff of drying dust into the air. “Fell.”
Robert’s big watery eyes filled with concern. He put a big hand on Kyle’s shoulder and looked him over. Donna could clearly see what her father thought. “I fell” was boy code for “I got into a fight.” Donna didn’t think that Kyle had been fighting. There were no bruises that she could see, but she still didn’t know what her brother had been doing in the upper-class district of Carson.
“You sure you’re—”
“I said I fell.” Kyle yanked his shoulder out of Robert’s grasp. “I’m going to go get something to drink.”
Her father’s face began to fall, and Donna felt a short-lived desire to throttle Kyle for his attitude. “He’s fine,” she said, stepping in to put some balm on the moment. “We just didn’t have time to go home and change after picking up dessert and wine.”
“Yeah, well, all right,” Robert said, the smile no longer reaching his eyes. He watched the back of Kyle as the teenager dashed past twenty or so other party guests and into the trailer. “So long as he’s okay.”
“He’s a little grumpy that he’s not going to see a concert tomorrow,” Cody explained, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Don’t take it personally.”
Understanding softened her dad’s features. He shoved his hand against Cody’s and gave it a good hearty shake. “He’s really partial to his music. Likes to listen all day long and half into the night. I got him some fancy headphones last year, saved up for a whole month. They connect right up to his computer. No wires or anything. He can walk all through the house without missing it. We’ve met before, right? Sorry if I don’t remember. My memory isn’t as great as it used to be.”
“I’m Cody, sir. Cody Bannik. I run the auto shop that Kyle works at.”
“Ah! I remember now. How is he doing there?”
Cody didn’t even hesitate. “He’s a smart kid, and he catches on fast. He could do anything he puts his mind to.”
That look of pride had her father’s shoulders squaring again. “Thank you, that’s good of you to say.”
“It’s the truth.” Cody motioned to the covered carport, which had been cleared of its usual half-dead truck. A grill was set up toward the back, but it was a series of plastic picnic tables decorated with plaid tablecloths that took up most of the space. Someone had put out a couple of vases, with dollar-store flowers poking out. It looked positively cheerful. “You’ve done a fine spread here.”
“Well, I figured we rarely get Donna out here, and Kyle needs family.”
“He does,” Cody agreed.
“Well, well. Cody Bannik, is that you?”
Liz Mason waltzed out of her home, wearing a pair of teal culottes that danced with every step and a spaghetti-strap shirt with sparkles around the neckline. Her eye shadow matched the culottes. Her big blonde hair had been styled into a high pouf and was held in place with a gallon of hair spray. The scent of it followed her as she meandered over and gave Cody a hug that lasted a couple of seconds too long.
“Hello, Mrs. Mason,” Cody said as kindly as he could manage while trying to extract himself from her grip. “You outdid yourself with the decorations.”
She waved her very tan hand, complete with Day-Glo green nails, flippantly. “That was all my husband. He wanted everything to be just right for Donna. Thinks he can impress her.”
Donna’s father dipped his head shyly. For a moment, he looked like a very tall version of Kyle, with his hair masking his round face. Once upon a time, she thought, her father had been very handsome. Life had kicked him hard enough that she forgot it now and then. “I just wanted it to look good.”
Liz rolled her heavily made-up eyes. “Robert, she’s never gonna think it looks good. She goes to those fancy restaurants all the time. The kind where they charge you a hundred bucks to park your ass.”
“That’s not true,” Donna broke in. “I am really looking forward to this. I brought wine and cookies. I didn’t know how many were going to be here, so I got two bottles of wine and a few dozen cookies.”
“Oh,” her mother said, her hand still lashed around Cody’s wrist. “Well, I guess that will have to do.”
“It’ll be fine,” Robert said firmly, giving his wife a sidelong glance. Donna wondered if he noted the way she was holding on to Cody too. “Why don’t you go see about the steaks?”
Liz huffed once, loudly. “Well, it’s heavy. How about Cody helps me?”
Cody gave his arm another tug, this one hard enough that Liz had to let go unless she wanted to look like a complete idiot. “Unless there is something that Donna needs me to do?”
It was well played, Donna thought. He had, without being blunt about it, said that he would do what Donna wanted first and everything else second. It was all polite enough to keep her mother from making a scene.
“I’ll go help my mom with the steaks if you wanna get the rest of the stuff out of the car.”
“Well,” he said with a grin, “it is my car.”
“Fine,” her mother said, clearly not happ
y. She swirled away in a flutter of teal fabric and sparkles, tromping inside. Donna suddenly realized where Kyle might be getting his dramatic exits from.
It wasn’t the first time her mother had been inappropriate toward one of Donna’s friends, and Donna was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be the last time. Liz Mason loved attention, in any way that she could get it.
The house had been cleaned up. The smell of Lysol and Windex clung to every available surface. Some of the party goers had crowded inside, taking up the sofa and dining chairs. No one sat in the La-Z-Boy. It made Donna smile to know that everyone was aware of which chair was off-limits.
She recognized some of the faces. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson from two doors down—they owned a bakery on the edge of town. Donna wondered if they had brought cookies too. The Petersons made excellent cookies. Old Man Phillips, who had been living in his trailer since he’d returned from the war with a bad leg and half of his hearing, was parked on the sofa, a beer in his gnarled and age-spotted hands. He was currently regaling the group with the story of the tank. She’d heard it before.
“It was hot as hell, let me tell you. Hot and wet at the same time. Not like home, no sir!” He waved his beer in an arc toward the whole of Nevada. “And that whole night, the whole time, I tell ya, we were under attack. So, rain was coming down from above, and shots were coming from two different directions, and not a one of us had slept in two nights. I was tired, loopy kind of tired, so I climbed into our tank and I just… drove right out into that ugly rain-covered jungle and blasted the sniper who had us pinned down.”
His laugh was as loud as a storm and crackled like brittle paper.
Next to him was Will Arnold, who had been to Iraq and thought that made him a hero. Sure, there were plenty of great soldiers who had done incredible things. Will wasn’t one of them. The moment that Old Man Phillips stopped talking, he immediately began talking about the time where he had to stack garbage to lure dogs in with. It was a less great story.
There was Mandy Taylor who had four kids, and, if Donna was judging right, would have another in a few months. She was leaning against the edge of the couch with child number three perched on her hip. The other was dangled on Mr. Peterson’s knee.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Phillips?” Mandy asked, her voice as gentle and sweet as a spring. Donna had known Mandy way back when. She was a few years younger, and therefore not a friend, but Donna had always thought of her as good-hearted.
“Another beer, sweetheart,” he said, passing over an empty. Mandy turned and Donna reevaluated just how soon that new baby was coming. She immediately stepped further into the trailer.
“How about you let me?” Donna stepped in and took the beer bottle. “Have a seat. Seriously.”
“Donna?” Mandy asked, her eyes going wide. “Is that you?”
Donna felt all the eyes in the room turn toward her. Curiosity, amusement, and flat-out contempt shined out at her. Most of the contempt was coming from her own mother. It was familiar, and not. It could have been worse.
“Hey, everyone.” Donna gave a wave before depositing the bottle into a container. “Yes, it’s me.”
“Well,” Mandy said, moving forward and giving Donna a warm hug. “You look fantastic. You always did.”
“Thank you, so do you.”
Mandy put a hand over her swollen belly. “Well, at least there is more of me.”
Liz cleared her throat, and Donna tried to hold in a sigh. Mandy squeezed her wrist just enough to get Donna’s attention and gave her a knowing smirk. “It’s okay,” she mouthed. Donna gave her a little nod.
“What can I do to help, Mom?”
Her mother chopped her hand toward the large standing pantry that was tacked on to the end of the counter space. “Get the Solo cups and paper plates. You can take them outside to your father. Or you can get the ice out of the freezer. You didn’t bring more ice, did you?”
“Well, no,” Donna said, reaching for the pantry, “but I wasn’t asked.”
Her mother made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff and pulled a box out of the freezer. “You can walk in here with your brand-new man, and wearing your fancy watch, and can’t even bring ice.”
“Jesus, Mom.” Donna tugged the plastic flatware and matching cups out of the cabinet and placed them on the counter. “What is your problem?”
Her mother slapped down a box; whatever was inside rattled ominously. For a long moment, no one, not even Liz Mason, said anything. The tension was thick and uncomfortable as a woolen blanket. Even Old Man Phillips was keeping his mouth shut.
“You want to know?” Her mother’s voice was quiet and hard as ice.
“Yeah, I do.” Donna didn’t want to do this right now, and she certainly didn’t want to do this here. Family arguments were private, unless you were Liz Mason. In her world, every dramatic thing was meant to be done in full view of everyone. It wasn’t worth having an argument unless it meant people would be talking about it for weeks. “I deserve to.”
“Come with me.”
Donna blinked as her mother strutted out of the kitchen and into the bedroom that she and Donna’s father shared. This was different. Once upon a time her mother had thrown a hissy fit over her father buying the wrong soda in the middle of the road so that everyone would hear it. The very idea that Liz was going somewhere semiprivate to have this discussion was the only thing that had her following the path her mother had blazed rather than storming out.
Her mother’s bedroom was the least decorated part of the double-wide, probably because few people came in there. The rest of the house had cheap dollar-store dust catchers and needlepoint pillows. Here the bedspread was plain, the curtains were simple, and there were two dressers, both of which probably belonged to Liz. Her mother was sitting in a small wooden chair stuffed into the farthest corner, tapping a cigarette expertly out of a pack.
Now Donna knew there was trouble. Not just dramatics, but real honest-to-God trouble. Her mother did not smoke inside the house. Even when it was raining pellets, Liz Mason would throw on a jacket and hoof it out to the carport to smoke out there. She was very particular about making sure nothing might stain any of her little treasures.
With the practiced motion of a lifelong smoker, Liz popped the cigarette between her lips, tugged a lighter from between her breasts, and turned the tip of the cigarette a bright cherry with just a few quick puffs of her lips. The movements accentuated the lines she’d done her best to hide.
Donna didn’t need to be asked to close the door. She just pushed it closed and stood there, waiting for her mother to drop whatever bomb had brought them in here.
“I don’t hate you,” her mother said. She took a long drag and blew out a perfect ring of smoke. It hung in the air for just a moment before folding in on itself and becoming a cloud of misty gray. “I know we don’t have a lovey relationship. It’s… well, part of it’s me.”
Donna resisted the urge to pinch herself and make sure she hadn’t slipped into a coma somewhere between the kitchen and here. “What?”
Her mother scoffed again, shaking her head and flicking the cigarette ash into a Solo cup that Donna hadn’t realized was there. She dragged her Day-Glo nails through her peroxide hair, and before it had fallen back into place she went on. “I mean it, Donna. I don’t hate you. You were my very first baby. I don’t know that anything shakes up your world quite like that. I mean, there I was, barely twenty years old and fine as hell and swollen tits… and there you were. Tiny as could be with these big damn eyes that just took in the whole world like you couldn’t wait to win it over.”
“Were you scared?” Donna asked.
“Terrified. I wasn’t ready for you, and I didn’t always know how to handle everything that happened. I probably should never have been a mother.”
It was the listless giving up in her voice that had Donna sitting down on the edge of her parents’ bed. “Mom,” she started, but she couldn’t figure out how to end it. The word jus
t hung in the air with the same cloud as her mother’s accumulating cigarette smoke.
“You were the most independent child. Do you know that? Ornery too. Right from the start. You wouldn’t wear socks. You just pulled them off the moment my back was turned and would toss them anywhere. Threw one right on the stove once.”
“I did not.”
Her mother laughed. It was a bright shock of sound that bubbled up from the place where memories lived. “Oh, you very well did. You were sitting in your high chair with this great big smile on your face while I was screeching for your dad to put it out. Singed off my eyebrows.”
“Oh, my God.” Donna shook her head.
“It was an adventure. It wasn’t easy, I’ll never say that it was easy. You had this I-can-do-it-myself attitude that you were never willing to give up on. I remember this one time I was sleeping in—you had just celebrated your third birthday—and I woke up when something smashed in the living room. I was so scared. I thought someone had broken in. I picked up your daddy’s baseball bat and went out to the kitchen, and there you were. You’d tugged out one of the living room chairs and crawled up on the counter and were trying to make yourself some cinnamon toast. That was your favorite.”
BAD INFLUENCE: A Dark Bad Boy Romance Page 20
