by Julia Day
He gave a sharp nod, released my arm, and stepped off the porch, cutting across the yard toward the center of the trailer park.
I entered the front door and shouted, “Marnie, where are you?”
“Back here,” came the muffled reply.
I followed the direction of her voice and the scent of lemon-fresh cleaner. Her tiny butt was backing out of the bathroom.
“Have you quit your second job?”
She stood and stripped off rubber gloves. “I don’t have enough to pay you back yet.”
“So that would be a no.”
She squeezed past me and disappeared into the pantry. When she returned, she carried a mop.
I blocked her path. “Please, Marnie. I care about you more than I care about the money.”
“A few more weeks and I’ll be good.”
“And in the meantime, you put yourself in danger.”
“There hasn’t been a holdup there in over a year. I feel safe.”
“No, you don’t, so stop pretending.”
Her smile flashed, then faded. “Thanks for worrying, sweetie. But really, it’s okay.” She nudged me out of the way and stopped in the bathroom entrance.
“I could come to the store with you on nights I’m not with the Fremonts.”
“Not necessary.” She stretched up to kiss my cheek. “You’re a good daughter. Now, unless there’s something else, I need to mop.”
“I’m going to the homecoming dance.” I waited for her reaction and got exactly what I expected.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful. With Mundy?”
“Yeah.” I should be pissed about being blackmailed into going, but I wasn’t. More like resigned. Yet it did present a problem. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Can Mundy lend you something?”
I laughed. “Not unless she buys her dresses two sizes too big.”
“When is it?”
“October third.”
“A couple of weeks. I have an idea.” Marnie dropped the mop and practically skipped to the master bedroom. Sifting through hangers in the closet, she pulled out a large floor-length garment bag. “Let’s see what we have in here.”
I didn’t have to ask what was in the bag. It was her collection of ancient formals. One of my favorite activities as a little kid had been to put one on, slip into a pair of tacky pumps, and clop around our apartment.
Unfortunately, what was fun as a kid didn’t feel fun anymore, especially since I was a big girl now and my stepmom was three inches shorter than me.
Marnie unzipped the bag and pulled out five gowns in different styles, lengths, and colors. Ugly styles, lengths, and colors.
I had a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. “That gives me several choices,” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. Which wasn’t much.
“Pick whatever you like.”
I reached for the best dress, a pale pink gown in satin and lace, and held it up. A vague memory tickled. “Where have I seen this one?”
“I wore it to my wedding.”
Oh, yeah. An image swam around in my brain and slowly sharpened. Dad, Boone, and I had stepped off an elevator at the courthouse. Marnie had waited there in a magical pink dress with a white rose tucked behind one ear. She’d looked like a fairy princess to me.
“Dad brought flowers.”
“They were pretty.”
I’d been in kindergarten. Only the four of us attended. Not even Marnie’s family showed up. Dad had carried a big floral box. It held a bouquet of white rosebuds for Marnie, a wrist corsage for me, and two boutonnieres for the guys.
The ceremony hadn’t lasted long. Afterwards, Dad took us to the fanciest restaurant he could afford in Wilmington. We sat by a window overlooking the water, and I spilled ketchup on the tablecloth.
“Do you have any pictures?”
“No. We forgot that little detail.” Marnie took the hanger from my hands and held the dress against me. “Do you want to wear this one? I could alter the bodice.”
“It’s perfect the way it is.” I didn’t understand why she would be willing to cut up her wedding dress, and I wouldn’t let her. I pulled out the cocktail gown that Marnie wore to fancy parties. “Plum is more my color.” The halter dress included a beaded jacket, which would get left behind.
“I don’t know if it’ll fit right,” she said, her forehead creased in concentration. “Go and try it on.”
When I returned from the bathroom, she zipped me up while I stared in the mirror. The halter top was snug, and the hem was higher than I’d ever worn with a dress. “I don’t know.”
She tugged at the seams along my hips. “You have a nice butt.”
“Uh…”
“I could make the bodice strapless.”
“No.” I scowled at her. “You know me better than that.”
“You have great boobs, and you’re always hiding them behind big shirts.”
“This conversation is so wrong.”
She laughed. “You’ll be hot.”
I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Marnie. I’ll wear the dress, no changes.”
She nodded against my neck.
12
Stark Lines
This assignment had sounded easy enough: sketch your hand. Then I tried it and learned something I’d never noticed before. A human hand had a lot of joints and skin folds.
I frowned at the sheet of art paper lying on the table before me. Something wasn’t quite right yet. I concentrated on my left hand. The nails gleamed like tiny half moons along my fingertips. I added them to the drawing.
Dr. Holt stopped behind me. “Tell me about the hand, Eden. What does it want to say?”
The question puzzled me. Could drawings talk? A protest leapt to my lips, then died away at the encouragement on his face. I stared at the page and listened. The hand lay there in stark lines, muted and clenched.
My throat ached. I had a lot to be frustrated about right now. “It’s pissed.”
“Yes, it is. Nice work.” He turned to Mundy. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”
I looked at hers and winced. If she spun the paper upside-down, she’d have a passable cow’s udder.
“So, uh, Mundy. What’s your hand saying?”
“You can’t tell?”
“Moo?” Dr. Holt clamped a hand over his mouth, which did nothing to hide his laughter. With a happy snort, she punched him in his side.
I looked around the room. Nobody looked up. Nobody cared. Obviously, Tiffany got the word out.
As we were leaving class, he called her over. I glanced back once more before heading to chemistry. They whispered in rapid-fire dialogue, their heads bent over her phone.
Mundy caught up with me at the lockers. “Are you busy this afternoon? I thought we could do something together while Cam attends a staff meeting.”
“Sure. I have the car today. I need to get a few items for Marnie at the drugstore. We could go to Charlie’s Diner afterwards for coffee.”
“Good. Let me text him where to pick me up.”
After school, I drove to the courthouse square and pulled into the last shady parking space. Mundy headed to Charlie’s while I did my shopping.
It was breathlessly hot for mid-September. I hurried past Cooper’s Hardware Store, stepped over a couple of dogs panting on the sidewalk, and waved at the two retired farmers sitting behind them.
It was cool inside Pettit’s Pharmacy. I went straight for Marnie’s favorite shampoo, which was heavily marked down. After grabbing a bottle, I pointed my cart toward the section with household cleaners.
Looking down one aisle, I spotted Sawyer. We’d known each other since the summer before first grade when we played Mr. and Mrs. Peacock in “Noah’s Ark” in Vacation Bible School. But that wasn’t why I liked him. For my eighth birthday, I’d invited my entire second-grade class to my party. Only five kids came, and one of them had been Sawyer. I hadn’t forgotten.
He was s
tanding in the middle of the aisle, staring in bewilderment at the shelves, a shopping list dangling from one hand.
I stopped beside him. “Hey. What’s up?”
He gestured toward the array of products in front of him. The feminine-hygiene products.
“Do you need help?” I smothered a laugh.
He groaned. “I didn’t know there were so many kinds.”
“For your mom?” At his nod, I lifted his hand to scan the list. “Let’s see what she wants.” Mrs. Atkinson had given fairly explicit instructions, leaving nothing to chance. I located the correct package.
“Sawyer.”
We both whipped around. Three of Sawyer’s baseball teammates descended on us. Horrified, he glanced at the object in my hand before shooting me a pleading look. I tossed the offending package into my cart.
“What’s happening, man?” one of the buddies asked as they all went through their hand-slapping, fist-bumping routine.
“Hey, man. Nothing much…” Sawyer nodded at me as he took off with them.
He was still talking with his buddies when I walked outside. As I passed by, I stumbled and dropped one of my bags—whose contents, naturally, spilled on the sidewalk. Sawyer, ever the gentleman, rushed to my side.
“Here, let me help.” He crammed my stuff—and a five-dollar bill—back into my shopping bag, except that one particular item had somehow transferred to his.
“Thanks,” I said, loud enough for Sawyer’s friends to hear.
“You’re welcome.” Glancing over his shoulder, he leaned closer to whisper, “I owe you one.”
“I think you do.” It was a debt I never expected to collect.
* * *
Mundy sat in a booth in the diner’s big picture window, hands wrapped around a cup of tea. A mug of coffee awaited me. On the tabletop between us rested a large slice of Charlie’s most popular pie: lemon chess.
She eyed it suspiciously. “The waitress said you like that.”
Norah knew me well. I’d worked here before getting the job with the Fremonts. “You’ll like it too.”
“What’s that crispy stuff on top?”
“Cornmeal.”
“The waitress said you’d want a cup of coffee with that.”
“She’s right.”
Mundy watched me take my first bite before asking, “Did I see you talking to Sawyer Atkinson?”
“I ran into him at the drugstore.”
“You’re almost smiling. Why? Do you like him?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Normal ‘like’ or more than that?”
“Normal ‘like.’” My almost-smile turned into a full smile. “Sawyer’s a great guy.”
“I would’ve guessed that a baseball jock would be the last person you’d say that about.”
The smile disappeared as I looked out the window. I didn’t want to have this conversation. “Someone told you about Murray.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you hear?”
“What do you want me to know?”
Down the street, I could see Sawyer with his teammates as he leaned against his restored Vette. “Murray asked me out. Eventually I said yes. We spent twenty minutes together. Done.”
“What happens on a twenty-minute date?”
“It wasn’t a date, because I ended it before it began. He drove me to a truck stop and parked in the farthest corner of the lot. When I asked him what was going on, he unzipped his jeans and told me to pay in advance. I, um, declined the offer.” Remembered humiliation heated my face. Reluctantly, I met her gaze. “Then I got out, called Marnie from inside the truck stop, and waited until she picked me up.”
“That isn’t how his version of the story goes.”
“Not surprising.” I frowned into my coffee. “Does his version include the part where I punched him in the nuts?”
There was a snort of laughter, quickly choked off. “He left out that detail.”
I took a sip from the mug, warmed by the one satisfying memory of that horrible night. I’d been naïve to accept. Naïve to go. Naïve to hesitate long enough for him to grab my ponytail and encourage my head in his preferred direction. But his scream of pain? Yeah, that salvaged some of my self-respect.
“Why him, Eden?”
If only she knew how often I’d asked that of myself. “He moved here our freshmen year. I thought that might make him different. Might make him worth taking a chance on. He was persistent, so I agreed.” He’d started his campaign in midspring. I was alone and tired and—
“When did you find out it was a dare?”
“The next week at school.”
“Was it Sawyer?”
“Who dared Murray?” At her nod, I shook my head emphatically. “When Sawyer found out, he got royally pissed and ripped into the whole baseball team about it. The talk died down after that.”
She frowned as she dipped the tines of her fork in the pie and took a tiny bite. Then another and another.
Yeah, I knew she’d like it.
“Mmmm.” She licked the fork and pointed it at me. “Do you get along with your stepmom?”
How did Mundy make the transition from Murray to my stepmom? Had his confrontation with me at the Labor Day picnic become a thing too? “Marnie and I get along very well.”
“So why do you call her by her first name?”
“I don’t. Her name is actually Marlene. We’re not sure how my five-year-old baby brain created Marnie, but it appears to be a compromise between Marlene and Mommy.” I pointed my spoon back at her. Mundy’s turn. “You don’t use Cam’s last name. Is your dad still in the picture?”
“He was a helicopter pilot in the military. He died when I was two. I don’t remember him.”
Now I felt like an ass. “Sorry.”
“Thanks.” Her brow creased. “Cam’s been in my life so long, he is my dad, but I feel like I should keep some link to my father.”
“Sure.” This conversation hadn’t been all that cheery. Might as well keep the drama going. “Heather called Marnie before they’d ever met and told her she could have us.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yes, it is.” I might not share DNA with Marnie, but she was a way better parent than either of my biological ones.
When her phone buzzed, Mundy took a quick look at the screen and then slid from her side of the booth. “Gotta go. Cam’s here. I’ve already paid the bill.”
“Mundy. Really.” I was relieved. Dessert wasn’t in the budget.
“Don’t want to hear it.”
I nodded and pulled the pie over.
Mundy threw her arms around me in a tight hug. “Heather did the right thing.” She turned and ran from the diner.
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
13
Enthusiastic Vigilance
It was homecoming week. Energy buzzed around the school. Teachers were bowing to the excitement by keeping the homework light. That was fine with me.
Monday evening I drove to the Fremonts’ house, parked the car at the curb, and let myself in. Since it was Mrs. Fremont’s day off, the kitchen and den were spotless. Kurt and Marta were in their rooms when I strolled by.
Mrs. Fremont stood in the master bedroom, frowning at her reflection in a full-length mirror.
“Are you ready for your big date?” I asked her.
She blew out a nervous breath. “I guess.” With a quick turn sideways, she sucked in her gut and peered at the mirror again. “Do I look fat in these jeans?”
“Do you want the truth?” I laughed when she rolled her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She walked into her bathroom.
“Would this be a bad time to ask you for a favor?”
“What do you need?”
“A recommendation. I’ll need one from my employer when I start applying for scholarships.”
Her head popped out again. “I don’t like to think about you going to college. How will we live without you?”
She nodded and disappeared back into the bathroom. “I’d be delighted to write you a recommendation.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know the details later.” I crossed to the door in time to see her apply lip gloss. I was ready to be protective over her first post-divorce foray into the dating scene. “So, tell me about your date. How old is the guy?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Where’d you meet him?”
“At the hospital.”
“Ah. Another medical professional.”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
“Sounds promising.”
“It is.”
There was a little boy shriek from the hallway. “Eden, why are you here? Mommy doesn’t work tonight.”
I looked at his mother with a questioning look. She shook her head. The kids didn’t know.
“Well, Kurt—”
He slammed into me, arms locking around my hips. “Did you come to have supper with me?”
Yay. He’d handed me a great solution. “I did. I was in the mood for McDonald’s, and I thought you and your sister might want to come along.”
“What about Mommy?”
“It’ll be more special with the three of us.”
“Come on. Let’s tell Marta.”
I had both kids buckled in and was about to slip behind the wheel of their SUV when Mrs. Fremont poked her head out the garage door. “Eden, can you come over a week from Saturday for a couple of hours? I have a staff meeting at the hospital that morning.”
Mrs. Fremont’s boss held a lot of meetings. It didn’t seem fair to call people in on their days off, particularly when many lived a long commute away, but Mrs. Fremont never complained. “I can do that. What time?”
“Nine-thirty?”
“Nine-thirty is good.”
“Mom?” Marta called.
“Uh-huh?” Mrs. Fremont stole a look at her wristwatch.
“Do you think you and I could do something special that Saturday? Eden could stay longer with Kurt.”
Mrs. Fremont exchanged glances with me. I nodded.
She looked at her daughter. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Whatever you want.”
“How about manicures?”
