She threw on her floor-length jacket. Wearing nothing but her underwear beneath it, she slipped out of her room, both pillowcases in hand. Next stop was her mother’s bedroom. As much as she hated to do it, she pulled on some ridiculously low-waisted jeans and a billowy top, which her mother had no doubt worn to some concert or another. Bobbi McClain loved loud music and loud men and nights that came back to her in flashes the following morning. Right about now, she’d be stumbling into a seedy motel room with a beautiful bass player or a photographer with a wicked smile, and she’d be having the time of her life.
Riding high.
Then, in a couple of weeks, she’d return home with track marks on her arms and no light in her eyes. She’d sit in the kitchen and stare at the wall for hours. Or she’d lock herself in her bedroom and sob. Even now, the room reeked of stale cigarettes and tears. Jack left as quickly as she’d entered, creeping quietly toward the living room. The squat green house was a ramshackle affair, with creaking doors and peeling paint and two tiny bedrooms that weren’t big enough for her family. On her eleventh birthday, her brothers had surprised her by moving into the attic, so she could have one of the bedrooms to herself. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, before Raven offered her more.
Jack swallowed, her throat as scratchy as sandpaper. She would not cry. These clothes were only a memento of dark eyelashes and soft hands, and soon she’d be staring into those eyes. Maybe even holding those hands, if she hadn’t ruined everything the last time they’d seen each other.
She entered the living room and knelt in front of the fireplace. Checked the flue. Struck a match. She was just holding the tiny flame up to the logs when she heard a sound at her back. There was a soft gasp, followed by the rustling of clothing.
Jack’s heart sank.
Her mother was home. She must’ve brought some stranger into their house, which she was never supposed to do again. Jack had made sure of that. She’d thought she had, but as the fire sprang to life, she wondered if she’d have to take things further this time.
Her heart hammered as the flames grew, casting pools of light in an otherwise dark room. Two people sprang away from each other on the couch, and Jack’s breath caught in her throat, her hands instinctively pushing the bags of clothing behind her. The figure on the left was familiar. He had auburn curls, just like she did, and his green eyes were filled with shock. Fear. Shame.
As Jack’s gaze trailed to the right, she understood why. He’d thought their mother had come home. He’d thought she’d caught him with this person, and he was preparing himself for the attack. For all their mother’s recklessness, there were certain things she wouldn’t allow. She’d never liked Raven, though she wouldn’t admit it was because of his pale brown skin. Belle’s mysterious parentage had made her nervous. And if she’d walked in to find her eldest son tangled on the couch with a bright-eyed, brown-skinned boy, she would’ve started screaming.
At the very least.
Jack waited for her brother to relax. She waited for reality to sink in, as he realized she wasn’t their mother and wasn’t going to humiliate him. She kept waiting. But Flynn’s eyes were trained on the ground, his hands shaking so badly, she thought he might cry. He never cried. Not when their mother taunted him, reminding him that his daddy hadn’t stuck around to witness his birth. Not when she disappeared for weeks on end.
When his eyelids started to flutter, Jack strode toward the kitchen, asking, “Anyone hungry? I was going to make a sandwich.”
The boys were silent a minute, and then Flynn stammered, “No, thanks,” just as the other boy said, “I could eat.”
Jack chuckled, tossing him a glance. The kid was stick-thin. In fact, everyone in the room looked like they’d skipped their last three meals, and her own belly grumbled at the thought of a nighttime snack. She needed to get the boys out of the living room so she could burn the bags of clothing. But first she needed to take care of her family. “Turkey, ham, or chicken?” she asked, the bags swinging behind her back. “Or, let me guess, all three? That’s how Flynn likes his.”
The boy nodded, a shock of dark hair sweeping across his face. He was wearing a midnight-blue button-down shirt and jeans, but they hung off him, like they’d been handed down from a much older sibling. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I’m Diego, by the way.”
“I’m Jack.” She tossed the words behind her, disappearing into the kitchen. Before pulling three plates from the cupboard, she set the knotted pillowcases on a chair, hoping they would pass for laundry. Then she started arranging bread on plates.
She’d just applied the cheese slices when she heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know who they belonged to. “Your guest is here kind of late,” she said, as Flynn approached the counter, still refusing to meet her gaze. Sometimes their mother waited until their muscles had relaxed and their breathing had slowed before she reared up for an attack. Was he waiting for the cutting words? The brittle laughter that could make you curl into yourself, wanting to disappear?
“I had kind of an emergency,” Flynn said, helping her with the deli slices. He always put the chicken first, then the turkey, then the ham, and even though there was no reason for it, it made her heart squeeze. “Diego’s parents kicked him out of the house.”
“Oh, yeah? How come?”
He swallowed. “He told them some things they didn’t want to hear.”
Jack nodded calmly, but the tightness in her chest was overwhelming. She’d spent her life trying to protect people, but there was always some new danger lurking around the corner, some new rug to be pulled out from under her. “Does he have a place to stay?”
“Yes. Here.”
“Flynn.”
“It would only be for a couple of weeks! Just until he works things out with his mom and dad. Sometimes people react badly at first, but then they come around. You know? But right now he doesn’t believe they’ll ever talk to him again, so of course I said he could stay here.” A pause, as he shot her a sidelong glance. “It’s what you would’ve done.”
“Oh, good move,” she said, her lips twitching toward a grin. “Flattery, this time of night? You know I’ll be helpless against it.”
“I thought so.” He shrugged, so casual. But his lips were curving up on the left, just like hers were. “So it’s cool, then? He can stay for a little while?”
“If he sleeps on the couch,” she said after a minute of silence. Flynn was blushing again, badly. “And you sleep in your room.”
“But—”
“No buts, Flynn. I wouldn’t let my boyfriend sleep in my bed.”
“What boyfriend? You’ve never even dated anyone, and now you’re telling me what I can’t do? He just got kicked out. I want to stay with him, not hook up while my siblings sleep a few feet away.” There it was. That fourteen-year-old fierceness. That fire. Jack remembered it well, and everything it had led to.
The good and the bad.
“You’re too young,” she said softly. “You might think nothing’s going to happen, but you’d be surprised at how quickly things can—”
“What are you talking about?” He was practically shouting now, his exasperation plain. Jack couldn’t blame him. For all the world knew, she hadn’t touched anyone in the three years that Raven had been gone. And before that, Raven had been Belle’s, so nothing could’ve happened between them. Just like his clothes couldn’t be sitting on a chair beside the table.
When Diego appeared in the doorway, his eyes alight with concern, she took the opportunity to remind herself of what was at stake. Her freedom. Her ability to spend moments like this, tucked away in a tiny kitchen with the people she loved most in the world.
“Sandwiches are almost ready,” she said, forcing a smile. “Why don’t you boys pick some lettuce from the garden?”
“Oh my God. That freaking garden.” Flynn threw back his head dramatically, and Diego raised his eyebrows, amused at their theatrics. “She’s obsessed,” Flyn
n said by way of explanation, and then he and Diego were slipping out the side door, into the darkness beyond.
Jack waited three beats before racing back to the living room, stuffed pillowcases in hand. She found the poker beside the fireplace. It only took a moment to get the fire blazing, and then she was feeding the red, ravenous flames her best friend’s clothing. She’d told herself this wardrobe was all she had to remember him by, but that wasn’t really true.
She had the garden.
It had begun with a story. Back when Flynn was ten years old, and their younger brothers were three and four, Jack had gotten her hands on an old book of fairy tales. Flynn had rolled his eyes at the sight of the book, but he’d still curled up beside his little brothers in their attic bedroom and listened as Jack read them stories. “Snow White.” “Beauty and the Beast.” “Jack and the Beanstalk.” That last one had been Jack’s favorite, and days later, when they’d gone to the store to pick up some canned beans for dinner, she’d gotten an idea. The boys always went to bed hungry. They had so little to look forward to, and the book of fairy tales had made them happy.
What if she could bring the fairy tale to life?
And so, she ignored the aisle of canned vegetables and led them to the store’s outdoor garden. There were little pots of dahlias and begonias, but she passed them by, seeking a packet of beans. Magic beans, she told the younger boys, who were just little enough to believe it. They were going to plant them in the backyard, and in a few weeks a beanstalk would grow, just like in the story. They wouldn’t be able to climb it, but they’d have fresh vegetables all summer without ever having to go to the store. The boys were thrilled by the idea, and the second they got home they raced to the backyard, eager to start planting. Meanwhile, Jack stopped by the kitchen to put away the bread and the milk.
She hadn’t expected her mother to be home.
Bobbi McClain was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. She looked strung out and exhausted, her eyes red and her fingers flicking a lit cigarette. Her gaze swiveled to the left, finding the packet of beans in her daughter’s hand. “What the hell is that?” she asked, waving her cigarette in Jack’s direction. It seemed to take all her strength.
“I…” Jack struggled for an explanation. Something that wouldn’t make her mother scream. Something that wouldn’t make her mother rage. “We’re going to plant a garden,” she managed, hating how hard it was to push out the words. “It’ll end up saving money, because we won’t have to buy beans all summer, and we’ll have fresh vegetables, which will be good for the boys—” She might’ve gone on like that, rambling into eternity, if her mother hadn’t cut her off with a sharp sound. But it wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t even a snarl. Across the table, her tired-eyed, lank-haired mother had started to chuckle.
“Sit down, baby girl,” she said, pushing a chair out with her foot. “I want to tell you something.”
Jack sat.
Her mother leaned in, and the scent of nicotine and sweat wafted off her, making Jack’s stomach turn. “Listen to me, sweetness. I’d love to let you grow a garden out there, I really would. But nothing’s going to grow in that backyard. You know why?”
Jack shook her head.
“That yard is shit. This house is shit.” Her mother lashed out, catching Jack’s chin between her fingers. “And you—”
“Stop.” Fingernails dug into Jack’s skin, leaving little half-moon imprints, but she couldn’t break away.
“You are shit. Your daddy took one look at you and ran in the other direction. My daddy did the same. They left us in this shit hole, so don’t go telling yourself stories about turning that weed-infested wasteland into a garden.” She jerked back her hand so quickly, her nail sliced Jack’s cheek. “Now give me the seeds.”
“I… no. I bought them for the boys.”
“What’d you say to me?” Her mother lurched forward, the chair toppling behind her. Before Jack could even blink, the packet of seeds was out of her hand. Her mother tore it open. Tossed the seeds out the window like they were trash. Like everything here was trash: the house, the yard, and Jack herself, still sitting at the table frozen. Afraid to stand up. Afraid to fight back. Even when her mother strode over to her, brushing the hair from her face, she couldn’t jerk away. “I did that for your own good,” her mother said. “I love you too much to let you lie to yourself, okay? And I will not let you lie to my boys.”
Jack nodded, voiceless. The boys were calling to her from outside. What was she going to tell them? When her mother ambled off to her bedroom, Jack hurried out the side door to the house, seeking the window where the seeds had fallen. She tried desperately to pluck them out of the dirt. That was how Raven found her. Hunched over a handful of dirty beans, sobbing quietly so her brothers couldn’t hear.
He didn’t ask her what was wrong. Instead, he knelt beside her, looping an arm around her shoulder. His voice was soft in her ear. “Let’s cover them up,” he said, scooping dirt into his hands. “Your brothers said you’re planting magic beans.”
“They won’t grow. Nothing will grow here. She’s right.”
“She’s not.” Gently, he guided her hand back to the dirt, and she let the seeds fall there. Together they covered them up. Her brothers had come around the side of the house by then, and they quickly noticed the tiny plot of upturned dirt.
“You planted without us?” Dylan asked, tilting his head to the side. His curls were wild. His eyes narrowed. “Why did you—”
“They fell,” Raven said, pushing to his feet, “but I think it’s better this way. Now they can grow up the side of the house.”
“Yeah!” Conner clapped his hands, coming up beside them. He was the youngest and the most likely to believe their stories.
But Jack didn’t. She was having trouble breathing, her stomach sinking at the thought of the seeds drying up in this cracked dirt. Even after the boys wove the hose around the side of the house and carefully watered their seeds, she was certain the beans wouldn’t grow.
She woke the next day to the sound of excited voices at the back of the house. When she came outside, she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her. The entire backyard had been weeded, the grass overturned, and little rows were being dug by two people in the early dawn light.
Raven and his dad.
“I heard you’re planting a garden,” Dr. Holloway said, squinting in the light. His crisp white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. He was wearing black slacks and dress shoes, and Jack wondered if he even owned clothes for gardening. “We thought we’d help.”
Jack looked at Raven, then back to his father. Honestly, this was a brilliant move. Dr. Holloway’s family had helped found the town, and due to his wife’s recent passing, he was one of Rose Hollow’s most eligible bachelors. The man was handsome. The man was wealthy. If Raven had come alone, with that truck filled with flowers and seeds and fertilizer, Jack’s mother would’ve threatened to call the police. He would’ve been a trespasser. But Dr. Holloway was an opportunity, and the entire time he was there, Jack’s mom preened and blushed and brought him glasses of lemonade.
Meanwhile, her kids planted a garden. It took several hours, but by the end of the day, there were rows of vegetables on one side, rows of flowers on the other. It was beautiful and it was barely even spring. A few weeks later, the first hint of lettuce started to grow, followed by carrots and bell peppers and zucchini. By the time summer rolled around, Jack had almost forgotten about the beans.
Raven had promised her they would grow. Jack thought of that now, as she fed his clothes to the fire. He’d promised, and he’d delivered. Somehow, in spite of the harsh earth, and the weeds all around, a little seedling had sprouted in mid-July. By the end of the summer, a vine had woven its way up the house. After that, planting beans became a yearly tradition, and when Jack’s mother brought home a man who liked visiting her brothers in the middle of the night, Jack had put one of her vines to good use.
She exhaled as the last
of the clothes disappeared. Flynn and Diego were taking their time returning from the garden, and when they finally burst through the kitchen door, fresh lettuce in their hands, the fire was in full bloom. Jack hurried out of the living room. She could hear Conner and Dylan rustling around upstairs, awakened by the noises in the kitchen. Soon, they were clattering down the attic stairs, and Jack was cutting her sandwich in half, handing it over to them.
“Who’s that?” Conner asked through a mouthful of bread and cheese and turkey, staring at the boy on the other side of the room.
“That’s Diego. He’s staying the night.”
“Are we having a sleepover?” Dylan perked up, his half sandwich forgotten for the moment. “We haven’t had a sleepover in a hundred years!”
“No, we’re not…” Jack trailed off, gaze flicking toward the living room. She wouldn’t let Diego sleep in Flynn’s bedroom. She knew too well what could happen when two people were left alone in a perilous moment, after everything had come crashing down around them. Their future. Their happiness. Their hopes. But she didn’t want to quarantine Diego in the living room when his parents had just kicked him out. So before she could stop herself, she said, “Yes. We’re having a sleepover, like we did before you moved into the attic. Remember where the sleeping bags are?”
The smaller boys cheered, racing off to get their supplies. Flynn eyed her a minute, a soft smile on his face, like he knew what she was doing. It didn’t take long for everyone to settle into the living room, Jack laying her sleeping bag next to the fire so she could stoke it every few minutes. Conner and Dylan huddled up beside her. Diego got the couch because everyone was feeling generous with their bellies full and their eyes drooping, and Flynn curled up on the floor beneath him.
The fire crackled softly, filling the room with warmth. The boys chattered for a while, and then their voices grew fainter. Eyelids fluttered. Breathing steadied. By the time Jack slipped out of her sleeping bag, Diego’s arm had fallen over the edge of the sofa, and Flynn’s fingers had entwined with his.
Lies Like Poison Page 4
