Her dad looked as if she’d given in to her impulse and slapped him across the face. His skin reddened and his mouth trembled slightly. For a while he just stood there, blinking rapidly. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he turned and walked down the steps toward his car.
Gabby waited until the Honda had disappeared down the road before heading back inside. Her knees felt quaky and her breath was coming in quick gasps. She turned in a circle, feeling disoriented, not knowing what to do. She could tell she was about to break down, but she didn’t want to. She needed to make it go away.
Only she couldn’t stop it. A fierce sob was already rising, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to hold it back. The sound died in her throat but the force made her lurch forward. Tears began streaming down her face.
Gabby raced through the kitchen, heading for the most remote place in the house, the laundry room, and shut the door. There, in the stuffy seclusion, she sank to her knees, doubling over onto a pile of towels she hadn’t gotten around to washing, and let the emotions come.
The intensity of her crying surprised her. Deep, violent sobs, each one in a loud descending scale that sent tremors through her body. She’d forgotten what it was like to weep like this. How startling it was to lose control, and how helpless she was to stop it. Meanwhile, her mind rolled a little slide show of her past: She and Daphne playing in the waves at Mustang Island … The time Daphne tore her knee open at the park and Gabby somehow managed to pedal her home, balanced on the end of her bicycle seat … Grandma singing “De Colores” as she plaited Gabby’s unruly waves into a long braid … Daddy laughing and chasing them through the yard that time it snowed … Daddy’s sad eyes as he looked at her on the porch just now … Each vision seemed to rip through her, eroding layers of protection and bringing forth a fresh set of pains.
Suddenly, a loud thump cut through the sounds of her crying and snapped her back to the present. Gabby sat up and glanced in the direction of the noise.
Prentiss was peering at her through the high window.
The sobs subsided. Instead, a fiery rage swept through her, clearing her mind and repowering her limbs. She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the house to the porch.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she screamed.
Prentiss just stared at her. His jaw was hanging open wide enough for her to stuff something inside and choke him. “I …,” he began.
“I saw you! I saw you looking at me, you … you sick pervert!”
His eyes widened. “N-no,” he said. “I wasn’t … I was just …” He held up something in his right hand: a large, swirly lightbulb. “I came to put this in y’all’s porch lamp. It’s … energy efficient.”
“And what do you call staring into windows? Energy-efficient entertainment?” Gabby was so angry, she felt as if she might spontaneously combust right there in front of him. She’d almost love for it to happen, if only to see the stupefied look on his face. But knowing Prentiss, he’d probably just go get a broom and clean up her ashes before they marred the wax job on his Mustang.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I heard something strange and … looked in. It was just a reaction. I didn’t mean to spy or anything.” He took a small step forward and tilted his head, his brow furrowing into neat little folds. “Are you all right?”
A renegade sob crept into Gabby’s throat. How dare he act all concerned. He had no right. After what he’d done. After everything he’d taken from her. “God, I hate you,” she whispered. “I wish you’d just leave us alone. I wish you’d go away and never come back!”
Prentiss looked down at the porch planks. “Why are you like this? What did I do? You know, I think …” He glanced up again, his mouth moving soundlessly, as if he were trying to pronounce something foreign. Then he pursed his lips, shook his head, and walked away from her—just like her dad had several minutes earlier. Just like she wanted him to.
Only, for some reason, it didn’t make her feel better.
What was that noise?
Daphne sat up, shielding herself behind her bedcovers, and listened intently. Eventually, she recognized it as the bathroom fan. Gabby must have left it on after her shower, and the muffled noise always penetrated their wall as a low, ominous growl.
It sounded so sinister. But then, lately, most things seemed that way.
She slid out of bed onto her feet and then immediately sat back down. Just the thought of leaving her room made her feel tired. Her sister was already up and showered and had probably completed several tasks with her typically amazing efficiency and resourcefulness. But Daphne had nothing to do. And there was nothing she wanted to do. There was no point.
Daphne used to pretend she was a character in a film. It wasn’t the kind of fake behavior meant to impress other people, because she usually did it while she was alone—like when she was stewing in her room over something Gabby had done, or walking to the corner store feeling sorry for herself for having to do such a menial chore, or even just gazing dreamily out a window. She would move and stand and contort her features as if a camera were zooming in on her, often accompanied by appropriate background music on her iPod. It helped her deal with her emotions and made them feel more … poetic.
Not anymore. There would be no more pretending. She was stuck in the real world now, and that meant being stuck with her regular, stupid self.
She scanned her room, noticing how messy it had gotten without Gabby’s tidying skills—yet another way Daphne was defective. Her eyes landed on her geometry book, the gloomy chocolate-brown cover triggering an automatic stress response.
Suddenly she remembered something. She really did have a reason to get out of bed that day: Mule was coming over to tutor her.
It wasn’t the most fun thing that could happen—in fact, it probably wouldn’t be fun at all—but it was something.
She slipped on her fuzzy pink slippers and headed out into the living room.
Sure enough, Gabby was already stomping around the kitchen, slamming cupboards and muttering to herself. It looked as if she’d deep-cleaned the whole room. And she must have been doing laundry, too, because a fuzzy piece of dryer lint was stuck to her shoulder.
As Daphne entered the dining area, Gabby looked right at her and then quickly turned away.
“What’s wrong?” Daphne asked.
“Nothing,” Gabby muttered. She grabbed a wet cloth and started wiping the nearby counter with quick, angry strokes.
No doubt she was mad at Daphne. She was sick of having a good-for-nothing blob of a sister, and Daphne couldn’t really blame her. She was useless.
Gabby suddenly blew out her breath and stared up at the ceiling. “Actually … I guess you should know. Dad came by earlier.”
“Daddy?”
“Don’t worry,” Gabby said, twisting the dishrag between her hands. “I told him he had to leave. I knew you wouldn’t want to see him right now since you’re still … you know. It just made me mad that he would show up like that, all apologetic and stuff. He told me about that new woman.”
“He was apologetic?” Daphne felt a tiny plucking sensation, as if a little plant were sprouting inside her.
Gabby scoffed. “Yeah. Can you believe it? He thinks he can just hook up with some stranger and bring her into our lives like it’s no big deal. That’s probably why he always has to run off so fast after his visits. That’s probably why he’s always so broke.”
Daphne’s mind went awhirl. She’d thought the exact same thing before, but now … “You should have woken me up,” she said hoarsely.
Gabby’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Why didn’t you come get me?”
“Because you said you didn’t want him to know what happened.”
“That’s different,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t have told him.”
“What are you talking about? He would have taken one look at your sorry-ass state and known something was up. Besides, you made me promise.”
Daphne pushed a tangled knot of hair out of her face. Gabby was right—she had made her promise. She’d been so mad at him at the time. But there was another part of her that really did want to see him. To have him hug her tight and tell her everything would be okay.
“You could have at least asked me,” she said to Gabby. “You didn’t give me a chance. He wanted to say he was sorry, and maybe I would have wanted to hear it.”
“Why would you want that?”
“Because!” Daphne’s voice grew loud and shaky. “We hardly ever see him. And now the one time he shows up to help out you chase him away!”
“That’s it! I give up!” Gabby screamed. “I was looking out for you and now you’re angry at me? Well, screw you! Do you even know how messed up things have been for me lately? I’m sick of taking care of you! I’m sick of this stupid life! God, I can’t wait to leave this hellhole town!”
Throwing the rag to the floor, Gabby pushed past her and stalked out the door. Daphne felt the porch quake from the force of her stomps, and then … silence. Only it wasn’t a good silence. It was more like the eerie quiet of a battlefield after a particularly bloody skirmish. It made Daphne feel shaken and vulnerable, with nothing to focus on but her muddled thoughts.
She’d been wrong to yell at Gabby. She really didn’t want to be mad at her—or at her dad. In fact, she wished she didn’t feel mad at anyone anymore. All that anger felt poisonous inside her. And she didn’t like the sensations that came with it. She needed to feel good about something for a change.
“Hey,” a voice called out.
Daphne glanced up and saw Mule stepping into the living room.
“The door was open,” he explained.
“Gabby must have slammed it too hard,” she said. “She got mad at me and …” She motioned out the window to where Gabby was stomping off toward the Applewhites’ rose garden.
Mule’s gaze followed her hand. “Ah, yes. There she is. I’d recognize that high-speed pissed-off walk anywhere.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to stay with me. You can go after her.”
Daphne felt suddenly self-conscious in her pajamas and slippers. At least she’d finally changed out of the rancid monkey-face ones. Now she had on her Christmas-themed ones with the peppermints all over—the only clean pair she could find since they were so behind on laundry. She must resemble an oversized toddler.
Mule shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said with a wry laugh. “Gabby always needs to be by herself to cool down. Other people are just cannon fodder, not comfort.” He nudged Daphne with his elbow. “Don’t worry. She’ll eventually come back and be nice—or at least … not as grouchy.”
Daphne managed a feeble smile. It was strange how he seemed to know her sister better than she did.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the dining room table. “Let’s get started on that geometry. Normally I charge hundreds of dollars an hour for tutoring, but for you I’ll do it for cookies.”
“Crap!” Daphne exclaimed, clamping a hand to her forehead. “I totally forgot!”
Mule chuckled. “That’s okay,” he said, peering out the window at Gabby’s retreating form. “Something tells me you’ve had a rough time of it lately.”
Gabby veered around a crepe myrtle tree that had been planted—somewhat spitefully, it seemed—right in the middle of the worn grass path, and immediately stepped in something squishy.
“Crap!”
And that was what it was. Literally. A dog had left a little land mine right there for her to step in. Just more evidence that the whole world was conspiring against her.
She continued toward the rental house, muttering curse words and dragging her soiled shoe against the grass as if her right leg had suddenly gone lame. Twenty minutes of walking around the perimeter of the Applewhite estate and she felt no better than when she’d left. If anything, she was madder.
She was tired of people making her feel like a horrible person. Was she so awful for shying away from Mule’s clumsy advances? For coming in late to work because she was busy playing mom to her sister? For shielding Daphne from their self-centered father? For trying to keep a spoiled, reckless, manslayer from butting into their lives? No. But everyone seemed to think she was.
God, she hated being the older sis. The example setter. The one who should know better. It was so unfair. Daphne got to live in a dream state, but Gabby had to live in the real world—the one of schedules and chores and never-ending responsibilities. And no one ever said thank you.
She could see the back of the rental house now, all freshly painted and tidy, like one of those storybook cottages in those mall paintings Lila went nuts for. And there, parked along the western side, was Mule’s dad’s Range Rover.
Right. The tutoring lesson. She was glad someone with a brain would be helping Daphne with her math homework—the girl needed to get her act together fast if she wanted to pass. But she also couldn’t help wondering if this was a ruse on Mule’s part to spend even more time with Gabby. Not that she hated spending time with him. It was just that lately he’d been so unpredictable. Even his expressions were different—his eyes all big and soulful and extra-alert. As if he was expecting something. Something from her.
Now there were two people in the house she was leery about seeing.
“No,” she said to the house and the Range Rover. Not yet. She was sick of trudging around the grounds, dodging animal poop and looking like an idiot, but she also wasn’t ready to return and face New Mule and her broken sister. Thank god she had the car keys in her back pocket. She could make a clean getaway and clear her head with a long drive.
Gabby corrected her trajectory, heading instead toward the carport. But as soon as she rounded the nearby trees, she could see that Prentiss’s Mustang was parked cockeyed in the driveway, blocking her in.
Of course.
That pea-brain! That waste of vital planetary resources! She was so sick of him and his obnoxious sports car showing up at the worst possible times. Maybe he wasn’t a complete idiot like he seemed. Maybe he was doing this on purpose, to punish her for yelling at him earlier. That or his inner evil was finally showing.
Gabby marched up to the main house and rang the bell. Soon the door opened to reveal Prentiss’s blond spikes and toothy grin—which immediately disappeared once he saw her.
“Were you hoping to make me more energy-efficient by trapping me here? By making me walk everywhere?” she asked before he had a chance to say anything.
His Ken-doll features contorted in confusion.
“Your car!” She waved her thumb in the direction of the carport. “You’ve blocked me in—again!”
“Aw, man,” he mumbled, clapping his hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
He leaned to the left and returned with a cluster of keys in his hands. Then he shut the door and strode across the lawn toward his Mustang.
Gabby wasn’t about to let his lame apology be the last word on the subject. “I know our car isn’t as expensive as yours,” she said as she trotted along beside him. “But we are paying rent, and we were told that included a spot in the carport. I assumed that meant a spot we could actually get in and out of.”
“I just forgot, okay?” he said. “I waxed it earlier and was hoping the sun might help it dry faster. No big deal.”
Gabby’s nails dug into the palms of her clenched hands. It pissed her off that he had it so easy. That the finish on his car was his biggest worry in life. It didn’t matter if he inconvenienced anyone. Or caused them pain. Or death.
No big deal.
A fierce rattling sensation came over her. It was as if Prentiss—all his stupid words and careless actions—had been slowly drilling into her these past couple of weeks, boring through the tough shell until, finally, right at this moment, he struck the highly pressurized center, releasing a white-hot anger.
“Waxed it, huh?” she said, with the emphasis and diction of a maniacal newscaster. “That’s great! Because
that shine is soooo important. More important than safety, even. Or cautious driving. Who cares if you crash as long as that crushed metal has a beautiful gleam, right?”
A little bit of glow seeped out of Prentiss’s expression. “What are you going on about?” he asked in a hollow voice.
“You!” she shouted, whirling so that she was standing right in front of him. “I mean, why bother waxing that thing? No one’s going to want to get near enough to see that shine—not after what you did to your cousin.”
Prentiss’s face crumpled. “What?”
“You know it’s your fault. Why won’t you admit it? You think because your parents made the whole duck-pond incident go away, and who knows what else, that they made this one go away, too. But they didn’t. They can’t. Sonny’s still dead!”
“You think I—” He broke off, letting his mouth hang open. He looked shocked, unable to believe that someone was actually pointing out his imperfections.
“How can you stand it?” Gabby said, shaking her head. “How can you stand yourself?”
Prentiss stared at her intently “So that’s why you hate me, huh?” His eyes broke off from hers, focusing instead on an invisible scene in the yard behind her. “You think I got away with murder. You think I crashed the car and killed Sonny.”
“Yes.” Gabby was surprised at how loud and clear her answer was. It felt good to say it. Maybe it would strain relations with their landlords, but so what? She was glad the truth was out there. Now he’d know that at least one person was going to hold him accountable.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “I wasn’t the one driving that night. Sonny was.”
“Yeah, right. That’s the story your family put out there to keep you out of trouble. Well, guess what? You don’t have everyone fooled. I know you killed him.”
Prentiss rounded on her suddenly. His eyes blazed and his cheeks and neck were as red as his Mustang. She’d never seen him so emotional.
“How dare you,” he said through his teeth. “You know, someone smart like you really should check her facts. We skidded off the road and hit a bank of trees on the left side of the car. How could I still be standing here if I’d been the one driving?”
Sass & Serendipity Page 23
