Miss Behave (The Anderson Family Series Book 1)

by Traci Highland

  I stand, back to him, and pull out my phone. Angling it so that he doesn’t see, I text Hunter the room number and tell him to bring the police.

  “What are you doing?” Dad asks, suspicions riding low in his voice.

  “What do you expect me to do, dad? You’ve cut me out of your life for just about as long as I’ve known you, and now that I catch you, you decide to finally let me in?” I wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “What about mom? Are we going to repay mom all that you stole from her? From your children?”

  “She was sleeping with that asshole, Ted! She got what she deserved!”

  I choke as my mind rolls over that particular speed bump. “So you wanted her to be homeless? For us to be cast out into the street?”

  He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a tiny square of paper. He hands it to me, years have left it soft and yellowed. It reads:

  Daddy,

  Why do you yell at Mommy so much when you come home? You should be nice and smile. We don’t like it when you yell and if you want to scream and yell, stay on your trips so you can be happy and Mommy can be happy.

  Love, Stacy, Margaret and Betty

  Their handwriting is sloppy and I assume that Stacy did the actual writing, but they each wrote their own name in jagged, uneven letters at the bottom of the note. They must have been so little at the time.

  “Dad, this was twenty something years ago, Mags hasn’t gone by Margaret since second grade, you can’t possibly-“

  “Look, if you won’t come with me, then I have to go.” He swipes a hand across the bedspread and starts loading up the bag. “Your sisters don’t give a damn, never have, but I was hoping for more from you.”

  Oh no. He can’t, he can’t leave, not yet. “Dad, wait.”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to get the hell out of here right now, BabyGirl. And don’t even think about going to the police.”

  “Why are you doing this? If you turn yourself in, I’m sure there’s a way to-“

  “Turn myself in? You don’t understand anything, do you? The world isn’t made for honest people, the world is full of liars like your mother, the strong eat the weak. It’s the way it goes. All people aren’t created equal and I’m not afraid to use that fact to my advantage.”

  “But you were an artist, a photographer-“

  “I am, but I’m this, too.”

  He reaches out to me, his duffle bag filled with Hunter’s future, sitting at his feet, his eyes wide and soft.

  My stomach feels like it’s been beaten with a crowbar, all of me bruised, the ugliness of the truth preventing me from ever looking at him the same way again. Ever looking at anyone the same way again.

  “Don’t go. You’re always leaving me behind-“

  He hugs me, squeezing what little air remains in my lungs from my body, his scent of cherry tobacco filling my nostrils for what may be the very last time. “You can come with me.”

  “I can’t, can’t let you do this.”

  “I’m not sure how you’re going to stop me.”

  I’m not, either.

  The door bursts open and Hunter and his mom rush in with the police.

  Dad tosses me away and throws his hands up into the air. I watch in horror and he’s cuffed. They read him his rights slowly and the whole thing seems like some kind of horrible dream. I nightmare I just can’t wake up from.

  Hunter helps me up and I gaze into his eyes. “I tried to-“

  “I know. We heard. You won’t be held responsible.” He goes over to the minibar and grabs me a bottle of water, his voice barely audible over the obscenities flying off the lips of his mother. “Enjoy your new job in Chicago. I’ll see that someone from the hotel walks you back to your car.”

  I take the water from his hand.

  He strides off out of the room and I’m left there, trembling, until at last his mother stops yelling and Dad is taken away. I make my way into the hall, wandering the floor for a bit, drinking the water, hoping against hope that I’m going to wake up and find out that this was all just a nightmare.

  But I have no such luck.

  From: MommyDearest@hotmail.com

  To: EliseAndTheThunderdome@gmail.com

  Subject: Feeling Down

  So I lost her again. She’s out in Chicago looking at apartments right now. My parenting skills leave a lot to be desired, it would seem, if she would just run off to New York to stop Phil like that without asking me to go with her. Instead she went without me. What if he tried to hurt her?

  Rosalind says that Richie is still in a snit over that water. Though as it turns out, the security camera caught the butler spilling the water on the floor before it was even in the goblet, so Piper technically only drank tap water.

  From: EliseAndTheThunderdome@gmail.com

  To: MommyDearest@gmail.com

  Subject: Re: Feeling Down

  Annie, please. She just helped to throw Phil in jail, lost her boyfriend, and still has the guts to try and move halfway across the country to jumpstart a career. She is turning out pretty damned well, I’d say. Just be proud, dammit.

  Chapter 23

  Living the Impossible Dream

  Letter to the Editor

  Pendleton Falls Herald

  I applaud your feature of last week’s exciting BINGO night at the Senior Center. A great time was had by all and over four hundred dollars was raised for the HOPE food bank.

  We here at the Senior Center would like to ask why the Miss Behave column was canceled. Every Thursday we would read the column over lunch and then have a riotous debate about it afterwards. The police blotter and its parking tickets aren’t nearly as much fun. Is there any chance you could bring back Miss Behave? We would greatly appreciate it.

  Also, we don’t like your new sports reporter. Last week the piece about the UCONN football game spoke about what the quarterback did in the innings of the game.

  Just a thought.

  Sincerely,

  Maude Jenson

  Chicago is loud. Every time a horn blasts on the street it travels through glass of the hotel windows and jars me.

  After living in the crisp country air of Pendleton Falls, even the air of the city feels heavy. Like it’s imbued with a meatiness that chokes me every time I leave the hotel.

  The listing agents stands in front of the door to a one-room studio, “You’re going to love this one, close to the bus line, there’s a park around the corner, plenty of natural light.” She shimmies the lock and eventually leans into the door to open.

  Someone shoves me from behind and I see a short, plump woman carrying a laundry basket into the room directly across from the apartment. I follow the woman and see a bank of washers and driers. The realtor, peeking over my shoulder, says, “Convenient. To have the laundry right across the hall. The garbage chute is next door.”

  Fighting the urge the hold my hands over my ears, I trudge on numb legs into the studio. Natural light, it seems, is some sort of gimmick, because all of the windows face the brick wall of the building next door.

  This is the fourth apartment I’ve seen in the past three days, and all of my senses tell me to run.

  Quitting the Pendleton Falls Herald three weeks ago, I spent some time packing up my things and placing them into one of those PODS. Then I took my sister Stacy up on her long-standing offer to come and visit her in Vermont. A few weeks of crisp fresh air and mountain views made me think that everything would be okay.

  But nothing about this is okay. I toured the office where I’d work yesterday, and met the person who would do the on-site mentoring. Everything was great.

  On the surface. Everyone smiled and welcomed me on board, everyone had advice about which realtors to use and which ones to avoid. But there was something about the smiles and the city and the whole vibe that was off.

  Like something doesn’t fit. And I have a sneaking suspicion that the thing that doesn’t fit is me.

  “And over here, we have the kitchen table. A great, s
pace saving design.” The realtor pulls a table down from the wall so that it hangs over the full bed. I have no place to stand, the entire apartment it filled with the bed. The walls are lined with shelves bursting with crap, the kitchen is nothing more than two shelves, a half-fridge and a cooktop, and the bathroom is about the size of the one in the back of a Greyhound Bus. And trust me, I’m being rather generous with that assessment.

  Shins bumping the edge of the mattress, I ask, “Don’t you have anything with a little more wiggle room?”

  “Oh honey. On your budget? There’s not much, You should really put down your deposit today, we expect this place to be off the market by this evening. I have all the papers back at the office.”

  “Hell no, Mrs. Brookes wouldn’t let a single story about your dad run in the paper. You know your dad calls me and begs me to tell you that he’s doing okay and that he thinks that group therapy is really helpful.” Gen’s on speakerphone as I munch on a Luna bar back at the hotel.

  “Good, I’m glad he’s finding some kind of help.”

  “You sure you won’t talk to him?” She asks, her voice soft.

  “I’m sure I will, eventually.” And it hurts, every memory, every time I think of him, it hurts. How could he? And that statement about mom and Ted? Does he know I’m not his? My brain aches every time I replay that conversation in my head. And now with his trial coming up I just can’t.

  “Have you seen Hunter at all?” I ask, my voice shaky as I grab a bottle of seltzer from the fridge.

  “God, Piper. I told you, he’s fine. But rumor has it he’s back to dating that snooty girl, what’s her name again? The one from before you, the rich one, dammit, I can’t believe I don’t remember her name.”

  My heart hardens and drops. Like it would dive right through the peeling vinyl flooring and plunge three flights down into the basement. “He can’t, she doesn’t love him.”

  “Maybe she does now? Anyway, I saw them together the other night at Rico’s.”

  “Oh.” No, no, no, no. He can’t. Ripped in half, I stare at the chipping walls as the heat churns on to the sound of an orchestra of screeching pipes. “But I’ve only been out of his life for like three weeks!”

  “Yeah, well. Men.” Gen asks, her voice is garbled, like she’s chewing on something. “You okay?”

  “No. I’m not anywhere near okay.”

  Chapter 24

  Decisions

  From: PiperAnderson@gmail.com

  To: m.anderson@bch.ma.govn

  Subject: The Future

  Hey Mags,

  I tried calling. You have to turn the ringer of your phone on if you expect to get any calls, you know. Anyway, just writing because I miss you and it’s cold and I hate it here. What if I’m just not cut out to be a journalist? What other skills do I have? It’s not like I can just up and go back to school, I have enough debt.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about future careers, and I think I’d be great at house-sitting and eating bonbons. I’ll even learn how to cook.

  Seriously, though, I miss you something stupid.

  Xx,

  Your beloved, bonbon-loving sister.

  PS: Does anyone know what a bonbon is, technically?

  To: PiperAnderson@gmail.com

  From: m.anderson@bch.ma.govn

  Subject: Bonbons?

  You know this is my work email, right? Just FYI.

  Anyway, hang in there. You haven’t even really started the job yet, so give it some time.

  Tell your inner hater to suck it and do the best that you can, because if anyone is going to be sleeping on my couch and eating bonbons, it’s going to be that beefy personal trainer from my gym. You should see his pecs. It’s not even right how hot he is.

  So yeah, no couch for you.

  Love you,

  -Mags

  PS: Don’t they have Google in Chicago? You totally need to up your journalistic game if you’re too lazy to look up what a bonbon is…

  PPS: Don’t get sad at that first PS. I still love you.

  Dear New Advice Columnist,

  I want to take the kids to the Princesses On Ice show, Unfortunately, my husband, their father, doesn’t want to go How can I convince him that we have to do things together as a family? Does he not love us anymore?

  Sincerely,

  On Thin Ice

  Dear Thin,

  Are you freaking kidding me? The show is called Princesses On Ice, why do you think he doesn’t want to go?

  Got nothing? I’ll tell you, then. Because that show sounds like it sucks balls, that’s why. I’d rather gouge out my eyes than go see something like that.

  Get off your ass and buy a clue.

  Sincerely,

  -Gennifer

  The slush grows thick and nasty in Chicago. The slog back to the hotel after another long, fruitless day apartment hunting is exhausting.

  Yanking open the door to the Holiday Inn, I pause for a minute to allow my cheeks to thaw. The billy goat of a man working at the desk calls, “Package, you.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I move my frozen limbs in his general direction.

  He shoves a large package into my hands and I look at the return address. Mom.

  I squeeze my lips tight. I haven’t returned her calls, not having any idea how I would even begin to talk to her. Thanking the doorman, I take the elevator up to my room and don’t even wait to take off my coat before tearing into the package.

  It’s a present, neatly wrapped in blue and gold paper. I tear off the notecard:

  Dear Piper,

  I am sorry, well, for everything. All I wanted to do was to keep you from pain, but, well, I guess it’s not possible to protect your children forever. Forgive me, please. Rosalind and I have given up the Daughters of the Royal Mountain and have decided to take a quilting class together at the recreational center. (It was her idea, I voted for line dancing.)

  I miss you, please call.

  -Mom

  Sliding my fingers beneath the ribbon, I unwrap the package and pull out a small quilt. I hold it up to the light. The stitches are uneven and it’s too small to cover my shoulders but I love it all the same.

  Wiping my eyes, I hold it to my chest and fall back on the bed. I take a deep inhale and on the exhale I blink, my mind suddenly clear.

  Sometimes, when the universe is trying to tell you something, you should listen. And as I lie down with Mom’s quilt over my chest, I can see the truth like it’s written on the ceiling. I don’t want to be here. Nothing about living here and working for this paper is right for me. I want a small town, I want my family, I want to write about sports. That’s it.

  Hot, sloppy tears roll down my cheeks and I suck in a jagged breath. All these years I’ve been chasing a dream that was never really my own.

  I sit up and pull off my shoes and have a good, ugly cry. Pulling the suitcase out of the closet, I carefully fold and place mom’s quilt inside. I strip off all of my clothes and shower, letting the hot water pound on the back of my neck and when I finally turn the water off and step back into the room, I feel a million times lighter.

  Chapter 25

  Bullying and Frostbite

  “Stop fidgeting, you can do this.” Mom shrugs out of her coat and I shake the snowflakes from my hair.

  The early snowstorm made getting here a bit tricky, but I have to do this. The Winter Carnival is the swankiest event in Pendleton Falls, held each year by the Chamber of Commerce to raise money for struggling businesses. It takes place at the Astor Room, a single room banquet hall that used to be a Colonial-era sawmill, an architectural masterpiece with low stone walls, roaring fireplaces, soaring windows and old wooden beams. It’s right on the lake.

  A man in a suit takes our coats and our tickets, and as I shrug out of mom’s borrowed faux fur I shiver in my sister Betty’s strapless gown. It clings to my curves in some places and skims over them in others, draping me multiple layers of red and darker burgundies.

  Hey, a girl’s go
tta give a good fight, so I’m in the fancy dress and the killer heels and I have to say, at least I feel beautiful. Mom, who got me the tickets and is forcing me to come, is wearing a gorgeous gown but insisted that we both pack flats in the bag that we’re checking. She says that dancing the night away feels a whole lot better in cute little sneakers than heels, so I watch the bag as the girl hangs it with our coats and slip the number into my clutch.

  We stand in the stone foyer and look out over the ballroom filled with people mingling and laughing and wam pow boom, there’s Hunter.

  He’s standing with Sissy and his mother and they all look gorgeous. He’s wearing a tailored suit and his black hair is brushed back, a red tie at his throat, looking like freaking Adonis. The women beside him look good, look right, like a matching set of gorgeous brunettes. Oh my gosh, I can’t do this.

  “Mom, I can’t,” I say.

  “You moved back here for you, honey, and you seem to think this man can be a good partner for you. So you have to at least try.”

  “But she’s gorgeous.”

  “Go.” She gives me a small push and I stumble on my heels. High heels are not new to me, exactly, but I’m not entirely comfortable walking in them, either. And it’s cold. My toes are freezing as I make my way to the floor.

  I stare at the faces around me, Pedro from the café and tons of others. The snow glitters as it dusts the tree branches and the lake outside, making the entire room seem to glow.

  Diamonds hanging around the neck of Hunter’s mother catch the light and she sees me, her lips coming together in a hiss.