Libra Rising

by Stacy M Wray

  Gently tugging the door closed, I walk to the house and spend the next couple of hours dusting the surfaces of all the furniture, running the sweeper, and making the tuna salad. At one o’clock on the dot, Mr. Hainley walks through the door, his forehead shiny with sweat. He sweeps his handkerchief across the back of his neck.

  He takes a whiff of the air and says, “Smells like tunas for lunch.”

  I take the bowl from the fridge, place it on the counter, then open the silver bread box and drag the bread out. “Hon, I’m gonna need you to make that lunch to go.” He bobs his head towards the fields, saying, “I’m eating on the tractor today.”

  Frowning at him, I say, “Are you sure? You can’t sit down and relax a bit?”

  He shakes his head and grabs a brown paper bag out of one of the drawers. “Not today.”

  I quickly make him a sandwich, wrap it in plastic wrap and stuff it in the bag, along with a napkin, a pear, and a Twinkie I found in his pantry. Grabbing a water from the fridge, he accepts the sack I hand him with an appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

  Before he leaves, I ask, “How long would you like for me to stay?”

  He shrugs. “Only thing I cared about you gettin’ done was that room.” He glances in the direction of the bunk room. “You get it done?”

  “Yes, and I’ve dusted and swept the floors in here. Would you like for me to start some laundry?”

  “Nah, you can do that tomorrow. You can get on home any time. I know your dad needs your help, too.” I think that was his polite way of telling me that he knows my dad isn’t a huge help – anyone can take one look at the outside of our house and figure that out.

  “Okay, I do have a bit to do at home still.” That’s putting it mildly. I’ll have to put on a good balancing act so neither one of my responsibilities suffer this summer.

  As I walk down the red brick steps of Mr. Hainley’s farmhouse, I feel good about my first day at work. All the rest of the day, while I’m doing my own laundry, picking up the family room, and fixing my dad and I spaghetti and garlic toast for dinner, my mind continually attempts to conjure up the image of the sixteen-year-old “troublemaker” who will be living in the quarters that I cleaned for him. Will we be friends? Will he be mean? I have no idea what to expect.

  The full moon illuminates my room and my mind goes back to my horoscope I read this morning. It said the full moon would make me slightly insecure this week.

  It couldn’t have been more spot on.

  Chapter Two

  Reed

  June 2010

  I’ve never been more pissed off in my entire life. I haven’t spoken one word since we left Chicago two hours ago. My neck is getting stiff from looking out my window, since I refuse to look in my mom’s direction. This was all her idea. Yeah, I’ve gotten in some trouble over the past few months, but she acts like I’ve committed murder or something. Gets this crazy idea from someone she works with that she’s going to make me work on some old man’s farm for the summer as my punishment. I know she just wants to get rid of me, to spend the summer with that douchebag she met in some bar last month without me cramping her style. She’s a joke of a mother. And don’t even get me started on my dad, who’s never around. But the way his cutting words follow me throughout my life, I’d swear he was right behind me, whispering all my shortcomings into my ear daily.

  Unable to relax my body, I sweat profusely, trying to reign in my anger. No friends. No freedom. No girls. No partying. No fucking life. I’m so close to punching out this window that I force myself to slowly release some air before I really lose it.

  A green highway sign indicates our exit is one more mile away. I can almost feel the glee pouring off my mom the closer we get to my ever-living hell.

  My eyes remain closed for the remainder of the drive, only opening when I feel the car slow down. My mom turns the steering wheel left into a driveway. Jesus Christ. It’s a farm alright. Home, sweet home. Just shoot me now before I step foot out of this car. Shocking even myself, tears sting the backs of my eyes, threatening to expose just how much I hate my life right now.

  My mom puts the car in park and shuts off the ignition. We both get out at the same time, and I turn to retrieve my bag out of the trunk. I hear a screen door creak open then bang shut. An old man walks towards us, and I feel his eyes on me even before I look up. “You Mr. Hainley?” my mom half yells.

  “One and only. You must be Mrs. Faulkner.” He reaches her by now, his hand extended, and she shakes it.

  “It’s Joni and this is Reed.” She turns my way and stares at me like I’ve got two heads, and I have no idea why. When I finally land my gaze on the old man, he’s smiling at me. Not a nice-to-meet-you kind of smile, but a your-balls-are-so-mine kind of smile.

  Fuck me.

  “Well, I don’t believe in drawin’ anything out, so you can be on your way, Mrs. Faulkner. I’ll be in touch. And don’t worry about the boy. We’ll get along just fine.” He looks at me. “Right, son?”

  I just stare at him, not in the least interested in playing along, my lips pressed in a tight line.

  “Oh, well, okay.” Mom looks a little uncomfortable. “I guess I’ll see you later, Reed. Um, have a good summer.” Her voice rises on the last two words, sounding quite fake to my ears. Before I know it, she’s behind the wheel again, backing the car out of the driveway.

  “Follow me, son, and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleepin’.”

  A heavy sigh escape and I know he heard it by the way he jerks his head my way. Whatever. I reluctantly follow him to some sorry shack that looks like it’s seen better days.

  He holds the door open for me and I pass through slowly. Catching my duffel bag on the door frame, I give it a considerable jerk, then plop it on the twin bed. It doesn’t take long to take in the whole place, since it’s about the size of a shoebox.

  The old man clears his throat. “I know it’s not much, but it’ll serve its purpose.”

  Having no idea how any of this is supposed to go down, I ask, “Now what?”

  His eyes narrow a little. “Now, I’ve got to look through your bag.”

  My fingers flex at my sides and I can feel my face redden by the second. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  He shrugs his shoulders then glances at his watch. “Well, you best be gettin’ down the driveway, then.”

  “Sorry?”

  His eyes roam from my bag to me, and back to my bag. “Oh…well, Jimmie Taylor drives by here every day at ten o’clock to go into town for his mornin’ paper and to fetch some of that fancy coffee. He’ll be your only way outta here. I’ll let your mom know it didn’t work out.”

  He turns to leave, and I can’t decide if he’s bluffing or not. My mom already threatened me that if I caused any problems here, I would spend my summer back in juvie. Not knowing which is worse, I find myself spitting out, “Alright.”

  Slowly turning around, the corners of his mouth tilt up as he reaches for my bag. Tugging the zipper from one side to the other, he starts lifting my stuff one item at a time and laying it on the cotton navy bedspread. I find myself holding my breath, knowing what he’s about to discover. He pulls it out, an inquisitive expression on his face. “Wouldn’t have thought you to be a tequila guy. Vodka, maybe…” He tucks the bottle under his arm as he finishes, and I know he’s not going to find anything else.

  “That’s it? No weed? No smokes?” I can’t believe he’s this amused as I stand here ready to explode. I hate how smart he thinks he is.

  When I don’t answer, he holds out the palm of his hand. “You’ll have to turn over your cell phone, too.”

  Could this day get any worse? My phone is the only thing I have left, my only connection to my friends at home. “No way am I giving you my cell phone. What the hell do you think I’m going to do with it?”

  “It’s not so much what you do with it, but the fact that you have to earn privileges to use it.”

  “The hell I do. It’s my phone.” It�
�s hot as hell in here and I can feel sweat trickling down my back. He stands there looking cool as a cucumber.

  “Suit yourself. Jimmie will be by any minute. Might want to get your stuff packed back up. It’s a mighty long walk into town.” And then, he leaves. This time, I know he’s not bluffing.

  I move toward the door and watch him make his way back to the house, not once looking back, each step slow and deliberate. I reach into my pocket and drag my phone out. I’m so mad that I consider throwing it at the back of his head. Instead, I count to five, then walk past the horse stables to the corner of a fence, placing my phone on top of the post. There’s just no possible way I can hand it over to him face to face, watching him gloat. Turning around, I head back to my prison of a room. I know he turned and saw my phone when I hear a chuckle from behind.

  Slamming the door as hard as I possibly can, I clear my bed with an angry slide of my arm, tossing the contents to the floor. I kick the post of the bed before I slam my body down on it, my back against the bedspread. I stare at a spot on the ceiling for what seems like forever as I try to calm down.

  Sitting up, my eyes fix on a vase of flowers on the poor excuse of a dresser in front of me. Bright orange petals scream at me. What the hell? Does he think I’m a sissy? Swinging my legs to one side, I reach the vase in two strides, collecting it by the skinny neck, then proceed to the door, flinging it open so I can dump its contents. I want to bust it against something, but I refrain. The image of my cell phone in someone else’s possession causes me to reel it in. Instead, I place the empty container back on the dresser.

  Since my door remains wide open, movement out of the corner of my eyes catches my attention. The motion of a girl walking towards the shack delivers a pleasant message to my brain. Instantly, I perk up, noticing the slight sway to her hips with each step she takes, not in a deliberate way. It’s as if she’s totally unaware. Long legs extend from the jean shorts she’s wearing. As my eyes travel back up to her face, I become fixated on those lips. Pink, luscious, full lips, like they’ve been shot up with Botox, only, I know they haven’t. Those are the real deal. What I wouldn’t give to have those wrapped around my –

  “Didn’t like the flowers?”

  Her question jerks me from the image in my head. “What?”

  She points to the spot where I dumped the vase. “Allergic, maybe?”

  Shit! Did she put those there? “Most guys don’t give a shit about flowers.”

  She shrugs. “I’m Harper. Just thought I’d come introduce myself.”

  I study her for a minute. Chestnut hair hangs just past her shoulders. There’s a slight wave to it, causing it to look a little lopsided since she has it parted to one side. Her vivid green eyes are framed by the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a girl, and right now, they’re telling me she’s a little pissed about the flowers. Whatever. “You live here?”

  “Nope.”

  I nod towards the house. “What’d you do to end up here?” She must be in the same predicament as me. Might be nice to have a partner in crime.

  Confusion passes through those green eyes as she attempts to figure out the meaning of my question. “I walked across the street and asked for a job. I’m helping Mr. Hainley out for the summer.”

  She lives across the street? I step out of the doorway, her house now in view. Turning back to her, I say, “What kind of name is Harper anyway?”

  Her eyes narrow somewhat. “I was named after Harper Lee.” When I don’t give her any indication of knowing who that is, she continues. “To Kill a Mockingbird?” I don’t react. She babbles on. “My mom was obsessed with that book - read it to me over and over when I got older. Atticus Finch is the reason I want to become a lawyer.”

  “Well, it could have been worse. She could have named you Scout.”

  Her eyes go wide for a second. “So, you are familiar with the book.”

  I shrug. “Yeah. Read it last year in school.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to address me.” I figure since she’s not here on the same account as I am, there’s no need to be friends. The last thing I need is another set of eyes on me, reporting back to the old man.

  Unfazed by my smartass mouth, she looks out at the fields off to her right, then back at me. “Mr. Hainley says you’re in some kind of trouble.”

  Her words instantly piss me off. “Yeah? Well, maybe you just better stay away from me and my troublesome ways. Wouldn’t want to taint you with my problems.”

  My words have absolutely no effect on her. “Are you a Taurus?”

  I rub my forehead, trying to figure this girl out. “Sorry?”

  “Your sign. Are you a Taurus? I bet you are.”

  Shaking my head, I tell her, “Look, I’m tired. I’ve been up since seven this morning, and I’m really not in the mood to swap zodiac signs.”

  A defeated expression flashes across her face. “Well, lunch is at one.”

  Shaking my head, I tell her, “I won’t be hungry.”

  A knowing smile passes her lips and she lightly scratches her forearm, her tone more soothing than before. “He said that you’d say that, and he told me to tell you that it’s not a request.”

  Her words climb their way under my skin, even though I know they aren’t her words. Throwing my hands out to my side, I tell her, my voice rising in pitch, “I have no way of knowing what time it is – the jerk took my phone.”

  A wide grin spreads slowly across her face. “He said you’d say that, too.” She turns to the house, pointing at something beside the door. “I’ll just ring the bell when it’s ready.”

  My eyes travel to where she’s pointing. An old, once-bronzed bell, now covered in patina, resides beside the screen door. I roll my eyes, detesting the fact that I’m stranded out here in this redneck town. And the fact that she seems to think my current situation is amusing indicates we are finished with this conversation. Without answering her, I turn and retreat to my solitary confinement. Not trusting myself to not go ballistic on this bitch, I shut the door in her face.

  Picking up my duffle, I hurl it across the room, watching it slam into the wall. It slides to the floor with a thud. Glancing around, all my shit is scattered on the floor around the bed. Good. It can just stay there.

  Plopping on the mattress, I try to clear my head of all the events that have taken place today, and it’s not even noon yet. When did my life get so fucked up? My dad walking out on us is when it started. I’ve been told by more than one therapist that my pent-up feelings towards my dad is where my anger issues come from. Duh! Don’t really need therapy to figure that one out. I’ve felt like an outcast ever since. I could never live up to my dad’s expectations, and my mom blames me for making my dad walk. So, I hang with the wrong crowd, get in scuffles at school, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when Harriett’s Diner was broken into. That landed me in juvie for a bit. My mom made me stay as long as they would allow me to.

  My misfortunes drag me down, along with my heavy eyelids. I have no idea how long I’ve been laying here when I hear that damn bell ring, the clanging sound drifting into the lonely window above my head. My empty stomach rumbles like thunder, but I refuse to give in to it. The last thing I want to do is share a meal with that old man, or the higher-than-mighty girl he hired. I don’t need her looking down her nose at me any more than I need to waste precious summer months on this redneck farm.

  Bored as all get out, I swing my legs to the side of the bed, lifting myself up. Half-thinking, he might have locked me in, I walk to the door to check it, my brows lifting in surprise when it opens without resistance. Since no one seems to be around, I decide to explore and see what I’m up against.

  Walking in the opposite direction of the house, I approach woods that line the cornfield in front of me, the stalks not quite a foot tall yet. Noticing a small clearing, I follow a dense path into the canopy of trees. I
t’s not a clear-cut path, but it’s been walked on enough, proving there must be a reason.

  Momentarily forgetting my bleak circumstances, my curiosity encourages me to pursue the trail, my brain telling me how stupid I am. I smack the back of my neck with the palm of my hand, knowing it’s too late, experiencing an immediate itching sensation on the surface of my skin. The buzz around my ear signals I have bad aim, the pesky insect sticking around since he knows I’m an easy target. I pick up my pace, hoping to leave him in the dust.

  It’s about ten degrees cooler under the protection of the thick foliage. The sun is blocked, except for a few rays sneaking in between the branches of trees less fortunate in way of foliage. Twigs snap beneath my footsteps, causing small critters to scurry off in fear of the predator that invades their habitat. I trudge on, determined to find something worthwhile at the end of this trail.

  And I’m not disappointed.

  I’ve stumbled upon a small pond, big enough to swim in, although I’m not sure of its depth. It’s the best thing I’ve seen yet. If I didn’t think I’d be eaten alive by monstrous mosquitos, I might hide out here indefinitely.

  Smacking my forearm this time, I look down and see the squished remains of the fragile insect, a small smear of blood underneath him. Damn. I need to be quicker than these suckers.

  I close my eyes, letting my other senses take over. The soft sound of crickets is the first thing I notice. A crow competes with the softer chirping of the more subdued birds, loud caws repeating over and over. Damn, it’s peaceful out here. I’m ten times more relaxed than when I arrived, although I’d never admit it to anyone.

  When I can’t take any more bites, I reluctantly trace the steps that brought me to the gem hidden in these small woods. I don’t want to leave the discovered sanctuary, but I know I’ll be back.