“No,” he replied as if the comment had been ridiculous. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“You either. Where would you like to go?”
“Maybe a grocery store?” he suggested. “I could use some more snack food.”
“Are you out of pie already?”
“Just about,” he said with a laugh. “I ate two slices with you and two more after you left. It was really good.”
“Thank you. Just enjoy it now. You can eat whatever you want and not gain any weight. Once you get to be my age, that all changes.”
“Yeah, I’ve never had any trouble that way. In fact, I have the opposite problem. I eat like you wouldn’t believe, and I can’t seem to gain weight.”
“Sounds rough.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely a problem.”
They arrived at a grocery store and filled a cart with junk food. When they got to the checkout line, Melissa pulled out her credit card.
“I can’t let you do that,” Dylan said. “You’ve done enough already.”
“It’s not a big deal," she replied. "You’re trying to get on your feet, remember? Keep your money so that you can have something to get your life started when all this is over.”
“Really,” he said, talking out his wallet, “I got this.”
“I think not,” Melissa said with a smile.
They engaged in a playful battle, shoulder to shoulder, butting each other out of the way of the credit card machine. Melissa ended up winning, inserting her card as soon as the total appeared.
“Alright,” Dylan said with exaggerated defeat, “you win this time. But next time, I got it.”
“Like I told you before, you can repay me in other ways. Keep your act together, and we’ll be good.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
There was something about him calling her ma’am that was strangely erotic, but she ignored the tingle it invoked. Gathering the bags, they headed out of the doors as she asked, “Do you need something for dinner tonight?”
“I can just eat cereal or something,” he replied.
“Cereal? That’s not a real dinner.” They headed toward her car.
“I’m a guy. It doesn’t need to be a real dinner.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer something hot?”
He shrugged. “That would be great, but it’s a lot of work. My theory is that if it takes longer to make than it does to eat, then it's not worth it.”
"You're going to eat a lot of crappy food, then."
"I've come to terms with that."
“We could always hit a drive-through on the way home,” Melissa suggested.
“Are you going to let me pay for that?”
“Probably not.”
“You know, you don’t have to pay for it either. You can just drive off after they hand you the food; it's a little trick I learned back in Missouri.”
Melissa froze in her tracks. “What?!?”
“Kidding!” Dylan replied, laughing. “I’m only kidding.”
“Oh my God, you had better be.”
“I am.” He was still laughing. “I promise.”
“Just for that, I’m definitely not letting you pay for dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll accept that…but you have to eat it with me.”
They had reached the car and each walked to their own side. Melissa smiled at him over the roof. “It’s a deal.”
“I have to be home by six or your brother is going to have a huge problem with me,” he said as soon as they got in and closed the doors.
“I’ll get you home in plenty of time. I certainly wouldn’t want to get on my brother’s bad side.”
“Yeah,” he replied with a scoff. “I wouldn’t either.”
“Do you want some dessert?” Dylan asked as he headed to the pantry after dinner.
Melissa still sat at the kitchen table. “No, thanks. I really shouldn’t. I need to lose some weight.”
He returned with a bag of cookies that he opened before sitting down. “You keep saying that, but I don’t agree with you.”
She felt her nerves flutter.
“Not every guy wants a stick-skinny woman,” he went on. “Some of us like our women to be a little curvier.”
He had said us. Melissa wondered if that meant he might have actually found her attractive.
“I think all of the women in the magazines and stuff are too thin,” he concluded with a shrug, “but that’s my personal opinion.”
“I wish more men felt like you.”
He squinted at her as his eyes worked their way up and down her body. “You look fine. Trust me.”
Her stomach became knotted. "So," she said, a little too loudly, "how long were you in jail before this last release?”
“Eight months.”
“Wow,” she said, “that’s a long time.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me.”
“And that was for the probation violation?”
“Yup.” He took a bite of a cookie, tucking it into his cheek. “I had to finish out my original sentence.”
“And how long was that for?”
“Fourteen months. I had been let out after six for good behavior, but my dumb ass ended up back in there.” He held up his hand. “Sorry.”
Assuming he meant the language, she replied, “No problem.” She appreciated his concern about offending her. “What was the original charge for?”
“Let’s see…I got pulled over going ninety-five with marijuana and stolen goods in my car.”
Her eyes got wide. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I really screwed up that night, but I was high, so I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“So you can add DUI to the list?”
He shook his head. "They didn't catch on to the fact that I was high, so I managed to dodge that bullet, at least. But it was still not my finest moment.”
“What did you steal?”
“Some dude’s wallet. I didn’t actually steal it; I found it in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. But I guess if I kept it as opposed to returning it, that’s considered stealing. It had some cash and credit cards, which I used…so, yeah, I guess you can say I stole from him.”
“Was that your first time in jail?”
“Not even close. I’ve been in and out of juvie since I was thirteen years old.” He looked up at her. “Can we talk about something else?”
Melissa’s face reflected her compassion. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, you’re not prying. You have the right to know all of this, considering how much you’re helping me. I’m just not in the mood to get into it right now.”
“I understand.”
“Your brother’s a funny guy,” Dylan announced suddenly, clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. “I have to say, he’s been my favorite probation officer so far.”
“Yeah, George is great.”
“It’s interesting—he’s a bit of a hard ass, but he’s funny about it.” He held up his hands again. “Sorry. I’m trying not to swear in front of you, but it’s not working.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m used to jail talk.”
“It’s really not a problem.”
“Anyway, he’s tough but funny; that’s what I’m getting at,” Dylan said. “I like that about him.”
“I think you’ve summed up my brother quite nicely.”
“You guys look alike, actually,” he noted, carefully studying her face. While she remained calm on the outside, her insides were buzzing as he looked her over. “I can tell you’re related.”
“Really? I don’t usually hear that.”
“You two have the same blue eyes.”
“Everyone in my family has blue eyes. Even my husband does.”
“How many kids are in your family? Is George your only brother?”
“Yes, but I have an older sister, too. George is the middle child; I’m the baby. What about you?”
“I’ve heard that my mo
m has another son with some guy, but I never met him. He’s, like, a year old, I think?”
This sounded like another potentially ugly topic to Melissa. She wondered how many subjects would be safe and how many would lead to Dylan remembering how difficult his life had been.
Her phone rang from inside her purse. “Do you mind if I get that?”
“No, go ahead.”
She fished out her phone and saw it was Jim calling. She felt like she’d been caught doing something wrong, but then she realized that all she had done was act on the plan that she and Jim had created together…with a little extracurricular activity to help her get to sleep the night before. “Hey, stranger,” she said as she answered.
“Hi. How are things in the states?”
“Okay. I just finished up dinner with Dylan.”
“How’d that go?”
“Fine.” She looked over at him as she spoke. “He’s a very sweet young man.”
Dylan lowered his gaze to the ground.
“Is it looking like things might work out?” Jim asked.
“If I had to guess, I would say yes, but I might be being optimistic.”
“You’ve always been optimistic,” Jim told her.
“I know,” she muttered, “and that’s how I end up constantly disappointed.”
Chapter 5
“I can’t believe you made me dinner again,” Dylan said as Melissa revealed the chicken from under the tin foil.
“I enjoy it, actually,” she replied. “I like to cook, but I usually don’t have anyone to cook for, besides myself. And I can’t justify doing it if I’m going to be the only one eating it.”
Dylan gestured for Melissa to take the first helping. “Is your husband really gone that much?”
She kept her eyes fixed on her plate as she replied, “Afraid so.” After scooping herself a chicken breast and some rice, she handed the serving spoon over to Dylan.
“Thanks. How much is he gone?”
After estimating in her head, she announced, “Probably three weeks out of every month.”
“Wow,” he replied, “that is a lot.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t say anything.
“Forgive me for asking this, but if being home alone is as boring as you say it is, why don’t you get a job or something?”
“I’ve thought about it.” She shook her head. “I should back up. It wasn’t always like this. When Jim and I first got married, he didn’t travel at all, but with each promotion he got, he was required to travel a little more. It sounds strange, but it happened so gradually that I didn’t really notice until I found myself unhappy and I didn’t know why. Then I realized just how often he was gone. I did think about getting a job at that point, but then Jim and I decided on this.” She gestured around the room with her hand. “This kept me occupied for quite a while. I searched around for a long time, trying to find the perfect house. Then, once we bought it, I painted it and furnished it and stuff. Then we hit a lull once it was complete, because we were waiting for just the right person to move in.” She smiled at him. “And now I keep myself busy by cooking you dinner.”
He raised one side of his mouth into slight grin. “What made me just the right person?”
“Well,” she replied, turning slightly red from embarrassment, “I had asked my brother to find someone who had a lot of potential—someone who seemed like they could turn their life around if they were given the opportunity. I wanted somebody who was kind inside, but maybe was just dealt a crappy hand by life.”
He also appeared to blush a little.
“You know,” she went on, “we were kind of dealt a crappy hand, my brother and I…and my sister too, obviously.”
With that, Dylan looked at her.
She lowered her shoulders and let out a sigh. “My parents weren’t exactly…” She searched for the correct word, settling on, “ideal.”
He still didn’t say anything, so she continued, “My parents had this vision of how we kids were supposed to act. The only problem was, they didn’t bother to let us know what that vision looked like. We had no idea what rules we were supposed to follow. They only let us know when we broke one of those unspoken rules by giving us a beating.” She let out another sigh. “I remember it being really confusing—I was never sure at any given moment if I was doing something that was going to end up in a walloping.”
“Did they beat up all three kids?”
“Yeah,” Melissa replied softly, "pretty regularly.”
They locked eyes for a long moment.
“That’s rough,” Dylan whispered.
Melissa broke the eye contact by looking down at her lap. “They claimed that they were hitting us in the name of the Lord. You know, ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Although, I hardly think that verbally correcting a kid when they do something wrong is ‘spoiling the child.’ Not every message needed to be communicated with a belt.”
“I’m surprised you turned out normal.”
Melissa laughed. “I’m not sure I’d call myself normal.”
“You know what I mean,” Dylan said. “I’m surprised you’re law-abiding.”
“My brother went on to be law enforcement. How’s that for defying the odds?”
“That’s pretty incredible, actually. You know, a lot of the guys I met in jail came from messed up childhoods. I think it’s pretty common for those kids to end up in trouble.”
“Or at least somewhat screwed up in the head.”
“Getting the snot beat out of you as a kid will do that,” Dylan agreed.
Melissa shifted in her seat. “So, what about you? You said you started breaking the law when you were thirteen.”
“I got caught for the first time at thirteen," he said, raising a finger in the air. "I actually started breaking the law at ten.”
“Oh my God,” Melissa replied. “You were just a child.”
“I know. Crazy, right?”
“What did you do?”
A guilt-ridden smile appeared on his face. “I stole from the neighbor.”
“What did you steal?”
“Are you ready for this?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa said. “Am I?”
Dylan put a forkful of rice in his mouth. “Candy and alcohol. How’s that for a strange combination?”
“Alcohol?” she asked with dismay. “At age ten?”
“Mm-hmm. And candy,” he added, as if that made it better.
She shook her head and opened her mouth, but she didn’t speak for a moment. “I-I-I don’t even know what to say.”
He just nodded slowly.
Placing her elbows on the table, she leaned in, whispering, “What on earth would possess a boy so young to turn to alcohol?”
He looked off into the distance, and his face grew solemn. “That’s what happens when a ten-year-old is left alone a lot of the time.”
“Your parents weren’t home very much?”
“My dad was never in the picture; I don’t even know who he was. My mom was sixteen when I was born, and, honestly, I’m not sure if she even knows who my father was. I think there might have been a few possibilities.”
Melissa listened intently, not saying anything.
“The last name on my birth certificate matches my mom. I don’t think she ever intended for me to have a father. At first, I grew up in my grandparents’ house, until I was five or so. I honestly don’t remember living there; I was too young. My mom ended up getting an apartment for me and her when I went to kindergarten. I would stay after school in some program until she got off work. I guess it was like free daycare or something, I don’t know.
“I do remember her staying home with me at night until I hit about nine or so. Then she must have figured that I was old enough to stay home by myself, because she started going out all the time. I can’t say I blame her, in a way. She never got to party before that because she had me. So she was, what, twenty-five when I was nine?” He shrugged. “
I guess she figured it was her time to have fun.”
“Nine is awfully young to be left home alone.”
“Apparently, you’re right, because I found trouble. I discovered that the woman in the apartment across the hall used to leave her door unlocked when she went down to the basement to do laundry. I’d be home alone a lot of the time, so when she left the door unlocked, I would sneak over there. She was pretty predictable; I figured out that she always did laundry on Saturday mornings…”
“Wait…you’d be alone on a Saturday morning?”
He faked a smile. “My mom didn’t always come home on Friday nights.”
Melissa’s heart sank for that little boy.
“So, I would watch out the peep hole for the neighbor to come out with her laundry basket, and I’d skirt across the hall and take candy and alcohol while she was gone.”
“How did you even know about alcohol at that age?”
“TV. That was how I learned about most things," he said without self-pity in his voice. "It always seemed like the people who drank on TV had a lot of fun, and I needed fun. I was alone, and I was desperate for something to do.”
Melissa could relate to that all too well. Sticking to the matter at hand, she simply asked, “Did you ever get caught?”
“Not when I stole from the neighbor. I was actually pretty smart about it for a ten-year-old. I wouldn’t take the whole bag of candy; I’d take a few pieces. And I would only take one beer, and that was only if she had so many in there that she wouldn’t have noticed one was missing. And then, when I got a little older, I’d only take a few dollars out of her purse...”
“Oh, God.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t off to a very good start.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that, though. You wouldn’t have resorted to doing that kind of stuff if your mom had been home with you.”
“I’d like to think that, but who knows? Maybe my father was a career criminal and theft was in my DNA. I’ll never know for sure.”
“I don’t think thievery is a genetic trait.” She flashed a smile. "So, what were you doing when you were thirteen and got caught?”
He cleared his throat. “A joy ride.”
What She Needed Page 3
