“In case I need it as evidence against your mother.”
Whir.
“It was an accident,” I say, defending Mom for some strange reason.
“I’m sure it was,” Dad says. “But it wouldn’t have happened if your mother hadn’t lost her temper.”
“Yeah.” I hate that he’s right. And I hate to see Mom and Dad fighting. Not that they are. Yet.
But they will.
Let the cold war begin.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
“So, if your mom and dad agree with what the mediator decides, this’ll all be over today?” Lance asks two weeks later.
I shake my head. “Dad said the mediator doesn’t decide anything. She just helps them come to an agreement on what they’re going to do about Charity. If they agree, then yeah, it’s all over today. Fingers crossed. They’re sure taking a long time.”
Lance squeezes my hand, which he has been holding for the past two hours. We sit in a lounge area in the office building where the mediator works. We’re around the corner from the room where they’re meeting. Dad flew into Burbank a few days ago. It’s like he never left. Since Charity is fourteen, she gets to express her preferences for living arrangements. Since I’m eighteen, they don’t need to talk to me.
Down the hall, a door bangs open. Mom’s barking voice echoes up to the lounge. “This meeting is OVER! I knew mediation would be pointless!”
“Please, Faith,” Dad says earnestly, “don’t walk out now. We were making progress. Let’s discuss this. We can figure this thing out.”
“The only progress you want is to take Charity away from me. I will never let that happen. We can finish this discussion in court and let the judge figure it out.” Her sarcasm is obvious. “Let’s go, Charity.” Mom’s heels click on the tiled floor then stop. “I said let’s go, Charity.”
“No, Mom,” Charity says calmly. “I want to stay here with Dad.” Before we drove here, Dad made a big point to Charity that she needed to keep it together during the mediation. It sounds like she listened.
“Fine,” Mom says. “John, make sure she’s home by six o’clock for dinner.” Her heels click and she storms toward the lounge area. She looks sharp in her gray power suit with her blonde hair up in a tight bun. Based on appearances, you might think she’s the kind of woman every other woman wishes she was: beautiful, confident, capable. What a joke. More like bitchy, selfish and short-tempered. Looks can be deceiving. She doesn’t spare a glance at me and Lance as she passes.
“Great,” I whisper to him. “I knew she would do this.”
Lance gives me a heavy look.
The past two weeks have been stressful on all of us. Charity has been at Lance’s house almost every day for moral support and to get away from Mom. She even does her homework in Lance’s living room. It drives Mom nuts, but I think she’s just tolerating it so she doesn’t look insane as far as the courts are concerned. I wish they could see her at her worst, not her best. But she’s got the appearances thing down pat.
A few minutes later, Dad and Charity walk around the corner looking haggard and defeated.
“I don’t want to live with her anymore,” Charity says pathetically. She’s near tears. “You know how crazy she is.”
“Your mother is not crazy, Charity. She’s just scared. And she deals with her fear by lashing out at everyone and everything.”
“Isn’t that the same as crazy?”
Dad doesn’t know what to say.
Charity sighs, “What do we do now?”
Dad catches my eye briefly before running his hand through Charity’s hair and placing it on her shoulder. “We do the best we can, Charity. With any luck, the judge will hear your side of the story and decide it’s time for you to come live with me.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
Dad looks pained. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, sweetheart. But I promise, I will do everything I can to make sure things do work out. And whatever happens, I want you to remember I love you more than anything.”
Charity glances over at me and winks. “Even more than Chaz?”
Dad smiles thinly, “Except that. I love you both the same.”
“Okay,” Charity sigh smiles. “I guess.”
When they walk toward us, Dad trails behind Charity slightly.
He looks broken.
Chapter 27
CHASTITY
“Where is she?” Mom growls in my face two weeks later.
“Not here,” I grumble, holding Lance’s front door open. She’s obviously talking about Charity, who spends as much time here at Lance’s house as Mom will let her. Ever since the mediation that went nowhere, it’s not as much time as Charity would like, but she’s back and forth so much, I don’t give it a second thought when she’s not around. “I thought she was at your house.”
“She’s not. She was supposed to be home an hour ago. Her dinner is getting cold.”
“She’s probably just avoiding you,” I say with disdain. “Anyway, it’s not my problem.”
“She’s your sister. Don’t you care about her?”
“Don’t you?” This is the first time Mom has said two words to me since the mediation. I was starting to think she’d forgotten I existed. Does she think I’m going to be on her side all of a sudden? Not gonna happen. “Charity wants to live with Dad.”
Mom snarls, “Over my dead body.”
“She cries about it to me every time she’s over here.”
Mom scowls but looks away.
I sigh, “Look, Mom. I don’t know where she is. But she’s not here. I haven’t seen her since last night. She’s probably at a friend’s house. Have you tried calling her or texting?”
“She won’t answer.”
Big surprise. I roll my eyes, “Do you think she ran away again?”
Mom blasts me with a hateful look. “Don’t you say that!!”
I shrug. “She did it before.”
“How can you be so callous? Charity was supposed to come straight home from school! That was four hours ago!”
“How can you be so callous? You’re completely out of touch, Mom. Charity hates you right now.”
She smirks, “Tough love isn’t a picnic. Maybe you’ll figure that out when you’re older.”
I snort, “Is that what this is? Seems more like dumb love to me.”
CRACK!
She slaps me across the face.
I hold my cheek. “What the hell, Mom?!”
Her nostrils flare, ready to hit me again. “You really ought to clean up that foul mouth of yours. Cursing is a sin. Or have you forgotten that?”
WHAM!!
I slam the door in her face.
Bing-Bong!! Bing-Bong!! Bing-Bong!!
I don’t open the door.
I grab my phone and text Charity: Did you run away again? Mom is looking for you.
Ten minutes later, she responds: No. But I shoe.
Shoe? It must be auto-correct. I text: Are you okay?
Her: I’m drugs.
I really hope that was auto-correct. Drugs?
Her: Drunk.
Me: For real?
Her: Yeppers (followed by three drunk emoticons holding foaming glass beer mugs)
Me: Where are you? Do you want me to come get you?
Her: No. Mom will kill me.
Me: Are you alone right now?
Her: With some boyz.
Drunk with boys? That doesn’t sound good. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you. Don’t worry about Mom. I’ll protect you.
While I wait for her to reply, I call Lark.
“What up, bitch?” she answers.
“Can you drive me somewhere?”
“When?”
“Now?”
“I just did my nails,” she groans. “Can it wait an hour?”
“No.”
“I did my toes too.”
“Charity is in trouble. She didn’t come home and she’s drunk with some boys who knows wh
ere. I need to go find her.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“I’m at Lance’s.”
“See you in five.”
Ten minutes later, Lark knocks on my door wearing flip-flops, lavender board shorts and a half-zipped hoodie.
“Are you wearing a bra under that?” I ask.
“No. Too much boob?” She zips the hoodie up further, but leaves cleavage. “Are you ready?” Her keys jingle in her hand.
“I’m waiting for Charity to text me where she is.”
“Is Lance here?”
“I just called him and left a voicemail.”
She nods and sighs. “This is all so stupid. You know this is happening because your Mom walked out of mediation.”
“I know. Don’t remind me.”
“Sorry. You know, if your sister needs a place to stay, my mom said she could stay with us. I told her what happened.”
I smile at her. “Tell your mom thanks. But I don’t think my mom would approve.”
Lark sours. “Probably not.”
My phone chimes when a text comes in.
Lark says, “Charity?”
“Yup.”
“Where is she?”
I read the text. Venison Boardwalk. I smirk at the autocorrect. “Venice Beach. At the boardwalk.”
“How the fuck did she end up there?”
“I have no idea. Let’s go.” I lock the front door and we jump in Lark’s car. Someone pounds on the passenger window and I nearly hit the roof.
Mom.
“You’re going to look for your sister, aren’t you?!” She is such a snoop.
I crack the window an inch so she can’t hit me again. “Yes.”
“Where is she?!”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Mom scowls, “I did. She wouldn’t tell me.”
I sneer at her, “And what does that tell you?”
Her upper lip starts to quiver angrily.
I roll up the window and mutter, “Let’s go, Lark.”
I watch Mom in the passenger mirror as we drive off. She’s still standing on the sidewalk with her arms folded, holding in her rage.
Let her stew.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
Lark and I crawl through traffic on the 101. It’s rush hour.
I moan and drop my head against the headrest, “We’re going five miles an hour. It’s going to take forever to get to Venice. Charity might be gone by the time we get there.”
“Damn it!” Lark shouts.
“What?”
She slaps the steering wheel. “I knew I should’ve fixed the hover drive when I took this thing in for a tune up.”
“What?!” I snicker.
She shrugs. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Thanks.” I heave a sigh. I try calling Charity again. It’s the eighth time since Lark and I left. Maybe she’ll answer this time. I groan when it rings the fourth time. I’m about to end the call when it picks up.
“Chazzy Wazzy,” Charity says in sloppy baby-talk.
“Whoa, Chair, you sound drunk.”
“But I’m happy drunk,” she giggles.
I put the phone on speaker. “Where are you right now?”
“Where are you?” she squeaks.
“On my way to pick you up. But I’m stuck in traffic. It might be a while.”
“Boooooooo.”
Lark winces and whispers, “She sounds loaded.”
“Are you some place public?” I ask.
“There’s publics everywhere.”
“Where are you?”
“At the—” the sound breaks up.
“Where?”
“—the—”
“Shit,” I hiss. “The signal keeps breaking up.”
Lark says, “That sounds like the drum circle. The big one on the beach.”
“You’re right. Chair! Are you at the drum circle?”
“—beach—ocean.”
“That’s definitely the drum circle,” Lark says.
“Chair, stay at the drum circle, okay? We’ll meet you there!”
“—basketball—juggler—”
“Stay at the drum circle!”
The line goes dead.
I groan, “I wish we could get there quicker.”
“Sorry,” Lark says morosely. “I told you the hover drive is busted.”
“I should call Lance.” I speed dial him.
This time he answers immediately. “What’s up, love?”
I never get tired of him calling me that. I smile slightly despite my low grade tension.
Whir.
He says, “I saw you called earlier, but I was in the middle of something.”
I blurt, “Charity is in Venice with some boys and she’s drunk. I’m driving there right now with Lark.”
“Where in Venice?” His tone is immediately intense and focused.
“At the boardwalk. We think she’s at the drum circle. As long as she stays there, she’ll be easy to find. But with all this traffic, it’s going to be at least an hour until we get there.”
“I’m downtown. I can take surface streets on my bike and lane split the shit out of it and be there in thirty.”
“You’re not busy, are you?”
“I was, but this is more important.” Random sounds like he’s moving around flitter through the speaker. “I’m already out the door. I’ll look for her at the drum circle. Text me Charity’s number after we hang up so I can call her. And tell her to watch for me.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I end the call, feeling ten times better than I did before talking to him.
“Lance is awesome,” Lark says thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” I mutter as I send Charity’s number to Lance.
“Does he have an equally hot sexy brother I don’t know about?”
“I don’t think so.” A few minutes later, I say, “Hey, I forgot to ask, whatever happened with you and Beaver? You guys were getting pretty cozy at Lance’s office after he threw that surprise rave.”
She grins coyly.
“What?”
She shrugs, “We’re fucking.”
“What?! You never mentioned that!”
“He has a big dick and knows how to use it. That boy is a human jackhammer. Who would’ve thought?”
I blurt a laugh. “Oh. My. Goodness. Lark, are you serious?”
She smiles slyly, eyes on the road. “Yup.”
“And he doesn’t have a tiny beaver sized dick?”
“Nope.”
“How big is it?”
“We’re talking donkey.”
We stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.
++++8++++
CHARITY
Drums.
Flashes of light.
Spinning, spinning.
Dancing on sand.
Can’t stand up.
Legs not working right.
My ears hurt.
Ice picks.
I want to throw up.
The whole beach is going round and round and tilting crazily.
How much did I drink?
I don’t remember.
Tipping, tipping, here comes the sand.
The spider catches me in his arms. All eight.
I think he has eight. I think I have eight too. Four arms and four legs. My four hands have twenty fingers. I smile at the spider and hold all twenty up to him. “Fingers,” I giggle. “So many.”
The spider smiles, “I see that.”
“Where did gold mouth and his friend Joe go?”
“Who? You mean Antwan and José? They took off. You wanna go back to my van and get high?”
“Hi,” I smile at the spider. What’s his name again? He’s cute. Really cute. Mom would hate him. Tattoos and leather. Like Chaz’s boyfriend what’s his name. I want my own bad boy.
“My van’s real close,
” the spider says. “We can party there. Just me and you, fly girl.”
At least two hands squeeze my boobs.
I’m fourteen, I say. Then I frown because the words didn’t come out of my mouth. I try to say them again. I’m fourteen. It doesn’t work. I forgot how to talk. So I try something simple, like friends. “Hi.”
“All right, fly girl. I get you high. Let’s go,” he grins and picks me up with his spider arms.
I’m floating like a fly. The spider stares at me with all eight eyes like he wants to eat me.
“I like you,” someone else says with my mouth.
“I like you too,” he says, hungry.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
Parking in Venice is always terrible.
I have Lark drop me off on Windward Avenue, which is as close as I can get to where the drum circle usually is.
She says, “I’ll go find parking. There’s always spots down in the Venice Canals. You go look for Charity.”
“Okay. Call me if you can’t find me. But you know how loud the drum circle is, so if I don’t answer, look for me there.”
Lark drives off as I sprint down Windward, past all the booths selling cheap sunglasses, past the bike and skate rental shops, and toward the boardwalk.
Despite the cool fall weather and sundown hour, a scattering of street performers are still out juggling and doing magic tricks. A homeless guy with a sign that says “KICK ME $5” is wandering around near the palm trees, looking for customers but no one is buying. Numerous street vendors are still set up on the cement boardwalk, selling their spray-painted planet art or fresh sage or incense or greeting cards or hand-made jewelry. Plenty of tourists and locals are still out crowding the boardwalk, cycling by, rollerblading by, jogging by, strolling by.
Charity could be anywhere.
We’re talking needle in a haystack.
My phone rings. It’s Lance.
“Hey,” I answer.
“I’m at the drum circle now.” The drum sounds are audible over the phone. “You guys here?”
“I’m heading there now. Any sign of her?”
“Not yet. It’s hard to pick her out with the sun already down. Do you have any idea what she’s wearing?”
The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity Page 30
