by Krystal Wade
And she certainly didn’t look at his slightly messy brown hair swept to the side, or his big blue eyes.
His gaze roamed over her, though, a smile carving up one side of his face—more like a smirk; yeah, that’s it—as he took in the full effect of her outfit. “You’re looking good, Haley.”
Haley walked away.
“Oh, come on.” Chris caught up and clasped his hands behind his back, that stupid smile still on his face. “You do. Look great, that is. I like this flashy attire.”
She stopped, anger warring with her desire to accept his compliment. Chris had everything she’d ever wanted: the perfect family, the beautiful house, the great school, friends, and he took it all for granted. Hell, he even had Berkshires. Mr. Charming took over as CEO after Mom passed.
Hate flooded Haley, blinded her, surged through her words, “What do you want, Chris?”
To tease? To gloat?
“To talk.”
“I have to go to work.” He knew this. Chris made weekly stops at the store, keeping up a presence in a place he’d probably end up operating one day, a future Haley had once envisioned as hers. But Haley’s future died with Mom in that car.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Chris swept his hair from his eyes. “Not until they catch that murderer. Let me drive you.”
“Let me drive you,” Richard sang in a high-pitched voice from the car.
Haley wanted nothing to do with Chris or his strange offer. Nothing. Not her life anymore. He was just a jerk and probably wanted to make a joke out of the now powerless Tremaine family… in front of Richard, who would no doubt feel compelled to share with the whole school.
Let Chris rule the kingdom.
“Not today.”
She swallowed her pride and ran away.
Haley loved everything about Berkshires, especially this time of year. Horse-drawn carriages packed full of tourists traveled the lot in front of the sprawling store. Gigantic pumpkins arranged near bales of hay sat out front and made the perfect backdrop for family portraits.
Wearing her festive red apron, Haley hurried between shelves, where she straightened candles shoppers had picked up and breathed in, and the cash registers, where she helped Christine bag items for customers to take home.
Mom used to bring Haley here when she was little, telling stories about how every CEO should put in time with their employees. She’d watch Mom assist customers from the moment they walked through the front doors until they loaded their bags into their cars and drove off. Nothing was below Maggie Tremaine.
Nothing.
Sometimes, Haley closed her eyes and pictured Mom helping out on busy nights like this, hair pulled back in a loose bun, pen stuck behind an ear, and a constant smile on her face.
After the customers filtered out one by one, the floors were swept, registers counted and deposits to the safe were made, Haley clocked out. That was the hardest because clocking out was like saying goodbye, and saying goodbye hurt more and more every day. Mom’s favorite candle had been pumpkin spice, and that’s exactly what Haley smelled now as she stood outside the store, their store.
“Dude, I know you love this place, but can we please talk about what happened today?” Christine grabbed Haley’s hand and pulled her toward home. “First, start with Mr. Thompson.”
She shrugged. “He said I’m a disappointment, basically. That I ruined his hopes of having a decent student in his class, and that if I fall asleep again, he’ll call Dad and give me a hard assignment to bring up my homework grade.”
The skunky scent of pot—not a scent available for purchase in the candle store—drifted from Christine’s already lit joint, bringing Haley out of the clouds and back to grim reality.
“You going to take his advice?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet. With him involving Dad, it’s kind of tricky.”
Christine brought the hideous thing to her plump, pale lips, then pulled away before she could take a hit. “I almost forgot. Tell me about Chris… every detail.”
“He’s an ass, Christine. Don’t make me waste my breath on him.”
“You’re no fun, you know that?” The joint crackled and glowed bright red in the night as Christine sucked in a huge hit, a dramatic thing that warned Haley this hit was for her.
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Don’t tell me I’m a disappointment to you today, too. I don’t think I can handle being Ruiner of Lives. It’s too harsh.”
“You’re not a Ruiner of Lives. But you really should try letting your guard down a little, at least around friends.” Christine stood under the streetlamp, the road desolate, empty of cars at this late hour, yet still full of that all watching eyes feeling that made Haley peek at her house to see if anyone was actually watching.
Lights were on inside, but the windows were miraculously free of fatherly-like shadows.
“Coming over?” Christine dropped the remainder of her joint and squashed it beneath her black boots.
Rubbing her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill, Haley nodded. “Just have to be home by midnight.”
Haley waved hello to Christine’s parents as she entered the modest house decorated with fifties-style chairs and tables, thin things uncomfortable for sitting and large wooden things too large for the small space. Neither of them noticed. They were too busy staring at the TV, listening to reporters spout off the same details about the thirty-five year-old cable company employee who’d washed up on the river bank.
“That poor family attends our church,” Mrs. Michaels said, shaking her head. “I should do something. Isabel must be a wreck trying to explain this to her three children. All of them are under the age of ten too.”
Mr. Michaels grabbed his wife’s hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You should bake a casserole.”
Christine snorted. “We’ll be in my room.”
The girls beelined for the basement, a place where Christine covered termite-infested wood with posters of boys she only loved because they could sing. She’d hung strands of LED star lights at the bottom of the stairs and installed a patchwork of brightly colored rugs along the dank concrete floor. The only time anyone bothered her in this little haven is when they needed to do laundry, but usually she’d collect the bins and wash and fold everything before her parents needed to invade her privacy.
Right. She never let her guard down. The only thing she did was get high to avoid the piercing, judgmental stares of her controlling and critical parents, parents who forced their daughter to have an abortion even though she didn’t want one, parents who threatened to press charges against her eighteen-year-old boyfriend if his parents didn’t relocate him. The Michaels family cared more about what others thought of them rather than what they thought of themselves. They didn’t think about what harm their rash actions would cause Christine.
Haley fell backward on Christine’s shiny, purple comforter and stared up at the newest poster. “Are these boys even teenagers?”
“Does it matter? They have voices of gods and money to match. Just like your Chris.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. He doesn’t have the voice of a god.”
Christine nudged Haley’s ribs, earning a rare giggle. “I bet he’d be willing to serenade you.”
“Please. He just likes to give me shit.”
Christine lit up another joint, then offered it to Haley.
“You ever going to learn?”
“Are you?”
They fell silent, staring at the ceiling and occasionally frowning at nothing, both drowning in their misery. They spent so many nights like this, alone and silent yet comfortable, both carrying a weight many adults couldn’t possibly shoulder.
Christine’s house provided safety, safety that allowed Haley to let her guard down, so she closed her eyes.
“Either your phone is buzzing, or you’ve got something in your pants you haven’t told your best friend about. I know it’s been ages since you and Niles… uh—”
“Shut up.
” Shaking her head, Haley pulled the cell from her back pocket and read the message from Joce: Dad’s looking 4u. Ur late again?
“Christine! I swear your pot is going to get me killed. It’s 12:30!”
Haley made it across the street in record time, palms sweating, and found Dad waiting just inside the door, open bottle of beer in his death grip.
“Not an ounce of respect in that body of yours. Not an ounce of it.” Dad paced his favorite spot on the worn hardwood, stopping only to take a swig, sweat forming a ring around the collar of his grimy t-shirt and rolling down his temples. “How could they yell at me? My wife used to run the place, run it! And you”—Dad said, nailing Haley to the wall with his glare—“You treat me the same way.”
He pitched the bottle at Haley, but she darted to the side and it hit the front door instead, glass shattering everywhere. That wouldn’t do. Not tonight. She saw truth in the ferocious gleam in his eyes, in that all too familiar sneer curling his upper lip. Tonight, he’d hit her. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”
“I—”
Dad slapped her before she could say another word, before she could beg or plead or stand up and demand he rewind time and look again. She did not roll her eyes. He grabbed his hips, shoulders squared, then looked smugly down at her as she cowered by the door, palm cupped over her cheekbone. “Clean it up. Now.”
“Why don’t you clean it up?” Just once, maybe he could leave a bruise for Joce to see. Just once, maybe he’d mess up so that Haley didn’t have to scream it to the world, ruin her family, maybe this could be someone else’s burden.
Dad raised his hand again, ready, grinding his teeth, and Haley took a deep breath and dropped to her knees to sweep up the glass.
Jocelyn was the only reason Haley would allow Dad to do this. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do it.”
She sucked up her weakness, tossed the glass in the trash, then headed to bed, launching herself on the mattress and digging under the covers.
“I need help, Mom.”
ocelyn bounced into Haley’s bedroom, clearly forgetting the hatred she’d hurled her older sister’s way for two years, ever since the night of the accident, the night Jocelyn wanted to know what the hell happened and Haley couldn’t tell.
“Someone’s at the door.” Such a gorgeous, happy smile lit Joce’s blue eyes. She wore her hair down, little braids stretching from each temple and clipped at the back of her head. “For you. Though I can’t imagine why.”
Haley caught a glimpse in the mirror of the wild, blonde hair sitting atop her head. Not even a hint of a bruise on her cheekbone. She rolled out of bed and made her way for the door.
“Oh, no way. You can’t go out there like that.” Jocelyn shoved a cream v-neck sweater and dark blue skinny jeans into Haley’s hands. “Put these on, tame your hair, and, for the love of all things holy, please, brush your teeth. You cannot screw this up.”
Whoever waited outside the door, they had to be rich to make Joce act this way. Though she’d melded into “normal” life well, she still preferred all things Brand. She still visited her old friends, many of them now enrolled in the Academy, still splurged on expensive clothes and handbags when Dad was nice enough to dish out money, only to her.
Following her sister’s orders in a hurry, Haley straightened the sweater as she headed to the front door—only to find Chris Charming standing on the other side of the screen with a bright grin curving all the way up to his eyes. He wore a black beanie, wisps of brown hair darting out from beneath, and a gray long-sleeved Henley. The thing stretched tight over his thick, muscular arms and well-defined abs. What would running a hand over those feel like? What would his arms feel like wrapped around—
Haley turned and marched back to her room, passing a gaping Jocelyn. “Tell him to get lost.”
Five minutes later, the hinges to Haley’s door croaked out a horrid sound. Jocelyn poked her head around, hand squeezing the side, a passive-aggressive attempt to make a stand, to prevent Haley from kicking the door closed.
“May I come in?”
Haley waved from her spot on the hardwood floor where she’d pulled out her secret stash of pictures of Mom and Dad, back when life was happy, when Dad smiled and tossed a wiffle ball at his daughters waiting eagerly with tiny, pink gloves. Back when they’d spend all evening outside, chasing away the sun, chasing each other, hugging, laughing. Back before the fall, before, before, before. “You’re already here. Might as well come in the rest of the way.”
“Are those pictures of Mom?” Joce took a seat next to Haley, then yanked the plain white comforter off the bed and wrapped the downy softness around her shoulders. “And Dad. Wow. Where’d you find these?”
Joce picked one up, dragging a finger across the photograph. She and Haley wore Mom’s clothes and had their hair pulled back in a bun. Mom sat between them, wearing a gob of bright pink and blue makeup her daughters had slathered all over her face. They were all smiling and happy, best friends.
“When I was six, Dad bought me a point and shoot camera. They took me to Wal-Mart once a week to have the film developed. These were in a box underneath blankets and pillows, shoved in the back of my closet. Guess Dad forgot they existed when he trashed everything else.” Haley laughed silently. “I’d forgotten they existed until I went on a rampage and decided everything I owned needed to be thrown away. That is until I came across these.”
Joce opened her mouth to say something, snapped it closed, then muttered, “You should be nicer to guests.”
“Why?”
“Because you only have one friend, the worst kind of friend. And when I find you doing things like this, it makes me wonder if there’s more to you than you want me to know.”
Haley didn’t defend Christine. The words would be lost on deaf ears. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
Joce rolled her eyes and dropped the blanket. “Oh, and Chris offered to take you skydiving with him. If you change your mind, they’re leaving in twenty minutes. You can text him.” She passed a small white card to Haley, then made her way to the door. “I think you’re nuts if you don’t call. Return to the land of the living, Hales.”
Wow. Joce must have spent time around Amanda last night as well as Thursday. They’d known each other since second grade and probably shared everything the way Haley and Christine did. But for reasons unknown, Amanda never seemed to run out of support for Haley.
She crumpled Chris’s number and tossed it into the trashcan by her dresser. She wouldn’t return to the land of the living today. Not with him, especially not with him.
Besides, Haley had to clean the house before Dad woke up. Anything to avoid a yelling fit.
She donned yellow latex gloves that stretched up to her elbows, grabbed her chemical caddy, then got to work on the small bathroom she shared with Jocelyn: soaking the toilet with bleach, scrubbing the hard water ring, disinfecting the seat with a wipe. She stuck in ear buds and listened to music to help pass the time. Haley moved on from the bathroom, swept, mopped all the floors, and vacuumed the shag rug in the den.
Yeah. Wish Amanda could talk Jocelyn into helping out around the house. Four hours cleaning other people’s shit. Four hours coming to terms with the realization that Dad would never allow Jocelyn to help. She had soccer, student council meetings, band. And what did Haley have? Pothead friends. That’s what.
How had her father morphed into this man? This monster? She missed the man from the pictures, ached for him. But Haley knew he was dead. Just like his father was dead, a man who he’d never allow the girls to be around before his accident, a man unworthy of this family’s presence.
The floorboards quaked under the weight of Dad’s steps. He drifted down the hall, the stench of body odor and liquor greeting Haley before he did, before he brushed past her without a word to go into the kitchen and make himself breakfast.
One more mess she’d have to clean.
Yeah, that man was definitely dead.
&nbs
p; Haley returned the caddy to its place under the sink and then followed Dad’s every move, wiping the counter behind him, returning the toaster to its place in the cabinet, sticking his plate in the dishwasher. He barely glanced her way and definitely didn’t mumble a thank you, and Haley didn’t stick around and wait for one.
She hurried down the hall, grabbed some non-bleach-smelling clothes from her room, then doubled back for the bathroom to get ready for the day.
“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” Dad asked, stumbling over his words, twenty minutes later, beer in hand, two empty bottles already on the table beside him.
Showered and dressed, Haley stopped at the screen door, hand on the frame, ready to push out and escape the closed-in space of home. “For a walk.”
For a walk to the cemetery to talk to Mom.
A white cable van pulled up and parked in front of the house, brakes squeaking. Of course. There were only three things Dad would spend money on: beer, cable, and Joce.
“Do you know the rules, or should I give you another reminder?” Dad didn’t bother meeting her eyes. He held the remote in front of him and pointed it at the TV, cursing at the blank screen. “Damn cable company. Better not be late this time. I don’t care if the technician was murdered. They have to have more than one employee.”
Haley glanced outside. The man rooted around the back of the van, legs resting against the bumper, upper body hidden behind the open doors. “Looks like help has arrived.”
Dad parted the curtain and squinted into the bright light of day, his hand trembling.
“I’ll see you later, and I promise to be home before curfew.” She bailed before he could say another word, hurrying each step before he changed his mind and decided she should stay home, or before the cable tech could stop and ask her any questions. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to notice the gardening tools in her grasp.
Haley preferred spending time in the cemetery at dark, but after the physical contact from Dad last night, she needed to talk, to get the pain off her chest before she screamed at someone or did something stupid, like actually call Chris Charming and take him up on his offer. Although, she couldn’t imagine jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.
