I attempt to dry my moist face with my sweaty arm, but the tears keep rolling. My vision is getting blurry and I’m worried that I’m not going to be able to drive home. For some reason, that thought makes me bawl even harder.
“You can’t do anything right. You’re such a loser, Amy,” I growl angrily at myself.
“No, you’re not,” I hear a quiet voice call out.
Startled, I immediately turn my attention to the back seat because in movies, there’s always someone sitting in the back seat unbeknownst to the person in the front seat. In this instance, that’s not the case.
My head rotates toward the window and through my watery lens I can see my new friend River crouched down, face pressed against my window, staring at me with concern. I practically leap out of my skin.
“Jesus, River! You scared me!” I manage to yelp. The window is cracked open at the top, ever so slightly. I turn the car on so I can roll it down all the way. Embarrassed that River has been listening to my babbling, I ask, “How long were you standing there?”
He blushes at the idea of eavesdropping on me. “Oh, long enough…” he stammers. Another movie cliché. Too bad my day won’t end like a movie. There will be no romantic sunset walk with a handsome man who looks suspiciously like Jason…
Sighing, I ask, “What do you want, River?” I’m hoping the kid will take the hint that I’m not in the mood for company, and disappear.
“I just followed you because you looked upset and…” His voice trails off.
“I’m not upset,” I try to say, but the tears are leaking from my eyes. Why the heck can’t you get your crying under control? Get it together woman!
“I’m not a psych major, but it looks like you’re upset, Amy,” he says, trying to crack a smile.
“Don’t call me Amy,” I snap. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”
River snorts. “Ha! No way! My mother is an old lesbian hippie with gray hair down to her knees. You’re nothing like my mother.”
I must have been staring at him with my jaw hanging open because he continues to explain. “She would have loved to be an original flower child of Woodstock, but she was too young when it happened. So instead she became a totally ‘burn your bra’ babe of the 70’s. She marched and protested and ran away to live on a commune when she was a teenager, and when she came back, well, let’s just say, she decided that she wasn’t interested in the men in this town. Totally drove my grandmother insane.”
I cringe as River continues. “So anyway, Mom decided when she was around 39 or so that she wanted kids and headed to the local sperm bank. She picked her baby daddy from a menu and, viola!” He sweeps his arm dramatically over his body. “Yours truly is standing in front of you, the product of an absent astrophysicist father and a very quirky, but loveable nut job of a mother. I’m the whole package; smart, good looking, and just a tad bit insane. I was born a few years after River Phoenix’s death, who she worshipped for some weird reason, so that explains my name.”
He is grinning absurdly and I can’t help but smile back. He wiggles his eyebrows and I start to laugh, snorting actually. Before I know what’s happening, the two of us are howling and I am squeezing my thighs together so I don’t pee my pants.
I really ought to do more Kegals.
“Listen,” River says while we dry our tears of laugher from our eyes. “Don’t take that guy too personally. He’s a real prick. He really hates women; maybe his wife cut off his penis or something.” River grins mischievously as I cover my mouth to prevent myself from laughing again. “He really loves those textbooks. In fact, he wrote two of them, so as long as you scour every inch of them, you’ll do fine.”
I groan. “So I really have to buy thousands of dollars worth of text books?”
River looks confused. “Wait…what?”
“I just looked the books up on the college bookstore page. They were like $250 apiece.” I pointed to my phone but the page with the text books had already mysteriously disappeared, compliments of my crappy phone. “Well, they were here a second ago.”
River shakes his head. “Nobody buys from the book store anymore. Maybe that’s why they’re so expensive. You can download the books to your iPad.” He arches his eyebrow. “You do know what an iPad is, right?”
I resist the urge to hit him as I retort, “Yes! I know what an iPad is! I’m not from the dark ages, you know!”
He shrugs and remarks casually, “Oh, just saying. The elderly have trouble with technology…’cuz my mother has no idea how to use an iPad.” He grins wickedly and I narrow my eyes at him. I feel like I am being put through the ringer by my own kids.
“Here.” River pulls a marble notebook out of his back pack and scribbles on a piece of paper. He rips the page out of the notebook and pushes it through the window at me. “Try this website. You can get the books much cheaper from here.”
I raise my eyebrows as I accept the paper. “This is all legit, right?”
River rolls his black rimmed eyes at me. “I’m a criminal justice major. Do you think I would do anything illegal?”
I want to point out that I’ve met quite a few crooked cops, but instead I tuck the scrap of paper in my bag. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” River replies while standing up. Then, as if he has forgotten something, he crouches back down by my window and holds his hand out, palm facing up. “Give me your phone?”
I shrink away from the window. After all that, he’s going to mug me? Geez, Amy, you sure know how to pick them. Obviously you aren’t cut out for police work if you can’t even read someone…
“Relax. I’m going to put my number in your phone,” he explains as I practically crawl into the passenger seat. “In case you have any questions or you ever need any help.”
“Oh,” I relax my tense shoulders. “Help with what?”
River shrugs. “School work? Or questions about college. Or police work. My cousin and aunt and uncle were cops so I know a lot about police work already. You’d be amazed at the jargon you pick up just sitting around the table at Thanksgiving.” He smiles as he adds, “You’re safe with me.”
Oddly enough, I feel that I am. I return River’s smile as I hand over my phone. He quickly taps a few buttons and then hands the phone back to me.
Suddenly, I am curious. “Why are you going out of your way to help me?” I ask with a twinge of suspicion. “Are you in some sort of ‘assist the elderly’ program? Because I’m sure there’s some old lady you could be helping across the street.”
It is River’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “I was joking about you being old. I…” He frowns as if he is looking for the right words. “I just saw the way you looked today after class.”
I wrinkle my brow. “Okay…how did I look?”
“Like someone who was defeated,” River explains while twisting his eyebrow ring nervously.
It feels as if all the air has been deflated from my lungs. I am about to snap at River and argue with him. I’m not defeated! And then I remind myself, Amy…you were about to give up already, throw in the towel and call it quits. River is right.
Instead of arguing, I simply bob my head. “Thanks. I really need to go so I can get home before the kids do.”
River offers me a smile and a wave. “Oh, and my mother would never let me live it down if I didn’t help one of her kind,” he remarks with a smirk. I can hear him cackling with laughter as he walks away. I debate hitting him with the car, but instead I find myself laughing along with him. He’s not that bad of a kid after all.
~*~
Later that night, after I have tucked in all of my children (except for Allie who now only lets me in her room on alternate Saturdays and sometimes when the moon is full), I am crouched over the iPad as I sit in bed. I have managed, with the reluctant help of my teen, to download all of the books that are required for Professor Jerk Off, um I mean Cummings’ class.
I have also downloaded his lengthy syllabus and am now ex
amining it. From what I can tell, the man is a sadist. Every class there is a quiz on the reading. Ok, I get that. In addition, he has mandatory study guide questions that need to be submitted before each class. Ironically, class attendance isn’t mandatory. I’m not sure how that works.
But the thing that really gets me is the project. Scratch that, not just a project, a group project. I’m going to be expected to huddle with these…teenagers at the student center, or worse, in their dorm rooms, and work with them. When the hell am I going to have time for that? I’m barely going to be able to make it to class and have time to read. As it is, my head is throbbing and my eyes are burning because it is dangerously close to midnight.
Despite River’s pep talk, I’m doubting that I can handle this whole school thing. The rest of the afternoon was a blur after I go home. Of course, we ended up ordering take-out; nobody could agree on what to eat so in the end, everyone complained except for Evan who will eat just about anything.
After dinner, nobody wanted to do their homework; Lexie actually spent the better part of an hour whining about how unfair fractions were and how they were ruining her life. Yes, she said ruining her life.
Colt literally had six sentences to write and it took him two hours and forty two minutes because he left the table after each word that he reluctantly imprinted on the page. I have no idea what Allie did as far as homework was concerned because she shut herself up in her bedroom and blasted her music. But I had to assume she had been doing school work because after our ordeal last year, Allie had started to perform surprisingly well in school for the remainder of the year. By June, Roger and I were actually beaming with pride at her report card. We chalked it up to the whole seeing your life flash before your eyes and it ain’t that great situation she had found herself in.
Roger wasn’t any help with wrangling the kids to do their homework as he grumbled that he had his own homework. I found him asleep in his chair, TV blasting, shortly after that.
He’s now reclining in our bed on his back, gently snoring and making it extremely difficult for me to concentrate on reading. As if the reading material weren’t dull enough, I find my mind wandering to my mental to do list for the morning.
Roger groans, snorts, and flops over on his side, smacking my iPad out of my hand. I glower at him, resisting the urge to cover his face with my pillow. Sighing, I take that as a cue to give up for the night. I place the iPad on the bedside table and click off the light, wondering what the heck I’ve gotten myself into.
~Four~
“Hello, Amy.”
My breath hitches as I hear his voice on the other end of the phone. My pulse quickens and my palms are starting to sweat.
I lick my dry and cracked lips before I answer in the sultriest voice that I can muster. “Hello, Jason.” Part of me is praying he cannot hear the desire in my voice, while the other half of me is wishing he would leap through the receiver and scoop me up in his arms.
“I heard that you were taking college classes and that you are going for a criminal justice degree?”
Crap. Where did he hear that? Who told him? Then, I realize that he is an agent and he has other secret agent friends everywhere. My heart skips a beat at the notion that he may be spying on me or having one of his friends spy on me.
“That is correct,” I reply, attempting to sound matter of fact and not the least bit affected by his sexy voice.
“Why are you even bothering?” he asks abruptly.
“Excuse me?” My defensive feathers are ruffled. Is he insinuating that I have no business in law enforcement? That I would not cut it? Oh, the nerve of him! After he had told me I would be a good agent! Why I ought to-
“Why are you wasting time with those paper pushers? They’re only book smart. They don’t have what it takes to be a real cop or agent. You know that old saying, ‘those who can’t…teach’?”
I did in fact know that saying. I often applied it to some of my children’s teachers who had rubbed me the wrong way with their superior attitude and know it all condescension. Just because I got Cs in high school and only made it through one semester of college didn’t make them any better than me.
“I think the best way for you to learn would be more of a hands on approach,” Jason is saying.
I am brought back to reality by his sensual voice. “What do you mean?” I ask, clearly confused.
“You learn by experiencing, by doing,” Jason explains, managing to make the word doing sound incredibly erogenous.
“Oh, I understand,” I reply, blushing from his tone.
Jason lowers his voice and my skin prickles with anticipation. “And who better to give you hands on experience than me?”
“Oh, Jason, that’s quite kind of you,” I hear myself purring. “But seriously, you don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I insist-”
My fantasy is interrupted by the shrill ringing of my car phone. I whimper reading the name on the screen. I don’t have the stamina for this today. I have spent the entire day rushing from class to class, each one more exhausting than the first. But none of them nearly as bad as Professor Cummings’ class. Thank goodness I only have to deal with that once a week. A few weeks into this semester and I am already wishing it were December. Reluctantly, I press the button to accept the call.
“Hello!” Beth’s chirpy voice fills the car as I pull away from Evan’s school.
Resisting the urge to groan out loud, I attempt to sound cheerful. “Hello, Beth. What’s up?”
“Oh nothing,” Beth remarks in that casually breezy tone that she reserves for when something definitely is up and she is looking for the proper segue into that conversation. “How are classes going? You teach those young kids a thing or two yet?”
I recognize this tactic. Beth is buttering me up for a favor of some sort. Probably wants to stick her nose in about Thanksgiving. I do Thanksgiving every other year, and on those years Beth calls me up half a dozen times a day to tell me about a gorgeous centerpiece she saw that I should make (I don’t waste time on centerpieces…hell, my dishes don’t even match) or a recipe she stumbled upon that she must send me. However, it’s about two weeks too early for her Thanksgiving calls. She usually lets my Halloween candy digest before she starts tormenting me. There must be some other agenda today, one I am highly suspicious of.
“Wonderful. I’m at the head of my class,” I lie, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What did you need, Beth?”
“What? I can’t just ring up my little sister and see how she’s doing? What makes you think I need something?” My sister’s voice definitely rises an octave, belying her intentions. Now I am really suspicious. She sounds unnaturally nervous and sneaky, which is causing me to get my back up. This has got to be one doozy of a favor.
“Ok, well then, I’ve got to go. I only have four more minutes on my Onstar phone account…” I threaten, forcing my sister’s hand.
“Ok, ok, I was just wondering if you could do me a teensy weensy favor…” Beth remarks in her annoying sing song-y voice.
I sigh audibly, not bothering to hide it from Beth. Here we go. I am now eternally sucked into indentured servitude to my sister because she’s watching my kid for nine hours a week. A week, not a day. She’s going to call me up with these teensy weensie favors that include taking my mother to get her corns scraped and my dad to get his pupils dilated at the eye doctor.
Now, I’m not saying that having two kids is easier than four but…oh, who am I kidding. It is easier and it is definitely easier when you also have a full time housekeeper, gardener, and chef at your disposal. Oh yeah, Beth has a professional chef on speed dial that she uses at least three times a week to whip up a meal when she’s wiped out from playing tennis or having a massage. She claims it’s a “friend”, but I don’t know any friends like that. My friends don’t even pick up McDonald’s for me.
So needless to say, I tend to not feel too badly that the care of our aging parents often falls on her. She has much more free t
ime on her hands than I do. But when I owe her a favor, they’re the first thing she dumps on me. Once, I had to take my dad for his prostate exam. It was the most humiliating experience of my life (outside of the time when I was sixteen and I needed him to buy tampons for me when my mother was on a girls’ weekend away with her friends).
“Go ahead,” I mutter. “Where do you need me to take them?”
But this time, Beth really surprises me.
“Oh, it’s actually Jillian. On November 4th, she has a playdate at her little friend Ellie’s house. I am supposed to retrieve her at 4:30 pm because Ellie needs to get to her Equestrian lessons, but I just got a phone call from Ana at my spa. She needs to reschedule my massage appointment. I simply cannot miss it, but I don’t want Jillian to miss her playdate.”
What? What is she getting at here? When does she throw the old folks in the mix?
“So anyway, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to pick her up at the girl’s house. I’ll give you the address the next time you drop Evan off.” Ooo, and there it is. The reminder that I owe her.
“Beth, November 4th is almost a month away. You have a playdate scheduled for a month from now?” And a massage appointment?
Beth titters nervously. “Oh, Amy! Don’t be silly! Of course you must know that these things have to be scheduled far in advance! Jillian’s social calendar is very busy, as is mine. And all of our friends, too.”
Oh, of course. How silly of me. When I want to arrange a playdate for my kids I just shove them out the door and tell them to find someone in the neighborhood to play with and stay out of the street. But then again, I’m the Bad Mom and Beth is Mother Teresa.
“Sure, sure,” I tell her, just to get her off the phone. Beth seems a little nervous for this simple task and I am starting to think she may have an even bigger favor up her sleeve.
“Thanks a-”
I push the off button before Beth can finish her sentence and hit me up for something else. If all she wants is for me to pick up my niece from a friend’s house as a payback for watching Evan, I’ll take it. I was envisioning months of counting out my mother’s water pill or clipping my dad’s toenails. She was acting super weird, even for Beth.
Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) Page 5
