by Allie Gail
“You’re the Snow Queen - didn’t you order this?” Snatching me up by my waist, Rob whirled me around and around until I squealed for him to stop. He complied by dropping me back on my feet, then proceeded to silence my giggles with a steamy, intoxicating kiss. The snowflakes weren’t the only things melting. If he’d decided to throw me over the hood of the Tahoe and have his way with me right there, I probably wouldn’t have put up much of a protest. My hormones were at his mercy.
“You’re lucky I have to get back to work,” he informed me, opening the car door and giving my backside a gentle push.
“I wouldn’t call it lucky.” Pouting playfully, I got in and buckled up. Home was fairly close to Allegany College, so in spite of the snow we made it there in less than ten minutes. Sweet - I’d be able to run inside and change first. Maybe I’d even have time to grab a bite to eat.
“Drop you off here or next door?”
“Here. I want to run inside and change real quick.” I reached for the door handle.
“Saralou…” I felt his hand on my arm, restraining me. “I’m assuming nobody showed up to bother you today?”
“Only you.” Sucking in my cheeks, I looked at him cross-eyed.
“Oh, that’s very attractive. All right…I was just making sure. Have fun with the wild child.”
“Have fun with your trees.” I couldn’t resist leaning over for one more kiss before hopping out. “Later, gator.”
I knew since my dad’s car was in the driveway the security system wouldn’t be armed, and when I burst in through the unlocked door I practically collided with him. He was still in his uniform, cell phone in hand.
“Well, hello ladybug!” He threw an arm around me and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “I was just about to call and see if you wanted me to come pick you up.”
“Are you just now getting home?”
“Yeah…we had some delays in DC. Snow’s coming down like crazy there. The plane had to be deiced several times. I sure hope this mess lets up before Monday.”
“Aw…you must be worn out.”
“Actually, not too bad - I think my second wind’s starting to kick in. Anything interesting happen since I talked to you last night?”
“No, but I gotta hurry up and change. I’m running late,” I told him over my shoulder as I scurried off to my room. After swapping out the tights and leotard for jeans and a fleece hoodie, I returned to perch on the edge of the couch so I could pull on my socks and Timberlands.
“Where are you headed?” Dad wanted to know.
“Sitting for Peyton, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. What about dinner? You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“I’ll get something over there.” It was 6:25 so I needed to get a move on. Stooping to rummage beneath the Christmas tree, I located Peyton’s present. Might as well go ahead and take it over now. It would help to keep her entertained. “I’ll see you after a while.”
“All right, sweetie. Have fun.”
Heading back out into the darkness, I jogged next door. I could see multicolored Christmas tree lights twinkling through the frosty front window. There was a huge pine wreath on the front door, but no other decorations visible from outside. Garish displays have never been Mrs. Weston’s taste. She’s always preferred things simple and elegant. Translation: dull as dirt. I wondered what she thought of our exterior lights. She probably considered them tacky. I didn’t care, I thought they were beautiful.
I knocked on the door and Peyton opened it almost immediately, grinning up at me in that impish way of hers. She must have just had her bath. The blonde ringlets were still damp and she was dressed in her Little Mermaid nightgown and slippers. “It’s snowing,” she announced, like I didn’t already know.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, shivering. “Mm-mm! It is cold out there!”
“And it’s snowing,” she repeated, bouncing up and down excitedly.
Mr. Weston came walking in, still buttoning the cuffs on his shirt. “Oh, Sara…I didn’t know you were here already. Peyton, what have I told you about opening the door? Aren’t you supposed to come get Daddy first?”
He might as well have been talking to his shoes for all the attention she paid him. “Who’s that for?” she inquired, suddenly noticing the present in my hands. The way she was trying not to smile, it was obvious she knew it was for her. Who else would get something wrapped in Dora the Explorer paper?
“What, this? Oh, I brought this for Bob.” That was her goldfish. Yeah, I know - Bob the fish. Don’t even ask me how she came up with that name.
“Nuh-uh! That’s not for Bob!” She started bouncing up and down again.
“Tell you what. I might let you open it in a little while if you’re really, really good.”
“You hear that, prisspot? You have to behave.” Mr. Weston grabbed his leather jacket off the arm of the sofa and slipped his arms into it. To me, he said, “Deanna’s gone to Pittsburgh to spend the weekend with her sister. I have a city council meeting at seven, then a few of us will probably go out to the country club for a while. I should be back by eleven or so - is that okay?”
“Sure, that’s fine. Take your time.” The longer he stayed out, the better, considering I got paid by the hour.
“She’s already had dinner…oh, there’s pizza on the counter if you want any. Make yourself at home - well, you know the drill. My cell phone number and the number at the club are on the message board on the fridge. Call me if you have any problems.” He gave me a smile before instructing Peyton, “Don’t let me find out that you gave Sara any trouble. I want you in bed no later than nine, no arguments.”
She wrapped her arms around my leg and gave him a who-me? look. The second the front door closed behind him I heard, “Am I being good yet?”
Now come on - who could resist that? Of course I caved. “Yes, you are. As a matter of fact, you’re being so good you don’t even have to wait.”
When Rob called around 8:30 we were still on the floor playing with her collection of dolls. By this time Ballerina Barbie had already put on three dance recitals, won a beauty pageant, opened her own Easy Bake Oven cupcake shop and bitch-slapped Princess Sparkle. That Barbie is one ambitious chick.
“Are we having fun yet?” Rob asked blithely.
“Oh, loads. You off already?”
“Yeah. We closed a little early because of the weather. Doug’s here - he’s gonna hang out for a while. I told him I’d reformat his computer for him. He’s got it loaded down with viruses.”
“Nice going. Tell him to stop clicking on por-umm…p-o-r-n sites.” I could see having to explain to Mr. Weston where his five-year-old picked up that word. Hopefully she wouldn’t sound out what I’d just spelled.
Muffled laughter came from the other end as he repeated my comment to Doug. “He said it was worth every virus.”
“Sicko. When he gets carpal tunnel we’ll all know why.”
“I’d rather not visualize that, if you don’t mind.”
“You know you love it,” I giggled.
“I think you’re the sicko!”
“Oh, whatever. I should be home by eleven. Miss me ’til then.”
“Always.”
After a snack of animal crackers, three bedtime stories and the obligatory last-minute glass of water, I finally had the little livewire asleep in her bed upstairs. Once she settles down, it usually doesn’t take her long to conk out. As long as she has her stuffed koala bear and rainbow nightlight, she’s good.
I was curled up on the sofa with the TV on low, flipping through the few unblocked channels when I felt my phone vibrate in the front pocket of my hoodie. Slipping it out, I saw that the caller was someone named Travis Hargrave.
“Sorry, Travis Hargrave, never heard of you.” I dropped the phone on the end table beside me and went back to surfing. There wasn’t much on. I should have asked Mr. Weston for the parental control password. Sitcom reruns were about the most tolerable choice, but ton
ight I wasn’t interested in rehashed jokes and canned laughter.
Turning off the TV, I resorted to playing a game on my iPhone but grew bored with that after about two minutes. I couldn’t shake this strangely restless feeling, like there was something important I should be doing. Even watching the light snowfall through the front window wasn’t enough to take the edge off my fidgety mood.
It almost felt as if there was something menacing out there, hiding in the frigid darkness. Watching me. Waiting.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when that damned phone buzzed right between my fingers. It didn’t ease my irritation any to see that it was the same caller from before. Whoever Travis Hargrave was, he needed to learn how to dial the right friggin’ number.
“Yes?” I snapped impatiently.
There was only silence from the other end.
“Hel-lo?” Was he going to say something or just sit there and listen to me breathe all night?
I finally heard a lethargic chuckle before the unfamiliar voice drawled, “Damn, girl. What’s with the negative ’tude?”
“You have the wrong number.” I was tempted to add, pothead.
The stranger drew in a slow, deep breath before speaking again. “Ah…now hold on a minute, angel. What makes you think I have the wrong number?” The drawn-out way he slurred his words led me to believe my first instinct was dead on. Sir Hargrave was either stoned or juiced. Or both.
“Probably because my name isn’t Angel.”
“Yeah? Let’s see if I can guess what it is. Is it…umm…Felicia?”
“Wrong again. Better luck next time, ’kay?” I was just about to disconnect when the soft crooning of my own name stopped me.
“Saaaa-raaaaa…” This was followed by another torpid laugh.
It didn’t sound like anyone I knew, unless he was disguising his voice really well. I was starting to get creeped out. Weird phone calls while babysitting - how very cliché. What would this movie be titled? When a Stoner Calls? “Who the fuck is this?”
“Who would you like me to be?”
“I’d like you to be someone with half a brain cell left, but I’m guessing you’re not.”
“Ooh…harsh, baby. Hey, got someone here wantsa talk to yooou…” His snickering faded as someone else took the phone from him.
“Sara?”
Shit. It was Riley.
“Sorry about Travis. He’s been tokin’ all day and thinks everything he says is funny.”
“Oh, that’s great. Prank phone calls? Really?” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or even more concerned than before.
“No, it’s not like that. I just figured you wouldn’t answer if you knew it was me.”
“Well, you got me to answer. Congratu-fucking-lations.” Without waiting for a reply, I hit end call with my thumb. Audacious bastard - he really knew how to wear out a welcome, didn’t he? A welcome he was never issued, at that. I checked the time. It was only 9:50. Maybe I should call Rob and let him know about this.
I was just about to do that when a loud whump at the front door gave me my second near-heart attack of the evening. Rooted to the spot, I could only stand there and stare like a rabbit frozen in fear. I recoiled in alarm when whoever-it-was kicked the door again, twice this time.
From the other side, I heard a muffled but familiar voice. “Sara? Could you get the door for me, please?”
Every muscle in my body went limp from relief, and I hurried over to unbolt and open the door. Mr. Weston stood on the other side, arms laden with grocery bags. He smiled brightly at me. “Sorry, I couldn’t get to my key.”
“No problem.” I didn’t tell him he scared the holy hell out of me. That’s what I got for letting my imagination run wild. “Here, let me help you with those.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.” He let me unload some of the plastic bags from his hands and I followed him into the kitchen. “Just drop them anywhere.”
I placed the bags on the counter next to the fridge, commenting, “You’re back earlier than I expected.” I was kind of glad, but in a way it was a little disappointing since I’d be getting an hour’s less pay.
“Everyone left the club early…I assume because of the weather. Like we don’t see snow every blessed winter. How was Peyton?”
“She was good, as always. We played Barbies basically the whole time.”
“She’s always trying to get me to do that. Now tell me, can you visualize me sitting on the floor playing with a bunch of dolls?”
“Not really, no,” I admitted with a laugh.
“I thought since I had the spare time I’d stop off at the store and pick up a few items. Seems like we’re always out of one necessity or another.” Pulling a bottle of wine out of one of the bags, he reached into a cabinet above his head for some long-stemmed glasses. “I bought this based on a friend’s recommendation - I’ve been looking forward to sampling it. It’s supposed to be a very nice vintage port. Would you care for a little taste?”
It was all I could do to keep a straight face. A wine tasting event hosted by my straightlaced calculus teacher - now this was definitely a walk on the weird side. “No, that’s okay. Never been a big fan of wine. It tastes too…I don’t know, acidic or something.”
“I suppose it is an acquired taste. But let me tell you, wine and music - there is nothing in this world more relaxing than a combination of the two.” He winked at me while pouring himself a glass. “Just between us, this is how I like to wind down after a day of trying to impart knowledge into the minds of you wild hellions. A glass of wine and a little Grace Bumbry. Does the trick every time.”
Grace who? “Oh, come on…we’re not really that bad, are we?” I mirrored his grin, minus the dimples.
“Some are worse than others. You, my dear, have proven yourself to be the ideal student so far, but that’s nothing less than I expected. You’ve always behaved in a mature and responsible manner where Peyton is concerned. I just hope you won’t permit this infatuation with that young man to affect your future aspirations.” Over the edge of the wine glass, his twilight blue eyes observed me intently. “I must say, I’m a little surprised at your father. Allowing that boy to move in with the two of you the way he did. And with him being away so much.”
My smile faded. “Rob’s father was a close friend of my dad’s.” That was all the explanation I was willing to supply. Frankly, it was none of his business. I personally found my dad’s actions regarding Rob to be very generous and admirable. What gave anyone else the license to judge him for doing what he thought was right?
“I meant no disrespect. I would just hate to see a bright young girl such as yourself wasting her unlimited potential.” He tapped his wedding ring against the thin glass. Ting, ting, ting. “I see it happen with these adolescents all the time. Throwing it all away for lack of a little common sense. Babies having babies. It almost never ends well.”
Why was I even having this conversation with him? It wasn’t as if he was my guidance counselor. He taught advanced mathematics, for heaven’s sake. “I can guarantee you that maternity is not a short-range goal of mine.”
“Glad to hear it. See, I knew you were a conscientious young lady.” The charming smile returned. “Now let’s see - how much do I owe you for this evening? You were here for…”
“Three and a half hours.” The phone vibrated in my pocket again. I cringed when I saw the name on the screen. Guess who? At least the moron called from his own phone this time. “Shit,” I muttered.
“Problem?” Mr. Weston seemed amused by my inelegant choice of words.
“Not really - just this idiot that keeps bothering me. Would you excuse me for one second?”
“Certainly.”
He wandered off down the hallway while I headed back into the living room to find out what Riley wanted this time. I’m not sure why I didn’t just ignore it. I guess I’ll always wonder what made me take that call.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed into the phone,
hoping I couldn’t be overheard. “Can’t you take a freaking hint?”
“Damn, Sara…why’d you hang up on me? All I wanted to do was apologize. What are you getting so pissy about?” There was a childish whine to his tone that grated on my nerves like fingernails down a chalkboard.
“Oh, for the love of…okay, fine. You apologized. I accept.” Sighing, I rubbed my forehead. Rob wasn’t exactly going to be thrilled when I told him about these calls. “Are we done here?” Hearing music drifting in from another room, I covered my free ear so I could hear better. Wine and music…nothing more relaxing, right?
“I know I acted like a dick the other day,” he continued, ignoring my question. “I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said. It just really bothered me to think that you’d go to the police accusing me of-”
“Wait a minute - I never accused you of anything!” I objected, though I had a feeling I was merely arguing semantics. Accusations, insinuations…is there even a difference? Is doubting someone’s integrity the same thing as alleging that they have none?
“Then why do you act like you’re afraid of me? I never woulda hurt Jordan. I love…I loved her.” His voice cracked unexpectedly before he cleared his throat, stalling while he regained his composure. “I would never hurt you either. It just bugs the everloving shit out of me that you think of me like that. I’m not this monster everyone’s trying to make me out to be. I know I’m not perfect, but I sure as hell am not heartless enough to kill a girl, a fucking pregnant girl, and set fire to her. I just…I wish I knew you believed that. I really need to know that someone believes that.”
There was no denying the sincerity of his words. Whether they were truthful or not, the emotion behind them seemed genuine enough. I gazed out the window at the falling snow, attempting to process what he’d just said but the high-pitched mezzo-soprano Mr. Weston was listening to was gouging into my brain like an icepick. He had some godawful taste in music. Opera - are you kidding me? Who the hell listens to…
Habanera.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
It. Was. Fucking. Habanera.
I sucked in a sharp breath. After that I think I stopped breathing altogether.
