After that, Dad sealed the window. I tested it when I first walked through the house to make sure the closure still held tight. It shouldn’t have opened.
“It banged into the table and knocked some of this stuff on the floor,” Tristan said, crouching and poking at the pile of broken ceramic with the tip of his gun. Great, I hoped that wasn’t one of my big-ticket items for the auction. I made out a shattered plate with a pointed black ear painted on it.
He shut the window and pushed the chest of drawers in front of it, then pulled me away from the broken dishes and toward the bedroom. I wanted to push him away, tell him to go home. But, I couldn’t be alone after seeing the old woman, decrepit and reaching for me in the darkness. Even if she was only in my head.
As long as he didn’t talk, his hands were everything I needed. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as we fell back into bed. Tristan worked hard to help me forget my dreams, my nightmares, and the realities that lay in the darkness.
No matter how hard he worked though, he couldn’t take away the fact that I had never brought that damned peg-legged mole into the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Meg,” Tristan said, shaking my shoulder.
I didn’t want to get out of the bed. I jerked the blanket up over my face to block the sunlight. “Mmmm?”
“Wake up.”
“Why? If the sun is still on this side of the house, it’s too early,” I said, not caring about the whine in my voice. He yanked the blanket down from my eyes.
“I have to go to work.” He gave me an empty smile. “Come on. Get up.”
“If you’re expecting me to get up and make you breakfast, you’re barking Betty Crocker at the wrong one-night stand.” I pulled the blanket back up over my head.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. I peeked out of the blanket with one eye and watched him walk to my door, and pause. “You gotta come outside and see something. You’re not going to like it.”
A couple minutes later I stood in the driveway, the air still damp from the overnight storm. My toes froze in my flip-flops and the hair on my bare legs raised.
I rubbed my eyes. “They came here?”
“I didn’t wake up. I should’ve heard them.”
Whatever, I didn’t hear them either. I shrugged.
“It rained all night. How did they get the paint to dry?” I asked. The word ‘slut’ screamed at me in yellow down the driver’s side of the car at least ten times. I blinked and ran the back of my hand over my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why they think it matters. I’ll be out of here in a few days.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Looked like I was back to a bus ride. Couldn’t drive a car singing the word slut as I blew out of town.
“Where’re you going?” Tristan’s keys jingled in his hand.
I let out a garbled scream. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“I dunno, I thought...Well, last night?”
“Last night what?” Had I said something that made him think I planned to live here permanently?
“Us. I thought you liked me.”
I gawked at him. He couldn’t be serious. I went home with the only guy who thought sleeping together meant something. “What?”
“Cecelia said you’re interested in putting down roots.”
“What is wrong with that girl?” Just because we had a handful of relatives in common, didn’t mean we knew each other. Did she think some insider had given her secret knowledge to my inner workings? No matter what Dad or Jordan told her about me, neither one of them had the present knowledge.
Tristan rubbed his sleeve at a spot of spray paint. “It’s dry.”
I resisted the urge to scream duh.
He gave the car a long look, as thoughtful as I’d seen him yet. Did he have gears in that pretty little head of his? “The paint job didn’t seem too good to start with.” Understatement. It was mostly rusted these days. “Do you have any paint?”
I picked up a rock from the driveway and used the jagged edge to scrap at an S on the hood.
Tristan spoke again. “Doesn’t have to be auto paint. House paint works in a pinch. Doesn’t run off if it rains.”
Other than the couple of cans of wood stain, I had no idea if there was paint in the garage, but if I had to guess I’d say no. Or, at least, I wasn’t going in there to check. “I could buy some, but it won’t match. It’ll look stupid.”
He shrugged. “I guess it’s two colors of paint, or slut.”
I dropped the rock and crossed my arms, knowing I had to go into town either way. My last pack of cigarettes had been used up the night before. Annoyed with the words painted down the side of the car, and frustrated with the day, my blood called for nicotine. “Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”
Tristan stood, awkward for a moment, as though he didn’t know how he should say goodbye. I made it easy for him, and turned around, headed into the house and back to sleep without another word.
Sleep was unsatisfying, and I woke up short-tempered and tired. I stood at the garage door for almost three minutes, willing myself to go check. I didn’t make it. Instead, I drove down to Dieter and Son, knowing they’d have something.
Nathan met me at the open bay door. He looked at the car, cleaning his hands on a greasy rag. “I’ve got black exterior paint.”
“Anything.”
He disappeared into a room in back of the garage for a moment, and I looked over the large garage, as poorly lit as ever. I had been there a few times as a kid. The air was thick and damp, the walls partly unfinished. Parts and tools lined the shelving on the walls, and two old cars in various stages of being rebuilt sat in the back of the room, forgotten, judging from the state of the drop clothes and random metal bits piled onto their roofs.
Nathan appeared, with an unreadable expression on his face, eyes dark and closed off. He handed me a wide sponge brush and an open paint can, then went back to work on a mangled engine part.
His eyes were quiet to me that morning after being so free with energy and emotion the night before. A sober morning after dealing with drama between your brother, his boyfriend, your brother’s ex-best friend and her ex-boyfriend. It was daytime television worthy. I wanted to make a joke about it. The emotionless stare in his eyes told me to leave it be.
I used to think his dark eyes were angry puppy dog eyes. I remembered how excited I would get when they would turn demonic during an argument with their dad, or angry at some situation following Jordan around at school. Those times were never good, but his angry eyes convinced me that he could save us from whatever outside forces would attack. They were like a wall, protecting everyone who stood behind him. And as his kid brother’s best friend, I always stood behind him.
A loud motorcycle drove by, and he looked up to catch me staring at him. Little wrinkles showed up around his eyes as he smiled. I imagined him walking over to me. Kissing me, pressing me against my car. His lips aggressive and needy. I’d run my hands through his hair, getting black paint on his forehead. He would tear at my clothes and —
A horn blared behind us and we both jumped. The vision popped, and Nathan was fifteen feet from me again, looking unsettled with mussed hair. Jordan leaned out the driver’s side of his truck as he pulled into the parking lot, grinning and flipping us off.
When he stepped out of his truck he said, “Where’s the kiddo?”
“Left for a birthday party,” Nathan answered.
“Who?” I asked, confused.
“My daughter,” Nathan said.
Before I had time to process that new piece of information, Jordan said, “So I hear you’re sticking around.”
“What?” My lips felt swollen, like they’d been bruised. I placed a hand on them.
“You and Tristan. Love at first sight,” he said, opening a box of chocolate iced donuts and offering me one. I shook my head.
“Who said?” I asked, my face going hot. I stared at a donut that leaked
thick red filling.
“Hey, Tristan would be a good fit for you. Big enough to take care of all your needs, dumb enough to take your shit.” He laughed.
A joke, but something in the words stung. And I wanted him to shut up in front of Nathan. “I’m not staying.”
“Sure. What’s with the brush?” Jordan asked, pointed at my hand.
“Someone decorated her car last night,” Nathan said.
“Who?” Jordan snorted. “Bobby?”
“Dunno who else it woulda been,” I said, shrugging.
Nathan ran his fingers through his hair, placing it back in order. “Guess he wasn’t hurt too bad.”
“They got the back of the garage again too,” Jordan said.
My stomach sunk, and Nathan opened his mouth to say something, but two white sedans pulled into the parking lot. An older woman with frizzy gray hair to her waist got out of the first car and waved timidly at the guys. The door to the second vehicle opened, and a man her age climbed out. Nathan walked over to greet her, then escorted them into the office.
“What did they do to the building?” I asked. Jordan ignored the question.
“What are you doing?” Jordan offered me the donuts again.
I shook my head. “We just told you. Covering the word slut up on my car.”
“Are you going to stay? You’ve got family here. A shiny new relationship with Tristan?”
“Gah, when did sex turn into a relationship for everyone?” I shook my head again. No to both. Cecelia was technically family, but it didn’t feel that way. The Tristan thing? That was a onetime deal. Okay, two-time deal. But one night. “Cecelia is not my family. I just met her.”
“Right, but you got other family here.”
“What? Third and fourth cousins I’ve met once or twice twenty years ago?” I dipped the brush into the can again and slapped it onto my car.
“Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not. I’m not staying for people I don’t know.”
“Not those idiots. You have other family here. People that care about you. Okay, well, not people. Person.” He smirked. “I never stopped being your friend, even when I hated you.”
“Fuck off,” I said, but it was obvious my heart wasn’t in it. “Family, huh? You and me?”
“Blood brothers.” He patted his elbow, and I squinted, looking for a scar. “Do you remember?”
“You falling off your bike and crying ‘til Aunt Dee picked you up and rocked you?”
He looked skyward and sighed, and in that you’re so obnoxious kind of way. But I remembered the silly summertime ritual. Blood brothers for life. His elbow, my knee.
“Hear me out.” Jordan took a deep breath. “What do you have to go back to? What’s waiting for you out there that’s better than Cedar Valley? What have you been doing with your life in California? I talked to Cecelia, and she said—”
“Cecelia? She doesn’t know me. She knows some whacked out version of me my dad told her.” I wrung my fingers. “You’re supposed to know me. Not Cecelia.” I shoved him, and he set the donuts down on top of my car. “This wasn’t the way life was supposed to be at all.”
Jordan and I stopped talking as the older couple walked out of the office. I went back to silently painting the car, until the couple’s car pulled out of the parking lot.
“The choices are all in your hands,” Jordan said. “If you stay here, you’ve got a chance. If you leave, you’re going to keep wasting it, like you’ve done since you left.”
“Don’t question me about how I’ve lived my life. My life is fine.” As soon as I figured out what my life was supposed to be made out of. “You don’t think I worry, and beat myself up about how I’m no one and nothing?”
“You aren’t nothing. Everyone stresses. Everyone wastes opportunities here and there. You can still stress out about it, while you’re making it better.” Like I needed his permission to stress. “I worry still sometimes, for me or Nathan. About turning into our dad. He worries more, since he’s got a daughter. I see it on Nathan’s face sometimes. The darkness. My dad wasn’t always bad, but when Mom died, it was like a switch. I wonder, if I have that switch inside of me.”
“You worry about what flips it?” I asked, dropping the brush on the ground. I knew the feeling all too well. The worry about getting married, having children, falling into that dark depression and hatred for the people you swore to love more than anyone else in the world. “I don’t plan on finding my switch.”
“And you think if you stay on your own, you won’t find it?”
“I wasn’t on my own in California.” I thought of my friends there. Drinking. Partying. A million laughs. Was any of it real? Tracy and her bill for two thousand dollars. Friendship with a price tag.
Cecelia said the first time we’d met, I was probably too proud for charity — like my dad. She was right. Dad and I were alike, but not the way she said. Neither one of us would turn away a handout. We weren’t ashamed to accept anything the world wanted to hand us to apologize for those shitty lives. My switch was closer than I wanted to admit.
“Hey.” Jordan snapped his fingers near my face. “Where’d you go just now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, let’s try this. Where are you going to go? When you’re done with the house?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“I do. The auctioneers come on Thursday, I’ll have to clean once all the furniture is out, and then I’m gone. I’ll drive until I stop.” Not knowing my destination terrified me.
Jordan picked up the oozing donut. “That’s not what adults do. Drive until their car breaks down and start a new life wherever they’re standing.”
Red dripped from the donut and plopped onto the asphalt. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t an adult. Not really. I was still waiting for the grownups to come fix me.
“What’s on the back of the building?” Nathan asked, walking up to us. I’d forgotten Jordan had mentioned that their garage had something written on the back. I could only imagine what Bobby had written.
“More of what they wrote at the house,” Jordan answered.
“I’m calling the police. They can’t keep doing this. They can’t do it to Meg, and they sure as hell can’t do it to our business. It’s harassment.” Nathan had the phone at his ear already, turning his back on us and walking to the rear of the building. “Ken can’t keep ignoring this, just because he doesn’t want to start a storm at work.”
“Calling the cops’ll only make it worse,” I said. Why was I offering opinions? I hadn’t earned them. I had caused this. “We need to find a way to tell them they can’t do this.”
Jordan’s back was already to me as he followed Nathan around the garage. “Go back out to the woods and do whatever you came here to do. Don’t pretend like you care if you’re out of here in a few days.”
As soon as I left, he’d forget I’d ever even been back to town. He’d forget he’d ever wanted me to stay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
No one came out to my house over the next two days. I had gotten used to seeing Cecelia appear every other day with food. Without her bringing food, I had to force myself to shower, dress and head into town for groceries. Instead of heading to a market, I stopped by the gas station, and piled up the snacks.
Better than not seeing any of my so-called family, was the fact that I didn’t see anything in the house that shouldn’t have been there. I had the brilliant idea of drinking each night, topping it off with a sloppy pour of nighttime cold medicine. A train could have blasted through the living room walls and I wouldn’t have woken. I might not have my liver when I left Cedar Valley, but no bumps in the night meant I held on to my sanity.
Not taking any chances with the animals, I went through the house with a large black trash bag, collecting each one I found and tossing the full bag into the garage. I even made it into the boy’s room and found a hole in the boards covering the broken
attic window. I decided that was how the mole had snuck into the house the other night.
The only exception to removal day, was Wolfy.
On Wednesday afternoon, I awoke with anticipation. One day until the auctioneers came to empty the house of everything they could sell. Anything they didn’t take was going to the dump. I had no connection with anything in the house, except for the dark memories, and I wanted it all gone. I looked at Wolfy. They should take him too. What would I do with him when I had to leave? Find a place to live? Two rooms, one for me, and one for my foam-filled friend here.
“What do you mean; animal policy?” I patted the top of his head. “Do you think they’ll make me put you in a kennel? Bring your shot records?”
He didn’t answer. No, Jake would take him. Wolfy might bring in a few bucks, and I needed every dollar.
I busied myself scrubbing the inside of the windows, the amount of grim on the outside was overwhelming. Some chores I couldn’t imagine myself completing in time to get the house on the market.
I looked at the calendar and circled Monday. Four days. I had to make it through four more days in this town and house. There would nothing left to bring me, or any of my siblings, back. I’d be kind of like a hero.
“Family,” a whisper came in through the open window, and I flipped the air off.
“Stupid,” I said, kicking the refrigerator. I had taken to wearing a pair of old black combat boots I found in the back of my closet. Mine or Angela’s? Whoever’s, they were in better shape than the flip-flops held together by bandages.
I made a list of cleaning supplies I’d run out of and headed into town.
Of all the awful luck in the world, someone recognized me at the grocery store. I had just put a two liter of orange soda and four packs of ramen in my cart next to the bleach when I heard my name.
“Meg! Megan Zeppelin,” the woman said as she trotted to me. She brought an entourage with her: a freckled toddler in the seat of her shopping cart, picking his nose, and two blond girls almost as tall as herself. The group headed towards me at an alarming speed.
Going Home (Cedar Valley Hauntings Book 1) Page 18
