Hale Maree

by Misty Provencher

  Oscar slips under the sheet, folding his arms under his head. He’s watching me now, the sharpness in his gaze replaced by an almost sensual look of observation. I’m still standing in the middle of the room, just standing there, like a dumb ass.

  “You going to call your friend?” he asks.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, and turn my back to him, as I walk to the mitt-shaped chair. I fall into it, curl up my legs, and dial Sher. She picks up on the second ring.

  “You have to call me MORE THAN ONCE A DAY!” she hollers. She’s not upset though. She’s just being Sher. I laugh.

  “Sorry,” I tell her. “I’ll try.”

  “So what have you been doing?” she asks. I really can’t tell her everything I want to, not with Oscar watching me. But, typical Sher, she doesn’t give me much time to answer. “What’s going on with Oscar? DON’T TELL ME YOU’VE HAD AN OSCAR MEYER YET? OH MY GOD!! I’m going to be the last virg on EARTH!”

  I twist in the chair, so I can put as much of my back to him as possible, and whisper into the phone, “No. Shut up, okay? That didn’t happen.”

  “But it’s going to!” Sher squeals.

  “Stop. Seriously,” I say. Sher lets out a long oooooooh.

  “Oh man—he’s there right now, isn’t he?” she whispers back.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Just say yes or no, then. Have you tasted the Oscar Meyer yet?”

  “Ugh,” I hide my eyes beneath one hand. “No!”

  “Alright, alright. Have you even seen it?”

  I chew on my thumbnail. “No.”

  “Has he seen your poof?”

  “No!”

  “Don’t be touchy. He’s had you a few days, and I need to know if you’re going to come back damaged.”

  “Stop. Again.”

  “Well, you know you are. You can’t go get married and not break your hymen.”

  “I will hang up this phone right now if you don’t stop talking.”

  “Fine. Okay. So, has he squeezed the melon? Felt around the first floor? Nuggled with a hobbit?”

  I laugh at that one. “What did you just say?”

  “You know what I mean. Did he?” she asks. I chew my thumbnail again.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my GOD!” she shrieks and I have to pull the phone away from my ear so she doesn’t shatter my eardrum. Oscar chuckles from the bed, and I try to fan my hair over that side of my face to hide the blush.

  “Last chance to shut up,” I tell her.

  “Was he good at it? Can he kiss, or is he all...” she makes noises in the phone that sound like she’s been coated in peanut butter and is being mulled by a basset hound.

  “Yeah, it’s what you said.”

  “Good? Did I say good, or do you mean bad?”

  “No,” I blush, even with my face pointed toward the wall. “Good.”

  “YAY!” Sher hoots.

  “Okay, I’ve got to go,” I tell her. I want to keep talking, but I can’t keep doing it with Oscar behind me. Not when he might be able to hear every fool thing that comes out of Sher’s mouth.

  “No! I miss you,” she shrieks. “Don’t go. There’s nothing to do, and nobody to talk to anymore!”

  “I miss you something horrible too,” I tell her. “But I won’t be gone forever.”

  “When will you be back?”

  I realize I have no idea. “Soon,” I lie. “We’ve got to go dress shopping, right?”

  “I’ve been ripping out magazine photos for ideas. What color do you want to go with for the bridesmaid dresses?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever you want, I guess. You’re the only one.”

  “I get to pick? But it’s a big decision, Hale! It’s huge!”

  “And I want you to pick,” I say.

  “Ok, ok, ok,” Sher says. I bet she’s waving her hands in a panic. “Purple. It’s your favorite color. Let’s do purple.”

  “Whatever you want, Sher. You’d look really nice in red. You sure you don’t want red?”

  “That’s whorey. You can’t do whorey for a wedding.”

  “This one you could,” I laugh, and she laughs too, but I can hear how she doesn’t want to.

  “Purple,” she says. “I want purple, okay? It’ll be gorgeous.”

  “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

  “I want you to be happy...and looking at a purple-covered bridesmaid. I’ve been babysitting Mrs. Carlson’s kids to put some money away for it.”

  “Cool,” I say. “We can go to Salvation Army when I get back.”

  “The thrift shop?” Oscar shouts from the bed. “You two aren’t going to the thrift store for dresses. Tell Sher that I’m paying. Tell her not to worry about it.”

  “Oh my God, was that Oscar?” she says.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “He says he wants to pay.”

  “He’s so awesome, Hale. I think he really is.”

  “Maybe,” I whisper into the phone with a tiny grin. I wind some hair around my finger. “Maybe.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  I SLEEP ON TOP OF THE covers to prove a point. But when I wake up, I’m under the covers, sweating, with Oscar’s heavy arm slung over my waist. As I try to slide away, he tightens his grip and pulls me against him.

  “Don’t go,” he mumbles into my hair.

  “We’ve got to get up. What time is it anyway? Amy’s probably waiting to go shopping.”

  “If Landon’s butt is cooperating,” Oscar says. I wiggle out from under his arm.

  “We won’t know if it is, until we go down there,” I say. Oscar rolls onto his back, watching, as I grab my bag. I pull out fresh clothes and my shoddy make-up case.

  “What did you want to get today?” he asks. I shrug. I don’t have any money, so I guess I don’t really want anything.

  “Nothing,” I say, like it doesn’t matter.

  “I’ve never known a girl to go shopping and come back with nothing.”

  “Oh? How many girls have you shopped with?” I ask, trying to derail him from the fact that I don’t have a penny to my name.

  “A few,” he says, his voice thoughtful, as I sweep up my hair and tie it in a messy ponytail.

  “I’m going to go grab a shower. I’ll be back,” I say, as I escape downstairs before he can ask me anything else.

  #

  Landon, pounding on the door, cuts my shower short. I turn off the water and pull back the curtain, just in time to hear Landon’s panicked voice begging me to get out of the bathroom quick. I wrap myself in a towel, grab my clothes, and squeeze past Landon, as he bustles into the bathroom, mumbling apologies before slamming the door shut.

  “He was doing so good,” Amy says. “He still thinks he wants to go, but we should probably wait until he comes out for our final answer, okay?”

  “Sure,” I say. I don’t want to have a conversation with Amy, while I’m making a puddle on the floor, so I scramble up the stairs. But once I’m at the top, I realize I’m in an even worse position now. Oscar is dressed and fastening his watch when I walk in.

  “You’re wet,” he says.

  “Don’t try to impress me with your genius abilities,” I joke. He smiles, but he doesn’t leave the room, so I say, “Landon might need somebody to roll the bottle of Pepto under the door. He’s in the bathroom again. Don’t you want to go downstairs, and take care of your friend?”

  “Want to? No,” he says, taking a seat on the mitt-chair. He drops his voice to a whisper. “Especially when there’s a wet woman in my bedroom and, even less so, if I have to be down there with Amy, all by myself.”

  “She’s not the big bad wolf,”

  “You don’t know her very well,” he laughs. “Besides, I don’t want to miss what’s happening up here.”

  “I’m not changing in front of you,” I say. He lifts a brow quizzically. A challenge.

  “I’m not,” I repeat. I look away, out the bedroom window, so his gaze won’t make me coward-out on what I want to say. “You told me that
if I wanted to slow down, we could. You said that you wouldn’t push me, but you are. What you’re doing right now is pushing me.”

  Oscar gets to his feet.

  “I guess you’re right,” he says. “Absolutely right. But I was hoping you’d trust me. I was hoping you’d want me to see you.”

  “I don’t,” I say.

  “Okay,” he replies. “I said I could wait, and I meant it. I’ll be downstairs with the big bad wolf.”

  As he starts down the steps, I dress quickly, worrying that he might change his mind and come back up the stairs. And worrying about the part of me that wants him to.

  #

  “You’re a warrior, buddy,” Oscar tells Landon. “Just don’t shit in my car.”

  “Very funny,” Landon says. “It was better this morning. I drank another bottle of the pink stuff, so I should be good to go.”

  “Great,” Oscar says, as we pile into the car. We drive for an hour, stopping twice, once at a gas station and once at a creepy diner, so Landon doesn’t explode. Each time, Oscar tries to convince Landon to go back, but Landon insists we soldier on to the mall.

  When we get there, Landon disappears for fifteen minutes while we stand at the entrance of the huge outdoor mall. We stand at the very tip of the cobblestone walkway, with shops stretching along either side, and with statues and trees rooted on manicured patches of grass in the middle. The cobblestones meander off to more shops to the left and right, and Amy’s already gushing that the mall seems like it’s a mile long. I can’t imagine what kind of hell this must look like to Landon today.

  He joins us again, a few minutes later, and says, “How about we go find some more Pepto while the girls go shop?”

  “It’s a plan,” Oscar says. Amy kisses Landon, and Oscar wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. There’s a tug on my pocket and I try to twist away, but Oscar doesn’t let go.

  “There’s some money in your pocket for shopping,” he whispers in my ear. “Have fun with it.”

  I don’t wait. I reach into my front pocket and feel the wad of bills right away. I know what money feels like, and I can tell there’s more in my pocket now than I’ve ever laid hands on in my entire life.

  “I can’t take this,” I say. Out of embarrassment, I don’t pull it out of my pocket. Amy is still making out with Landon, but if I were to pull a bank vault out of my shorts, I’m sure it’d draw attention.

  “Of course you can,” Oscar says. “You should have nice things, Hale. I want you to. Think of it as part of the deal.”

  “The deal.” I frown and he catches it.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “Come on. Have fun with me. Go shopping and get what you want. Money is supposed to be enjoyed. Go enjoy some. That’s all I meant.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, even though I’ve never had that thought about money. Money is meant to be scrimped and pinched and wanted, but rarely has there ever been enough in my life to actually enjoy it. My fingertips feel along the smooth roll again. No matter what I plan to do with it, I’m not going to make a scene about it here, so I just say, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says, as Landon breaks away from Amy and motions to Oscar.

  “Come on, OC. We need to embark on the Pepto hunt.”

  “We’ll see you back here in two hours for lunch?” Oscar asks me.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Amy jumps in. “Two hours. Like that’s enough time to even look at anything.”

  “Three hours, then,” Oscar says. “Late lunch.”

  “Pepto!” Landon complains, and Amy agrees to three hours, dragging me away by the arm.

  “Come on,” she says. “We’re going to have to do some serious power shopping to get done in three hours!”

  #

  Spending his money should be easier, but every time I think of reaching into my pocket, I just can’t do it. I make excuses to Amy about colors not being right or not liking the styles, even though the truth is: I like all of it. Unlike the Salvation Army, when something catches my eye, there is a whole rack of them in my size.

  “We have to go into Jake,” Amy says, pulling me through the fancy doors of a dark store that has the deep smell of a man’s cologne. Inside, the store isn’t just racks of clothes. It has huge potted plants and sturdy shelves that make the place feel more like a hidden bungalow than a clothing store. The boy’s clothing is mixed in with the girl’s, so there are ascending hooks of boy’s board shorts displayed beside a female mannequin dressed in an eyelet skirt and tank.

  “That’s gorgeous,” she says, searching for one of the eyelet skirts in her size. “And I think Land should come back here and get a pair of those board shorts.”

  The idea lights up in my head. One of the salesgirls walks by, and I stop her to ask, “Can you tell me what kind of cologne I’m smelling? I could smell it when I first came in.”

  “Oh, let me see what we have in the scent burner,” she says, and I follow her as she weaves our way to the register counter. She chatters at me over one shoulder while we go. “We have so many different scents, I think this one is called Force, but let me make sure.”

  She ducks behind the counter and then reappears, nodding. She points to one of the bottles lined up in a display on the counter.

  “Yep, it’s Force. This one. Would you like a bottle?”

  “How much is it?”

  “This size is only eighty nine dollars,” she says. Only eighty-nine. In my world, one bottle of cologne equals about two weeks of groceries or almost a quarter of the rent. One of my lungs might’ve just fallen out of my mouth.

  “I’m going to think about it,” I say, as casually as I can.

  “No problem,” she says. “Just let me know if you’d like it, and I’ll ring you up when you’re ready.”

  At least she wasn’t one of those mean types that raked her eyes over my frayed shorts and faded shirt with a smug smile. She just grins at me and then flits away to help a guy who can’t find his size on the rack.

  I bury myself in the aisles, back by the socks where no one seems to come. I figure I better know what Oscar gave me, in case I do want to buy something. I pull the roll of bills from my pocket, and almost pass out as I unroll the cash. It’s all hundred-dollar bills; ten of them, all rolled up like a stubby, green cigar.

  Holy shit.

  It comes back to me; all of my dad’s talk about the Maree’s and their money, but it wasn’t so real until this second. I know they gave my dad a truck and lawn equipment, I know Oscar has a nice car, but the beach house isn’t over the top, and Oscar doesn’t act like he’s sitting on Fort Knox. He talks to me like we’re equals. Although, looking down at the pile of cash in my hand, it’s obvious that in some ways, we’re nowhere near equal.

  “Hey,” Amy calls to me, looking over a shelving unit stacked stylishly with purses. “You’re buying socks? Are you kidding me?”

  “No,” I tell her, stuffing the money back into my pocket. “I was just thinking of getting Oscar a bottle of cologne.”

  “Good little girlfriend,” she beams. “I should probably get Land something too.”

  At the register, I pay for the bottle of Force, and Amy gets the eyelet skirt, a pair of sunglasses, a red string bikini, and a bottle of the same cologne for Landon.

  “Now we won’t know whose man is who’s in the dark,” she giggles, and I laugh, but I hope I don’t run into Landon that way. She glances down at my small bag with the cologne in it. “You’ve got to get more than that! Come on, Haley, I’m going to make a shopper out of you, if it kills me!”

  Amy doesn’t shop for herself after that. Her entire focus is on me. She drags me into another clothing store, where I break down and buy a full-length nightgown. I had planned to spend Oscar’s money on gifts for him, but Amy keeps insisting I need to buy something for myself. I pass by all the lacy, satin gowns until I find the one I want.

  “You’re classy, not slutty,” Amy applauds me, eyeing the gown. It’s got spaghetti str
aps, and it’s made from lime green cotton, although there is some shiny lace work over the chest. Even so, the gown is one that I could’ve worn in front of my father without blinking an eye.

  “Totally not slutty,” I tell her, giving the cashier another hundred-dollar bill.

  “Oscar really bank rolled the trip, huh?” Amy asks, motioning to the bill. “That was nice of him.”

  “I guess,” I say. “It’s kind of embarrassing, actually.”

  “Really? How come?”

  It’s a fair question, considering I led her right into it with my previous admission, but it is too complicated to answer without explaining everything, and I really don’t know Amy that well. But I’m starting to feel a connection to her. Maybe it’s just because she’s stopped blaming me for Sophia, or because she seems so comfortable with me. I’m really starting to like how quick she is with her comebacks, and all the attention she’s giving me. Most of all, it feels nice to have another girl to talk to, in Sher’s absence.

  “I forgot to bring any cash with me when we came up,” I answer. I feel a little guilty for not telling her the whole truth, but Amy just nods.

  “Good story,” she giggles. “I’m going to have to remember that one for next time we come!”

  I steer Amy away from Loot and into a men’s shop across the cobblestone sidewalk. I buy Oscar two pairs of plaid pajama bottoms, in hopes that he’ll keep them on at night, but no shirts. On the way to the register, I add a bunch of the little stuff I find on display: a money clip, a silk tie with a weird design that Amy assures me is totally boss, and a ridiculously fancy flashlight with an LED bulb that should shine further than the lantern we took to the beach.

  Amy curses under her breath as she checks her phone. “It’s time to go meet them,” she says. “And we didn’t even get to check out Loot yet.”

  She’s so disappointed that I feel guilty for having dragged her into the men’s store. I grab her arm and pull her in the direction of the make-up store.

  “Come on, we can be a little late. We’re girls, right?” I say, and Amy laughs as we walk through the front doors.