“Almost done. Just stay out of Jade’s way.” He tossed a cold bottle of water onto the passenger seat. He hung his arms in the open window frame, wearing a tired, sad smile, holding an open bottle of beer in one hand. Dad’s brand.
“Maybe I should learn to like beer.” I twisted my lips. “Might help me make sense of our freakass life.” Or start drinking the Spitini. I already had one ingredient raring to go.
He took a pull on his beer. “I’ll join you later. Maybe we can both figure out the mysterious Leo Lynwood.” He winked and dashed toward the house.
His wink bathed me in disgust. He acted as though our kiss and his lies were sick jokes, or meant nothing at all. His wink also dumped a heap of anticipation over that disgust. I so wanted to explore that wink. I banged my forehead on the steering wheel. “I so need therapy.”
Amid Jade’s grumbling protests about princesses and vines, I helped them load Jesse’s electric guitar and amps into their mom’s newer SUV parked in the garage. Of course, I’d fallen for a musician. Didn’t every girl? A very taboo musician.
“Dad bought her this SUV two years ago after hers took a dump. She left it to Jade in her will because she figured he’d leave me the hotrod,” Jesse explained.
Sore loser, party of one. “Fine, Jesse. The car’s yours.” Provided Kristen doesn’t play grand theft auto.
“Don’t get riled up. I meant what I said earlier.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Just making small talk. Explaining things.”
Small talk your way into your sister’s new SUV, which she can’t even drive ’cause she’s only fifteen, and drive yourself off the shortest pier. Unable to get a grip, I beat a hasty retreat before I said something I’d love to say and he’d hate to hear. He’d taken my first real kiss and stomped on it, discarding it like yesterday’s cold latte. A little hate went a long way, and the road was wide open. Damn my fascination and interest oozing over that road. I’d become my father, two sides of the same coin. A cold chill raked up my spine.
“Let the precious Vine go,” Jade shouted as he followed me. “Why can’t we stay here on our own?”
I wheeled around. “Because, idiot Rock, you’re too young.” My angry voice drew the attention of the older woman next door pulling weeds in her flowerbeds. “You have to be eighteen to live on your own.” Jesse studied his feet, leaning on his acoustic guitar case. “Is my SUV loaded? Can I go now?” I asked. Tears welled up, and they ticked me off more than the Jeromes did. I didn’t want to cry in front of interlopers raised by a pack of wolves. I wanted to beat the crap out of my father and shake sense into my mother. I wanted to creep into a book, become a shape shifter, and shape life my way.
“There’s room for my guitar on the front seat. We’ll meet back at… your house.”
“Home. You can say it.”
“Doesn’t feel right.” Gravel scraped Jesse’s voice.
Defeat weighed me down. “I’m sorry. For your mom, for our dad.” I wiped at the cascading emotions threatening to waterfall down my cheeks, wanting to escape the Jerome cracker box house so bad, my stomach contemplated gifting the neighbor food for her roses.
I didn’t think I’d ever hated my father more. The pain of the verbal assaults or the hair pulling, face slapping, pushing and shoving didn’t come close to the loathing I felt toward his fake life and the lies he kept from two innocent families, ruining the Lynwoods and Jeromes in both life and death.
By the time I reached home, I’d chilled enough to resemble a human being again. Mom helped me unload and we carted everything to the bookcase-lined upstairs landing for Jesse and Jade to sort. We waited on the bottom steps for them to arrive.
“You know why I took them in, right?” Mom’s eyes were clear, and she marinated in the heavenly perfume I’d borrowed, wearing a rule-defying Monet painting T-shirt and denim shorts. She wore light makeup, her hair flowing loose around her shoulders in a carefree tousle. She looked like my older sister, better than I’d seen in years, no longer resembling the Douchebag’s doormat.
I rested my head on her shoulder. “Yeah. Guess it was the right thing to do.”
“Your father would have wanted me to do this.” She twisted locks of our hair together, her hair a shade darker blonde than my sun-highlighted tresses.
“Why do you care what he’d want now?” It irked me no end that she still cared what the village tyrant thought.
“He wasn’t a bad man, honey. He was confused, apparently searching for something I couldn’t give him.”
Take a reality pill, Mommy dearest. “For over seventeen years? Why didn’t he divorce you? Or you him?” Why deprive Santa Cruz of its missing idiot?
“I didn’t want you and Kristen growing up without a father. I didn’t think I could make it on my own.” She hugged me to her. “I hear a car in the driveway.”
I did grow up with a father, but not the one I wanted. Two other kids had unwittingly stolen the man with more faces than Mount Rushmore from me. In his case, he had more personalities than schizoid Sybil did.
Jade and Jesse noisily entered the foyer, lugging more Santa Cruz crap inside. Mom left me to help them. I needed to clear out Kristen’s left-behind belongings from her bedroom. Didn’t want Morticia Addams to toss it all in order to plunk her dark demon stamp on the bright pink room.
Jade approached me in Kristen’s bedroom. She had lugged up a cat carrier, and now opened the door to release her coal-black furball. The cat streaked over to me, head-butting my leg. I crouched down and scratched behind her ears, her purrs vibrating against my fingers. Her fluffy, long hair tickled my leg.
“What’s her name?” I dared to ask the sulky Rock.
“Shadow.”
“Dad let you have a cat?”
“What’s the big deal? He liked Shadow.”
It was stupid, but I wanted to scream. Kristen and I had begged him to let us have a cat or dog, to no avail. He said cats were mangy, nasty, hairy, destructive beasts, and he didn’t want a barking dog pooping all over his meticulous yard.
I blinked away more friggin’ tears. I had no right to cry for my lack of a stupid pet, knowing how little Jade and Jesse received from him. Wiping my eyes, I resumed packing, my back to Jade. Perhaps not the smartest move. Who knew if she had switchblades hidden in her pockets? Shadow prowled the room, occasionally wrapping around my ankles if Jade wasn’t giving her threatening demon looks.
Kristen had carted most of her belongings to LA, leaving behind all her teen girly stuff. I stashed crap in a laundry basket, emptied it on my bed, and went back for another load. Jade emptied out two boxes and I filled them. We worked in an absolute pensive and vibrating silence. Mute crickets were quieter.
Jade unpacked a box of weird shrine objects and covered the dresser in a green and orange tapestry decorated in black symbols I didn’t recognize. She set candles around a small animal skull. One look and death by Jade? Reverently, she added incense, powders in small plastic bags, feathers, and various talismans in an organized pattern. When I recognized the crude dolls and pins, I stifled a gasp. Our little Jade Rock dabbled in voodoo hoodoo.
“What’re you looking at?” she demanded in an accusing voice. “Get your pansy-ass shit and beat it. This is my room now, right?”
“Um, yeah. Whatev.” I stuffed Kristen’s old shoes in the laundry basket and shut the bathroom door to her room, making a final sweep of Kristen’s closet on her side of the bathroom.
The rest of the day flew by, the four inhabitants in the Lynwood house working on their own vices or devices. I showered and changed for my date with Will, redoing the special attention I’d given my makeup earlier that morning. I didn’t want to screw up my first ever date. Skinny denim capris and a flowery silky sleeveless blouse rounded out my outfit. I’d left my hair free-flowing around my shoulders, and suffered thoughts of Dad as I added a sweater that would be right up his alley. I didn’t know why it mattered, especially after reaming my mother a new one for the same issue. Newsflash: Bewar
e. Ivy Lynwood’s messed up in the head. Approach with caution. Explosion imminent.
As I flew down the stairs, I texted Mom my plans. Eating dinner with the Jeromes barely made it above cleaning-the-toilets-level on my to-do list, the reason for texting versus face time. Plus, I didn’t want to run into J-squared and our brand of karmic cruelty.
Dinner at the steakhouse Will chose started on a disastrous note. He dressed similar to my father on a weekend golf outing in khakis, boat shoes and a pale blue polo shirt, the type of clothes he wore to his gopher job at the big fancy corporation. He’d slicked enough grease on his hair to coat my car axles. He was as quiet and antisocial one-on-one as he’d been at the Christmas party. My missed cue. A plastic lobster on the wall possessed more personality. I babbled onward to keep the chit with the chat.
For the second time, I asked if he had any hobbies and he said, “You’re doing enough talking about you for both of us. I’d bore you.”
Mortification froze me. It took heaps of energy to talk to a non-talker, putting me squarely outside my element in one-on-one social situations. Guys weren’t interested in the hobbies and things I enjoyed, and I held no interest in maiming and killing in sports and video war games, athletics, or farting and burping wars. I’d tried to engage him by asking questions, receiving only monosyllable grunts in reply. I certainly didn’t peg him as a sounding board for my home wreckage. I battled the burning urge not to slam my elbow into his middle to force him to pony up to the conversation and recant what he said.
“Just talking to keep it flowing.” I took a big swig of raspberry lemonade. “Tell me what you like to do. I’ll shut up now.” Before I stick my pink sandals in your mute mouth.
Crimson stained his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m being such an ass.” He sat up straighter. “I just found out my parents are splitting up.”
My humiliation shattered to dust as empathy ruled the moment. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry.”
“My dad’s having an affair with some skank from work.” He picked at his French fries, rolling them in peppered mustard. “He’s moving out tomorrow.”
I choked and coughed. Swigging my lemonade did nothing to restore my composure, and stupid tears prepared to roll. I swear if I leaked any more tears, I’d shrivel into a prune.
Will scooted my water glass closer to me. “Are you all right?”
I waved my hand in front of my boiling face, placing my napkin over my mouth. Once I’d recovered, I gloved his hand in mine for a commiserate moment. “I just found out my cheating father had two teenagers with the woman he died with.”
Will’s eyes bugged out and he blew out a long whistle. “You win.”
“It’s not a competition. We’re in the same boat here. I totally know how you feel.”
“Yeah. At least my dad’s still alive.” He ducked his head. “But I want him dead.”
My grimace turned into a smile. “I wanted my dad dead too.”
He chuckled. “Seriously. Two kids? You didn’t know about them?”
“What’s worse, my mom just became their foster mother. They moved into our house today.”
“Oh, man.” He drew the word out, his bug-eyes nearly landing on my plate.
We shared our tanked family histories and found a friendship in our troubles. We decided to stay friends, but the boyfriend-girlfriend thing got tabled, at least on my part. He walked me to my car, and gave me a brotherly peck on my cheek, the way I’d feel if Jesse kissed me the next time. Again. On the cheek. Note to self: get therapy now before they recall my brain.
When I landed home, I found Jesse sprawled in Dad’s leather recliner in the shadowy family room watching a DVD of Serenity, my favorite science fiction series. Thankfully, Jade was absent, probably putting voodoo curses on Kristen for stealing the convertible and painting her walls pink.
He muted the volume. “Hey.”
“Hey. Did my mom go to bed?” I gnawed on my bottom lip.
“Yeah.”
“Was she okay?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” I waved him off. “She gets anxious at times.”
“She seemed okay. I like her. She’s a great cook. We had a good evening.” He tossed the remote onto the coffee table, scooching it close to me, conceding his hold. A gesture Dad never made in his bid for Jerkface domination, even if he had his nose buried in his financial newspapers.
“Was Jade there?”
“Yeah.” His mouth screwed down. “Maybe you were right to go on a date, Vine.”
“That’s what I thought.” I fought the nervous flickers in my veins, the memories of his mouth on mine, his tongue parting my lips, inhaling his air, his intoxicating scent. Stop!
“How was your date? Your mom seemed surprised you went out.”
The tips of my ears blazed. “It was okay. Nothing special. A friend,” I felt compelled to add. “Well, goodnight.” The darkness claimed me, and I didn’t move.
He twisted the wide leather band around his wrist. “Stay with me.” The raw emotion in those three words lured me farther inside the family room. I sat on the couch next to his guitar, wanting to touch every inch where his hands had left their imprint.
“Are you in a band?” I sifted my fingers down the guitar strings, plucking a couple chords, never having touched a guitar before that day.
“Yeah. Santa Cruz indie band, Joe’s Crows.”
“Rock?”
“What else is there?” He grinned, elevating his face into beguiling, gorgeous rocker. His silver cross earring glinted from the TV’s light for an instant before it morphed into the room’s darkness.
I needed an industrial fan to blow ice on my deaf and dumb hormones. I’d become water pooling beneath the ground in an apocalypse drought. He was my brother. Why wasn’t he Will? Just kill me now.
Chapter 13
“Why’d you do it?” I asked Jesse. My throat compressed in the heat dissolving me. The room’s darkness hid us both, and it was easier confronting him in the shadows.
“The kiss? The lie?”
“What do you think?” I ground out through clenched teeth.
He took no time to think, as if he’d practiced what to say. “You looked lost and alone.”
“You’re messed up.” I leaped up and his hand snaked out to grip my wrist. I let him take hold, his hot touch prickling up my arm in a trail of goose flesh, halting my slow melt, bringing me back alive. I hated myself for allowing him to drill into my emotions and thoughts.
“Chill, Ivy. It’s not like that.” The emotion in his hoarse voice forced me to wrench my wrist out of his clamp and turn to him. I clasped my wrist to hold his touch in. “I needed to feel you. I needed to see what Leo Lynwood had left behind. To discover why he’d hid you from us.”
I fisted my pendants. “Newsflash: you kissed me.”
“It was dumb. I wasn’t thinking. I was sunk.” He shrugged into himself as if letting the chair embrace him. “That wasn’t my first beer.” His fingers skimmed across his abdomen, strumming riffs on an air guitar. “I won’t do it again.” He said those words even though something like desire smoldered in his eyes as the TV light flickered bright. Was he a sick perv? Were we both? Yet, I nodded, and the subject plunged like an ice block into my pool of lava, shattering my illusions of Jay, perfect fantasy boyfriend.
“Can’t believe they cancelled this series.” Jesse pointed to the flat screen. “The best sci-fi show ever.”
“It’s my favorite.” I snuggled onto the couch. At least he wasn’t a badass rock star toting an ego the size of the Pacific. He appeared different from what the tattoos, earring, long hair, and guitar portrayed.
“Smart choice.” He scooped up the remote and turned up the volume, barely loud enough to hear. “Are you allowed to swim at night?”
And he wasn’t a rebel. I laughed, a grim dark sound. “I guess. Dad ruled the house. We weren’t allowed to swim when he was home, except on weekends. He hated the noise.” Even if we made no
sound, his bulldog hearing kicked in.
Wide-eyed, Jesse ogled me. Had I sprouted ivy leaves in my hair? “What the hell?” he blurted.
“Jesse. I think we led two very distinct lives. And not simply from our more luxurious status versus—”
“Our cheap middle class?” He finished for me. “What other rules did you live by?”
I didn’t know how to say it, but it needed saying. “All rules all the time. We tiptoed on eggshells. He abused my mother and me, both verbally and physically. My mom did nothing right in his view. I never stacked up to the son he wanted.” Taken aback, Jesse’s breath whistled out. “He wasn’t much of a father other than providing our material needs. More like a slave driver. Who do you think kept his precious cars spotless and the house and yard when housekeepers and landscapers aren’t here?”
“Are we talking about the same Leo Lynwood?” Unnamed emotions hidden from me in the murky light roughened Jesse’s already raspy voice.
“Are we?”
“No.” Fists balled tight, he gave a sharp shake of his head. “Sorry. He loved my mother, Jade, and me. He gave us a lot, but my mom was prideful and didn’t want to take from him unless she needed to. She had a good-paying job and preferred to support herself. He was a good father. Loving, never demanding, and didn’t care what we did. I mean, get a load of Jade. He never said a word about her Goth phase. Or when I got my first tattoo or my earring. He supported my guitar playing.”
“And he let Jade have a cat. I begged him for a cat.” Why isn’t there a vaccine against two-faced assholeness? I hid my face in the toss pillow. “He would’ve killed me if I wore Goth makeup, or gotten a nose ring or tattoo, or merely played loud rock music.”
Before my next blink, Jesse knelt next to the couch. “This blows. I don’t understand this garbage.”
“Me neither.”
He sat cross-legged on the floor beside me, his knees sticking out from the holes in his faded jeans. “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“Maybe his job and his outward-facing lifestyle were too demanding and he needed an outlet. A reality check.” I mimicked something I’d heard on TV. “Who knows?” I stretched out my legs to lie on the couch. Had I made up my little psych line for my trip down the river De Nile? Despite the issues between us, my sorrow lightened as I talked to Jesse about Leo Lynwood’s two distinct personalities—asshole and father. “Why didn’t you and Jade go to the funeral?”
Bittersweet Wreckage Page 10
