“Six minutes,” he said.
“Cool.” I locked the door, and we walked down to the parking lot to wait. It was hard to miss my mom’s car, sitting there like a testament to the fact she wasn’t home.
“So I was thinking,” Coop said.
“That’s dangerous,” I reminded him, the retort as automatic as saying “bless you” or “gesundheit” when someone sneezed.
“I know, right?” He grinned, and before I knew it, I grinned, too.
“Anyway, you were thinking… and you should probably spit it out before it dies of loneliness.”
His chuckle warmed me from head to toe. “Keep it up, Frankie.”
“No, no. I’m good now.”
“No, seriously. Keep it up, because I want to be able to plead self-defense for zinging you back.”
Peeking up at him, I slid my sunglasses on and smiled. “I’m good now.”
“You sure?”
“At least for the next five minutes.” It was easy to settle into the banter. This was me and Coop, this was how we rolled. “After that, no promises.”
“Good to know. Anyway,” he mimicked my earlier emphasis. “I was thinking about Halloween.”
“Why?”
That was still a few weeks off. Not that everything wasn’t closing in on us. We were barely three weeks out from Homecoming, Coop’s birthday was around the corner, and we had to have our applications in at the first of October. We got a small breather, then Archie’s birthday was right before Halloween. So much more going on than Halloween.
“Because—I want to go trick or treating.”
Wait… what? I stared at him.
“Hear me out.”
“I’m listening,” I said, uncertain of whether I should be or not. This sounded like a trip to crazytown.
“You remember when we were kids, and we’d coordinate our costumes?”
“Yeah, I don’t remember it as coordinating. We were supposed to be Jessie and Woody one year, but you decided you wanted to be Dash instead. The year after that, we were going to go as villains, but Mom didn’t want me to dress up as the Queen of Hearts, so I got to be Alice and you were…” Wait, what was Coop dressed up as that year?
“A cop,” he admitted with a wince. “And you painted your face white and became a zombie Alice.”
“Right, oh—right.” I’d even added blood and used oats from the oatmeal to create flecks of brain. My mom had not been amused. I giggled. People had been so grossed out, and Coop kept offering to arrest me.
“So, this year—we should coordinate. Maybe pick out something fun, we can do it and give out candy, or we can roam around like when we were kids and do it all over again.”
I laughed. “Coop, most people get snotty when teenagers trick or treat.” We’d kind of outgrown that, right?
“Screw ‘em,” he said with a shrug. “We can roam and have fun, be silly and relaxed. How many chances are we gonna have to be kids again after this? Next year, we’re at college.”
It loomed over us like a juggernaut on relentless approach. “Yeah…” I could concede that point. “Archie will probably throw a party though.” He loved his parties. Well, he had loved them. Last night might have changed some of it. I winced. “It’s also right around his birthday.”
“So we go to the party after. C’mon, Frankie—just think about it?”
“What are we gonna dress up as?” It wasn’t agreement, but I had to admit, the idea wasn’t bad. Our ride pulled up before he could answer. Our driver was a woman named Yolanda, and she was really nice. She was older than Mom, but she chatted with us on the way to Archie’s house, but with an audience, Coop and I put our earlier chat on hold.
We arrived all too swiftly, and she let us out at the base of the driveway.
“What about Green Arrow and Black Canary?” Coop suggested as we walked up the drive.
“From the show or the comic?” I hadn’t read the comics in forever, but Coop had loved almost all of them.
“Fishnets, like the comic.” His playful leer made me roll my eyes. “Or we could do cops and robbers. You can even be the cop this time.”
I snorted.
“I know—Anakin and Padme.”
“She had dark hair.”
“Details,” he said with a wave.
“Supergirl and you can be Jimmy Olsen.”
“Ouch.” He clutched at his chest. “Where’s the love?”
The pack of cars from the night before was gone. My mouth went a little dry as I spotted my car, sitting by itself. “I’d say Violet and Dash, but again—I don’t have dark hair.”
“Well, we don’t have to go as characters. We could go as Joy and Sadness.”
I slanted a look at him. Yeah, I’d already been labeled the sad one. “Maybe not so meta.”
He snorted. “John Wick and his dog?”
Okay. “Rude.” I shoved him and he laughed.
The slap of shoes on the driveway had me turning, and my heart caught. Archie jogged toward us, his bare chest gleaming with sweat. His muscles flexed as he moved and rippled along his legs. There was a sweatshirt tied around his waist, and he tugged the ear buds off as he slowed.
“Hey,” he said, his breath coming in little pants. The effect took me back to Friday, and I licked my lips. He really was gorgeous, even with the bruise darkening his cheek and just below his eye. It wasn’t quite a black eye, but it looked like it hurt. His disheveled hair stuck up in places and clung to his damp forehead. While he wasn’t as in to sports as Jake or Ian, he kept fit.
“Hi,” I greeted him.
“Morning, Arch,” Coop said as he leaned back against my car.
“Glad to see you made it,” Archie said quietly. Guilt twisted in my gut. I’d planned to just grab my car and go. I was pretty sure Archie recognized that. But he didn’t say anything other than, “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I think I was just exhausted.” Which wasn’t a lie. “Did you?” I’d left in the middle of his party.
He shrugged. “Not bad. Got to bed late, took us a while to get rid of everyone. Then Jake took Coop home.”
Shame skated through me. Part of the plan had been all of us spending the night. At the same time, I couldn’t have stayed, not after…
A car moved up the driveway, and my heart pounded like a fist against my ribs. The vehicle slowed, and Archie pivoted to face it. It was a sleek, black Town Car. The driver stepped out then moved around and opened the rear passenger door.
Muriel Standish exited in her all her graceful, poised glory, and my stomach plummeted. Archie’s mom was gorgeous, self-possessed, and classy as hell. She was also the wife of the man my mom was screwing.
Bile coated the back of my throat.
“Archibald,” his mother greeted him.
“Muriel,” he said in the exact same cool tone she’d used. The driver was removing two suitcases from the trunk as Muriel eyed her son expectantly. With a sigh, Archie narrowed the distance and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He towered over her by a couple of inches, even while she was in heels.
“Do me a favor and take those in for Jeremy, yes?” Then she glanced past Archie to me and Coop. I had never wanted to be in a place less.
“Francesca,” she said slowly, sweeping her gaze over me. I straightened, but there wasn’t much I could do for the tank top and leggings, much less lack of bra. “Cooper.”
“Mrs. Standish,” Coop greeted her, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We were just heading out to grab food, I’m starving.”
“Nonsense,” she said, glancing at me again, and Archie straightened behind her, his eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen you kids in ages. We really must catch up. Francesca, sweetheart, come…” She held out her hand toward me. “I want to hear about those Harvard plans Archibald mentioned. Is that still in the offing?”
If I ignored the overture, I was rude. If I didn’t—oh God, how did I do this?
“Muriel,” Archie said. “T
hey were just swinging by to drop some homework off. Not to visit.”
“But they’re hungry,” Muriel said, and her gaze fixed on me. Did she know? Was that why…? “So come on, dear. I haven’t seen you since last spring, it’s been ages.”
Dread curdling in my gut, I forced my hand to take hers, and she smiled.
“That’s better.” She tucked my arm through hers. “You were fond of Jeremy’s French toast if I recall correctly.”
“Um, yes, ma’am,” I told her. “It’s really good.”
“Excellent.”
There was quiet behind me, but as Jeremy opened the door to greet us all, Archie and Coop were right behind me.
“Good morning, madam,” Jeremy greeted her. “Miss Frankie. Mr. Coop. Mr. Archie.”
“Jeremy, darling, coffee please—at least two gallons, and breakfast for the children. Francesca’s prefers the French toast.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Archibald, you and Cooper take the bags up and then do go shower. You smell terrible.”
“Uh huh,” he grunted. “C’mon, Frankie, you and Coop can play video games while you wait for me.”
But Mrs. Standish didn’t release my hand. “Ah-ah,” she said. “Francesca and I need to talk.”
“Muriel…” Archie began, but she gave him a cool look and his mouth closed, even as his jaw tensed. I was going to throw up. “Do not be such a pill. Hurry, I’m not having Jeremy hold breakfast for you.” Then with a dismissive look, she headed for the dining room and tugged me with her. Panicked, I threw a look at Coop but he was already following me.
Archie mouthed sorry, I’ll be right back and half ran up the stairs. Once we were in the dining room, Mrs. Standish finally let me go, and she shrugged out of her jacket. She was dressed in a cool cream silk blouse and flowing dark blue pants. Seriously, she looked like she could have walked off the pages of some fashion magazine. Her hair was perfectly coifed and her cosmetics flawless.
She did not look like a woman who could possibly have an almost eighteen-year-old child. Dark hair and eyes so like Archie’s, my guilt turned into ice that left me freezing. She smiled. “Sit down, children, and tell me all about Harvard.” She motioned to the table with a well-manicured hand, the gold bracelets on her wrist jangled a little, and it was impossible to miss the pair of diamond rings on her left ring finger.
“I um…have my application all ready to go, I just have to finish the last essay, and then I can send it on the first.” It sounded pretty weak to my own ears and without even an nth of confidence. Still, with no other choice, I sat down. Thankfully, Coop grabbed the chair next to mine as Mrs. Standish chose the chair at the head of the table to my left.
“Well that sounds dreadfully simple, what do you want to study?”
That was the ten thousand dollar question. “Writing, probably. Journalism is definitely on the list. But I’m a little torn—to be honest. I thought I’d spend the first couple of weeks testing out all the classes and finding the right fit.”
“Well, that’s certainly one strategy,” she said, then glanced at Jeremy as he carried in a tray with mugs of coffee for each of us, me and Coop included.
“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes.”
“Wonderful. You’re such a dear. I’ve had a dreadfully long weekend with such terrible service. Glad to be back where I’m important again.”
Jeremy gave her an indulgent smile, and while I didn’t think the pointed comments were directed at me, they still landed. “You’re home now,” Jeremy soothed. “I’ll make sure everything is just the way you like it.”
I wrapped my hands around the coffee, desperate for any kind of warmth. Then Mrs. Standish focused on me.
“You should have at least a secondary field of study you feel passionate about. Journalism is all sound bytes these days and not much in the way of ethics or class.”
Ouch.
“I don’t think that’s true of all journalists,” I countered. “Granted, it’s a click-bait driven world, but the facts still mean something. They would to me.”
“Which is glorious, darling, but having scruples won’t keep you warm at night. Going after what you want requires drive and conviction. You have to want it more than the next person and not care who it hurts in the process.” She gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know that you could handle that.”
“Muriel,” Archie said as he strode back into the room, his voice a warning and one I rarely heard out of him, much less in context with his parents. “Frankie’s got more ethics in her pinky than some people we know, and she’s damned determined. She can do whatever she wants.”
“I’m sure she does.” Though her tone said quite the opposite. “At least she seems prepared for her application, though Harvard is a challenging option for even the best of students. What are your safety schools?”
This was not a conversation I wanted to have. “NYU, Stanford, and UCLA.”
I listed the schools we’d talked about a couple of weeks earlier.
“But Harvard has charm,” Coop said. “We’re all applying. Law of averages says one of us has to get in.”
Mrs. Standish suddenly narrowed her eyes at Archie. “Since when are you applying to Harvard?”
“Since ninth grade,” he told her bluntly and dragged out the chair opposite me, which put him to his mother’s left. Jeremy carried in plates. “Doesn’t mean I’m not applying to MIT or NYU or Stanford or UCLA. We’re keeping our options open.”
“I see,” Mrs. Standish said, tapping a manicured nail against the side of her mug. “What does your mother think about you going so far away, Francesca?”
I froze, but Coop pressed his leg against mine as he leaned back for Jeremy to set a plate of French toast with eggs and bacon in front of him and another in front of me. There was already a ball of butter in a little dish next to the French toast on my plate, but Jeremy added a boat of syrup for us to share. Mrs. Standish was the only one not eating French toast, in fact, all she had was regular toast with some butter and jam.
“Probably the same thing you do, Muriel,” Archie said with smirk. “When will the bother be over so we can get out of the house?”
His mother scoffed. “It is no bother, Archie. We can afford to send you wherever you want to go.”
Oh, that hit landed, and Coop stiffened next to me.
“Amazingly,” Archie said without an ounce of niceness in his tone. “I can afford to go wherever I want and to take whoever I want with me. But let’s not bore our guests with finances. It’s rude.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed, then the tight expression washed away to a veneer of politeness. “Very well, then tell me how many are we hosting for your birthday party in a few weeks? Amanda’s girls are both seventeen and will be coming. I expect you to be nice to them. Either would make a great match.”
Archie rolled his eyes. “Not having a party.”
That surprised me, and I stared at him.
“Pretty much over parties…”
Mrs. Standish lifted a piece of her toast, then paused to stare at him. “Then you shouldn’t throw hooligan parties. And dear, you had best cover up that bruise before tomorrow.”
“I earned it,” Archie said with a shrug and cut into his food. “And my hooligan parties are a blast with the right people.” He cut a look at me, but it was brief, before he focused on his mother. “I’m going to do my birthday my way. So don’t worry about the party.”
Coop nudged my knee, and I glanced at him. He nodded to my food. My stomach was in knots. It smelled fantastic, but I wasn’t sure I could choke any of it down.
“Archibald…”
“Nope,” he said. “Not doing it, and I’ll be eighteen, so you can’t make me. If you want to throw a party so all your friends can congratulate you on having made it to the end of your sentencing and being free of me, go right ahead. I’m spending my birthday with my friends.”
I shoved a bite of the French toast into my m
outh. It was a crying shame that I could barely taste it. Jeremy made the best French toast ever. But the rest of the meal continued in this same vein with Mrs. Standish making these very polite, if snide observations, while asking pointed questions.
At one point, she reminded me that the average student graduated with hundreds of thousands of dollars in student debt that could put a chokehold on my life for the next thirty years, and I might consider downsizing my expectations to something more reasonable.
I had no idea how I ate the food. It sat in my stomach like a rock. Archie kept trying to distract her, but she would only be dissuaded for a few moments. Coop got her when he brought up studying psychology because he had plenty of material on family relationships to do a dozen different dissertations, and his pointed look at her actually shut her up.
That lasted five minutes.
But it was enough time for me to finish my food. Now, I needed to make excuses to get out of there. “Thank you so much for breakfast,” I told her. “You really didn’t need to go to all that much trouble.”
“It was no trouble at all, Francesca. I am glad we were able to spend this time together.”
I wanted desperately to say me too and sound like I meant it, but all I managed was. “I appreciate it.” Which was a damn lie, but it was better than the alternative, which involved a lot of primal screaming. “But we need to go, I have a lot of homework to do…”
“Of course,” Mrs. Standish said, rising from the table. Then she reached over and pressed her cheek to mine as she kissed the air. “Always so good to see you.” Then, still gripping my hand, she said, “You know, it was good to see you, and I don’t get to see you enough. You and your mother should come to dinner this week. All of us together. It will be lovely. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Yep. That did it. I wanted to die.
“Muriel, Frankie’s got a really busy schedule,” Archie said smoothly, and he covered our hands and then disengaged me from her. I clutched at his fingers almost desperately. “Tell you what, we’ll have her let us know if she or her mom are free. Besides, I’m pretty sure you have at least three events on your calendar this week already.”
Changes and Chocolates: Untouchable Book Two Page 7
