Dumping Dallas Winston

by Jessica Bucher

  Hunt showed up just in time as I stacked the last of the paint cans and bagged the paintbrushes so I could wash them back at the station.

  “Harper took off already?” he asked, stepping out to help me load it all into the back of the car. “She didn’t leave too early, did she?”

  I looked up at him, and the words were stuck on my lips. Yes. Yes, she did leave too early. She also climbed onto the motorcycle of a guy who was most definitely too old for her and too douchey for anyone.

  But I didn’t say anything. Why didn’t I say anything?

  I was holding out for a big bust, that’s why. I didn’t want to just rat her out on something without evidence that would only result in a stern talking to. I wanted to blow the top off of this Joan-Jett-Girl-Scout charade.

  “How...uh...how’s it going?” he asked when I climbed into the patrol car. He stuttered, actually stuttered, and it took me a minute to figure it out, but I realized that Hunt wasn’t asking me about my internship or how the community service was going. He was asking me about his daughter. And call me crazy, but I think he was actually nervous about it.

  As we took off toward the station, passing the long mile of white wall along the river, I contemplated what I would say to him. “It’s good,” I answered. “I think we’ll have it finished early. We both keep to ourselves and work pretty fast.”

  He nodded without responding.

  “Do all interns have to do community service?” I asked. I wanted to make it quite clear that my job description did not entail babysitting.

  “Nope. Just the smartasses who think they know more than the Chief of Police.”

  Well played, Hunt.

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

  “How did Harper get home?” Again with the babysitting questions.

  “A friend picked her up.”

  “Which friend?” he asked, and I let out an annoyed sounding sigh so he got the message.

  “I can’t tell them apart. Don’t you have a way to track her on her phone or something?”

  “What? You think I’m an idiot? I know about those. I just...trust my daughter.”

  With a head tilt, I glared at him from under my brow. Surely, he heard what a load of crap that statement was. Trust Harper? Trusting Harper would be like trusting a firework stand next to an open flame. The girl was a walking contradiction, like Jekyll and Hyde with a bad haircut.

  And he knew it.

  “I think you want to trust your daughter,” I muttered toward the door.

  There is a long list of things you should not do when sitting next to a cop in a patrol car. Some of the things on this list might actually be fun and would result in a lot of trouble but a good story to tell later.

  Trying to talk to your police chief mentor about his parenting skills when you are seventeen and know absolutely nothing about raising erratic teenage daughters in this day and age is definitely on that list...and not one of the fun options.

  Hunt’s jaw clenched as he stared ahead, and I worried he was just getting himself mentally prepared for my murder.

  “Alright, Maxwell. If you’re so smart. What would you do? If you were me.”

  What would I do about his misbehaving teenager? Was this real life? This is where I could tell him to take away her cell phone, make her shave her head to one length, and forbid her from hanging out with Sloane so that I didn’t have to deal with her every time Gabe invited his girlfriend’s friends over to our pool this summer.

  I decided to start small.

  “First, I’d download a tracking app and watch her like a hawk.”

  “Then, what?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious...with just a hint of sarcasm.

  “Be strict. Give her boundaries. Ground her when she breaks them.”

  “Then what?”

  Then what? Then...that’s it.

  “You think it’s that easy,” he said, sending me a harsh Dad glare that told me I was in for a juicy parental lecture. “You think when someone messes up you just punish them so they won’t make the same choice again? I’m a cop, Maxwell. If that worked, I’d be out of a job.

  Well, shoot. He had me there.

  “The first thing you need to learn about this job is that problems don’t just go away because you slap a consequence on them. If you’re not willing to take the time and get to the bottom of the problem, it’s just going to keep coming back, and you’ll have to just keep dealing with it.”

  The car got quiet for a minute while I let his little speech sink in. It made me remember once last summer when my dad found out I let my girlfriend sneak in and spend the night. He was spitting mad, and he grounded me for a month. Something about getting caught, having him really lay down the law...felt right. But then he left town again, forgot I was grounded, and I was right back at it.

  I had to disagree with Hunt a little there. There were no underlying issues in my situation. Just lazy parenting.

  “I won’t ask you about Harper anymore,” he mumbled as we pulled into the parking lot at the station. “I just know you two...have mutual friends. Maybe you know what’s going on with her. But if you don’t...I won’t bug you about it anymore.”

  As I looked at him, I almost broke. And maybe I should have come clean about her biker boyfriend, and it could have given him some purpose. Ground her from that guy and then his problems would be solved, but I was a selfish jerk, and I wasn’t quite ready to give up the chase yet.

  So I said nothing.

  As we grabbed the stuff out of the trunk to take inside, I looked down at the white paint and thought about what Hunt said in the car about solving the problem instead of just slapping a bandaid on it. I froze.

  “We just painted over the graffiti. We just gave them a blank canvas!” The words came out of my mouth before I had a chance to even put it together. Hunt totally just gave us busy, meaningless work to torture us.

  A low, rumbling chuckle came out of his mouth as he turned to carry the cans into the garage. “Yep.

  Harper

  When we had rolled the final strip of white on the riverwalk I was overcome with great feelings of joy. I could now truly begin my summer. Goodbye, Landon Maxwell. Hello, Netflix. I literally could not wait to plow through the front door, tear off my sweaty painting clothes and embrace laziness.

  Mom wouldn’t be home for at least two hours, leaving me and the remote alone for a private engagement.

  “Biker Boyfriend not giving you a ride home today?” I should have known it was too early to celebrate. I hadn’t even left the riverwalk parking lot and already Landon was poking his head out the driver’s side window of his ridiculous red sports car. Last year, Gabe had had the good sense to trade his in for something the family could afford. Not Landon though, he had to keep driving that trophy, lest someone get the impression he wasn’t the richest, most important guy at Grover.

  “Not that it is any of your business, but he had to work.” I answered.

  “Get in,” said Landon, like he was doing me some great favor.

  “I’ll pass.” I replied. The mile and a half walk in the dead heat of the day was looking less appealing the more my thighs rubbed together, but that didn’t mean I was going to carpool with Darth Vader’s apprentice.

  “Come on,” goaded Landon. “It will take you half an hour to walk. I’ll have you home in five minutes. Then you can continue hating me.”

  He had a point. Besides, this little car ride might be my last opportunity to take Sloane’s advice and throw a wrench in his relationship with Dad.

  I pulled open the passenger side door and climbed inside. “False, I can continue hating you while you drive me home. No need to stop.”

  “Whatever,” said Landon, but I noticed he was smiling even as he shook his head.

  I waited till we had gone a few blocks before I began my quest. “Maybe we could stop at 7-Eleven on the way.”

  “For?”

  “If you must know,” I lied, “I will be spending the rest of the afternoon
watching my favorite film, and ideally, dill pickle chips will be involved.”

  “What movie?” he asked, which kind of shocked me. People who listen and care ask relevant questions. Not people like Landon. He was a drone you out while he waits for his opportunity to talk sort of guy, or so I had thought.

  “The Outsiders. It’s the one with Matt Dillon and Patrick Swayze.”

  “And the Karate Kid,” laughed Landon. “Trust me. I have seen it enough times.”

  “So, you see why it’s my favorite.”

  “No,” said Landon as we pulled into the spot in front of the 7-Eleven. “I don’t get why it is anyone's favorite. I have the misfortune of being the brother of your best friend's boyfriend. All they do is stare at one ‘80s classic after another.”

  “So you’re saying it’s a classic,” I teased, deeply enjoying his irritable sigh in response.

  “I prefer the book,” mumbled Landon and he pushed open his door.

  I did end up grabbing dill pickle chips. I also grabbed Twizzlers, Coke and a box of Milk Duds.

  “You eat like a teenage boy,” said Landon, grinning with appreciation.

  I stared down at the beef jerky and energy drink he had selected for himself and bit back the urge to respond, and you eat like a girl trying to fit into a prom dress she should have ordered one size larger.

  Back in the car, I figured I had played nice long enough to gain just the right amount of credibility for what I needed to do.

  “You don’t happen to have a bag in here do you?” I scanned the backseat of the car for show.

  “Sorry, but no.”

  “Dang,” I replied, biting my lower lip and furrowing my brow like I was undergoing great internal struggle.

  “What’s it for?” he asked. His dumb face looked so concerned that I almost felt bad about my next move, almost.

  “It’s just that Dad isn’t supposed to have sugar, like at all. If he sees this stuff in the house, he’ll want to have some and since he really isn’t supposed to have some, it’s almost cruel. You know what I mean?”

  Landon took a deep breath and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I might have something in the trunk.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from laughing as he dug around in the trunk for something that wasn’t opaque. His words, not mine. “I’ll try and find something that isn’t opaque.”

  Now for the kill shot. “Thanks. I feel so bad for him. The younger guys at the station are straight up selfish. There is basically never a time there isn’t some form of donut in the breakroom, even though Mom and I have told them over and over again that it’s really hard on him.”

  “You would think since he is the boss.”

  “Oh, that’s just the thing! Because he’s the boss he never says anything about it. He figures he yells at them enough during the day, the last thing he wants to do is complain about what they do on break. It makes him sick though. Donuts make my dad puke. It’s a thing.” I put on my most grave expression. Then popped a Milk Dud in my mouth for emphasis.

  “If I was there more often I would just toss the donuts before he has a chance to grab one. If someone just got rid of those things before he came out for his ten a.m. break, it would completely remove the temptation, and the subsequent, you know.” I made a horrible retching sound with my throat.

  “You think just throwing them away before ten would really help?”

  “Oh yeah, definitely. Throwing away all of the donuts before ten a.m. every morning would definitely help my dad out.”

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as the wheels in Landon’s big dumb head began turning. He was either really stupid, or really eager to please my dad, both were equally offensive in my book.

  Landon

  “Well, what are you going to do with the rest of your summer now that it’s already peaked, spending a week with me and all?” We pulled up to her house, and I put my hand on her head rest, which only made her face contort into a disgusted sneer. I’d learned that I could take my Harper torture to the next level by mock-flirting with her.

  “It literally couldn’t get any worse,” she chided through the Twizzler hanging out of her mouth. I snatched it away mid-bite and stuck it in my mouth. “You’re disgusting,” she groaned with a left hook to my shoulder.

  “Oh yeah,” I said with a laugh. “You have your Girl Scout camp. Please send pics. I need to see you in that little brown vest and green skirt.”

  “I’m an Ambassador. I don’t wear that anymore.”

  “So, what’s your boyfriend going to do without you gone to keep his sidecar warm?”

  She rolled her eyes so far back in her head that I didn’t think she’d recover. “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend. And second of all, the camp isn’t far. It’s at Grover State Park.”

  I watched her for a moment, wondering why she was still sitting in my car when I’d been parked in front of her house for a whole minute. And why she just admitted to me that she wasn’t going to be so out of reach while she was gone.

  “Does that mean you’ll be seeing Mr. Motorcycle while you’re at Girl Scout camp?” I kept my teasing tone, but it was hard to hide just how curious I was.

  “That’s not what I meant.” She shook her head, but I saw a hint of something there...hesitation?

  For a moment today, I was elated to think I wouldn’t be painting walls with Grover’s most infuriating blonde. But now...I wasn’t quite ready to let her out of my sight. If she kept hanging around that greaser, she was going to end up painting every wall in town and being a huge pain in Hunt’s backside. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

  Just then, I noticed the front door open, and Hunt stepped out onto the front porch. “Oh hey look. Your dad’s home. I’ll come in and say hi.” I killed the engine on the Lambo and jumped out of my seat. She tried protesting, but I was already on her side of the car, opening the door for her and smiling at her dad like I was the world’s biggest gentleman.

  “Thanks for driving her home,” he called from the doorway. “You kids hungry?”

  “Starving,” I answered, winking at Harper who looked like she was brainstorming ways to murder someone with red licorice alone.

  “You can’t be serious,” Harper muttered as I helped her out of my car. It did sit pretty low to the ground. I handed her a paper bag, and we shoved the sugary treats inside.

  “Mom just made tacos,” Hunt said, slapping a hand on my back and welcoming me inside. I had to swallow down something stuck in my chest as I walked into their house. The first thing I noticed was the way it smelled like apples and cookies. It wasn’t nearly as big as our house, and it was full of stuff—pictures on every surface, mismatched furniture in every corner, and large rugs to warm up the wood floors.

  I was nearly mauled as I walked in the door when a large, curly haired dog tried to make out with me on the welcome mat.

  “Beau, down!” Hunt called to the dog who seemed to be the only living being on earth who did not listen to Chief Huntington.

  Harper’s mom was standing in the kitchen with an apron around her neck and a smile on her face.

  “Hey, kiddos!” she called with a bright smile.

  “We’ve taken in a stray,” Harper groaned as she dropped her stuff on the stairs and walked in to greet her mom. The woman planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead and snaked an arm around her shoulders. Harper barely reacted, standing stiff and miserable-looking while her mom PDA attacked her in front of me.

  I was frozen in the entryway, just watching, torn by the itch to get out of there as fast as I could and the desire to never leave. Harper’s downcast eyes finally found mine from across the room, and I felt like an idiot for a moment until her shoulders softened. I don’t know...maybe she realized that being a jerk to her mom was a crappy thing to do in front of me, but I noticed her expression change.

  “I should get out of here,” I mumbled, petting the dog and turning toward the door.

  “Not so fast,” Hunt said, yank
ing me inside by my collar. “You worked hard this week, and Harper’s mom makes the best tacos in Grover.”

  “Yeah, please stay. We have plenty,” her mom called in a sweet, sing-song tone.

  Harper had settled for just avoiding my eye contact as I walked into her house. I guess I could put my torture on hold while I was in her family’s home.

  The four of us gathered around the table while Harper did her best not to look mortally wounded by humiliation. Her mom asked questions about the riverwalk while Harper gave her clipped one-word answers. I played the part of an upstanding citizen pretty well, if I had to say so myself.

  “I hope this was a valuable learning experience,” her mom said, glaring at Harper who was sitting across from me and looked genuinely pained.

  “That our community has no value for art? Yep. Lesson learned.”

  “Graffiti is vandalism, Harper. We’ve talked about this.” Her dad had a stern, but loving tone with his daughter, and I could hear his patience wearing thin, like he was trying to be cool, but she was testing his limits.

  “But how is a white wall better?”

  “It’s not, but it’s city property. You want it to be pretty? Put in a request with the director of Parks and Rec and paint it pretty.”

  Harper rolled her eyes and stared blankly at the table. I wanted to tell them that following the rules would go against her image. It wouldn’t land her in a squad car, giving her more cool points than filing paperwork would. But I saved it.

  “What are your plans for summer now, Landon?” her mom asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, feeling a little on the spot. Then I glanced at Harper, who suddenly looked interested in what I had to say. “I was thinking about going camping.” The corners of my mouth lifted in a smile as she let out a defeated sigh.

  God, I loved messing with her.

  “Oh, really?” Hunt said, seeming interested. “Where at?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Grover State Park, probably.”

  “Harper camps there every summer. She loves it.”