“You don’t even know me.”
“I’m a good judge of character.” She moved in, kissed him softer this time, then leaned back. “And I like you, Gunner. A lot.”
“I like you, too.”
“Want to see the game room?”
“You have a game room?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty cool.”
Taking his hand, she led him into an area that looked like a foyer. Shut doors were all around. A staircase to the right led to the upper level. They walked to a pair of closed glass doors up the hall and to the left of the front door. Dark was on the other side of the window pane blocks, so he couldn’t see what was beyond the glass.
Megan pushed one open and pulled Gunner inside. Sounds of lasers, beeps, and old synthesizer music rushed at him with the warm smell of freshly popped popcorn.
Gunner’s mouth dropped open. “Wow…this is so cool!”
“I love it in here.”
The game room was set up like an old arcade. Heavy with dim lighting, rope lights ran the entire length of the walls like flashing stripes. Gunner saw a set of pinball machines, old Atari arcade machines, Street Fighter, and a Skeeball table next to an air hockey table. A popcorn machine in the corner dumped a fresh batch of puffed balls onto the mound that was already filling the inside behind the glass. A pool table was in the center of the room like a green island. A triangle of balls was on top, lined together, numbers facing out.
Gunner was impressed.
“This is my favorite room,” she said. “I love these old games.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, I am, actually.”
“Thought I was just a beach bunny?” She playfully elbowed his side. “I’m a nerd at heart. I love video games, especially the older ones. I have more fun playing these classics than the new ones. You know what I mean? These are actually games. You win things—points, coins, treasures, whatever. Forget RPG, or whatever the hell that shit is. That’s not a game. You don’t win. I’ll take Mario Brothers over Halo any day.”
She is the woman of my dreams!
Was this real? Or was Gunner really asleep and dreaming he was here with Megan. He suddenly felt as if he was in a strange universe that had been designed just for him.
This must be what true happiness felt like.
“My mom was a Space Invaders legend,” she said, heading to the machine. On the screen, tiny specks jerked from side to side, shooting straight lines at little globs over a black backdrop. “She was a featured article in Gaming Gazette, a magazine from the ‘80s. Nobody could beat her, and nobody in the family has been able to top her score.”
Megan pointed to a photo frame hanging on the wall beside the Space Invaders machine. It was an 8x10 clipping of a young woman who looked a lot like Megan, leaning her hip against a Space Invaders machine. Her arm was stretched across the panel, fingers curled around the joystick in a seductive hold. She wore a sundress that had thin straps looped behind her neck that showed a lot of cleavage and leg.
“She doesn’t play anymore?” Gunner asked.
Her mouth attempted a bogus smile. “No. She passed away years ago.”
“Oh, shit…” Gunner felt himself shrink inside. “I’m so sorry…I…damn it…”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Megan put her arm around his back, leaning her head against his arm. “I appreciate your apologies, but you shouldn’t feel bad for asking a question.”
“I feel like an ass.”
“It’s okay.”
Gunner felt her hand at his side, squeezing him. It sent a trembling ruffle through his body.
“Dad built this room just for her, after she got sick. Something to help her feel better. He spent an entire winter in here, replacing the walls, the floor, making it look just like the arcade that used to be open in town.” She smiled as if she could see her dad doing all the labor before her. “They met at that arcade…”
Megan’s face crumpled. Her mouth twisted into a quivering line as she tried to fight back her sobs. Tears filled her eyes.
“Jeez,” she said. She pulled her arm away from Gunner and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Good thing I don’t wear makeup.”
“You don’t need to.”
Megan laughed. “Look at you, giving me compliments.” She dabbed a tiny droplet in the corner of her eye with a finger. “You’re so sweet.”
Though it was meant as a compliment back to him, Gunner cringed inside. He hated when people called him sweet. Friends were sweet, old people were sweet.
People with broken hearts were once sweet to somebody who took advantage of them.
“Did your mom get to…enjoy the room?”
Megan nodded. “She did. A lot. The doctors told Dad it probably gave her renewed strength and made her time with us even longer. Dad and my brothers haven’t been in here since she…died. I don’t think they’ve ever recovered from it. But I come in here all the time. Not just for the games, either. I feel like I’m still close to her when I’m in here. Corny, I know.”
“It’s not,” said Gunner in a husky voice. He cleared his throat. “Not at all.”
Megan smiled and stepped over to him. She leaned against him, hugging him. Gunner folded his arms over her back. Her skin was still warm, but no longer damp.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me?”
“You said you moved here with your dad and sister. No mom? Are they divorced?”
Gunner had hoped she wouldn’t ask, since he had no intentions of telling her about his mother.
“Pretty much,” he said. “Mom’s gone for good.”
“I’m sorry. Was she awful?”
Gunner sighed. “The worst.”
“But your dad’s cool?”
Gunner thought about it. “Yeah, I guess he is. I mean, I’ve never really given it much thought, but…yeah. I can tell he thinks he’s always screwing up, but he’s really not.”
“Have you told him that?”
“That he’s not screwing up?”
“Yeah.”
“Well…no.”
“You should. Might make your dad’s day if he heard you say that.”
“Lecturing me, are you?”
Megan laughed, bouncing against him. “Maybe.”
Gunner felt bad. Why hadn’t he told his dad about it?
Because it would be awkward for the both of them. But Megan was right, Dad would probably feel a lot better if Gunner told him he was doing fine.
“I’ll say something to him,” said Gunner.
“Good,” Megan said. “My dad’s not the same person he used to be…I mean before Mom…you know. He changed. He became mayor and kind of turned into an appearance-obsessed prick. My brothers were easier to fall into line, but not me. I don’t care what people think about me. At least, I didn’t until recently.”
Gunner’s heart started beating faster.
She cares what I think about her?
“So you didn’t move in here after he became mayor?” asked Gunner. “I thought this was like a mayor’s mansion or something.”
Megan stepped out of the hug and headed over to the pool table. Gunner followed her.
“No, we’ve always lived here. A town like this never had a mayor’s mansion.” She chuckled. “Whoever is mayor just runs the town from their bedroom.”
Gunner laughed.
“Want to play some pool?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said. “I suck at it.”
“It’s okay, we won’t play for money.”
“Good. Because I don’t have any.”
Megan laughed. “I’ll teach you how to play.”
He watched her cross the room to where a rack of cues stood in a formation by height on the wall. Reaching up on the tips of her toes, she pulled down two cues. Gunner liked how her buttocks pulled her shorts taut, how small bumps of pale smooth skin slipped out from the bottoms of her shorts.
He looked away a
s she started to turn around. When he faced her again, she was heading forward, the pool cues against the slants of her breasts.
She handed him one. “Since you’re kind of tall, I thought this one might suit you.”
The back end of the stick was heavier and swayed forward when he took it. Mimicking Megan, he put the fat end on the floor, gripping it a few inches from the top.
“Chalk?” she asked, bending over. There was a cubby in the border of the table. A blue block was in a groove above a narrow opening. She took the cube, stood up straight, and began grinding it across the cue’s tip.
“Sure,” he said. He didn’t know why he would need to smear that stuff all over the end of the stick. If she was doing it, he might as well.
“As you can see I already have the balls racked.” She snickered as if what she’d said was naughty.
Smiling, Gunner nodded and took the chalk block when she offered it to him. He saw there was a concave in the center and figured he was supposed to put the tip of the cue inside it. As he started twisting the cube around the tip, Megan reached across the table and carefully lifted the triangle away from the balls. She sat it on the glass top of a pinball machine close by.
“I’ll break them,” she said.
“How do we know which balls to knock in?”
“Whoever knocks in one first, that’s who she is.”
“She?”
Megan winked. “I’m pretty good, so I’ll probably sink one first. If it’s stripes, I play that and you go for the solids.”
“Got it.”
Megan rolled the white ball to the corner. She leaned over the table, the cue extended in front of her. Right leg straight, the left was bent and angled inward with her foot flat on top of the other one. Her breasts squished against the lip of the table. He could see a pale slope behind the tiny bikini patch. She made a V with two fingers and slipped the blue-dusted tip through. Slowly, she eased the cue back and forth, gliding it between her fingers. Her hair draped her face and gathered on the plushy green surface.
From his viewpoint, he could see the side of her face. Her eye was scrunched, as if she was squinting to see through a rifle scope. Finally, she thrust her arm forward. The cue punched the white ball against the others and with a loud crack sent them rolling in all directions. Though several balls came close to dropping into a pocket, none actually did.
Megan stayed in her position, bent at the waist, rump jutting high, a smooth curve of buttock peeking out from her shorts. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled.
“Your turn,” she said.
And winked.
27
Natalie saw the ice cream sign in front of Quincy’s and started running.
“Wait!” called Trish, dropping Natalie’s sandals into the shopping bag. “Don’t run!”
Natalie had on the new bathing suit and a pair of shorts over it. Her ponytail bounced behind her as she dashed toward the wooden ice cream cone. Trish knew if the little girl’s foot came down on some loose sand, it would throw her legs out from under her. She didn’t want Natalie to get hurt.
“I said stop!”
Natalie slowed to a stop and turned around. The look on her face was one of sadness and a little worry.
Good job, Trish. Yell at her. Hasn’t her mother done that enough?
“Give me a second, okay?” said Trish.
Natalie nodded. The excitement had left her. She stood with her shoulders slouched, hands clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting.
Trish felt awful for yelling. She’d heard the stories about Alisha’s condition. How she would spend hours yelling at Paul and the kids, how she’d attacked Paul in front of Gunner and if the boy hadn’t been there, Paul might’ve been stabbed to death. Natalie didn’t need her aunt yelling at her, even if she wasn’t listening. The poor child probably wouldn’t be able to handle anyone raising their voice at her ever again.
Trish got Natalie’s old clothes in the bag, then held it out like a punching bag and spun it around. Once a tail had coiled at the top of the bag, she folded it over and looped it through into a knot. Done with that, she headed for Natalie, letting the shopping bag knock against the side of her leg.
“Got ice cream on the brain?” said Trish.
Natalie smiled. She started to turn around, arm rising to point at the sign, then she jerked rigid.
And screamed.
A large hairy beast stepped out from behind the wooden sign. Its dark hair was blown by the breeze coming from the beach. Its blocky head turned to Natalie. Bending at the waist, its arms extended, palms out, toward Natalie.
Trish dropped the bags and rushed to Natalie who hadn’t stopped screaming.
“Get away from her!” yelled Trish.
The beast stood up straight and grabbed its head and started to pull. The head plopped off and fell on the ground. This caused Trish to scream and Natalie to scream harder.
Then Trish noticed the human face, a youthful face. His hair was so blond it was almost white. Quite handsome, though drenched in sweat. He looked panicked.
Trish dropped down behind Natalie and pulled her close. She hugged the little girl and felt wetness on her shorts.
Poor Natalie…
Sobbing, Natalie pushed her face between Trish’s breasts. Her whole body shook, legs trembling.
Trish looked up at the young man.
The young man in a costume.
Another young man rushed outside. His hair was the same bright blond and was just as handsome. Instead of a fur suit, he had on a white polo shirt and green shorts. An apron was tied around his waist.
“What happened?” he said, coming down the steps of the wraparound porch.
The one in the suit turned to the other. “I scared the little girl.”
The other one sighed. “I knew this was bad idea.”
“Me too! I didn’t want to wear this stupid thing.”
“Guys!” called Trish. “What is this?” She pointed at the fur suit.
The one wearing it groaned. “Our dad wants someone wearing it at all times. Said it’ll bring us more business.”
Now Trish recognized them. Malcolm and Max Caine. Mayor Caine’s sons.
“You’re Max?” she asked the one in the suit. He nodded. She turned to his brother. “That makes you Malcolm.”
“Yeah,” said Malcolm. “And I’m sorry. Is she going to be okay?”
Though Natalie had stopped screaming, she still trembled. She made sniffling sounds against Trish’s chest.
“I think she will be eventually…”
Malcolm pursed his lips and huffed through his nose. He glanced down at Natalie and his eyes rose. When he turned away, he looked almost grim. “We have a bathroom inside if she needs…you know…”
Trish nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
If Malcolm frowned any deeper, it might leave permanent creases in his skin. “Are you two hungry? How about a free meal and some ice cream?”
Natalie’s head whipped around. She jerked from Trish’s embrace. “Ice cream!”
Laughing, Malcolm nodded. “Yeah! All the ice cream you want, forever. You, young lady, never have to pay for ice cream from us ever again.”
Trish smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, but…”
Malcolm held up his hand. “It’s the least I can do. Come on in, we’re just getting opened up. You two have the place to yourselves.” He leaned over, putting his hands on his knees to address Natalie. “You like hot dogs?”
“Yeah!”
“We have the best. And you may have as many as you want.”
“Forever?”
Malcolm closed his eyes, smiled, and nodded. “For you? Anything.”
Gazing at Malcolm with dreamy eyes, Natalie clutched her fists together and raised them to her cheek. “Wowwwwww!”
Standing, Trish put her hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “I think she’s in love.”
Malcolm laughed. “Well, I’m honored.” He stood up straight, turned to Trish. “Please
. Come inside. Relax.”
Trish nodded. “Okay.”
Malcolm turned to Max. “And throw that stupid thing in the trash.”
Max smiled. “Gladly. Dad’s going to be pi—er—mad.”
“It’s not best for business. He’ll understand once I explain what happened.”
Max didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue with Malcolm.
The restaurant seemed darker than normal when they entered. Trish realized they didn’t have all the lights on yet. A couple of servers dressed in clothes that matched Malcolm’s were walking around, checking the tables, restocking napkins and condiments, and putting down menus. The serving line was being stocked by two other guys—tubs were being filled with hot dogs, chili, onions, relish, tomatoes, lettuce, and plenty more. Trish thought anything other than the routine accessories for a hot dog was a bit too much.
Malcolm led them to a table on the far side. A screen wrapped around the entire restaurant, making it look as if they were on a screened-in back porch.
“Will this be an okay seat?” he asked.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Really, you don’t have to…”
“The best view in the house.” He pointed at the screen.
Trish had to bend over slightly to see. A wedge of ocean showed between two massive dunes. Sunlight glinted off its sparkly surface. Malcolm was right. The view was remarkable.
“It’s nice,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said. “Have a seat, please.”
Trish sat down on one side and Malcolm helped Natalie settle in the other. Her head just barely reached above the table’s edge.
“Do you need a booster seat?” he asked Natalie.
She held up her fist, closing one eye. “I certainly do not!”
Malcolm, holding up his hands as if surrendering, stepped back. “I’m sorry. No booster seats allowed for my new friend.”
“Natalie,” said Trish.
“Natalie,” he repeated. He turned to Trish. “And you’re Trish Thompson, right?”
Trish blushed. “That’s right.”
“I thought that was you. I guess Dad’s out with Sheriff Thompson, huh?”
“I know they’re out doing something. I just don’t know what.”
“I don’t either.” He shook his head. “What can I start you two off with?”
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