“Is it weird for you that they’re together?”
Sam looks at me. “No, not really. I think it’s kind of cool. I love your dad.” She sets her magazine down again. “Why, does it bother you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It doesn’t bother me, but it’s sort of weird.” I shrug. “As long as they’re happy. I guess I just wish he wasn’t so private about it.”
“Well,” Sam says, “now that the truth is out there about your mom being back, I’m sure things will start working themselves out.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I change the massage setting on my chair for a higher pressure and lean back.
“How’s house-hunting going?”
“Meh. I started Sunday,” I say, reveling in the pressure against my back. “Just browsing listings and whatnot. There aren’t a ton of options out there right now.”
“You know, worst-case scenario, I have a couple spare rooms—between the farmhouse and Reilly’s. He’s already offered.”
“Thanks, Sam.” I lean my head back and stare up at the beige ceiling with a couple cobwebs high up in one of the corners. “The more I think about it, though, the more excited I get to have my own place.”
“Good! It’s going to be awesome. Just think, you won’t have to share a bathroom with anyone—unless you get a roommate.”
Grinning a genuine, mostly excited grin, I peer over at her. “And we can have a real girls’ night without my dad passed out in the living room or my brother walking around in his underwear.”
Sam laughs and her leg jerks. “Oh!” She giggles. “I think I’m ticklish on my feet.”
Yasmin apologizes and Sam rests back into her chair again. “I have to admit, this does feel really nice. I don’t really pamper myself very often, but I think I might have to start.”
“Good. You should.” I pick up a magazine off the table. “You work your butt off. You should do something nice for yourself once in a while.”
It’s quiet a minute and Sam finally says, “I’m sorry things are so hard for you right now, Mac. I wish there was more that I could do.”
I chance a glance at her, ready to tell her it’s fine, it’s life, I’ll be perfectly okay—eventually—but she continues.
“It all seems so new and exciting, but I didn’t stop to think how really scary this might be for you, especially because your dad sort of set this whole thing in motion. You just always seem so put together—”
“Ha!”
“I’m serious,” she says, leaning over to flick me.
I flip the page of the magazine, not really even registering what’s on any of the pages. “It’s all an illusion, my friend. All an illusion.”
“Maybe part of it, but you’re strong and determined, two very defining, undeniable qualities, and you’ll figure it out. Just think of it this way: it took your entire life to get to this point, you can’t restructure it all in a matter of days. Allow yourself the time to figure things out. There’s no rush, right? Plus you have me . . .” She rolls her eyes in feigned exasperation. “Oh, and Nick, I guess.”
Her expression softens along with her eyes, and I feel a slight tug in my chest. “Thanks, Sam,” I say, a little higher than a whisper.
She flashes me a loving smile and analyzes the nail polish bottle in her hand. Her brow furrows. “Pink Champagne, huh? Sounds yummy.”
“Yeah, I’m getting Commander in Chic.” I bat my eyelashes and just as I lean back into my seat, I remember the whole reason for our impromptu after-work date. “So, I have something to tell you,” I say. “You’re not even going to believe this—”
Sam’s eyes brighten and turn to saucers. “Is it about Colton? Did you kiss him?”
I open my mouth to say no, but that’s not true. “Well, yes, actually. Wait, why did you automatically—”
She practically jumps in her seat. “You did? You kissed him?”
“Well, I—he kissed me, but that wasn’t what I was going to tell you.”
“What do you mean that wasn’t what you were going to tell me?”
I wave her excitement away. “In light of other discoveries, that’s not the biggest piece of news.”
“What? That’s huge!”
My stomach flutters just thinking about the feel of his lips. “Yeah, it was, and unexpected and, well, kind of great, actually, but we were sort of interrupted by his cell phone.” Sam’s face falls a little and she waits for me to continue. “At first I was really pissed. He got a text message from a Kylie, again.”
“Oh, shit. He has a girlfriend.”
I take a deep breath. “That’s what I thought, but even more crazy than that—he has a daughter. She’s about five years old.”
Sam’s mouth is gaping and she only closes it to say, “No way.” She looks at me askance. “I guess it shouldn’t be that weird. A lot of guys his age have families. But it’s weird that no one knew.”
“Oh, Nick knew,” I add. “Apparently he’s even watched her for a few minutes before. He loves her and she thinks he’s the best thing since hot dogs and spaghetti—Casey’s favorite meal, by the way.”
Sam tilts her head to look at me. “And you know all of this how, exactly?”
“Well,” I begin, still mortified that I cursed in front of his daughter. “I sort of barged in.” I proceed to tell Sam what happened and by the end she’s laughing at me. “Yes, hilarious,” I deadpan. “Anyway, I talked to Nick about it and he filled me in on the rest.”
“And Nick never told you about any of this?”
I shrug. “He said I never asked and he didn’t think about it. I don’t know why it matters were his exact words.”
“Does it matter?” Sam asks.
I stare at her. “No, why? Wait, what do you mean?”
Sam’s shoulder rises to her ears and she starts gesturing wildly. “I mean, you’ve got a thing for him—you’re even living next door to him and you’ve kissed him. Not to mention he works with you. This is sort of messy and complicated. How does Casey fit into all of this?”
That’s a good question, but there’s only one answer. “She’s his daughter, his adorable daughter, and it doesn’t change anything because other than the one random kiss, there’s nothing going on between us. I’m more intrigued than ever, I’ll tell you that much. But I haven’t even talked to Colton about it. Work has been a little crazy—”
“And you’re avoiding him?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Well, I don’t think so.” I’ve been thinking about him and that kiss, though, about what it means and what it is about him that keeps me so intrigued. I simply don’t know. “I’m just glad I finally know who Kylie is and why he gets up and runs every time she contacts him.”
“Casey,” we both say in unison.
Sam taps the side of her cheek. “I guess it doesn’t really explain his attitude toward you, though, does it?”
“Well,” I breathe, handing Letty our chosen polishes. “Not really.”
“Letty?” A familiar voice is preceded by an even more familiar face.
I instantly look at Sam. The moment she sees Bethany, her gaze hardens. “Splendid.”
“Hello, Bethany!” Letty points to the manicure table on the other side of the room. “Grab that table. We’ll be right with you.”
Bethany nods, and when she sees me and Sam, her posture and easy expression stiffen. Another woman comes out of the back of the salon and heads over to the manicure table.
“Of course she has to come in here the one day I do,” Sam mutters under her breath.
The tension in the room is buzzing all around us, the comfortable atmosphere of our girl date turned sour. But as I watch Bethany, I can’t help but wonder if the coldness I feel pouring from her—the apparent dislike—isn’t something more than cattiness and what I always thought might be jealousy. I wonder if our presence affects her more than hers affects us.
“You know,” I whisper, “we’ve always thought she was horrible, but I wonder how much of that is
reputation and how much of it is true . . .”
Sam glowers at me. “Seriously?”
I backpedal, keeping my voice low so Bethany can’t hear us over the news anchor. “I mean, I know what she did to you—or what you think she did—but what if Mike was somehow lying about being with Bethany while he was also with you?”
“Mac, she called him while I was there, in his house. I saw her picture and name come up on his phone. She’s done nothing but cause problems, with Mike and Reilly. What is there to misinterpret?”
“But what if Bethany was played, just like you?”
“What!”
I hold up my palms. “Shh! Just hear me out, please.” I take a deep breath and hope I choose my words carefully enough. Sam folds her arms over her chest, listening with reluctance. “What if Bethany didn’t know about you just like you didn’t know about her? What if she was with Mike and found out about you? That’s why she hates you so much and that’s why she’s gone out of her way to piss you off or whatever. You did try to keep your relationship with Mike pretty hush-hush because of your dad’s disapproval.” I throw my hands up again as her glare turns to needles. “I’m just saying.”
Sam is shaking her head, and I can tell her mind is spinning a million miles a minute. “First of all,” she says, “way to blindside me, traitor. I’m having a spa day with you, against my will, might I add, and this is how I’m thanked?”
“Stop it. You said you were having fun five seconds ago.”
“And secondly,” she continues like she didn’t even hear me, “even if Bethany didn’t know about me and Mike, she was talking crap about me and Reilly to him before we even got together.” Sam glances to Bethany and back to me. “She was even flirting with Reilly the entire camping trip that she wasn’t even invited to last summer.” Her gestures start getting squirrelly again.
“True, all of which pissed you off. But, Sam, you weren’t with Reilly then. And if she thinks you knew about her being with Mike and that you were the one messing around with him, of course she’d hold a grudge.” I give her the just like you look.
“What are you even saying?” she says in a harsh whisper. I’m sure Bethany can hear our heated conversation over the television, even if she doesn’t know what it’s about. “Do you think she’s innocent in all of this or something? Do you think I’m making up reasons to hate her?” She points at Bethany, whose back is thankfully facing us, and I lean forward to Letty’s dismay and smack Sam’s hand down.
“No, I don’t think that, Sam.” I take a steady breath and calm my voice. “Look, all I’m saying is that it’s easy to blame stuff like this on her because of her reputation, but the person who fed you all this bullshit in the first place was Mike, and he was a lying sack of shit. So, I’m just saying, she might not be as horrible as we think she is.”
Sam watches me from the corner of her eye. “Where is all of this coming from?” she asks. I can practically feel her skepticism and curiosity fighting for the stronger hold.
Shrugging, my eyes flick to Bethany again. She’s clearly doing everything she can not to look into the mirror she can probably see us clearly in. “I saw her at a party last weekend. She was pretty messed up and we were talking—” I hold up my hand. “Bizarre, I know. But she seemed pissed and horrified, actually, when I mentioned the whole Mike thing and why we can’t stand her.”
“What about Nick?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“What about the way she’s always treated Nick, Mac? She’s a tease and not a nice person.”
My shoulders sag and I take another deep breath. “I’m not saying she’s Mother Teresa, just maybe not so awful. It’s just a feeling.”
Sam glances at her, unmoved. Her face is stone, but I know she’s thinking. Like me, she’s considering the possibility that it’s all just a giant mess and Bethany might be more of a bystander than the instigator.
Twenty-One
Mac
With all that’s been going on, food is the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, I spend my lunch break at the parts counter in the shop, pouring over online listings of studios, rooms, and apartments for rent throughout Saratoga Falls.
“Are you interested in looking outside of town?” Reilly asks and swivels around in my chair, taking a bite of his fried chicken.
“So, ah, when are you going to start bringing enough food for everyone?” I ask. “We want Sam’s fried chicken, too.”
“It is amazing,” he says, licking his thumb. “And she always makes extra for my lunches.” He makes an exaggerated, euphoric moan.
“You’re such an ass,” I say with a soft elbow job to his shoulder.
He winks and looks up at the computer screen. “What about just renting a room on First Street? That way you could share some of the costs with roommates.”
First Street is Saratoga Falls’s college row—student housing overflow from Benton. And I’m not too keen on the idea of living with a bunch of college students. I shake my head. “Nah, too much work.”
Felix shrugs. “At least it’s in a decent part of town. Sandy’s sister lives on that street.”
“I think I’ve had my share of living with guys all my life.” I imagine the horrors of living with male strangers and shake my head. “Moving in with who I would assume are frat boys doesn’t sound very appealing. Plus, it’s not that much cheaper than if I could find an available studio downtown.”
“At least living with a couple guys would be safer than living on your own,” Reilly says, good-heartedly.
I smile and pat his shoulder. “You’re assuming they’re nice guys to begin with,” I say, mostly serious. “Not everyone is boyfriend of the year like you, Riles. Would you think like a girl instead of like a guy, please?” I tease.
Reilly shrugs and pulls another piece of chicken off the bone with his teeth.
“What are you guinea hens cackling about over here?” my dad asks and stops next to Felix on the other side of the counter. He peers down at the starred advertisements on the top of my printouts and glances at me.
“Just shopping around,” I say. “Trying to figure out where I’m going since my father is kicking me out.” Though it’s only a joke, my dad’s face turns granite and he steps away from the counter, heading toward his work stall with an ice-cold shoulder reserved just for me.
“Be right back,” I murmur and step around the counter to hurry after him. I stop at the Chevy truck on the lift he’s standing under. He shoves his grease rag into his back pocket before his hands disappear into the exhaust manifold.
“Sorry,” I say, leaning against the arm of the rack. “That was a bad joke.”
The clicking gears of his ratchet wrench fills his silence.
Click—click—click—click
“Dad . . .”
After a couple more flicks of his wrist, he stops and walks over to his beat-up, gray toolbox that fills most of the wall. It’s cluttered, just like his desk, but I’m sure he knows exactly where everything is. “Do you remember the time we sat in the Shelby—when it was parked out back before we fixed it up? You asked me every question you could possibly think of about that damn car.” He turns to face me, his green eyes weary. “You said you needed to know because you wanted to be a mechanic, just like me. Of course, you also said you wanted to be a Barbie, a cowgirl, and the yellow Power Ranger at one point, too.”
“Well,” I say, “she was pretty cool.”
He eyes me a moment, ignoring my humor. Then he picks up one of the ratchet sockets from his toolbox, analyzes it, and pulls the red rag from his pocket to clean it.
“I knew it would make you happy,” I say, remembering that day perfectly. “David didn’t take it seriously when you tried to teach him. Cars are your whole life—I wanted you to be able to teach someone, and Bobby was too young.”
My dad shakes his head and sets the clean socket back down. His soulful eyes fix on me in that serious sort of way that only fathers can manage. “No,” he
says, low and gruff. “You are my life, Mac. You are what I care about. Why I do this. Not because of the cars. Yes, they pay the bills, and I enjoy working on them because I know how, but they’re only heaps of metal.”
“You keep saying that—”
“And you’re not listening.”
“Yes,” I say defiantly, “I’m listening. Jesus . . .” It’s like I’ve turned my entire life upside down and it’s still not good enough. “I’m not living with you anymore—I’m not mothering you. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
He’s shaking his head and I want to scream.
“Then what? What else can I do to make you happy?”
“Machaela . . . don’t you get it? This is about you and your life. It’s not about me. If getting your own place and trying to have your own life isn’t what you want—what you really want—then just come home. Don’t just do it for me. That’s the last thing I want.” He says it like I’ve defeated him in battle and he’s waving the white flag.
“It was just a stupid joke.” I follow him toward the tool room. There are pressure gauges and other specialty tools strewn around, but it’s somehow cleaner than most of the shop. “Dad,” I snip. “Look at me—please.”
He finally turns around, his expression unreadable.
“I want to get my own place. And I’m enrolling in some photography classes that start next semester.” I shrug. “I’m working on it. Hell, I even went to a god-awful ugly sweater party last weekend.”
He scratches the side of his mustache with grease-caked fingernails that I want to scrub clean with a bleach wipe. “Good.” His eyes search mine for a moment, and I realize he might be having just as difficult a time adjusting to this as I am. He steps over to me. “I know it’s hard,” he says. “I’m sure it’s going to be a while before we feel like all these changes are normal, but I think you’ll be glad you did it.”
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 46