“Iron Skull, are you sure you have to go?” my mom asks the final one making his retreat out the front door.
“Oh yeah, Mrs. Finley. That bean dip ought to be kicking in any moment now.”
Nice. Maybe he should go by Noxious Gas. Or the Deadly Farter.
“So, Robbie, what did you think about all that?”
I startle at Luke’s voice behind me. I thought he had left with the rest of the press.
Robbie scratches his head. “Well, I think tonight we had an example of mankind laying aside their differences, not to mention their stage makeup, and coming together in unity. It shows that peace is attainable. They are a model to our brothers and sisters in the Middle East.”
I pat Robbie on his scruffy head. “He’s had a lot of Mountain Dew tonight.”
Mickey balances a stack of plates and heads toward the kitchen.
“Excuse me.” I leave Luke’s company to seek out Dolly, scrubbing down the table in the dining room.
“Um . . . could you give me some help in the kitchen?”
Her hand pauses. “Sure, kid. What do you need?”
I don’t answer but walk away, grateful when she follows.
I hear her intake of breath when she sees her ex-husband standing at the sink. He turns around. Frowns.
“Well, hey, Mickey!” My voice is overly bright, even to my own ears. “What a nice guy, doing the dishes. Isn’t that nice of him, Dolly?”
Her overshadowed eyes narrow. “Oh, he’s a real sweetheart.”
Hurt flashes on his face. He turns around and attacks a platter with a scrub brush.
Dolly plants a hand on her curvy hip. “Get out of my kitchen, Mickey.”
“I believe it’s the Finleys’ kitchen. You get out.”
Her mouth drops. “I’m the caterer tonight. You’re just . . . just . . . the—”
“Manager?” He points a sudsy brush at her. “That’s never been good enough for you, has it? I’ve never been good enough.”
“You leave me out of your inferiority complex. Don’t you put that on me. I always supported you.”
“As long as I worked eight to five. You wanted me to have a desk job—admit it. You hated my late hours.”
“Late hours?” Her voice explodes in the tiny kitchen. “There’s a difference in working late now and then and never being home for your family.”
Just when I expect Mickey to match her volume and snap back with a comment, he closes his mouth. And stares at the floor. The gross linoleum floor.
“I have regrets, Dolly. Don’t think I don’t.”
“Yeah, well, is leaving your family one of them?”
Thunderclouds roll behind his eyes. His expression is so pained, I find myself stepping back toward the door.
“I killed my family.”
Dolly’s breath hitches. “I was your family too. Maybe I needed you.” A tear glides down her cheek. “An accident killed our daughters, Mickey. Pulling the plug on our marriage is what I could never forgive you for.” She throws down her rag and rushes out, her heels an angry staccato on the floor.
Mickey watches her go. After a moment his troubled eyes rest on me. “I tend to ruin parties.” He forces a smile. “I’m not very good at Scrabble either.”
“You were driving the car the day your daughters were killed.”
It’s not really a question. But it’s also not something I meant to say out loud.
“Yup.” He runs a big hand over his stubbly face.
“Don’t tell me that’s the first time you two have talked about it.”
“I kind of disappeared after the accident.” The dishwater covers his arms as he returns to cleaning. “I’m not proud of that. I couldn’t stand to look at myself, and even worse, I didn’t want to see myself through her eyes.”
“It was an accident.”
He hands me a bowl and a dry towel. “I was driving. I walked away with barely a scratch. My little girls never woke up.” His voice is hoarse, raw. He hands me another dish to dry.
“What happened?”
“Ice. It was a bad winter. An eighteen-wheeler lost control, and I swerved to miss him. We spun into the median on the highway.” Mickey laughs, a sound as bitter as a rotten grape. “I had a match that weekend. I was mad because Dolly’d been called into a second shift and asked me to watch the girls and not go to the gym. But training came first, and I put them in the car and drove us to Byler so I could get my workout in. So even if my driving didn’t kill them, my priorities did.”
“That’s not true, Mickey.” I feel my Ask Miss Hilliard instincts kicking in. “You heard Dolly say she doesn’t hold you responsible. She forgives you. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself.”
He flings the water off his hands. “Nothing’s going to bring them back, Bella.” Then he looks at me with that expression that says, Why am I talking to a kid?
“Mickey, wait—”
But he’s gone. I sigh and rub the tension building in the back of my neck.
“Why is it people want to pour their hearts out to you?”
Luke.
“Why is it you like to eavesdrop on my conversations?”
“My reporter’s intuition led me here.”
“You heard Dolly yelling.”
He shrugs. “Something like that.” Luke removes my hand from my neck and replaces it with his own. “Got some tension, Counselor Bella?”
My skin tingles at his touch, and I’m reminded of our lip-locking moment. This boy is so maddening. Frustrating. Confusing.
His magic fingers stop, and he turns around.
When I see his face, disappointment swishes in my stomach.
He looks totally bored. Not that I like him, but where’s the look of burning passion he’s unable to contain? Where’s the look that says, Bella, I admire you from afar—your face, your scent, your growing journalistic abilities that could one day rival mine. Where is that? Instead his face says, When my hands were on you, I was doing long division in my head. How dare he look bored!
“Are you ready to meet Reggie Lee? Bella—did you hear me?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, let me grab my purse.” I should be packing instead of talking to former football players in secret. I run upstairs to get my bag. My eyes automatically go to my bed, where Moxie should be lying. But she’s not.
Outside Luke waits for me in his 4Runner. He doesn’t even glance my way as I snap myself into the seat belt. His car smells like his cologne, and I stop myself from breathing too deeply.
“Where are we going?” I ask when Luke turns toward Tulsa.
“We’re meeting him at the Cherokee Waffle House.”
“Sounds very classy.”
Luke shoots down my every attempt at conversation with monosyllable responses until I’m forced to quit talking. Just to be obnoxious, I try to sing along to each tune on the radio. And since it’s a country station, I know absolutely none of the songs. So I just make up the words. He ignores me anyway.
The interior of the SUV is illuminated as he pulls into the restaurant’s parking lot. Through the glass windows I see tired truckers and mostly old men taking up the seats.
Inside we’re greeted by the smell of twenty-four-hour breakfast. And though the interior leaves a lot to be desired, decked out in every Indian whatnot ever made, the food smells heavenly. I didn’t have time to eat a single crumb at the party.
I slide into a booth across from Luke and open a sticky menu.
A slender African-American girl stops at our table. She pops a pink bubble. “Are y’all from around here?”
“Truman,” Luke answers.
She nods. “So what can I get you?”
My eyes scan the choices. “Belgian waffles with strawberries, please.”
For the first time all night, Luke smiles. “Me too.” Guess he didn’t get to eat either.
We both watch the door for the next hour.
I pick at my last bite of waffle. “He’s not coming.”
“No. He�
��s not.”
We pay and then walk into the muggy night air toward the 4Runner.
“Hey!” The waitress walks out of a side door. She hurries to us. “You’re here to meet Reggie, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Do you know where he is?” Luke asks.
She looks behind her, as if she’s afraid someone’s watching. “He couldn’t make it.”
I step closer to her. “Who are you?”
“His girlfriend. And I think you guys should leave all this alone. Reggie’s been through enough. He just wants to move on.”
“But what if we could prove that the drugs in his locker weren’t his?”
She casts a wary eye at Luke. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll come after him another way.” She shakes her head. “It’s over. It’s done. He wasn’t responsible for Zach Epps’s accident.”
I startle. “What? Who said he was?”
“I have to go.”
“Wait!” Nothing like chasing someone in a parking lot. “Wait!”
I catch her at the side door.
“They’re like a high school mafia, okay?” Her breathing is ragged, her eyes wild. “You don’t know what they’ll do. For your own sakes and Reggie’s, stay out of this.”
“We can’t.” I read her name tag. “Marissa, one person’s dead, one’s on life-support. How many more have to be hurt before someone’s willing to speak up?”
Her hand pauses on the door handle. “The Brotherhood has its own MySpace page. Only the members can access it. But every initiation is recorded.”
This doesn’t surprise me. In fact, I should’ve thought of it. Even serious gangs post videos of their beat-ins, shootings, and initiations. The question is . . . how can we access a MySpace page that’s set to private?
“Reggie was racing Zach Epps the night of the accident, wasn’t he?”
Her mad stare is the only response.
“Please, you have got to tell Reggie to come forward and talk to the police. Zach lost his life that night.”
She wrenches open the door. “He may not be on life-support, but that night . . . Reggie lost his life too.”
chapter thirty-four
I saw you on E! last night, Dad. How did the pitch go for the new show?” I lurch forward as my dad slams on his brakes for the zillionth time. New York City traffic—there’s nothing like it. I’d rather drive behind a slow tractor in Truman any day over this madness.
He zips into the other lane and honking ensues. “I don’t know. Budgets are tight right now. They’re not sure if they want to invest in a new show about another high-profile plastic surgeon. I have another meeting with my agent today.”
Though she’s seen it once, Lindy’s nose is pushed against the window like she can’t get enough of Manhattan. I know the feeling. It’s like a new town every time you see it—even if you live here.
When we get to the house, Luisa crushes me in a hug worthy of a wrestler. “I’ve missed you, Isabella!” She pulls away, her pudgy hands clasping my face. “Let me look at you. Oh, Oklahoma agrees with you.”
“Do I smell homemade chocolate chip cookies?”
“Chips Ahoy! are for losers,” Luisa says, ushering the three of us into the kitchen.
“I have to get to my meeting. Here’s my credit card.” Dad hands over his Visa. “Don’t go crazy with it, okay?”
“We do have an Autumn Ball to crash. Might need to buy a dress or two.”
He kisses me on the temple. “I’ll see you tonight.”
An hour later Lindy and I are in shopping nirvana.
Well, I am.
“No, Bella. I don’t like the strapless look. Are you sure I can even go to this party?”
“Of course.” I throw the pink concoction over the dressing room door anyway. “We’re just dropping by. I can’t wait for the look on Hunter’s face when he sees me. Lindy, why is this green thing in the try-on stack?”
Her hesitant voice comes from the other side of the door. “I liked it.”
“I said no. Green is a color on its way out. You don’t want to be this year.”
“What year do I want to be?”
I hand her another gown. Still so much to learn.
The door creaks, and Lindy steps out into the small hall. I twirl my finger and she spins in front of the mirror.
“I can’t wear this.” She tugs on the sliding bodice. “I feel naked.”
“It’s a very conservative dress. Lindy, I know fashion, and that dress is it. ”
She sighs and casts a longing glance at the green dress lumped in the pile. “Green is my favorite color. Matches my eyes.”
“But this dress shows off your curves, your toned shoulders.
And it’s so trendy.”
Lindy’s gaze meets mine in the full-length mirror. “Are you afraid I’m going to embarrass you? Is that it?”
“No, of course not.” Right? I like Lindy for who she is. She simply needs some guidance. “I just think you should leave the clothing decisions to me.”
“It’s your dad’s Visa. Your party.” She pulls on her top once more and returns to the dressing room.
Oh, fine. I toss the green frock over. “Try it on.”
She squeals, and twenty seconds later she prances before the mirror again, her face beaming.
“How do you feel in that dress?” As if I have to ask.
White teeth sparkle against her tanned complexion. “Comfortable.”
“The old green dress it is.”
We have lunch at Le Cirque, sitting beneath the big-top light shade hanging from the ceiling. The food is heavenly, but Lindy calls them “snobby” portions. She refuses dessert—the fabulous Le Cirque chocolate—and acts relieved when we leave.
Later that evening, I study my new manicure and wonder how Lindy is getting along upstairs with her makeup. Dad reads through his e-mails beside me.
Luisa enters the kitchen and clears her throat. “Presenting . . . Miss Lindy Miller!”
She sashays into room, almost floating above the marble tile.
The queen has arrived.
The three of us clap for her as she spins, her green dress billowing.
“You girls are going to have a great time.” Dad hands me my clutch from the counter. “Both of you look fabulous. And believe me, I know fabulous.”
This is true. He sells it every day.
In the car, Lindy grows quiet beside me. I can feel the nervousness radiating off her like static electricity.
My phone beeps and I check the message. It’s from Hunter.
The party is so dull without U. Miss U. Wish U were here.
I laugh and show Lindy. “I can’t wait to see him.” She doesn’t even crack a smile. “Lindy, relax. We’re going to have such a good time.”
“I love the dress, and I appreciate the hair, the nails. But, Bella, this is your world. Not mine. I’m more of a Yankees-and-hot-dog kind of girl.”
“We’ll do that next time, okay?” I grab her hand and squeeze. “If Matt could see you now—he’d be speechless. You seriously look hot.”
That coaxes her mouth into a smile. “But is it me? Sometimes I look in the mirror—at the highlights, the famous label clothes— and it’s like I’m looking at someone else. Like I’m a phony.”
“Everyone’s got another side to him . . . even your Matt Sparks.”
The car stops, and Dad’s chauffeur turns around. “We’re here, miss.”
I pull Lindy out, instructing her all the way on how to depart a vehicle in the most delicate manner. It’s like sometimes the girl forgets she’s not in basketball shorts. No need to give someone a free peep show, you know?
Music spills out into the lobby of the Broadway Park Hotel. A few of my former teachers greet me, and I introduce Lindy.
Soon old friends swarm, and I lose sight of Lindy in all the chaos.
“How’s Oklahoma? Is it hideous?”
“Do you have to shop at Kmart?”
“Have you gone cow tipping?”
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“Oh, I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through.”
I don’t even have time to respond to any of the questions. As soon as I open my mouth to defend my new home, somebody asks something even more ridiculous.
“Lindy?” I shout over the voices. “Lindy!”
I see her hand wave in the back.
“Excuse me—excuse me.” She pushes her way through.
“Girls, you remember my good friend Lindy from Truman, right?” Soon Lindy is being peppered with questions.
“Hey,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m just going to slip away for a bit and find Hunter. I won’t leave you alone for long.”
Six songs later, I’m still searching for my boyfriend. Not only are there tons of people here, but at least half of them stop me to catch up.
When I’ve exhausted every spot in the ballroom, I notice French doors leading outside to a courtyard. The sparkle of tiny white lights strung from the trees lures me outside. I breathe in the night air and look to the sky.
No stars. They must all be in Oklahoma.
I breeze through the courtyard, finding nothing but random couples using the benches to make out.
Time to go back in. Hunter would definitely not be out here.
I stop and catch of flash of something familiar. “Mia?” I can’t control my laughter. Mia has a boyfriend and didn’t even tell me!
And from the looks of things, it’s serious. “Mia!” I’m on limited time here, so I tap my finger on her shoulder, shamelessly interrupting her interlude.
She comes up for air, her face now in the light. “Oh! Bella!” She jumps to cover the object of her affection.
But it’s too late.
“Hunter?”
He all but falls off the bench. “Bella, I can explain.”
“With the same mouth you used to kiss my best friend?”
He pushes Mia aside and grabs me. “You don’t understand. It’s been so lonely here without you. And then Mia and I have been working closely on this dance . . . and things just happened. It means nothing though, Bella.”
“You’re right.” My glare could melt a polar ice cap. “It does mean nothing. We’re over, Hunter. You never intended to make this work.” I turn on Mia. “Neither one of you did. I’ve done all the calling, all the e-mailing. It took me leaving New York to see how much I really meant to both of you, to see what our relationships were truly made of.”
A Charmed Life Page 22