A Charmed Life
Page 54
My friend nods. “I’ve seen her kill a rattler with her teeth.”
I quickly turn the topic back to our new roles as clowns and get the rundown on the job, which mostly consists of interacting with the audience and assisting the performing clowns. Fifteen minutes later my head is swimming with information, and I feel like going home and taking a good, long shower to rid myself of Stewart Fritz cooties.
“You Truman High students sure are a helpful bunch,” Stewart says as we step down from his trailer. “All but one of our positions have been filled now. I think things are looking up for us. And don’t forget, Bella—I’ll be keeping a special eye on you.”
I cough to cover up the retching noise. “See you tomorrow.” Pulling Ruthie along, I speed walk away from him.
“Bella,” Ruthie says. “The Lord gifted me with the ability to see things in people that others don’t. So this information may come as a surprise to you, but Stewart Fritz is one spooky dude.”
“Your insight into the human soul is clearly just God-given.”
“I know, right?” Ruthie jerks as I pull her to the left. “Where are we going?”
“I want to check out Alfredo’s trailer. I noticed they took off the police tape.”
“Oh, cool!” Ruthie rubs her hands together. “Are we gonna riffle through some drawers? Dust for any prints the cops might’ve missed? Set up some hidden cameras?”
“No. I’m going in. And you’re going to keep watch.”
“That’s lame. My dynamic duo guidebook says I have to make sure you don’t crowd me out of the action.”
“Look, I have not said you’re my partner yet. So consider this like part of your interview—a test. Did that book tell you that being lookout girl is one of the most crucial steps to being a sidekick?”
Ruthie shuffles a rock with her toe. “No. But I’ve only read the pages with pictures.”
“Well then.” I scan the area for anyone who might see us. “Stand outside this trailer while I go in. If you see anyone headed this way, I need you to call out ‘good afternoon’ really loud, okay?”
Ruthie chews on her lip, blue with a lipstick that complements her hair. “That’s not very original. How about I sing a few lines from The Wizard of Oz?”
“No.”
“And then I could say, ‘The monkeys are coming! The monkeys are coming!’”
“Just stick with my plan.” I look back over my shoulder as I peel open the door. “Consider this phase one of your test.”
“Man, I hate tests. They give me the burps.”
The door gives a little squeak as I shut myself inside. Dear God, if there were a breaking and entering prayer, I would so say it right now.
The shades are pulled, blocking out the afternoon sun. I slip a tiny flashlight out of my purse and shine it around the trailer. Looks like more than one guy lives here. Each side is split into bunk beds. I take it the stripped bed is Alfredo’s. I wave my light around until I see a small chest of drawers on his side. I ease the top drawer open and peer inside. Car magazines, a Snickers, a few pictures. I take one out. Alfredo and a woman. A beardless woman who is definitely not Betty. They’re staring into each other’s eyes and laughing. Extracting my camera, I snap a shot of the front and back of the picture. My heart races as I listen for sounds outside. I have to hurry. The life of crime is really not my thing.
Moving on to the bottom drawer, I find jeans, T-shirts, socks. Nothing out of the ordinary. I can’t imagine having to live with so few belongings. I mean, five T-shirts to your name? If Alfredo is guilty of anything, it’s a crime of fashion. I quickly run my fingers over the drawer seams, looking for any sort of hidden compartment. What? It works on TV.
“Somewhere over the rainbow!”
Ruthie’s voice from outside jolts me like a cattle prod. I drop my flashlight, and it skitters across the floor, under the far bed. Oh no—I have to get it! I have to hide! My brain scrambles for a rational thought. Think, Bella! What do I do?
I must get that flashlight. It was a present from Luke and has my name on it! I leap for the other side of the trailer and throw my hand under the bed, reaching with my fingers.
“The monkeys are coming! The monkeys are coming!”
I hear the door handle being lifted.
Not much farther. Almost got it. I can see the flashlight.
The door groans.
I shoot up to my feet.
Just as Stewart Fritz steps inside.
chapter six
Miss Kirkwood?”
Fall leaves in Connecticut could not shake harder than I am as I face Stewart Fritz.
He flicks on the lights. “What are you doing?” He takes large steps until he’s but a breath away.
“I—I—” I was trespassing and searching through things that didn’t belong to me. “I was told there was a bathroom in here.” I do a little dip. “It’s kind of an emergency. But I couldn’t find a thing in the dark.” Especially with my flashlight under the bed.
Stewart’s small hazel eyes narrow like a snake’s. “We have Porta-Potties all over the property.”
I toss my hair and laugh. “Oh, silly man! I could never use one of those. And since I’m an employee here now—”
“This is one of the men’s trailers you’re in.”
I look around. “Is it? Why I couldn’t tell what it was in the pitch black.” I giggle some more.
Stewart stares at me as the seconds tick painfully by.
Finally his face breaks into a sly smile. His voice is a low ebb.
“Any time you need some help, you ask for me.”
Gulp. “Thank you. I tend to get lost often. I’m a little bit air-headed at times.”
Stewart rests his hand on my shoulder. “All the more reason for me to keep my eye out for you. I’d hate for you to get hurt out here. The carnival life isn’t always as safe as it looks.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I try to skirt past him, but his body blocks my way.
“How old are you, Bella?” His eyes dip to my chest.
“Seventeen.” If he asks my bra size, I’m knocking him in the teeth.
“I’m twenty-one.” His grin reminds me of the Joker in Batman. “Do you like older men?”
I take one step around him. “I really have to get back outside. My friend is waiting on me.”
“The crazy girl who was yelling outside?”
“Yep. That’s the one.” I force a smile and take another step. “She’s not well today. Her, um, antidiarrheal meds are really messing with her head. She can’t be left alone for too long . . . or she could start singing Rent any second.” What am I saying?
“Sounds serious.”
He moves just enough that I make a break for it, sliding past him, hissing as my body has to touch his. Finally I reach the door.
“You want to be careful when you’re alone in the dark,” he says, as I fumble with the latch.
I shut the door and leap off the steps. Passing Ruthie, I grab her elbow and take off in a jog. “Ew, ew, ew!” Definitely taking a shower when I get home. Extra soap.
“What happened in there, boss?”
“Just keep moving.” I shuck off some of the fear as I spot my lime-green Volkswagen. “What happened to the original signal we planned on?”
“I freaked! I think I had test anxiety or something. You’re lucky I got ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ out—the first tune that came to my head was ‘I Like Big Butts.’” She shakes her head. “And I cannot lie.”
My phone rings before I can unlock my door. Luke Sullivan.
“Yes?” My voice is as calm as a trickling brook.
“Any reason you and Ruthie McGee are sprinting away from the carnival grounds?”
I throw my purse on top of my car, desperate to get a grip on my keys and unlock this thing. Can’t seem to make my fingers work.
“Um—”
“Let me try.”
I jump at the voice behind me.
Luke steps from behin
d the van next to us. He walks to me, his face tight. Grabbing onto my hand, he gently pulls my fingers apart.
He doesn’t let go as he clicks my keychain.
Ruthie scrambles inside and buckles herself in. I see her dive to the floorboard for her sidekick guide book.
“Now why don’t you tell me what’s brought you out here.”
“I—”
Luke holds up his free hand. “And be crazy and try the truth.”
“I stopped by for a visit.” I don’t need to explain myself to him.
A Rihanna song pours out of the car as Ruthie rolls the window down. “Tell him about our new job!”
I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. “She’s a little out of her mind today.”
Ruthie hangs her blue head out the window. “And Bella went snooping in Alfredo’s trailer.”
I give Luke my haughtiest glare. “I was here to check up on Cherry.”
“And that Mr. Creepy Pants caught her!”
“Ruthie, would you study your book and leave the talking to me!” I roll my shoulders, straighten my posture, and face my ex-boyfriend— whose eyebrows are lifted as high as his forehead will allow.
“What do you think you’re doing, Bella?” His words are like sandpaper to my nerves, and he cuts me off before I can reply. “Never mind. We both know exactly why you’re here.”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare my editor down. “You took me off the story, Chief. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do my own digging around.”
“What was Ruthie talking about? Who caught you snooping?”
I glance at my watch. “I really have to run. Lots to do.” And I need to be somewhere I’m not breathing your cologne. Breaking up with him was the right thing to do, right?
Luke’s hand curls around my arm. “Start talking, Bella.”
“I might’ve gotten lost and found myself in the magician’s trailer.” I watch Luke’s eyes darken. See the flex in his jaw and know he’s not going to let this die. “And Red’s son walked in.” I rush on before Luke interrupts. “But I told him I was looking for a bathroom, so it’s no big deal.” Minus the pink flashlight with my name on it I left in the trailer. Definitely going to have to go back and find that first chance I get.
“I stood guard!” Ruthie shouts.
Yeah, for all the good that did.
“Bella, you were taken off the story for your own good—to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection. I happen to be excellent at taking care of myself.”
Luke’s laugh is bitter. “Says the girl who snooped through someone’s possessions and then got caught in the process.”
“I think the important point here is that I talked my way out of it.” Yep, that’s the part of the story I personally like.
“And Red Fritz’s son bought your story?”
Well, probably not, but it got me out of there. “Luke, it’s over. I handled it.”
“So I guess the next question is . . . did you find anything?”
“As if I’d tell you!” I’m so sure. “You can’t pull me from the story, then expect me to hand over all my information.”
Luke inhales slowly and considers the blue sky beyond me.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Careful is my middle name.”
Ruthie’s head appears from the driver’s side. “I figured it was something like Myrtle or Helga.”
Luke holds me with his eyes. “Take care of yourself, Bella.”
Must. Look. Away. Broken up couples do not have long moments of meaningful eye contact!
Say something snarky. Something wickedly intelligent to one-up him.
“Um . . . I gotta pee.” I jump into my Bug, banging my head a few times on the steering wheel.
Ruthie smacks her gum. “Everything okay, boss?”
“Nothing a brain transplant wouldn’t cure.” And I drive the car far away from Luke Sullivan.
Later that evening the family sits down at the dining room table. We make a circle with our hands as Jake says a prayer over the meal.
“And Lord, please be with me and my family as I begin to travel even more. Give Jillian the strength and wisdom to take care of everything in my absence. Amen.”
His absence? What is that about?
I lift my head and gawk at my mom. She folds her napkin in her lap and trails a nail down her water glass. Last year that nail was fully manicured and polished. Now it’s neatly trimmed and ink-stained from writing notes for her psych class at the Tulsa Community College.
“What do you mean, ‘traveling even more’?” I pass Budge the peas. I do not eat small, green squishy things.V
Jake casts a quick look at Mom. “I have a few more weeks left of training, but after that I’ll hit the road full time. I’ve seen the schedule, and I’ll be gone for most of the remaining year.”
Robbie lets out a little whimper.
“I knew it would be a lot,” Jake says. “I just didn’t know it would be almost every day of the year.” His mouth spreads into a grin. “When Captain Iron Jack gets more established, I can set my own schedule.”
Mom wears the same plastic smile she wore the day she told me my dad was leaving us. This is not good. My dad traded my mom in for a string of bimbos. What’s Jake getting? Night after night of spandex wedgies and a stiff neck from the tour bus?
“Budge, you might have to ease up on your hours at the Wiener Palace to help out around here more.”
My stepbrother chugs his root beer. “I’m six hundred dogs away from wiener seller of the year. I can’t slow down now.”
“Maybe I could cut back on my television watching,” Robbie says, his face solemn. “I could give up one Superman cartoon and the financial network.”
“Nobody’s giving up anything.” Mom’s spine is straighter than a dry spaghetti noodle. “We’ll be fine. I’m going to finish up my class at the community college, then take a little break.”
“But you’ve waited your whole life to go back to school.”
“It’s fine, Bella.” She pats my hand. “All things in time. I can pick it back up some other time.”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Jake says. “I do have some good news for you, Jillian.”
I don’t know if she can take any more.
My stepdad proudly throws his arm around my mom. “You can put in your notice at Sugar’s. I’m officially on the payroll. The first check hits this week—and it’s a good one.”
“Are we rich, Daddy?” Robbie claps his little hands.
Budge grabs a piece of bread. “Can I have a pony?”
“Not rich, kids. But I’m definitely going to be making more than I did at Summer Fresh.”
Um, yeah, Summer Fresh would be the factory where Jake previously worked. He made pads. As in lady business. My own father is a plastic surgeon to the rich and famous in Manhattan, so it took quite awhile before I could hold my head up every time I went back to New York City.
“Well, at least we can start updating the house, huh, Bel?”
“Yeah, Mom.” I give her my most encouraging face. “It will be fun.”
Four hours later I’ve flossed, moisturized, and read my homework for English—another Charles Dickens novel. It’s like Death by Dickens. Lately any time I can’t sleep, I just pick up ol’ Chuck and next thing I know, I’m drooling on my pillow.
Leaving Moxie snoring on the bed, I walk downstairs to the kitchen to get a bottle of water.
I slip a Dasani out of the fridge, then head back up.
“You could’ve warned me.”
My foot pauses on the third step. I follow my mom’s voice through the living room and toward her bedroom. I lean my ear to the partially opened door.
“Jillian, the management just sprang it on me. What did you think this was going to be like? We knew it was a full-time commitment.”
“There’s a difference in being gone three hundred days of the year and being gone a few days a week.”
“This won’t last forever. We have to ride it out until things calm down,” Jake says.
“Until things calm down? You said that could take years.”
“I thought you wanted me to live my dream.”
“I do!” Her voice is almost a yell. “But what about mine? At what point did this go from me supporting your dream to you leaving me alone to raise three kids?”
My heart thuds in the following silence.
Finally Jake speaks. “Do you want me to quit? Say the word, and I will.”
“Don’t make me the bad guy, Jake. Of course I don’t want you to quit. What I do want is for this family to be our priority. Find a way to make it work.” I hear bare feet on the floor and the rustling of sheets. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”
I just get to the living room as my mom opens the bedroom door.
“Bella?” She stands at the end of the small hall, her pillow in her arms.
I freeze, stubbing my toe on the couch. “Ouch!” My breath hisses between my teeth. “Oh, hey, Mom.”
“What are you doing?”
“Me? Um . . . just came down to get a bottle of water.”
“In the living room?”
“I thought maybe I’d sneak some David Letterman.” I shake my finger at her. “But you caught me.”
She tilts her head and sighs. “You’re a horrible liar.”
I get that a lot.
“Good night, Bella.” She flops onto the couch and picks up one of her college textbooks.
I walk back toward the staircase but turn back at the first step. “Are we going to be okay?”
“Of course.” She flips a page. “It’s just going to be a big adjustment. But it should be . . . fun.”
“Um, Mom?”
She looks up from her book. “Yes?”
“You’re not so hot at lying yourself.”
chapter seven
The divorced-parent visitation thing can be a little stressful. Especially when you have an eight-year-old clinging to your dad and sticking her tongue out in five-minute intervals when no adult is looking.
Dad holds open the door to the famous Manhattan restaurant Nobu, and I file in behind his girlfriend and her bratty sister.