Love You to Death

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Love You to Death Page 5

by Melissa March


  I convinced myself that Cass had a change of heart. That the episode I’d witnessed when I met him had never happened. We never mentioned it so it never existed. But in the back of my mind, a little voice struggled to remind me.

  Stewie came running into the kitchen holding a piece of black fabric. He was bouncing from foot to foot.

  “Look, Cherry! A real cape!” He held it up for me to inspect.

  “Wow. Look at that.” I smiled.

  “I’m gonna wear it,” he said, unfolding the fabric and flinging it over his shoulders.

  “You look great, buddy.”

  “Thanks. Cass got you a present too.” He gave me a wide, crooked-toothed grin before flying out the door. I stared after him shaking my head. Cass appeared in his place, looking as beautiful as he always did. Today he was casual in a pair of jeans and a blue button down shirt.

  “You’re cooking?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I used to do it all the time.” With my mom.

  “Don’t look so sad. I’m sure you haven’t lost your touch.” He came toward me, his smile lighting the way.

  “You can be my guinea pig.” I laughed maniacally.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Exactly.” He laughed.

  I lowered the flame and covered the pot. We walked into the hall, each taking a seat at the end of one of the tables. It was a pattern that had developed through his frequent visits. He would bring Stewie a gift, and then we would settle into place at one of the tables to talk.

  I’d never really dated anyone, so I wasn’t sure if that was what this was. Cass was much older than me. He’d confessed that he was thirty on his last birthday. When I considered that, I doubted he was interested in me in a romantic way. I imagined that he—like Miss Vinnie—was drawn to us in a supportive, familial way. I ignored the telltale signs he gave me from time to time. Like now, he was gazing into my eyes with a liquid heat that couldn’t be confused with anything other than lust.

  “So what’s up, PoPo?” I eased back into my chair. “Got a perp you’re on the lookout for?”

  The fire in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

  “You don’t have to do that you know,” he said softly, pinning me with his baby blues. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  “Do what?”

  “Hide behind that rapier wit of yours.”

  His uncanny mind reading skills were a little unnerving, but I was getting used to it.

  “Stewie said you had something for me?” I smoothly segued into a new topic. He hated when I did this.

  A frown puckered the skin between his eyes. He bent down, bringing a white box from under the seat, tossing it on the table.

  “It’s just a small token. Nothing really,” he said. I stared at it for a minute. This irritated him.

  “For God’s sake, it isn’t a snake,” he snapped.

  Hesitantly, I reached for the package. It wasn’t wrapped. The box itself was sturdy, the type you got when you bought envelopes in bulk. I lifted the lid and carefully set it aside. Sitting between white tissue paper were a pair of emerald green mittens with a matching hat and scarf.

  Inside I was doing cartwheels and handstands. I’d been wearing socks on my hands at night. An actual pair of mittens was going to be a real treat, if I accepted them. And I really, really wanted to. I knew he knew this. He knew I knew he knew this too. We went over it every time he brought me something.

  I met his gaze straight on. His poker face revealed nothing. You’d think we were negotiating world peace. He was patiently waiting for me to go through the whole spiel again. It was an old argument. I battled it out in my head for a few minutes.

  “Thank you,” I finally said. It wasn’t easy. The surprise on his face lasted long enough for me to enjoy the fact that I’d shocked him.

  “Well,” he drawled.

  “Don’t make a big deal or I’ll give them back.” It was an empty threat since I was already putting them on.

  “So...” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Got any plans this Friday?”

  Raising my newly mittened hands, I pretended to inspect the fabric’s stretch and said, “Well, the limo will be here at three to drive me to BWI. From there, the jet is scheduled to land at LAX by nine, so I can grab a late dinner at Koi, with Ben and Jen, and then maybe hit the Viper Room or Area.” I gave a bored little sigh and looked at him nonchalantly. “You?”

  “Always with the smart mouth.” He chuckled, giving a slight shake of his head. “I was thinking of going to see that new action movie, maybe grabbing dinner at Don Pablo’s.”

  Comprehension dawned slow and lethargic. He was asking me on a date. To a movie and dinner. An actual date. I lowered my face, concentrating on the mittens. This was the thin line I shouldn’t cross. A line barricaded with flashing lights and warning signs. Do not enter! Danger! High voltage!

  If I accepted his invitation it would be giving up all pretense of not understanding what his intentions were. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. On the other hand, I was hard-pressed to remember the last time I went to a movie. And a dinner in a restaurant, well that was self-explanatory.

  I was still digging fast food out from dumpsters and relying on the soup and half stale sandwiches they served here at the shelter. I took my time removing the mittens and carefully put them back into the box.

  What was it that I was so afraid of? Cass had spent the month showing me his kinder, gentler side. He’d done a complete 180 with Stewie. People can change. So I’d heard. Maybe it was time for me to let go, just a little, and trust someone again.

  I licked my lips nervously. It wasn’t like he was asking me to have sex. It was dinner and a movie. A date. Girls my age were doing it all over the world. I drew a deliberate breath and raised my head. He was watching me with his cop face, trying to figure out what I was going to say.

  I exhaled in rush. Cass, keeping his eyes on me, started rolling up one of his sleeves then the other. This reminded me that I didn’t have any nice clothes. I might be able to pinch something at the Harborplace Mall. My jeans were decent. I’d need a shirt...

  “Are you almost finished?” he asked testily.

  “What? Is there a time limit on the question?” I said offhandedly.

  He didn’t answer me. Instead, he pushed a deep breath through his nose and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. I watched him staring at me, waiting. His expression closed, his eyes shuttered. I realized then that he expected me to say no.

  For some reason I couldn’t explain, this assumption made me feel like I was more in control than I thought. I liked that.

  “If I say yes,” I said, hesitating to search for the right words. “What will you expect in return?”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” The look on his face didn’t change, but his tone was delicate, like he was talking to a sick child or a skittish puppy. “Arden...”

  “Just answer the question,” I snapped, embarrassed.

  “I expect you to be nice. No smart mouth comments, just a night of being with a friend, and having a fun night.” He lifted one side of his mouth in a lazy smile.

  “Nothing else?” I asked. He knew to what I was referring. Our eyes locked in a shared understanding. His only answer was the slight shake of his head.

  “Fine. Pick me up at 5:00.” We’d eat first, that way if anything happened I’d at least have my dinner. To me, it was all about the food.

  * * * *

  I had to pace myself. The food was really hot, but it tasted so good. I was practically shoveling it in. The melted cheese on my burrito burned my tongue. I didn’t care.

  Cass had picked me up on time and drove directly to The Avenue Mall where Don Pablo’s was located. We were quickly seated in a booth with a window. I watched people stroll by, thinking to myself how oblivious they all seemed to the luxury of their lives
.

  The waitress brought me another soda, my third. I nodded at her because my mouth was full. She smiled at me then cast a quizzical look at Cass. She didn’t have to say anything. I knew we looked like an odd couple.

  He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt that matched his eyes. I had on jeans too, but they were well worn, and the blouse I’d stolen from the Banana Republic had that never-been-washed look, crisp and new. I figured it looked like what it was: poorly thrown together.

  I turned my plate around and started on the cornmeal spoon bread. I saved it for last because it was my favorite. I hummed with appreciation. Cass smiled, observing me happily from across the table, sipping his beer.

  “I’ve never seen anyone so into their food before.” He smiled.

  I shrugged my shoulders, more than a little conscious of my table manners.

  “It wasn’t an insult. Food should be appreciated.”

  “I wanted to be a chef,” I said, before I could catch myself.

  “Really?” His surprise was genuine.

  I shrugged again. I didn’t want to get personal with him. It was enough to be indebted to him for necessities, like my sneakers and winter wear. He didn’t need to know my hopes and dreams.

  “Chef Arden,” he murmured, tilting his head up, staring off into space. “I could see that.”

  Sometimes I couldn’t believe how sweet he could be. I found myself beginning to like him. I knew this was a bad idea, for so many reasons, mostly because of the warning bells still going off in the back of my head.

  “What are you doing, Arden?” He leaned in, his elbows resting on each side of his plate, his eyes serious.

  “What do you mean?” I swallowed the last bite of spoon bread and reached for my soda.

  “You’re eighteen. You didn’t graduate. You live on the streets. You can’t live like this forever.”

  I raised my brow quizzically.

  “Okay, so maybe you could, but do you want to?” He said this very matter-of-fact, but the look in his eyes was soft and sincere.

  The soda burned its way down my throat, coating the lump rising there. No, I didn’t want to live like this forever. I just couldn’t figure out how to get out of it. I couldn’t get a job without a place to live, and I couldn’t get a place to live without a job. I cast my eyes downward, swirling the melting ice around in my glass with my straw.

  “I want to help you,” he said the words slowly, letting them linger between us. “I see kids like you all the time. The difference between them and you is your spirit. You’re a survivor, Arden. You’re beaten, but you aren’t broken.”

  He reached across the table, covering my hand with one of his. He stroked it with the pad of his thumb. I steeled myself for the tears that threatened to fall. I refused to cry, especially in front of him. Once was enough.

  “I don’t need your kind of help,” I said thickly.

  He snorted quietly, still rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “You think you know everything.”

  My eyes snapped to his; gray storm clouds met summer sky blue.

  “I know more than you think.” I said, yanking my hand back.

  “That chip on your shoulder isn’t helping you. You think I don’t know the dynamics of your situation?” He kept his eyes on mine, resting his chin on his fist. I stared mutinously at him.

  “There’s that spunk. I told you, you have spirit.” He wagged his finger at me, as if I were a naughty child. “You need a job, but no one gives a job to someone without a permanent address. Am I right?”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. He always knew what I was thinking.

  “See, I know more than you think, too,” he grinned.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you so bent on helping me? What do you want?”

  He didn’t answer me right away. He looked at his beer; the glass was covered in condensation. He traced a finger down the side, leaving a streak through the wet.

  “I like you, Arden. I see so much promise in you.” He looked up at me from under his thickly lashed eyes. “Can’t a person simply want to help another person?”

  A spark of hope ignited inside of me. I was so tired of always looking over my shoulder. My life was a constant torrent of wondering about all the possible dangers lurking around every corner. It was wearing me down.

  “How would you help me?” I asked, concentrating hard on the straw in my soda.

  “I want you to move in with me,” he said calmly.

  I could feel the weight of his stare but didn’t dare look at him. The small flicker of hope I had curled up and died like a leaf in winter. My disappointment charged the anger that was always simmering just underneath the surface. I took the napkin from my lap and threw it on the table. I slid out of the booth, and without looking back, I swiftly made my way to the door. I heard him curse.

  I pushed the door open, readying myself for the cold night air. It hit full force, rustling through my hair like grabby fingers, stealing through the loose gaps between the buttons of my stolen shirt. Without thinking, I’d left my coat and mittens behind, a big mistake on my part. Something I never do. I always think of my coat. But I’d allowed myself to get comfortable. I opened myself up to trust. And fell through the rabbit hole, once again.

  I pounded down the sidewalk. I wasn’t going back to his car, but I had to cut through the parking lot to get to the road. The tears surprised me. They trickled down my face, collecting in cold splashes at the bottom of my neck.

  Why did they all have to be the same? Why did I let myself think he’d be different? Was it too much to ask for a little platonic kindness? I hated my looks. I hated the heavy raven-black hair that always seemed to attract their attention. I hated the pixie face, that even twenty pounds underweight, made the men smile with a hard glint in their eyes.

  “Don’t go by sweet whispers and puppy dog eyes. It’ll only bring you heartache. Use your head first.” These were the words my mother had told me.

  I swiped at the tears and picked up the pace. I was a mile into my walk on Honeygo Boulevard, when the purr of a racing motor sounded behind me. The tires crunched on loose gravel as the car pulled onto the side of the road.

  “Arden, what do you think you’re doing?” Cass yelled from behind me, getting out of the car.

  I didn’t answer him. I took off running. His footsteps echoed behind me. It didn’t take him long. He was in great shape. I wasn’t. His fingers clutched at my shoulders, and then his arms were around me, trapping me.

  “You’re freezing!” he shouted over my protests. I shivered in his embrace. He steered me back to the car. I struggled to break free of his grip.

  “Stop it!” he ordered. It was useless to fight him. I let him lead me to the car.

  “Stubborn little fool,” he whispered, folding me into the car. Once he settled into the driver’s seat, he blasted the heat. My teeth were chattering. I put on the mittens and covered myself with my coat. He shoved the car into first gear, throwing gravel as he sped forward.

  “That was the dumbest thing you’ve done in a while,” he fumed. I silently agreed, but only because I’d forgotten my coat. “After all this time you still think the worst of me?” he continued, taking his frustration out on the gears. “What is it going to take to make you trust me?”

  I stared into my lap. I didn’t know what to say. I had no answer for him. I didn’t know how to trust anyone anymore.

  “Silent treatment again? It’s getting pretty old,” he complained.

  “What is it you want from me? You wanna be my boyfriend, is that it?” I asked solemnly, turning to stare out the window into the night. I watched the scenery pass by in a shadowy blur. He didn’t answer me right away. The silence seemed to stretch out forever.

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me how much you love me?” I snorted sarcastically.

  “I would if it was the truth,” he said, slowing for
a stop light. I gave him points for honesty.

  “So you want me to be your sex slave? You think because I’m homeless I must be a slut?” I instantly regretted saying it out loud. If he hadn’t thought of it I certainly didn’t want to give him any ideas.

  The light changed, but Cass didn’t move. A driver honked its horn behind us. Cass smiled, shaking his head, and eased through the light.

  “Is that why they call you Cherry?” he asked.

  “No,” I snapped, my face burning with the heat of embarrassment.

  “It is,” he chuckled. It was a friendly sound but to me it was insulting. “For your information, I knew you were a virgin. You pretty much look like a good girl, even under the street attitude.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “It wasn’t an insult.”

  I turned slightly—pretending to look out the windshield—as I let my eyes slide left to look at him. Cass’s face was awash in pale green light from the console. His features were set in a serious expression. He wasn’t mocking me.

  “Then explain why you want me to live with you.”

  “I can’t,” he sighed.

  “That’s what I thought.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “No. I mean I don’t know how to explain it. I just want to help you.”

  “It’s more than that. You’ve made comments about my looks, and I know what that look is... the one you give me sometimes. I’m not stupid.”

  “C’mon, Arden, I’m a man. I can’t appreciate a beautiful girl?” He laughed. “Have I made any improper advances?”

  I thought about this. Actually, no, he hadn’t. I shook my head.

  “There you go. I haven’t done or said anything inappropriate to you.”

  “Then what is this all about?” I said, looking questioningly at him. None of it made sense.

  “When I was younger my cousin ran away. We never heard from her again. Seeing you... well, it makes me wonder. Was she like you? Is she all right? Did anyone help her?” He was speaking in hushed tones. “I like to hope so.”

  His story tugged on my heartstrings. I felt lousy for thinking the worst of him. He really wanted to do the right thing. I still didn’t trust him. Although, I had to admit, if I wanted out of my bad situation, and off the streets, I had to let someone help me. Why not him? After all, it wouldn’t be forever.

 

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