I don’t respond, just plod along next to him. The October sky is smoky blue, the leaves dressed in their autumn shades.
It’s not until after Brick has arranged our little picnic spot and I’m sitting with my bare feet dangling in the ice cold brook that I speak again. “What’d you tell Chloe about yesterday?”
“Nothing.” Brick’s answer comes from behind my back and I purposely don’t face him.
“Why not?”
“She’s so happy right now, excited about the dance. I haven’t seen her that way in a while.”
“Good. Don’t upset her.” At least we agree on that.
For a few minutes, the only sounds are the gurgling brook and the screams of a red-tailed hawk high up in the trees. Then I hear Brick crumpling up one of the paper bags. “You’d better come eat or there may be nothing left.”
It takes me a few minutes to find the will to move. When I finally drag myself away from the brook, there is still plenty of food waiting for me, set up nice and neat on one side of the red plaid blanket. Brick lies stretched out with his hands clasped behind his head, his sweatshirt balled up for a pillow. With his eyes closed, he looks boyish—far younger than his nearly-eighteen years.
I sit on the blanket and start nibbling an Egg McMuffin. I’m glad Brick isn’t looking at me, glad he’s so tired that he can’t keep his eyes open, because I need to be alone with my thoughts. I need to plan. Unfortunately, the answers aren’t clear. I only have the one idea. If it doesn’t work…I don’t know. Running away isn’t an option anymore. There’s no Buick, no money, no way that Judd and Donovan wouldn’t hunt me down. Or worse, go after Brick and Chloe in my absence. I’ve made a royal mess of things.
When I’m finished eating, I hug my knees and watch Brick’s chest move up and down for several minutes.
I don’t worry about the tears that start sliding down my cheeks, about the hurt and worry bubbling up and pressing against the surface of my throat, about how I’m letting down my defenses with Brick a mere three feet away, dozing lightly. It’s strange, this in-between place. This place where Brick knows something isn’t right with me, but he doesn’t know exactly how wrong things are.
“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, stirring from his slumber and catching me crying. I don’t bother trying to hide it. He lifts his arm and, with that simple gesture, beckons me.
Crawling across the blanket, I rest my head against his bicep, curling onto my side next to him. His right arm curves around me, the warmth of his body making me feel tender and cared for and safe. Brick’s touch cuts right to my core. And it’s not because I’m having some romantic notion about him, either. It’s because I haven’t been held like this in so freaking long. Maybe not ever.
And then, like a poison-tipped arrow gliding through time and space, the pain I’ve been holding at bay for the past ten months comes at me fierce, poking through slits in my armor. More tears seep out from the corners of my eyes, unstoppable.
“I miss my Gram.” A small sob hitches out along with my words. “I miss her so much.”
Brick’s arm tightens round me, but he says nothing. After a ragged breath, I add, “I didn’t get to go to her funeral. I don’t even know where she’s buried.”
Pause. “When did it happen?”
“Last December, right before Christmas. She had a heart attack. I was the one who found her.” Now that I’ve cracked the dam, information gushes out. “I stayed with her until the paramedics came, but I knew she was…gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
I sniffle, try to get myself under control. “I don’t know why I’m thinking about her right now, anyway. Do you think about your mom a lot?”
He’s quiet for so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. But then I feel his chest inhale and exhale against me, and he says, “I try not to. It’s easier not to. But of course I do.”
I nod and rub my nose. “And your dad? Do you think about him?”
“All the time,” Brick responds, choking on the words.
I reach up and place my hand against his arm, the one that’s draped across me.
“When does he…get out?”
“Three more years. Just before I turn twenty-one.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “That’s a long time.”
Brick lies very still as he speaks. “He got the minimum sentence for manslaughter. They might’ve cut a plea but he had a previous DUI. Aunt Lillian couldn’t represent him, but she worked with his lawyer. She was very level-headed, unlike the rest of us.”
I don’t know how to respond. So I just listen.
“Uncle Pete can’t stand to hear my dad’s name. He’ll never forgive him for killing his sister. He only wants to talk about my mom and how great she was, and I just…can’t deal with it, so I walk away. I guess it’s rude, but it’s better than when I first got here. I used to snap at people, teachers even.”
“Really?” I marvel. He seems so in control now.
“Yeah. There’s a reason I know Mr. Greeley so well.” He laughs a little, and I do too. It feels good, the laughter. A different type of release. When it dissipates, Brick admits, “I have to work really hard at it. I’m not as strong as you, Andrea.”
We fall into silence and it takes a while before I feel it, his hand soft on my shoulder, his finger moving around in circles. “Andrea.” Over and over he repeats my name, like a prayer. A plea.
“Stop,” I whisper after a while. “Please stop saying my name.”
His mouth quits, but that’s all. He continues to trace circles on my skin, waiting. I know it is my turn to speak. And I want to tell him the whole ugly truth about my life. But as always, tar or glue or cement—or fear—keeps my lips sealed.
Eventually it occurs to me that Brick is not tracing random patterns on my arm. He is writing my name in cursive, over and over again, like it is something special, something to be cherished. Something worth saving.
“What happened to you?” he finally whispers.
What can I tell him? That I’ve learned to gauge my safety by reading the level of lust in a man’s eyes? That I’ve been homeless, and so hungry that I break the law in exchange for food? That he was right about the drugs? That there are grown men who want to keep me and my mother as their play-things? That I’m in more danger than I ever realized?
No. If I tell him any of those things, I will be putting him and Chloe in the exact same danger. And I won’t do that, not when they’ve been so good to me.
The best route is denial.
“Nothing happened to me.” My voice is as flat as the cornfields.
For a moment, Brick is silent. Then I feel his breath on my shoulder where his finger was just circling. “Of course it didn’t,” he says and kisses me there with the lightest touch, that of a feather.
Chapter 35
Turns out Gram’s watch isn’t worth much. The guy at the pawn shop offers me fifty bucks for it. When I balk, he shrugs and tells me to bring him some gold instead. But gauging by the price of the merchandise in the shop, I’d have to hunt down a heck of a lot of gold to match my debt.
“I need a thousand dollars,” I say desperately.
The guy laughs in my face, his beer belly jiggling against the glass on his side of the counter. “The only jewels that fetch that kind of dough are diamonds, baby.”
“Diamonds?”
“Yeah. And the more unique the piece, the higher the price. Happy hunting, kid.”
I leave the shop with my heart in my shoes, and with Gram’s watch securely attached to my wrist. I know nothing of diamonds—Gram never spent money on that kind of jewelry. All I can think of are engagement rings. But what are the chances that some woman is going to drop her engagement ring in the next few days, and that I’m going to happen to find it? Not likely.
Outside, the late afternoon wind bit
es at my cheeks and whips my long hair into my face. The Indian summer is history, gone as quickly as it arrived. The temperature dropped to the thirties today and I’m freezing my arms off in just a T-shirt and my long black vest, but there’s no chance in hell I’m asking Judd to buy me winter clothes.
I pull on my swirly pink and black ski cap, the one that kept me warm when we were living in the Buick last winter. The one that smells like home.
With my hands balled in my jeans pockets, I look up and down the streets, the buildings as gray as the sky, as gray as my mood. It took me forever to walk here. All for nothing.
I begin the trek back to Haydon, my strides long and brisk. I feel beat down, so tired of trying to survive. For a while I think of nothing, just clear my mind like Ayla’s hippie friends in their yoga poses. Downward Facing Dog. That’s me, all right. It takes every ounce of willpower for me to continue walking in this direction, to not veer off into a completely new life. I should have left Ayla months ago when I had the chance, because now I’m stuck. Now I have people to protect. Now I have connections that I should never have made.
As I trod up Judd’s driveway an hour later, I hear him and Ayla shouting inside the house. Ayla can swear worse than a sailor in a white squall, and from the sound of things, there’s quite a storm brewing. I shuffle around in the dirt near Judd’s car for a minute, trying to stay warm while I decide what to do. It’s a crap shoot as to whether I’ll be able to sneak upstairs or get caught in their crossfire. I decide it’s not worth the gamble. Better to come home later and hope that Judd has calmed down, passed out, or gone to a bar to drown his sorrows.
I turn and sprint through the woods toward Brick’s house, toward safety—and if I’m honest with myself—toward the soft, sweet kiss he placed on my shoulder.
Mrs. Masterson answers the side door. She purses her lips in disapproval when she sees me standing there shivering. “The kids are both out,” she says regretfully. “Brick is with some friends and Chloe’s at the store with her dad.”
With chattering teeth, I thank her and turn to leave, but she reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “I should let you freeze out there,” she says with a wry smile. “The way you teenagers run around without coats. I’ve wasted more breath arguing with Chloe about dressing appropriately for the weather.” She shakes her head as I rub my arms.
“Yeah, my mom says the same thing.” What a liar I am.
Mrs. Masterson nods toward the house. “Come on in and have some hot cocoa before you catch pneumonia. I’m not about to send you home without warming you up first.”
Since my only other option is to hunker down in the woods and shiver for the next couple of hours, I accept. As I step into the cozy country kitchen, the soothing notes of instrumental music float out from a speaker on the counter. I immediately recognize Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 from my Musical Masters elective. As it segues into Pachelbel’s Canon in D, I smile a little. Guess I learned something in that class after all.
I spy a pile of knitting heaped on the counter and some of Chloe’s schoolbooks open, like she left in the middle of a tough algebra problem. Instantly, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of longing. For this. For Chloe’s life. Even for Brick’s, tragedy and all.
For twenty blissful minutes, I sit at the big planked wooden table and sip cocoa and munch on cookies and chat with Chloe’s mom. Mostly we talk about school and books. It’s the best conversation I’ve had with an adult in a long time. She’s impressed that I’m so well read, and I blush with pride at her compliments. I wish I didn’t have to leave this place, this moment, but eventually I finish my drink, and Mrs. Masterson reaches over to pick up my mug and carry it to the sink. That’s when I notice her wedding rings—three small sparkling diamonds set into a thick gold band—and beside it a marquee-shaped stone that glimmers in the light from the chandelier.
And then the terrible, perfect idea hits me.
“You can borrow one of Chloe’s coats to wear home,” Mrs. Masterson says. “Or I can drive you.”
“A coat would be great. Even a sweatshirt’s fine. Thanks.”
“Okay.” She walks toward the mud room. I take a breath.
“Actually…” I say. “I think I left my T-shirt here the other night when I stopped by. Would it be okay if I grab it from Chloe’s room?”
“Of course.” There’s not even a hint of suspicion in her voice.
Upstairs, I shut the bedroom door quietly and hurry over to Chloe’s jewelry box. My hand is shaking as I pull out the bottom drawer and poke my fingers into the mass of sparkles, seeking the one item I know Chloe doesn’t wear, ever.
Dangling from my fingers, the diamond bracelet shimmers like a million stars. It looks unique. It looks expensive. But what if I’m wrong? I won’t have another chance. I stuff the bracelet into my jeans pocket and then pluck out the glittery diamond earrings that Chloe showed me the other night. The earrings her father gave her for her eleventh birthday.
I’ll bring these back. I’ll only use them if I have to. I tell myself this over and over as I push them frantically down into my other pocket.
As I’m closing the little drawer, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. A lump forms in my throat because all I see is a pretty girl with ice blue eyes and an evil soul. A girl who takes what she wants. A girl who may be more like her father—and her mother—than she wants to admit.
My heart pounds. My eyes sting with tears that disappear almost as fast as they form.
I have to survive, my mind argues.
But that doesn’t make it right.
Before the guilt overwhelms me, I turn away and do a quick sweep of the bedroom. My shirt is laying near the top of her laundry pile. I’m sure it would’ve been returned to me clean and folded and smelling like lilacs.
Oh Chlo, I think as I snatch it, your worst mistake was ever wanting to be my friend.
A few minutes later, I hurry out of the Mastersons’ house tucked snugly into Chloe’s brown puffy winter coat. I’m only a few car-lengths down the long paved driveway when I stop, pull the bracelet from my jeans and fold it into my fist. It felt too heavy sitting in the bottom of my pocket, like a boulder whose weight could pull me under the earth and hold me in some devil’s prison, which is probably right where I deserve to be. I stare at the bracelet, feeling sick. What have I done?
“Hey. What brings you out on this blustery evening?”
Brick’s cheerful voice, with its unmistakable southern drawl, is right behind me. I jump and spin around and clutch at my chest. I think I also yelp in surprise, but who could be sure with the way my heart is hammering in my ears?
“Oh my God! Don’t you know not to sneak up on girls in the dark of night?” Infuriated, I push at his chest while he laughs. And then I notice the end of Chloe’s bracelet dangling from my grip.
Unfortunately, Brick notices too. “What’s that?” he asks, curious.
Crap. If I act weird about it, he’ll get suspicious. Anyway, what are the chances a 17-year-old boy knows what kind of bling his cousin owns? Chloe never wears this bracelet, and I highly doubt Brick has gone snooping through her jewelry box.
I open my palm. “A bracelet.”
Brick’s face is a complete blank as he looks at it. “Pretty,” he says flatly.
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. “Yeah. It was my Gram’s.”
He slips his hands into his jeans pockets. “Shouldn’t it be on your wrist?”
“Well. It’s a little big and I was afraid it would slip off in the woods, so…” I shrug and stuff it back down into my pocket. “Anyway, where were you tonight?”
He frowns. “At Mike’s, watching Ole Miss get their asses handed to them on a platter.”
“Ole Miss. Is that your team?”
He nods. “That’s where my parents went to college. We used to go to the
games a lot, so I’m required to be a fan. But this season?” He shakes his head. “They’re killin’ me.”
I look directly at Brick’s face for the first time since he appeared. There it is again, something pensive in the way he’s watching me. I remember how worried he was when I left school Tuesday, how he confronted me about Judd, how we snuggled together so tenderly by the brook. What would he think if he knew I’d stolen this bracelet from Chloe’s bedroom? He’d never speak to me again. He’d retract all his concern and kindness, his loyalty and friendship. And he’d be right to do it.
“Sorry,” I say hastily, turning away. “I have to go—”
“Wait. Is everything okay?” But I don’t wait.
“Yes!” I call over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
I sprint into the woods, gaining speed. Instead of taking the familiar path back to Judd’s house, I veer left, along the Mastersons’ property line where I’m hidden by the trees and the uncut corn. I run until the fields disappear and the brush grows thicker and I’m sure I must be near the brook where Brick and I picnicked. From this side, though, everything looks different. Somewhere above me, an owl hoots. As I walk deeper into the woods, I lose all sense of direction.
I’m hoping to find the service road and regain my bearings because it’s pitch dark and eerily quiet, and I’m more than a little spooked. These woods cover more acreage than I originally thought. I could wander around, lost for hours, before finding my way back.
The service road eludes me, but I figure the narrow path I’m on must lead somewhere familiar. After several minutes of walking, I spot movement ahead, tiny lights bobbing around. Instinctively, I crouch low, slither off the trail and tuck myself behind a large bush. Through the shrub’s leaves, I spy two men coming my way, carrying flashlights. Breathing silently through my mouth, I am grateful for the dark brown color of Chloe’s coat and my black-as-night hair.
Hopefully the hikers will pass by without noticing me. In case that doesn’t happen, I’m poised to run. As they get closer, their voices roll across the wind.
All Out of Pretty Page 21