Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2)

by Sabrina Stark

  Training was a major bummer. But we all had to take our turns. Unfortunately, my turn was with Brittney.

  "That's just the way it is," I said. "Someday, you'll see."

  "Now you sound just like my mom."

  I raised my eyebrows. "So you're mom's a waitress too?"

  "Hell no," Brittney said, straightening in her seat. "She's a bank president."

  "Right," I said.

  "She is!"

  Regardless of what her Mom did for a living, I had Brittney pegged right from the get-go. She was just another star-struck girl who thought the job was all fun and no work. If she lasted more than a week, I'd be surprised.

  Later that night, my worst fears were confirmed when Brittney greeted our very first table. Seated at that table was Mr. Bolger, a regular customer who had requested me personally.

  He was a squat, middle-aged man with two ex-wives, wandering hands, and more money than class. I'd been waiting on him for a couple years now. I knew his quirks, and I knew his tipping habits, which in truth, were pretty darn impressive.

  As I watched, Brittney plopped down beside him. "Hiya Tubs," she said, looking down at his stomach. "Lemme guess. You want one of everything, right?"

  Mr. Bolger set down his menu. "What?" he said.

  "Oh Brittney," I said, keeping my tone light. "Stop teasing the man." I gave him my best flirty smile. "Brittney's in training," I told him, adding just a little more spice to my voice than necessary. "So you get both of us for the price of one."

  The innuendo was obvious, and I felt just a little dirty using it. But it didn't take a genius to know that calling a customer fat wasn't gonna make them feel all warm and fuzzy, especially when it came time to leave a tip.

  Mr. Bolger leaned back in his booth. "Oh yeah? I'm liking the sounds of that." His gaze dipped to Brittney's cleavage. "So tell me, Blondie, am I gonna be your first?"

  "Hell no," she said, giving a playful slap to his arm. "I've had lots of guys." She eyed his hairline. "But none with a toupee before."

  His face froze.

  "So," Brittney continued, "when you shower, do ya take that thing off, or what?"

  As it turned out, I didn't need to worry so much about the tip-splitting arrangement, because there wasn't a whole lot of money to go around. Even Mister Bolger, who usually tipped like a mogul, ended up stiffing us.

  I guess I couldn’t blame him. He had no idea who was getting the tip. For all he knew, it was going to Brittney, who'd insulted him from one side of the restaurant to the other.

  And it wasn't just him. Brittney had this annoying habit of calling customers by nicknames based on their appearance. Over the course of the night, we'd waited on Horse Face, Thunder Thighs, Chicken Lips, and too many others to count.

  I couldn’t tell if she was truly that dense, or was doing it on purpose because she knew it would hurt me a lot more than her.

  When I complained to Keith, he said it was my fault for not training her better. And when a disgruntled table of two, also known as Bucky and Snaggletooth, refused to pay for their meals, Keith threatened to dock my pay to compensate for it.

  I thought of all the things I could've been doing tonight instead, naked things with the guy of my dreams. I should've called in sick, because when push came to shove, I'd been screwed tonight after all, just not in the way I wanted.

  The next afternoon, as I headed to my Grandma's house, I was feeling even more screwed. But this time, it had nothing to do with Brittney.

  It had to do with three official letters I found waiting when I checked my post office box.

  Bad news. Surprising news. Whatever kind of news you called it, it had me cursing all the way to Grandma's house.

  Chapter 36

  Grandma glared down at the letters. "Those sons-of-bitches," she said.

  I bit my lip. "Maybe it's just a bank error."

  Grandma snorted. "Bank error my ass."

  "Or maybe just an honest mistake?"

  Grandma was still looking at the letters. "You just got these today?"

  "Yeah, but it's been a couple weeks since I checked my box." I sifted through the envelopes, looking at the date stamps. "Oh shit," I said.

  Grandma looked up. "What?"

  "These aren't even the latest ones. I've deposited two more since these. Do you think they bounced, too?"

  If they did, I was in deep trouble. Before the Parkers had left for Costa Rica, they'd left me a series of post-dated checks. Those weekly checks covered everything – regular expenses, my house-sitting salary, incidentals, whatever.

  That salary wasn't a fortune, but it still had me worried. Because my salary was nothing compared to the other expenses those checks were supposed to cover. Those were a fortune, at least by my standards.

  For starters, Chucky ate only the best dog food, some custom organic stuff from a specialty shop. Pound for pound, it probably would've been cheaper to feed him prime rib and be done with it.

  And then, there were the countless other things related to the house itself – the lawn service, the pest control, some guy who came once a week to trim their hedges and trees. It all seemed beyond wasteful to me. The hedges and trees had stopped growing weeks ago. It was nearly winter, after all.

  The Parkers probably spent more money on yard care than I spent on groceries and gas.

  Except – oh God – it wasn't going to be me paying for their lawn care. Was it?

  "You call 'em yet?" Grandma asked.

  "I tried. I couldn’t get through."

  "I knew it!" Grandma said. "Those fuckers bailed on you."

  I shook my head. "They couldn’t have bailed. They've got a house, a dog, family photos, the works. " Again I sifted through the letters. "This has to be just some, I dunno, bank thing or something."

  Grandma gave me the squinty eye. "What kind of degree you got again?"

  "You know perfectly well what it is."

  "I just wanna hear you say it."

  "Fine," I said. "Accounting."

  "Uh-huh. And you believe that horseshit you're shoveling at me? Well, then you better call that school for a refund, because they did a shitty job of teaching you."

  "Sorry. They don't offer refunds." It was too bad in a way. They hadn't done a shitty job, but my degree wasn't exactly paying off.

  "Here's what you do," Grandma said. "Go back there tonight, and clean 'em out. Take everything. The china, the fancy artwork." She leaned closer. "In that house of theirs, they got copper pipes?"

  I gave her a look. "I don't know. And it doesn't matter, because I'm not gonna clean anyone out."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "I dunno. I mean, it's probably just some snafu with their bank transfers or something. They are in Costa Rica. Remember?"

  "Calling it a snafu don't make it right," Grandma said.

  "Besides," I said, "I'm watching their dog."

  "Shit, take the dog too. You said he's a pricey one, right?"

  I rolled my eyes. "I'm not gonna steal their dog. Besides, if Chucky were mine, I wouldn’t sell him." I leaned back and crossed my arms. "I'd keep him."

  That mutt was growing on me. Except technically, he wasn't a mutt. He was a purebred Yorkie, descended from national show dogs on both sides. But he acted like a mutt. That had to count for something, right?

  "Alright," Grandma said, "Just threaten 'em."

  I stared at her. "What?"

  "Yeah. Tell 'em if they don't pay up, their dog's gonna be dog food."

  "See?" I said. "This is why I never discuss money with you."

  Grandma was a smart lady, but she had her own ideas of justice. Of course, she hadn't been quite so bloodthirsty when someone had cleaned out her life-savings a few years earlier.

  Then again, that thief had been her daughter. My mom. Of the absentee variety.

  "I'm not gonna kill their dog either," I said.

  "Did I say you should kill him? No. I said you should threaten to kill him. Big difference."

  "I'll thi
nk about it," I said.

  "Your ass. You're not gonna think about nothin'."

  "Besides," I said, "what if the Parkers are hurt or something?"

  "They're gonna be hurt if they don't pay up."

  A few feet away, the cottage door opened. I glanced over to see Josh, my younger brother, come through the door with a book bag slung over his shoulder.

  I glanced at Grandma's kitchen clock. "Three o'clock already?" I said.

  "What do you mean 'already'?" Josh said, "I've been busting my hump since nine o'clock."

  "Oh. My. God," I said. "You didn't just say you've been busting your hump."

  "Hey, I have," Josh insisted. "It's not like I'm in grade school anymore."

  "Alright, fine," I said with a laugh. "You're officially a hump-buster."

  "Damn straight," he said.

  "Oh God," I said. "Not you too. I thought we all agreed not to swear anymore."

  "You agreed," Grandma said. "We agreed it was fuckin' stupid."

  "Yeah," Josh said, "and besides, you talk that way all the time."

  "Not all the time." I gave him a serious look. "Please tell me you don't talk this way in public."

  "Hell no," he said. "I'm not that stupid."

  I smiled in spite of myself. "You're not stupid at all, and you know it."

  Josh was in the gifted program, and he needed to stay there. This meant he needed to stay at his current school, which also meant he needed to stay exactly where he was – living with my Dad and Loretta.

  And Grandma? Well, she needed to stay in the cottage. As long as she lived there, Josh had at least one place close by where he felt welcome.

  I couldn't help but notice that Josh had come straight to the cottage after getting off the bus. He hadn't gone to where he supposedly lived.

  Grandma's place was rented, and it was tiny – one bedroom, one bathroom, a cozy kitchen, and small living area with windows overlooking an elaborate rose garden, now dormant.

  Across the garden loomed a much larger home, where my Dad lived with Loretta in a two-story brick house, much like the Parkers'. Everything was Loretta's – the house, the cottage, the gardens, and probably all their possessions.

  This meant that Loretta wasn't just mine and Josh's stepmother. She was also Grandma's landlady.

  It was all so complicated that I had a hard time keeping it straight sometimes. But it worked as long as Grandma thought she had a job.

  Reminded of this, I stood and reached for the bin of envelopes she had stuffed during the last week. I said my goodbyes and headed out to my car.

  I was loading the bin into my trunk when I heard that dreaded voice somewhere behind me call out, "Up to your usual tricks, I see?"

  Chapter 37

  I glanced behind me and stifled a groan. Sure enough, there she was, an overly thin woman with short, brown hair – Loretta.

  Today she wore tailored slacks, a cream-colored blouse, and her usual scowl as she barreled down the driveway toward me.

  With a sigh, I turned back to the car and slammed the trunk before leaning against it. She came closer, holding an official-looking clipboard.

  Her scowl deepened. "Well, are you?" she said.

  Up to my usual tricks? Honestly, I had no idea. "What tricks?" I asked.

  "Do I really have to spell everything out for you?" She gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I'm referring to your leaving without stopping by."

  "I tried to stop by," I said. "No one answered."

  It was true. After the hassle Loretta gave me last time, I had literally forced myself to knock on their front door first, before setting one foot inside Grandma's cottage.

  "Besides," I said, "aren't you supposed to be at work?"

  "Aren't you?" she said.

  "No. I work nights, remember?"

  She pursed her lips. "There's no need to get snippy."

  We could go around like this for hours. I so didn't have the time or energy. I glanced at the house. "So, uh, you want me to stop by, now?"

  Please say no, please say no, please say no.

  "Not necessary," she said. "Your father isn't home."

  If it wasn't necessary, why was she giving me grief? Oh yeah, because she could. That's why.

  "Oh," I said.

  "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

  "What am I supposed to say? That I'm sorry?"

  "Not if that's the best you can do." She looked down at my clothing. "Please tell me you're not wearing that for Thanksgiving."

  I glanced down at my jeans and turtleneck. I looked respectable enough. "Are we dressing up?" I asked.

  "Is that a rhetorical question?"

  "No. It's a real question. Are we?"

  She gave a little sniff. "Well, we certainly are. Out of respect for this house, I would think you would want to do the same."

  What I wanted to do was grab her by the hair and slam her face into my trunk. What I did do was nod. "Alright, I'll dress up."

  "And you will be bringing the salad?"

  "Wait a minute," I said. "I thought I was bringing the dessert."

  She gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "Must we do this again?"

  "What again?"

  With a shake of her head, she raised the clipboard and ran a long finger down a printed spreadsheet. Halfway down, she stopped. "Here," she said with a decisive finger-tap. "Chloe, salad." She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "Are you Chloe?"

  "I dunno," I said. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

  "Oh for Heaven's sake," she said. "Must everything be a joke with you?"

  "I wasn't joking," I said. Well, okay, I was. But nothing about this seemed remotely funny to me. When it came to Loretta, I'd lost my sense of humor years ago.

  "So," I said, "you want me to bring a salad?"

  "Yes," she said in a tone of forced civility. "A salad would be lovely. Thank you."

  Too bad the salad wasn't only for her. I'd have Chucky take a big crap in it. Then I'd feed it to her with a shovel. Now, that would be lovely.

  "And what," she said, "is so funny now?"

  "Nothing," I said. "Salad. Got it."

  "I'll believe it when I see it," she said, before turning on her heels and heading back toward the house.

  I was driving home when my cell phone rang. Desperate for a return call from the Parkers, I lunged for it and checked the display.

  Lawton. Today was Friday, and he'd be home in three days. He'd been calling me every night. I loved hearing from him, and things would be even nicer when we could do more than just talk.

  Still, as happy as I was to hear from him in the middle of the day, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that this wasn't the call I'd been desperate to receive.

  I pressed the button. "Hello?"

  "What's wrong?" he said.

  "Nothing."

  "Alright." He was quiet for a beat, and then said, "Got any plans for tonight?"

  I had the night off, not that it would do any good. He was in Vegas, and I was here. "Not really," I said. "Why?"

  "Because I've gotta be honest. I couldn't wait to see you."

  "You came back early?" I said.

  "You might say that."

  I laughed. "What does that mean?"

  "It means," he said, "that I'll be landing in a couple hours. I've got to be back in Vegas tomorrow morning, but I remembered you had tonight off, so—"

  My trouble with the Parkers suddenly faded into the background. "So you want to get together?" I said.

  "Yeah. But listen, no more hiding out in secret. You're my girl, and from now on, I'm doing things right. How about I'll pick you up at seven?"

  I smiled into the phone. "Sounds good. But hey, what should I wear?"

  "What kind of night are you in the mood for?" he said. "Casual, formal?"

  As far as clothing, I preferred nothing. Just the thought of his naked body gyrating against mine was enough to make my mouth water. But he was right. Hiding out in secret hadn't gotten us very far.

  "How abou
t casual?" I said.

  "Casual, it is." His voice lowered. "And Chloe?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I don't care what you wear. I'm dying to see you."

  Chapter 38

  I spent most of that afternoon trying to reach Mrs. Parker. Even with them out of the country, this had never been a problem before.

  At least once a week, she'd been checking in from Costa Rica, just to see how things were going. And every once in a while, I called her too, always on her cell phone, and usually with mundane, but time-sensitive questions about home maintenance.

  Now, every single call was going straight to her voicemail. I told myself this was a good sign. It was better than hearing a disconnection notice, right?

  Out of desperation, I pulled out our original paperwork and scoured the documents for emergency contacts. I ran my finger down the long list and came up with nothing useful. If I needed to reach Chucky's vet, I was home-free. But if I wanted to reach Chucky's owners, I was totally screwed.

  If I didn't hear back from them soon, I'd have to come up with some sort of plan.

  Until then, I vowed to push it out of my mind. I had a guy who loved me flying halfway across the country just to take me out on a date. If that wasn't a better thing to think about, I didn't know what was.

  Lawton picked me up right on time, driving some exotic sports car that I didn't recognize.

  First, we hit an authentic Greek restaurant owned by a friend of his. What they brought us, I had no idea, at least not by their official names. But there was something delicious made with spicy chicken and homemade bread, and an amazing dessert with nuts and honey.

  We talked about plays and politics, and local landmarks that we both had visited, even if not with each other. He talked about his sister, his Grandma, and a little about Bishop, who I was relieved to hear was out of town.

  As for me, I told him a little more about Grandma and a lot more about Josh, trying not to brag, as much as I wanted to.

  I didn't talk about the Parkers. And this time, it wasn't because I was ashamed, and it wasn't because of that agreement. Mostly, it was because when it came to house-sitting, things weren't exactly going so well.