Her dad made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on stale bread. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until she took her first bite. She ended up eating a second one, followed by a glass of milk.
“Calli, we need to talk,” he said as he took the empty plate and glass from her.
“Okay,” she said, wanting to avoid the discussion by claiming exhaustion. It wouldn’t be an entirely untrue excuse. She did feel weary. But she’d never been one to avoid unpleasantness—well, most of the time anyway. She figured she may as well get it over with.
He sat in the chair he’d moved back into the living room from her bedroom. She reclined on the couch across from him. He sat forward in the chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. He sighed wearily, scrubbing his stubbled jaw.
“I have a pretty good idea of what you were doing up on the hill, Calli,” he began. “I don’t approve of it, of course.” He looked into her eyes. “And I’m surprised at you.” Shame suffused her at his words. “But that’s neither here nor there at this point. What’s done is done and now there’s a price to be paid.”
“A price?”
He nodded. “Mr. Stratford is willing to drop the charges.”
“Charges?” she squeaked.
“You were on his property, trespassing.”
“I didn’t . . . we weren’t in the yard. We were behind the bushes.”
Her dad shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He owns most of the hill. His property doesn’t end where the grass ends.” His tone indicated this should have been obvious to her. She honestly hadn’t thought of it, had followed Eli blindly. Okay, not exactly blindly. She’d known what she was doing.
“He wants to . . . press charges against me?”
“He has pressed charges, Calli.” A tremor shivered through her frame. “But he—” He cut himself off, dropping his head into his hands.
“He, what?” she asked hesitantly.
“He’s willing to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“He says . . . he says that if you’ll live at his house and be his son’s friend and schoolmate for a period of six months, he’ll drop the charges. And . . .”
Calli’s stomach twisted furiously. “And?” she prompted with a whisper, not sure she wanted to hear the rest.
“And he’ll pay the doctor’s bill.”
Calli pushed up from the couch, her head spinning from the sudden movement. She took a few deep breaths then strode across the small room. She stopped short of spinning on him, knowing she’d probably fall over from the motion. Instead, she faced the wall. He wanted her to be a friend to the monster? The mysterious thing who howled at the moon? No way! For six months? That was, like, an eternity. She’d rather go to jail.
Then she thought of the last thing her dad said. He’d pay the doctor’s bill. They couldn’t afford it, but it would probably be a drop in the bucket to the banker. She wanted to flat out refuse, but knew she’d have to think this through. If she said no, that bill could be the thing that sunk them for good. They were barely holding on to their house as it was. It was no secret that her dad’s car was on its last few miles. She turned around to find him watching her.
“Calli, who else was there with you?” She dropped her eyes, refusing to answer. The rest had gotten away. Her dad stood and walked to stand in front of her. “Tell me. If you tell me, I can tell the police, then you won’t have to pay for this alone.” He gripped her upper arms urgently. “I know you didn’t think of this. I know you didn’t do it alone. Please, Calli, tell me so we can fix this. We don’t have to give in to his demands.”
She shook her head and the room swayed. “Dad, I really need to lay down again.” He relaxed his intense stance, nodded curtly and walked with her back to her room. Once she lay down, he moved to the door.
“Calli,” he said, “if you just—”
“Dad,” she interrupted. “Just let me rest. Let me think about this for a while, okay?”
He nodded and closed the door behind him. Tears welled in Calli’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to help. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to sleep.
* * * * *
Two days later, Calli felt much better. She’d showered the day before, and in spite of the slow, painful process of washing the blood from her hair, her spirits improved just from that. She showered again, dressed, put some makeup on and carefully fluffed her hair, covering the shaved spot as best she could.
Her dad was working today, which was good for her. That meant she could set out on her errand without argument from him. Her head still hurt, and every once in a while the world tilted, but she felt she could do this.
She left her house with a note for her dad in case he came home early—something else she rarely did—and headed to the other side of town. It was a long walk, taking her nearly half an hour to make the bank. When she finally arrived, she had to sit on the steps out front for a few minutes and rest. She wished she’d remembered to bring a water bottle.
She stood and turned toward the bank entrance, fear climbing her throat now that she was here. She forced it down, pushed her shoulders back, and climbed the remaining steps, entering the cool interior.
There weren’t many people inside the richly appointed building. She saw the Smythe’s over talking to the loan officer. The poor farmers were probably begging for a loan to save their struggling land. Another woman she didn’t know stood at the counter. She was definitely not from Calli’s side of town if her clothes and designer purse were any indication.
She hurried up the stairs to her right, unnoticed. She knew just where Mr. Stratford’s office was—everyone did. A pinch faced secretary sat at a cluttered desk outside his sanctuary. She looked up at Calli’s entrance. Her eyes widened at the sight of Calli. She was used to the reaction from people who didn’t know her. But then the woman’s eyes scanned her ragged clothing and her eyes narrowed, seeming to silently judge her and coming to a quick verdict.
“Can I help you?” she asked in her most unfriendly voice, letting Calli know that she was in the wrong place for whatever she was looking for.
“I need to see Mr. Stratford.”
The woman blanched a little at her confident statement. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
The woman smirked. “I’m sorry. He’s unavailable.”
“I think you’ll find he’s available to me,” she said boldly. “My name is Calli Clayson.”
No sign of recognition lit the woman’s face. “I said he’s unavailable.”
Calli stepped forward, leaning her hands on the woman’s desk. “Please announce me and let him say whether he’s unavailable.”
The woman began to stand and Calli made her move. She darted around the desk, and the woman, and pushed to door open to Mr. Stratford’s office.
“Young lady!” the woman exclaimed, following closely on her heels.
The man behind the desk looked up from a paper. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry, sir, she ran around me. I’ll call security immediately.”
“I’m Calli Clayson,” she said quickly as the woman took one of her arms in her hand.
The man behind the desk stilled, his look turning shrewd. “It’s alright, Martha. Ms. Clayson and I have business to discuss.”
That took the wind out of Martha’s sails. Calli grinned triumphantly at her as if to say, see? Martha humphed and exited, closing the doors behind her briskly. However, Calli’s bravado slumped when she turned back to the imposing man who now stood.
He was tall, she suspected as tall as the figure she’d seen raging at the setting sun. She wondered if it was him, and if so, what caused his deep pain. Right now he just looked arrogant. He was a good-looking guy for someone his age, though, she couldn’t help but notice.
“Please, Ms. Clayson,” he said politely, sweeping a hand toward the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
She stepped forward and slowly lowered herself into one of the chairs.
“Can I get you anything?”
She began to shake her head, then changed her mind. “Yes, I could use some water.”
“Do you want aspirin with that?” he dead-panned. She shook her head. He walked over to the window and poured her a glass of water from a pitcher that sat on a high desk there. He handed it to her before taking his seat on the opposite side of the desk.
“Can I assume you’re here to discuss my proposal?”
Calli took a long swallow of the water before answering. She sat the glass down on the desk and leveled her eyes at him.
“I came to see if there is something else I can do.”
“No.” His answer was abrupt, final. Her mouth dropped at this unexpected turn.
“You’re bribing me to spend time with your son.”
“Yes.”
“But . . .” she sputtered. “That’s so . . . unfair.”
He glanced toward his window. “If there is one absolute I have learned in my lifetime, it’s that the cliché is true. Life is unfair.”
Calli clamped her hands together, determined not to lose her temper. What was the saying? It’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar?
“Listen, Mr. Stratford—”
“No, you listen,” he said, sitting abruptly forward in his chair. “There is no negotiation here. You were trespassing. I know why you were trespassing.” Calli’s cheeks flushed. “If you’re so interested in seeing the monster of Orchid, this is your chance to get an up close and personal look.”
“But, I . . .”
“Tell me, Ms. Clayson, can your father afford the bill from the doctor who stitched you up?” Calli lifted her chin, refusing to answer. He opened a drawer and pulled a piece of paper out, which he tossed across the desk. “There’s the bill. The bill I’m prepared to pay. If you think your father can manage it, by all means take it and go.”
Calli took the paper and scanned it. When her eyes reached the bottom and the staggering total, her throat tightened in distress.
“Of course, there’s still the trespassing charge as well. You’ll likely get a fine for that, and some community service.”
Calli’s eyes came back to Mr. Stratford’s. She was really beginning to dislike this man. A sick feeling of resignation flowed down her spine. What choice did she have?
“Define friend,” she finally said.
“You’ll live at my house for six months. In that time you’ll befriend Alexander, spend time with him.”
“What about school?”
“You’ll be tutored alongside him.”
“But what about my friends?” She was upset at the thought of not seeing them daily at school.
“They have each other. I’m sure they can live without you.”
She slapped her hands on the desk. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
He grimaced. “Fine. You can have Saturday’s off, alright? On that day you can do anything you wish.”
Calli shook her head. “But my dad . . . he won’t do well without me. He needs me.”
“He’s an adult. He’ll survive.”
Calli glared at his callous words. “You don’t understand. It’s only the two of us. I take care of the house, pay the bills, wash his clothes, cook his food.”
“You do all of that?” He was incredulous. “I’ll hire a maid for him. She can do all of that.”
“Pay his bills?” Calli asked skeptically.
He rubbed one cheek, contemplating. Then he glanced at her. “I’ll assign one of the interns to him. They can take care of his bookkeeping.”
Calli shook her head. “You’re asking me to leave him for six months. That’s too long.”
“He can come see you whenever he wants. And you can see him on your day off.”
“I’ll stay for three months, you’ll drop the charges and pay the bill, and pay me as if it’s a job.”
His brows lifted at her audacity. “Do you understand the value of what I am already offering? Aside from that,” he flipped his hand toward the bill she held, “the cost of a maid and an intern to take care of your father. And you also wish compensation?”
Calli knew she treaded dangerous ground, but she lifted her chin, giving one sharp nod.
“Six months, the bill paid, the maid and bookkeeper, weekends off, and a weekly wage of a thousand dollars,” he said.
Calli’s head spun at the amount. A thousand bucks a week? Her father barely made that in a month. She quickly did the math and realized the money would not only get them out of their desperate straits, but would also provide her a nice college fund. And maybe a new pair of jeans. She swallowed, not wanting to appear desperate.
“All of that and I also get Wednesday nights off.”
“You really want to risk all I’m offering for another 4 hours a week?” He laughed humorlessly. “Keep in mind, Ms. Clayson, I know your financial situation as well as you do.”
“Okay, fine,” she conceded. “Just one more thing.”
“I can hardly wait to hear this,” he said lightly.
Her eyes dropped to the desktop. “Do you think, maybe, you could arrange for rehab? For my dad, I mean. Some kind of outpatient thing, so he won’t lose his job.”
He was silent for so long she finally lifted her eyes to his. She couldn’t read his expression. He stood, extending his right hand to her. “Deal,” he said.
She also stood, placing her hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “Deal,” she repeated.
As she left the bank to be driven home by the dour Martha, at Mr. Stratford’s unshakeable insistence, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just made a deal with the Devil.
* * * * *
Calli stood looking out her bedroom window. The wooden back fence was only about fifteen feet from her window across a mostly dead stretch on lawn. The fence itself was peeling and falling apart in places, even sagging near one of the corners.
She sighed and dropped the corner of the sheet that served as a drape. A glance at her watch told her she only had a few minutes. She walked over to her bed and picked up her small bag. She didn’t have much to take with her. A hand written card on a piece of paper fluttered to her floor. She picked it up.
Jennae, Brittany, Brandon, and Eli had thrown her an impromptu party last night. Of course, it was only the five of them since none of them could afford to throw a real party, nor had houses big enough to accommodate more than a few people. They’d made her a cake that slightly resembled Sully from Monsters, Inc. The handwritten card had a grotesque monster drawn on the front, compliments of Eli’s rather unique talent. The inside said: “Don’t get eaten by the monster. But if you do, we’ll cut him open and rescue you!”
She wasn’t allowed to tell anyone the details of her deal with Mr. Stratford. Her father knew why she was going, that the banker agreed to pay the doctor’s bill, and of course he knew of the maid, but he didn’t know the rest. Her friends had been told she was being assigned community service at the Monster House for trespassing. None of them had volunteered to admit their part as accomplices and take part of the burden.
She reached up and rubbed her fingers across the scar beneath her hair. The stitches had come out a few days ago, and honestly, already the scar was so thin she could barely see it.
A honk alerted her to the arrival of her ride. She tucked the paper deep inside the bag and walked through the small living area to the front door. Her father was at work. He couldn’t afford to miss any more days than the two he’d stayed home to nurse her.
A long black limousine awaited her. She quickly glanced up and down the street to see who might be watching. Most everyone was at work, and she didn’t see anyone who cared to discover who was honking. She dashed out and slid in, slamming the door behind her before the driver could do so. She watched through the window as he tipped his hat with an amused grin and walked around to the driver’s side.
&nb
sp; Calli slid low in the seat, though she doubted anyone could see her through the dark windows. They drove down the rutted streets and up the long hill toward the house she’d both envied and feared for so long.
The driver pulled through the wrought iron gates and around the circular drive, stopping in front. Calli stared gloomily at the house. It was much taller than it appeared from below, and even from where they’d hidden out back behind the hedges.
She jumped as the driver opened her door and wondered if she could just hide in the car for the six months. Terror gripped her at the thought of steeping through the doors into the house.
She was sure the stories of the monster were exaggerated, sure he was human. Okay, maybe not sure. But she thought he probably was. Maybe. She hoped.
As she climbed out, another man came down the steps, dressed formally. He was tall and thin, balding with sparse gray hair on the sides of his head. His eyes, though, were bright and friendly.
“Ms. Clayson,” he said, bowing. It seemed a ridiculous gesture, and yet somehow it seemed right coming from this very proper man. “My name is Hartland. Welcome to Stratford Place.” Calli only nodded as he took her bag from the driver. “Thank you, Westley.”
Hartland walked up the steps toward the house, and Calli assumed she was to follow. She gave a little wave at the driver and followed the old man into the house.
The entry soared high above her head. The floor was dark, polished wood that gleamed richly. The walls were textured and painted with varying shades of beige and gold. Tapestry’s hung high on the walls. A wood stairway curved along the wall to an upper floor. Dark wooden doors on both sides of the entry and at the back opposite the entry hid other rooms. Calli felt a little like she’d stepped back in time.
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