The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1)

by Sarah Wathen

  She flipped over on all fours and crawled over to spy around the side of the hutch. The two men had their backs to her. Candy ignored her friend’s disapproving pout, blew him a kiss, and donned her backpack.

  “Turning from that particular law is not turning from God, Greg, and I think we’d all do well to remember the difference. It’s the people of Shirley who are my concern, not the politics.”

  “Explain to me the difference, Dave.”

  She didn’t care who she was abandoning; she wasn’t hanging around to hear more of that. Feeling like a naughty puppy dog, she scuttled past the narrow opening and into the back room. Louis swatted her on the butt as he rose to greet the newcomers and Candy almost stood up to kick him in the balls.

  “Hi, Pastor Dave,” she heard him call as she slipped out the backdoor.

  “Whew. Escaped the shepherd-longing-for-a-lost-sheep look,” Candy sang to herself. The kid who was working the counter frowned at her over his cigarette. “You got customers, Chris.”

  “Aw man…” He stubbed his butt out in the dirt. “Alright, alright.”

  “See ya later.” She headed for the restaurant with spirits soaring on adrenaline. Bye-bye, Pastor Chipmunk.

  Her smile faded as soon as she thought it; the youth pastor’s friendly round face and slightly bucked teeth filled her with guilt. She heard other kids using that nickname for him but it was crappy and he didn’t deserve that. She liked him and his youth group actually was fun. But. She just didn’t think she believed in all that church stuff anymore. As soon as she had turned sixteen, she excused herself from the Wednesday night youth group carpool. She told her dad she could drive herself, but of course she never drove to church.

  “Better stuff to do…” Having conquered the stairs and mounted the patio deck outside Big Joe’s restaurant, she surveyed the area from her superior vantage point. The grounds were empty. Inside, she could see Mrs. Mendez wiping down the dining tables for the dinner hour. Otherwise, it was a ghost town: only one car in the parking lot and no delivery truck to signal Sam’s presence. She had hoped to run into him, but apparently there was no shipment scheduled. She saw a chair pulled close to the railing overlooking the river and, in a sudden gloom, she plopped down on it. She kicked up her feet and wondered how she would fill the rest of her afternoon, since a rendezvous with her new favorite person seemed unlikely.

  ‘Oh, poo,” she mimicked Louis, in wholehearted agreement with his earlier sentiment. “Sam, where are you?”

  She met him earlier that summer, not long after the last day of school; he was part of the crew hired by her Grandma Catherine for refurbishments on the old McBride homestead. Sam was one of the painters. Candy wandered into her grandma’s kitchen one afternoon and found him lying on his side, one elbow on the floor, his head turned nearly upside down. A silver earring lay against his five o’clock shadow and one arm was arched over his head to pull out a delicate, unwavering corner edge of paint. She fell in love right there. Or, at least she fell in love with his painter’s hands, and his biceps were hard not to notice. He was concentrating hard, chomping gum and rocking out to his iPod, so he didn’t know she was there. She made sure to hang around pretending to be busy, though, hoping he would notice her at the close of the workday.

  He did, and that’s when she noticed his eyes. Green. So green and they darted away from hers whenever green locked with black. She worked up her courage in Grandma Catherine’s downstairs bathroom, pinched her cheeks and rubbed her lips to make them cherry red. When she finally sidled over and casually asked Sam if he ever painted anything else, besides walls, he had turned adorably awkward, admitting to drawing: “mostly weird stuff from my imagination.” Candy recognized a budding artist when she saw one and she encouraged him to talk about his drawings. He just smiled and asked her for her phone number. She was confused, yet happy to supply it.

  Later that night, she got his text, “some of my stuff”.

  She gasped as she clicked through the attached files; there were half a dozen photos of his bedroom wall, adorned with some of the most passionate, honest, horribly beautiful drawings she had ever seen.

  When she saw Sam the next day, she presented him with a gift box of charcoals and asked him to meet her at the gas station; there was only one in town and it happened to also be her dad’s mechanic shop. About a twenty-minute walk, in the mountains south of the shop, there was an ancient rotting one-room cabin. Her twin brothers, Simon and David, had discovered it their sophomore year of high school, one day when they skipped class, and they used it as a party hideout until they graduated. When they left for college, they passed on the secret location to their younger brother Max. Max told Candy about it the previous summer, right before he took off himself. She had been using it for a place to get away and write poetry, or read, preferring solitude over a party. She had a feeling Sam might like it, too.

  She had led Sam in through the sagging doorway, sweeping her arm wide and grinning, “I would be honored if you’d decorate my walls in the artistic tradition of your bedroom.”

  He had stepped in behind her, ducking under the low arch and investigating the moldering room with a wry smile. “This palace is all yours?”

  “Honestly, I think it belongs to the forest now.” There was a tree branch growing through a gaping hole in the ceiling. “But they let me stay here a lot.”

  Sam sat down on the old resident loveseat and leaned back, crossing his ankles in front of him and watching her, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You know what that’s gonna cost you? Hiring a master artist like myself?”

  “I’ll be happy to pay it.”

  Her brothers always called the hideout The Shack but she and Sam called it The Palace. They started meeting there to make art, trading walls back and forth in collaborative paintings. Candy loved what she called, “battling with paint.” Especially with Sam.

  She sighed and glanced around the restaurant grounds once more for any sign of Sam.

  “Nope.”

  Leaning back in her chair, she settled in for a daydream instead of the real thing, more disappointed than ever to be sitting alone on the deck of Big Joe’s.

  chapter three

  Amanda Jameson clicked away from the Wicca training website when her mom breezed into her room.

  “What are you doing in here alone? The Davises are here, why don’t you go out and play with Molly?”

  “Mom, I think I’m a little old for ‘playing.’”

  “Yeah, fifteen-years-old is ancient. You’re being rude, go get your suit on.”

  “I have my suit on.”

  “Well everyone’s by the pool—they’re grilling hotdogs.”

  Amanda snorted. How ironic.

  She snapped her laptop closed and tossed her swim cover-up onto her bed, grinning at the pool party scene that she knew was waiting for her. Her brother Tristan had been dating the same girl for over three years and had yet to score. “Poor guy’s balls are probably about to explode,” she mumbled, walking down the hallway to the glass door leading outside. She paused long enough to watch Ashley Davis skip past Tristan, giggling, her breasts bouncing in a baggy swimsuit. Tristan reached out an arm, to grab her as she went past, but she slapped his hand away and screamed. Amanda chuckled and stepped out onto the pool deck.

  “There you are. Hey, Mandy.” Ashley gave Amanda a full body hug. Tristan’s cheeks went red over her shoulder.

  “Hi guys,” Amanda said, pulling back and looking the buxom senior girl over. Her full-coverage suit was surely meant to be modest, but the plain white, wet fabric was thin and showed every detail underneath. Girlfriend’s got an impressive bush.

  “Mandy, come sit by me,” Ashley’s little sister called from her lawn chair. Molly had already smothered herself in tanning oil; every square inch that was allowed to be exposed. The Davis girls’ father was extremely strict. Amanda was surprised they
were even allowed to wear swimsuits at all.

  She readjusted her own skimpy string bikini, flashing a smile at Tristan’s friend by the grill. “Hey, Will.”

  “Hi.”

  His petite blonde girlfriend scowled next to him.

  “You want me to grill you a dog?” the enormous linebacker asked.

  “Thanks, but I think Tristan already has a wiener grillin’.” Amanda bit her lip to keep from grinning.

  “Shut up, Amanda,” her brother said, flouncing into a patio chair.

  “Huh?” Will was one of the nicest guys you’d ever met, but totally clueless. The blonde rose up on tip-toe to kiss him, just about climbing onto his back in the motion. He growled and pretended to bite her neck, scooping her into his arms.

  “Stop it. You animal,” she squealed, then tossed her head back to give him better access.

  Tristan settled his dark sunglasses onto his face and started gnawing his nails. Ashley sat on the low stool in front of him, right between his knees. “Tristan, will you put more sunscreen on my back?”

  “Uh. Yeah, sure.”

  Amanda couldn’t stop her smile from spreading as she dumped her stuff by the lawn chair next to Molly. She untied her sarong and let it drop to the ground, never worried about looking fat next to her old friend. Molly rolled over to roast her front side for awhile, and Amanda pictured a pig with an apple in its mouth, being rotated on a spit. “Hey. So glad you guys could come over.”

  “Can you believe summer is almost over?” Her friend squinted into the sun. “I’m gonna work on my tan every chance I can get before school starts.”

  Yeah, tan cellulite is much more attractive than pale cellulite. “I know. Me, too.”

  “Hey kids.” Mom popped her head through the sliding glass door. “I’m going down to Buffalo Square to pick up a couple things. Y’all need anything?”

  “No. Thanks, Mom,” Tristan muttered, his voice strained.

  “No thanks, Mrs. Jameson.”

  “I’ll take some more Coke. And more chips?” Will called, before she disappeared back inside.

  “Coke. Chips. Okay, bye kids. Tristan’s in charge, Amanda.”

  Yeah right. Amanda smirked. Tristan squirted more creamy lotion into his hands, with a loud wet spurt, deep concentration darkening his features.

  Will’s girlfriend stood with a hand on her hip, shaking a finger at him in mock condemnation, “You are so rude. Me want coke. Me want chips.”

  “I’ll show you rude.” Will’s hand shot out like a viper. He pulled her bikini string as she screamed and dashed away.

  “You asshole,” she laughed, covering her bared breasts with her hands as she jumped into the pool. Will was right behind her. Water sloshed over the sides and sprayed supine Molly, who was closest to the pool. She squealed, and Amanda almost lost it the sound was so authentically piggy.

  “Let’s do a chicken fight,” Ashley cheered. “Tristan, get in the water with me. Put me on your shoulders.”

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” he said, making for the house.

  “Got to relieve yourself, bro?” Amanda said under her breath. She rifled through her magazines for a good one. Dum-dee-dum, show’s over.

  chapter four

  She looked at the Oreo cookie on the wall.

  “I didn’t know an Oreo could tell time.” But, as she watched, the licorice whip second-hand started ticking backwards instead of forwards. “Of course it can’t,” she giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” She turned to see her cousin Andy had woken up. Finally. They had been waiting forever.

  “You’re funny, Funny Face,” she said, as Andy’s smile morphed into her Uncle Brian’s scowl, his rusty beard-stubble catching the light from the window. The light had a strange green cast. Tornado skies.

  “You’re mama will never know, little one.”

  “Mommy already does know.” The Oreo started screaming. “Oh, it’s an alarm clock…”

  Candy sat bolt upright.

  Her cell phone was ringing. She rubbed her face and looked at the caller ID. Shit, it’s Sam. “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  “Hey…”

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

  “Nah, I was awake.”

  “Good…can you meet me?”

  “At The Palace?”

  A sigh. “Nevermind. It’s probably too late…”

  No! “I can meet you. I’m so bored, why not?”

  All she heard for several thundering heartbeats was her own pulsing blood and the clock ticking on the wall. Did he hang up?

  “Alright, I’ll see you there.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “See you soon, Candy.”

  She tapped the end button and sat on her bed, dazed. That dream. It had been so long since she dreamed about her Uncle Brian. Or her mom.

  Sam.

  She pinched her cheeks and scrubbed her hair.

  Ugh. Wake up, Candy.

  The clock read 10:23 p.m.

  “At least it’s not an Oreo clock.” She tried to laugh to dissipate her unease. When it didn’t work, she focused on a particularly yummy memory of Sam, and reminded herself she’d see a similar scene as soon as she got her ass out of bed and hauled it to The Palace. “That worked.” She made for her bathroom to brush her teeth.

  She saw less of Sam than she would have liked, since he worked a lot and lived way down south in the hollows, and she would meet him anytime, anywhere. She offered the impression that she was a night owl, and always up late, but she was just a light sleeper and she kept one ear tuned for his ring.

  “Candy, dear. Look at you,” she said to the mirror, smiling to think of Louis. It was exactly what he would have said, with a face to match his meaning: pathetic. She didn’t care.

  Not that much.

  Never had she imagined her evening would’ve turned so fortuitous, but at least she’d fallen asleep with her clothes on. In less than ten minutes she was creeping down the stairs, listening for sounds of life from the den. All she heard was the television, but the last time she checked, her dad was already passed out watching The Discovery Channel.

  “…the past 60 years, reports of a monster hammerhead, more than 20 feet long, have circulated through Florida. A team of scientists and anglers explore the waters of the world’s largest hammerheads to see if these stories could be true…”

  Shark Week.

  And soft snoring.

  Her sneakered feet padded through the patio door, the furthest exit from the den on the ground floor. She didn’t risk getting her bike. It was in the garage and the wheels on the garage door were so rusty that screeching was inevitable.

  Not worth the noise.

  Candy lived on the ridge above The Palace, and though it was a steep climb down in places to get there, those woods had been her extended front yard since she learned to walk. She could reach The Palace from her house or Dad’s shop in twenty minutes flat. Sam had to ride his mountain bike through the winding dirt trails around the face of the mountain. Sometimes she worried he might take a nasty tumble in the dark, less familiar with the terrain than she was, but Sam always seemed sure of himself. He said the views of the valley below were worth the ride. He was worth the hike, for her, though she was careful never to reveal that.

  Her heart raced anytime she thought of him, it was both terrifying and thrilling to feel so out of control, even a stray thought of Sam made her burn from ears to toes. She had to remind herself to slow down, lest she arrive too early and have to wait around in The Palace by herself. Over the summer, Candy had begun to feel a weird sense of foreboding when she went there alone. Nothing she could identify, just a vague feeling of apprehension. She didn’t know why.

  She thought it was stupid, but repressed a shiver anyway.

  She felt the w
eight of the night as she padded through the underbrush. The summer air was hot and thick and it felt heavier in the dark. She looked up and saw the moon was waxing, but not nearly full enough to explain the electricity in her palms. She tried to clear her head with the sense of the forest around her—the sharp tang of pine, the rich death in the loam under her feet, the smell of rain near—.

  “Hoo-hoo. Ooooooooo…..”

  Candy jerked upright and loosed an avalanche of leaves over her head. The owl voiced more recriminations before taking flight. “Thanks a lot.” She laughed at herself, her heart in her throat.

  Why did owls sound so human? She could hear her mother talking in its call: “Oooo, oooo. Where do you think you’re going, little one?”

  If she had a mother.

  She was getting close to the edge of the big bluff. Zebadiah’s Bluff. She could smell sulfur in the Blue Spring and recognized the clot of lauryl bushes before the drop-off. Way before the cliff, she turned north. The path down to The Palace on that side was longer and more treacherous but she’d avoid that creepy cold spring at any cost. When she’d finally descended into the glen—grabbing branches in a slip or stumble more times than she was proud to admit—she squinted her eyes and noticed she could see light in the direction of the water.

  Is it glowing?

  She felt repulsed, but had to see, and strained towards it.

  Is someone over there?

  She stepped over a log and crept through fallen leaves, as gingerly as she could, clearing branches out of her line of vision. It felt like there was something happening over there—

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Jesus!” Candy sprang into the air like a startled bobcat. Panting, she clutched her chest to make sure her heart hadn’t exploded.

  A throaty chuckle sounded from the shadows, “Wow.”

  “Sam,” she breathed. “You devil.”

  His teeth glinted in the darkness.