The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1)

by Sarah Wathen

  The Bobkitten pouted her sparkly pink lips. “Well, that’s too bad. I’d love to get to know her.”

  By the way she was twirling her hair around her finger and bumping her elbow against Dad’s, John was sure the woman would have loved almost anything more. Right on cue, someone pushed past in a hurry and she fell into him, touching his chest in apology.

  “Whoops,” his dad said, all awkward and goofy, helping to steady her without touching anywhere inappropriate.

  John cleared his throat in embarrassment, but not for his father.

  A teenage girl appeared with an equally well made-up frown. “Mom, I’m not going to wait forever. I’m not even hungry.”

  “Oh, okay honey. Whatever…”

  “You must be John. I’m Amanda. Let’s get out of here and let the old folks make goo-goo eyes at each other in private.” She grabbed John’s arm and steered him to the back patio. “Wow, there’s even a band playing. Nice touch.”

  John looked for her face again, but cascading deep brown locks obscured it. “Uh, thanks. My dad found them last night in Ender’s Village, at the ‘First Thursday’ event.”

  They were buffeted with a surprising crowd just outside the doors. Amanda held onto his arm as they watched the band from afar and said, “They’re pretty good. Kudos to Jamie.”

  John agreed. He nailed it, in more ways than one. Rusty Pick-ups on Dusty Roads was playing a quiet jam, moving in and out of a basic melody. They weren’t blaring, but their music was endowed with enough of a perky bounce that the people loitering around talking were tapping their feet, feeling upbeat. A lady excused herself from her group to find the restroom, then twirled and clapped in admiration as she made her way across the central space. The space was perfect for a dance floor. John eyed the extra drums stashed behind the band. At Ender’s Village, Rusty Pick-ups hosted a drum circle, audience invited. Everyone in town knew that Antonio was a drummer. Nice thought, Dad.

  “Ender’s Village, huh?” asked Amanda, over the music, jerking her head to one side to indicate they might find a quieter spot. They settled in a corner away from the crowd, along the railing overlooking the river. John admired the view of the rapids, while Amanda kept her eyes on the people. “Good party. Your dad did an admirable job.”

  John detected a hint of condescension. “Have you been to the First Thursday art opening? I didn’t go, had too much homework, but my dad is all about getting the feel for the real Shirley County.”

  “Sure, they have them every month.” John waited for her to say more; when she didn’t, he knew she had never attended the event. Candy went all the time and couldn’t stop gushing about it for days afterwards. “But John, if you want to know the real Shirley County, you need to know its secrets. Where’s Candy?”

  “I don’t know.” John looked around for show, not really expecting to see her. He didn’t regret warning her about Sam Castle’s dubious past, but he could have been more delicate. Candy had been snubbing him ever since. Not really angry. She was morose and he felt like shit about it. When he got on a research kick, though, it was hard to turn his mind away. Coming up empty about the stuff with his grandfather’s drawings and the possible ancient burial ground under Big Joe’s was frustrating in the extreme. The Sam mystery wasn’t as hard to solve and it helped let off some steam. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown it in Candy’s face.

  “Miss your girlfriend?” asked Amanda.

  “Candy?” John kept his face steady, because the chick was digging for something. “She’s my best friend, not my girlfriend.”

  “Are you wondering where she is tonight?”

  “No.” John zeroed in. He got it—Amanda was more interested in Candy than she was in him. He hadn’t missed the “secrets” comment, and she was about to go in for the kill. Hmm, what’s the game?

  “Ever been to The Shack, where she likes to meet up with Sam Castle? Late.”

  Oh, I see. She wants to destroy Candy’s reputation. “No, I haven’t. Of course, you’ve been there yourself?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. Would you like for me to show you where it is?”

  “What do you think?”

  “John, my man!” John glanced back to see Antonio cutting through the crowd towards them, his adopted parent, Mrs. Walsh, trying to keep up.

  “Hey there,” Amanda said, tossing her hair. “This is your coming out party, so now you need to let us get to know you, Tonio.”

  John was shocked to watch her actually tickle his chin with one curled finger. He could tell she was trying to set him off balance, and John smirked as he watched Antonio grab her hand and kiss it. “You want to leave now, honey?” Antonio’s English always improved in such situations and John wondered how many American pornos he’d watched back in Italy.

  Amanda was the one caught off guard. “Oh, heh. You sure live up to the Italian stereotype.”

  “Stereo type?”

  Candy’s nemesis is flustered, so she has to resort to insulting the poor guy. John gave his friend a reassuring pat, “It just means the standard image of an Italian man is one who is aggressively flirtatious and sexually virile.”

  “Oh, I am, Signorina…?”

  Amanda looked at him, then at John.

  “He wants to know your name.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’m Amanda.” She leaned in for a kiss on each cheek, regaining her composure and ready to play her part with gusto. As Antonio openly appraised the sizable breasts she had just pushed into his chest, she gave John a triumphant smile. “I didn’t think we need an introduction. Everyone knows who you are.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your presence is required over here, Antonio.” Mrs. Walsh finally pushed her way into their circle and grabbed her charge’s elbow. “Hi, kids. I’ll give him right back, but there are so many people who want to meet him tonight.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Walsh. He’s an important guy.”

  “You’re a dear, John.”

  As soon as Antonio was out of earshot, Amanda resumed her earlier persona. “What a cliché. Every girl in town wants to do the Italian Stallion.”

  “So, you just threw yourself at him, not because you want him—you just want to keep him away from your friends.”

  Amanda jutted her chin and squared her shoulders, arrogance flooding her smile. “Actually, I’m not really sure what I want with him yet.”

  Always plotting, with no plan? John narrowed his eyes and tried to read beyond the veil. There was something she wanted, he just had to figure it out.

  “Oh, not the dumb football player after all? Good. I hoped you might be more exciting than the other Robinsons. Your dad was a black sheep, too. Maybe the seed didn’t fall too far from the tree?”

  Black sheep. John remembered bits of the story he pieced together about his dad and Amanda’s mom dating in high school. He guessed it had been quite an upset when Jamie Robinson left town after graduation and never returned. Bruised pride had traveled through at least one generation. “Of course, you know that I was adopted and I don’t derive from my father’s ‘seed.’” Everyone in the small town would be privy to that particular information.

  “Don’t worry, lamb chop. We all accept you.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “It’s okay to feel out of place, John.”

  John clenched his fists with the effort it took to hold his tongue. Out of place was exactly the way he had always felt in Shirley. His family’s home, but not his.

  Amanda didn’t miss the fists. She smiled sweetly and touched his chest. “Anyway, I hear you’re just as good a running back as your dad was.”

  Pouring on the sugar, now—you’ve got to be kidding me. Once she established herself as the champion of wits for the time being, she could relax. John felt like slapping her, but he decided to let it go. The image of Amanda sharpening her claws on his shirt, like
her aged Bobcatt mother had done to Dad, was ridiculous enough to help him return the smile. “You coming out for the game next weekend?”

  “Probably. My cousin Lindsay’s a cheerleader and I like to show my support. Those poor girls jumping around and shouting all night—somebody has to answer the whole, ‘We got spirit, how ‘bout you’ thing.”

  John chuckled, “Such a kind soul.”

  “I do what I can. Oh, our boy’s coming back.”

  “Antonio, we’ll need to give a short speech in just a few minutes.” Mieke Walsh was breathless with the activity of the party, as she deposited the boy back among his friends.

  “Okay, Mom,” he said agreeably, with such an angelic smile that it made Mieke’s heart melt. A slender blonde girl was happy to jump into Mieke’s spot as she moved away, and Antonio greeted the girl like a gentleman, “Hello, Lindsay. It is nice to see you.”

  “Hi, Tonio.”

  Mieke thought his English was improving. Polite, but still a little stiff. She worked on his accent with him every night. That Lindsay doesn’t seem to mind his accent at all, that’s for sure.

  As soon as she turned away, she saw another person waving to her from across the room, wanting a word. Mieke made her way over to them, her head buzzing with it all. She knew her instincts were right when she and Joe arranged the foreign exchange. Perfect to distinguish their chapter within Rotary International; and an opportunity to have Shirley County emerge as the beautiful destination it could be. Now, the whole town is here to recognize my achievement.

  Yet, she never hoped to add a son to her life in the bargain. In just a few short weeks, she had learned so much about what it really meant to be a parent and parenting gave her so many new connections. Now, I can count myself as both a PTA member and a Bobcatt football mom.

  “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. Are you enjoying the party?” The old couple had been pointed out to her, and by the look of their elegant, moldering vestments, Mieke guessed them to be one of the wealthier families in Shirley County. Worth a chat.

  “Oh, please call me Laverne,” the old blue-hair croaked, grasping Mieke’s hand with a trembling fist. She wore a glittering ring on each finger. “Yes, what fun this is. Howard had never tried spaghetti and I always told him he’d like it. He never tries anything new.”

  The portly man next to Laverne was wearing a seersucker suit and prim bowtie. He offered his hand, with a distinguished nod in Mieke’s direction, “Howie.”

  “Well, he had one bite of mine and then stuck to the meat and potatoes, but it was a big moment. Right, dear?”

  “Certainly, dear.”

  “Of course, we rarely have a chance to get out anymore. The roads are so dangerous, you know. We only drive in for the monthly lodge function.”

  Mieke’s ears pricked at that. “The Buffalo Lodge? I wasn’t aware they had…functions.”

  Laverne focused on her with intelligent eyes, surprisingly bright in such a wrinkled, faded face. She laid a hand on Mieke’s shoulder and leaned in, her grip strong. “You think you understand what you see. You assume that what seems, is.”

  “Me?” Mieke put her hand against her chest in surprise. Was she about to receive inside information? She had always wondered about that old lodge, but it was strictly forbidden to anyone who wasn’t a member—something she resented. “I wouldn’t dare to assume anything. I’d love to hear the truth from you, Laverne.”

  The woman smiled and drifted backwards, her eyes dulling. Mieke worried that she had seemed too eager.

  “You wouldn’t know it now, but the balls we used to hold there…”

  “Balls?”

  “But we couldn’t miss this Italian Night, with all the buzz going around, even up where we are. Well, you know the maids always talk.” Laverne became the frail, helpless senior once again. “We have yet to meet this boy we’ve heard so much about. But of course we don’t speak Italian anyway, do we dear?”

  “No, dear.”

  “And, I have heard about this lace that he brought.”

  Mieke brightened. “Oh, it’s quite beautiful. I’ll show you.”

  Antonio’s mother, Signora di Brigo, had connections to the famous old island of Burano in the Venetian Lagoon of northern Italy, where they made the most amazing, delicate lace Mieke had ever seen. Completely handmade. The Signora had sent two pieces as a token of her gratitude, both of them pinned to black velvet and framed. Mieke selected the better of the two for herself (it was on prominent display in her guesthouse), and hung the other on one of the busy, decorated walls inside Big Joe’s.

  “Mrs. Campbell, is this your first time seeing this lace? Isn’t it lovely?” Marge Tillman floated over the second they stopped in front of the frame, ready to spread around her own newly acquired knowledge of Burano lace. “I just love this, look at the detail. Mrs. Di Brigo was so kind…”

  As another woman joined them, crooning over the lace, Mr. Campbell excused himself for a smoke. Mieke took her leave as well, heading for the bathroom. Empty—thank goodness. A minute to myself.

  As she was washing her hands, another woman walked in whom she thought she recognized. Really just a girl, her long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and she had thick, cropped bangs. She was hard to forget in a small town like Shirley, especially in lieu of her habitual boldly patterned black and white, snuggly fitting clothing and red stilettos.

  Mieke wished she could remember her name. “Hello. You’re a member of Rotary International, aren’t you?”

  The young woman ran a finger under her black eyeliner to fix a smudge, and without looking away from the mirror, said, “Hello, Mieke.”

  Oh. Satisfied her own name was one people remembered, Mieke dove in, “I’m so glad more club members are attending than I saw at first. This isn’t really a meeting, but it’s not for just nosey townsfolk either, you know?”

  “I do. Haven’t seen Joe. I bet you have.”

  “Yes, he’s home and doing well. He’s not really up for a big event like this yet, though. He was excited to try the Italian food. I’ll take him some dinner in a little while.”

  “You?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I saw Pearl here. His son, even his grandson.” She finally turned away from her reflection, her hair swinging over one shoulder, and delivered a piercing gaze.

  “Well, you know. As the vice president, it’s the least I can do for…the president—bring him dinner, that is,” Mieke stammered. The woman watched her without comment. “Of course, he’ll want to hear all about the success of our foreign exchange—”

  “Oh, you don’t need to explain things to me. Joe and I are good friends, too.” She flicked her ponytail back in place, one side of her red lips raised in merriment, and she was out the door.

  Mieke realized she had been drying her hands obsessively with her paper towel and threw it in the trash can. She remained in the bathroom for several minutes, reapplying her own lipstick, tidying her clothes and hair, wondering if she should feel offended by such an interaction. The woman hadn’t actually said anything of substance, but why did she feel…threatened? Mocked? Deciding she was probably letting her imagination run away from her, she forced it out of her mind. All the introductions and invitations must really be getting to me.

  As soon as she re-entered the dining room, Antonio made a beeline for her. “Mom!”

  That was something to warm the heart. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Can we make the speech now? I am hungry, but…” he grabbed his abdomen and made a sick face. “My stomach.”

  “Are you nervous, silly? You are so funny; let’s get it over with then.” Mieke could only imagine how nervous she would be if she had to give a speech in another language. She gave his shoulders a squeeze and pushed him out into the center of the dining room, clapping her hands and calling for everyone’s attention. “This will be quick,”
she whispered in Antonio’s ear and shoved his note cards into his hands. We rehearsed together enough, he should be fine.

  Mieke reminded everyone of the real reason for such a fantastic party and gave Antonio a glowing introduction. He waved hello and read from his cards—haltingly, but with a friendly smile—and then formally presented his mother’s gift of Burano lace and thanked them for their hospitality. She stayed close by while Antonio answered a few questions about the lace, his mother and his hometown in Italy. She knew he had a hard time with some of the accents in Shirley, so she translated when needed and explained what Antonio was trying to say in response. He kissed her cheek and made for the exit as soon as they were finished.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye-bye, have fun, sweetie,” she called after him, craning her neck to watch him head towards the patio buffet. Night had already fallen outside, and strings of lights were strewn along the ceiling rafters, casting the patio in pale gloom.

  Antonio gave Mieke a final wave as he stepped into the dimness. He heard a quiet cough off to his right, down the stairs leading to the dirt path below the deck. “There you are,” he said.

  “Smoke?”

  He trotted down the stairs without hesitation. “God, yes.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t do for the town angel to be smoking around these parts.”

  “No.”

  “Let’s get outta here then, partner,” Charlotte Finley purred in his ear. She attached herself to his elbow and led him farther into the growing darkness. They skirted the raised platform deck, the party rolling on above their heads, and made their way down towards the river, hand in hand.

  §

  “Where you been?”

  “Gawd, you scared me, Tyler,” Charlotte hissed. She climbed the rocky path through the trees leading up to Buffalo Square, unsteady in her high-heels. The shindig died down hours ago and the courtyard was dark, paltry street lamps giving out small puffs of gnat-ridden incandescence. “Why can’t people just leave some more porch lights on around here?”