Sexy Bad Halloween

by Tami Lund

  “Look, Alex, thanks for a great weekend, but the game’s over. We had sex. We’re good. We don’t need to go on any more dates.”

  What is she trying to say?

  “Yeah, but I want to. And I kinda thought you did too.” Am I misreading the signs? Damn it, how did I get this so wrong? I thought she’d moved past just wanting sex.

  “You thought wrong.”

  Chapter Ten

  TORI

  I open the backdoor and step into Aunt Laura and Uncle Jack’s kitchen. “Hello?” I call out. “Anybody home?” Of course they are, according to the text I received about an hour ago.

  “Tori! Tori! Guess what? Guess what?” Artie rushes toward me as he shouts, his eyes as wide as they can get, a grin stretching his slightly-too-small mouth.

  “Careful,” I say, pointing at the ground in front of him. I can’t recall all the times he’s tripped over his own feet when he gets excited like this.

  He throws himself into my arms. I hug him, resting my cheek on his downy hair, and closing my eyes, letting his unfettered affection wash over me. I wish it could wash away all these frustrating feelings associated with Alex, but no such luck.

  I knew I shouldn’t have ever agreed to his stupid ten-date idea. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have slept with him. And let’s not forget cuddling in bed, doing freaking crossword puzzles, for God’s sake, like we’re a couple or something.

  And that Frost barbeque? A reminder that I do not belong in that world. Not only because of my past but my present—and future—too.

  “You guys came home earlier than I expected,” I say as I finally extract myself from his grip around my waist.

  “You didn’t guess.” He frowns and crosses his arms as he stomps his foot.

  “Okay, sorry.” I try not to laugh at his single-mindedness. “What am I guessing about? Can you give me a hint?”

  “Tennessee,” he says, carefully enunciating the word and then grinning when he gets it right.

  “The clue is Tennessee? Is it something about your vacation? Did you have fun, by the way?”

  He frowns, and I realize I’ve thrown too many questions at him at once.

  “Okay, let’s start over,” I say. “Tennessee is the clue. My guess is, you had fun on your vacation.”

  His mouth falls open as he nods vigorously. “It was fun. But that’s not the right guess.”

  “Oh. Okay, um … maybe I could have a second clue?”

  Aunt Laura steps into the kitchen and leans against the doorframe. My mom’s older sister. They have the same dark hair, same green eyes, but Aunt Laura’s skin is paler, closer in hue to Artie’s than either my mom’s or mine.

  My aunt and my mom are pretty much polar opposites. Whereas my mother didn’t even graduate high school, my aunt has a master’s degree, is an accountant. Whereas my mother has three kids but never married any of our fathers, my aunt and uncle met in their thirties, married, and tried for years to have children but weren’t dealt the right cards, apparently.

  When Artie was eight months old, I called Aunt Laura in a panic. She didn’t even know my mother had another child. Yet when I confessed that Mom didn’t want the baby and wasn’t taking care of him and I didn’t know what to do, Aunt Laura got on a plane, flew out to Washington, bundled that tiny little boy up, and took him home with her, no questions asked.

  And yes, that’s the reason I moved back to Chicago as soon as I graduated high school.

  “He had a wonderful time,” Aunt Laura says, nodding at Artie. “Really hit it off with your uncle Jack’s parents.”

  Aunt Laura had taken me to visit her in-laws when I was about Artie’s age, too, and I’d thoroughly enjoyed my visit to middle Tennessee. I’m glad she gave him that same experience.

  “You still need to guess,” Artie reminds me.

  I glance at Aunt Laura for a better clue, and she averts her gaze while wandering over to the sink and snagging a washcloth to wipe down the counter that is already clean.

  “You know we’ve been talking about moving down there, Tori. Well, we’ve made the decision. Your uncle Jack’s father just can’t manage the business on his own anymore. It’s time for us to move, take care of his parents and the family business. Be nearby for the years Jack has left with them.”

  “You gave it away,” Artie protests.

  “Oh.” I blindly reach out, grasp one of the chairs parked at the kitchen table, and drop into it.

  I knew this was coming. But I naïvely hoped I would have more time. How much more, I don’t really know. Just more.

  “It’s up to you,” she continues. “We would love to take him with us. But I understand if you want him to stay here with you.”

  She’s giving me the choice. She’ll let me keep him, but without the safety net she and my uncle have provided for these past eight years.

  “You can come with us too,” Aunt Laura adds yet another option to the decision I now have to make.

  ***

  “Playtime is definitely over,” I mutter the next morning as I stare from the sidewalk at the house I grew up in.

  It’s a small, square brick home, situated in the middle of a block of almost identical one-story dwellings, lined up like proud, starter-home soldiers. We were renters when I lived here, and, according to the real estate listing I found earlier this morning, it continued as a rental property until it sold, five years ago. Based on the pictures I saw, the most recent owner was rehabbing the house but didn’t finish the job. It’s in pretty bad shape, and that’s just from online shots. No doubt it’s far worse in person.

  And now it’s in foreclosure, the bank trying to get rid of it for maybe a third of what it’s worth.

  There’s a fenced yard, and it’s a reasonable bus ride from the costume shop. Plus, it’s in a decent school district.

  It’s perfect. Well, my version of perfect anyway.

  When I lived here, it was a two-bedroom house with an unfinished basement. My older brother took over the basement, and despite the mustiness and the constant dampness down there, I had been jealous of the fact he had a place to hide when our mother was angry, or worse, brought a guy home for the afternoon.

  Usually, in situations like that, I tried to hide at Alex’s house, but there were plenty of occasions when that wasn’t feasible. Even though I always retreated to my bedroom, it hadn’t mattered, because I was easily accessible. More times than not, my mother would fling open the door and demand I make something to eat or go down to the convenience store two blocks away and grab them some smokes. Sometimes she’d toss a twenty at me and tell me to bring home a case of cheap beer.

  That convenience store didn’t card, obviously.

  Is it weird that I’m considering buying the house I grew up in, even though it harbors few positive memories for me? Or maybe the weird part is the reason I’m leaning toward staying in Chicago, instead of heading to Tennessee.

  The obstacles are certainly piled against me. First and foremost, I haven’t told Alex about Artie. Not only that he exists, but who he really is. Second, I ran out on Alex yesterday, told him I’d gotten what I wanted and I was done.

  I have no idea if he would even speak to me again. If he does, and I’m seriously considering staying here because of him, I have no choice but to tell him about Artie.

  And I’m quite confident my ten-year-old Down syndrome brother will be a deal breaker.

  Run, run away, far away, before your heart gets caught up in all this happily ever after bullshit.

  Ugh. Why does love have to be so complicated? And hell, I’m not even in love.

  Right?

  Shit. I can’t be. I don’t even know what love is. Well, besides what I feel for my brother. I love that kid with every single fiber of my being, and I’d do anything for him. But that’s different.

  He needs me. Alex doesn’t. Alex just wants me. With Alex, it’s a choice. There’s no choice with Artie. He stole my heart the moment Mom brought him home from the hospital. And when
Aunt Laura brought him back to Chicago, I knew I wouldn’t stay in Washington. My future is with Artie, no matter what else happens in my life.

  I shouldn’t even be toying with the idea of buying this house. Moving would be the easiest option. It would force me to cut ties with Alex.

  Which is exactly why I’m considering staying.

  God, I’m so pathetic. One freaking weekend, a few fun dates, amazing sex, and boom! I’m ready to give up my dreams for some guy.

  Okay, okay, he’s not just some guy. He was once my best friend. And this weekend, we reconnected like twelve years were washed away and replaced with the anticipation of twelve more—together. Or more.

  Like forever.

  Is this what love feels like? I’m not a fan, if that’s the case. I don’t like this, this indecision, this haziness, making it difficult to make what should be a straightforward choice: Do what’s necessary to ensure Artie has the best future possible.

  Those dreams I just said I was considering giving up for some guy? I don’t even have them. Mostly, I just want to survive and take care of my brother. There are no dreams in my world. This dilapidated house is the best I’m gonna get.

  Or I can move to Tennessee.

  Toby yips, and I glance at the house next door; the one Alex used to live in. There are vertical blinds covering the front windows and a cushioned chair on the front porch. Flowers bloom along the front and the side of the house. I wonder if they run alongside the driveway and in the backyard too. Alex’s mom loved to garden.

  Does she still live here?

  That’s an additional layer I hadn’t taken into account when I stumbled across the listing for this house. I’m no expert on human interaction and the average length of time it takes a person to forgive and forget, but I’m willing to bet Mrs. Darling—assuming she kept her ex-husband’s name—would not be pleased to have me, a reminder that her child’s father ditched her for another woman, as a neighbor.

  I wander into the driveway of the Darling house. Just as I suspected, the flowers do indeed run alongside the house and the driveway, until they disappear into the backyard.

  While the home is definitely inhabited, it doesn’t seem like anyone is around at the moment. Which would make sense. When I lived next door to him, Alex’s mom didn’t work, but I assume that changed once she became a single parent. As it’s mid-morning on the Tuesday after Labor Day, most people have sent their kids off to their first day of school and gone on to work.

  That’s what I did, sort of. I headed over to Aunt Laura’s house so I could eat breakfast with Artie before school. I offered to take him, but he insisted he wanted to ride the bus, so Aunt Laura, Uncle Jack, and I all stood on the sidewalk and snapped pictures with our phones as he grinned and waved before climbing into the yellow bus and heading off to fifth grade. Next year, he’ll start sixth grade in a different school district, whether that’s here in Chicago or down in Nashville.

  Should I stay or should I go?

  Maybe figuring out if Alex’s mom still lives in this house will be the sign I need to help me make the decision. Squaring my shoulders and acting like I have every right to do so, I stride up the driveway, with Toby trotting along at the end of his leash.

  The backyard is a rectangular plot of recently cut grass that melts into a spectacular flower garden lining a tiny wooden deck covered by a canvas canopy. Sliding glass doors lead into the house. There’s a curtain pulled across them, but not all the way. There’s enough of a gap that I could take a peek inside.

  Just to assuage my curiosity.

  And God help me, I move to the patio and pause, listening, watching for any signs of movement. This is disturbing enough with no one home, but if someone suddenly appears in that doorway, I may pee my pants.

  But the house is quiet, still. If there’s someone home, they’re either sleeping or dead.

  Well, there’s another layer of creepiness.

  Which doesn’t stop me from cupping my hands against the glass and pressing my face between them. There’s a wooden table and two benches where once there was a round, glass-top table and wrought iron chairs. When I still lived next door, the kitchen had been yellow and blue. Now it contained whitewashed cupboards and a granite countertop.

  An arched doorway leads to the living room and bedrooms. To the left is the staircase to the basement. That hasn’t changed.

  And there, on the wall, is the answer to my curiosity. A framed picture. A montage of school portraits, from kindergarten to twelfth grade, smaller photos surrounding one large one of Alex Darling, in his graduation cap and gown, a shit-eating grin on his adorable, eighteen-year-old face.

  Crap. I turn around and lean against the glass as my heart rate kicks up a couple of notches. This is not good. I didn’t count on this.

  What the hell am I going to do now?

  Red and blue flashing lights catch my attention, and I hurry to the corner of the house and glance down the driveway. At a cop car, parked there, a uniformed police officer climbing out of the driver’s seat.

  Shit. I’m a stranger in this neighborhood now, creeping around in someone’s backyard.

  I highly doubt the cops are here for a friendly visit.

  Chapter Eleven

  ALEX

  Sure, I’m at work, but I’m not actually doing anything related to my job. Instead, I’m sitting at my desk, staring at my phone, willing it to do something. Ring, vibrate, something, anything from Vicks.

  When I left Paynter’s house yesterday, I went to her store. It was locked up tight, and there was no sign she was there. No light on upstairs, no movement within the shop itself. I got out of the Uber and stood at the curb for a long, long time, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, I sent her a text, to which she replied, I’m fine. I just need some space right now.

  I was naturally inclined to read into that statement, but so far, Vicks hasn’t played games, nor do her words have a double meaning.

  Much to my own shock, I was able to walk away, to my own apartment, where I lay in bed for hours upon hours, talking myself out of reaching out to her again.

  Give her the damn space she needs, Alex.

  But at what point does it shift from giving her what she wants to giving up? I’m not ready to give up on her—on us. I don’t think I ever will be, to be honest.

  At the very least, I need to let her know I’m here for her. And also give her a heads’ up that I’m coming over after work tonight. We definitely need to talk. Even if that’s all we do.

  I swipe the screen at the same moment the phone lights up with an incoming call—from Vicks. My heart jumps in my chest as I press the device to my ear and breathlessly say, “Hey there.”

  “I need a favor,” she says without preamble.

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “I need you to come get Toby.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I’m being arrested, and they obviously won’t let him stay in the cell with me.”

  Holy shit! I’m on my feet, rushing toward the elevator. “Where are you?”

  “In your mother’s driveway.”

  ***

  When I arrive, Vicks is sitting in the back of a police cruiser. The windows are rolled up and the engine is running, so I assume they are keeping her cool with air conditioning.

  Two uniformed officers are standing in the driveway with my mother. One of them is holding Toby’s leash. The little dog is cowering like someone has been beating him. I doubt that is the case, though. More likely he’s worried about his ladylove.

  My ladylove.

  “Mom,” I say, practically tumbling out of the back of the Uber and rushing toward them. At this time of day, an Uber was a hell of a lot faster than the train.

  “Alex! What are you doing here?” My mother greets me with a quick hug.

  “I, uh…” I scrape my hand through my hair. I hadn’t expected her to be here, to be honest. Like me, she should be at work.

  Explaining my connection to
Vicks wasn’t something I’d planned to do yet. I don’t know what to say. I haven’t worked out how to tell her in a way that would leave her open to the possibility that Vicks might be the one.

  Toby jumps up on his hind legs, his front paws on my knee, looking up at me with the most pitiful look a dog can possibly give. I lift him into my arms, and he licks my face.

  “Wow,” Mom says. “He’s petrified of us, and it’s like he knows you.”

  Clearing my throat, I glance at the cop car, where Vicks is studiously refusing to look my way. “What’s, um, what’s going on?”

  “Old Mrs. Peabody saw someone lurking around the house, so she called the police. Do you know who that is?” Mom says, pointing at the police cruiser.

  Yes.

  “Victoria Ruben,” she says without waiting for my response. “Do you remember her?”

  Yes.

  “She was trying to break into my house!”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Her story is, she was trying to figure out if you still lived here,” one of the officers says while looking pointedly at my mother. “And there’s no sign of attempted B&E. The most we can get her on is trespassing.”

  “Fine,” Mom says, flapping her hand dismissively. “Arrest her for trespassing.”

  “What? No,” I say in a near shout.

  My mother crosses her arms and arches her brow.

  “She didn’t mean any harm.” I have no idea why Vicks is here, but I am certain whatever her motives, they were not malicious.

  “How in the world would you know?” Mother says. “We haven’t seen that girl in twelve years. You don’t even know her anymore.”

  “Yeah, I do, actually.”

  Mother shakes her head. “Oh, please. Trust me, Alex, people change a great deal during that point in their lives. You were in middle school when she left. And now? She could be a hardened criminal for all we know. And what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  The abrupt change of subject catches me off guard, and I shake my head to try to clear it. “She isn’t a hardened criminal, Mom.”