I have no idea what he’s talking about and I’m not good at hiding my surprise, so my brows rise high and my forehead wrinkles. I’m not certain hot cop is the category I’d place Jackson in presently, and I feel the urge to remind him he’s not a police officer but a sheriff’s deputy, but instead, I keep my comments to myself.
“Indeed,” I say, not certain why I break into a British accent, but I don’t know how else to respond to him. “You just need a cowboy, a Native American, a military man, a motorcycle guy, and a construction worker and your band will be complete.”
Jackson stares at me, not understanding the reference.
“Speaking of construction workers, Nathan Ryder was sure riled up earlier when he heard about the fire in your yard.”
My back stiffens. I didn’t want anyone to know what happened, least of all Nathan. I don’t want him to overreact like he did at Genie’s. Although the fire did concern me. The blaze roared to life in my driveway and I had to call the fire department immediately this time. A kitchen extinguisher wouldn’t have been enough, especially as I haven’t even replaced the last one yet.
“I assured him we’ll continue driving by to make sure you’re protected. One can never be too cautious. Protection is important.” Jackson winks at me and for a moment, I hear innuendo in his little speech. Oh my. Simmer down, hot cop wannabe. I nod and excuse myself when I see Beau Winston following Julianne MacIntyre to the cafeteria. Her coleslaw is her signature contribution to events.
When I reach the food, I sidle up next to her.
“Is that your coleslaw?” I ask, knowing full well it is.
“My specialty,” she states, her eyes widening when she finally turns to look at me, roaming over my costume. “My, you are a sight.” Then she glances down to my empty hands. “What did you bring?”
I stare back at her realizing I haven’t brought anything. I’d been so concerned about getting myself here in one piece I must have left the brownies I made on the counter at home.
“Mrs. MacIntyre.” Beau Winston nearly accosts Julianne for a scoop of her salad and then turns to me. “Miss Naomi?” I’m sensing a theme, as people stare at my outfit. Beau digs into the coleslaw and then quickly walks away, carrying a plate full of Julianne’s best.
“If I didn’t know he was Beau, I’d swear he was Duane. Duane’s the one who loved my coleslaw so much.” Julianne and I both follow the retreat of the red-bearded twin, noting the curve of his backside in his signature mechanics costume, before looking at one another and giggling like school girls.
“I may be old, but my eyes still work just fine,” she purrs, and I nearly stumble over at the suggestive tone. “Bethany sure knew how to produce ‘em even if she didn’t pick a good one to do it with.”
My mouth falls open and then my gaze travels back to Beau. Julianne isn’t wrong even if I do feel like a cougar watching him. I notice Hazel and Mabel, who are roughly my age, across the cafeteria watching with equal rapture as the Winstons gather at a table. The twins’ pink cheeks hint at thoughts similar to myself and Julianne, and I feel all kinds of wrong admiring the rightness of the men in that family. Jethro is the hottest in my opinion and watching him with his children only adds to his appeal.
I quickly turn away as I hear Julianne’s grandchildren call out to her. Her granddaughter has gotten so big in the last five years and has finally outgrown the Tinkerbell costume. Julianne didn’t think she’d ever want to be another character. It looks like she’s simply traded up to ballerina which is practically the same costume, minus wings and a wand. Her little brother is in tow dressed like Batman, cape and all. Julianne scoops up her grandbaby much to his dismay and excuses herself.
Not moving from the food table, I watch as Cletus Winston enters the room with his wife, Jennifer Sylvester-Winston holding his fingers. They’re dressed like Sherlock Holmes and Watson, complete with top hat for Jenn as Watson and a vest for Cletus slash Sherlock. Vest-porn. Is that a thing? Because Cletus wears one well. Jen says something to her husband and then walks over to the dessert table, inspecting the supply of her famous banana cake cupcakes.
“Miss Naomi,” she greets me, giving me a nod. Her smile reminds me of her mother. I liked her mother even if she was too tough on her daughter. Diane took me under her wing for a year when she discovered Vilma’s Videos, and an unlikely relationship developed between us despite her friendship with my older sister Scotia. My chest pinches at the loss of another person important to me. It reinforces my desire to see Nathan. We have a lot to work out, but just maybe …
“Miss Naomi,” Clementine sings and I turn in her direction as she enters the cafeteria. Emma Rae follows her and shrinks back, startled by my appearance, but Clementine gives me a slow smile, similar to her father, and I realize I have nothing to worry about tonight.
“Jack Skellington,” Clem says with a knowing smirk. I’m dressed in a pair of black leggings, feeling rather exposed without my full skirts. Thankfully, the long-tailed jacket I made covers my backside, although it’s equally fitted, outlining my shape. A white shirt under the jacket and giant bow tie fashioned like Jack’s completes the outfit. It’s my face and hair that shock people. I’ve painted my face white to mirror The Nightmare Before Christmas character, and additionally given myself the appearance of hollow black eyes and stitched lips. Piling my hair on my head, I powdered it to blend with my face.
“Oh my,” Emma Rae says, holding a hand to her chest. “You do look like him.”
I smile and Nathan’s mother flinches. I redirect my attention to Clem.
“So, Professor Trelawney, how goes the fortune telling this evening?”
Clem giggles. “I’ve predicted big things,” she says. “As soon as my dad gets here.”
I’m haunted by the fact she made a prophecy about her father and me. For her sake, I worry she’ll be disappointed.
“Your father’s coming?” I’m a little surprised. I mean, I am hopeful, but not certain what that means. He doesn’t seem like the type to hang out at a community Halloween party. Most days, Emma Rae is the one bringing Clem to the library. I assume she is more involved with the girls day to day while Nathan works.
“Yep, he promised he’d come this year.” Clem’s hesitant smile tells me she’s equally concerned he might not keep his promise.
Time passes with games for children. Food for all. Enough candy to cause sugar shock. As the evening draws on, Clem becomes more and more quiet. Her father hasn’t shown. It’s one thing to make unfulfilled promises between adults, but from a parent to a child, it’s hard to watch the disenchantment.
Clem hasn’t set down her prophecy ball the entire evening, and when I find her sitting in a folding chair, her concentration firmly on the mystical object in her hands, my heart pinches.
“Clementine,” I softly address her as I squat before her. “Whatcha doing?” She should be running around with the other children but she’s not. Sitting here, she looks like a wallflower. A child on the edge of the fun instead of enjoying the middle of it.
“He promised he’d be here.”
My hands cover her knees. She did a good job finding a gypsy-looking skirt and a white blouse to complete her costume. She really does look like a young version of the Divination professor.
“Maybe something came up?”
“Something always comes up,” she mutters. “Dahlia warned me. He won’t show, she said. He’s typically there for me, though. He knew tonight was special.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Why was tonight special, honey?”
“Because of the prophecy.” She shakes the ball in her hands. With trembling fingers, I brush back some of her hair as her head hangs low.
“What prophecy?” I keep my voice steady, although a chill raises the hairs on my skin.
“You and Dad. You went on a date with him and he was happy. Then I don’t know what happened, but he’s all grumpy again. I wanted him to come tonight, so he could see you. He’d smile again. Then he�
��d kiss you and you’d fall in love. I don’t care if you’re a witch and become my stepmother.”
Whoa. There’s a lot in her declaration. How do I explain to a child that dating doesn’t work the way she thinks—Nathan can’t just kiss me and then I’d fall in love with him. That’s a fairy tale. But when I think about it, it’s exactly what did happen. He kissed me all those years ago and I’ve been foolishly waiting for him ever since. Let’s just gloss over the fact she thinks a kiss will lead to my becoming her stepmother. We’re fifty steps away from something like that, but I need to address the disappointment Clem feels.
“Sometimes we only have wishes, Clem. Not predictions. Not prophecies.”
I wish my brother hadn’t died. I wish he hadn’t drunk before driving. I wish Nathan had called me all those years ago.
Her head pops up. “Then what good is the ball?”
How do I tell her wishes are only wants and we don’t always get what we want? How do I remind her the object in her hand is only make-believe?
“Clem, there’s nothing wrong with wishes and dreams, but sometimes they don’t happen like we want.” I wanted to dance. I wanted to drink. I wanted to cavort, until my brother’s death and the guilt froze me.
Clem stares at the ball. Then clasping it in her hands, she lifts it above her head and throws it at the tile floor. It instantly shatters.
“Clementine,” I gasp. She quickly stands up, forcing me back and my hand lands on a jagged piece among the scattered shards. She races for the exit, and I stand to follow her, calling out her name. She pushes out the front door. When I make my way through the same door, I see her round the building. I call her name one more time before I curve around the side of the community center and stop short.
“Broom, broom, broom, look who’s under the moon?” A male voice slithers down my spine.
It will never happen again, I tell myself, but my heart knows better.
“Itchy witchy gotcha, bitchy.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dewey Decimal Classification: 649.125 Teenagers
[Nathan]
We ride in silence at first. Dahlia cries softly and I reach out a hand for hers, but she ignores mine and I retract it to my lap. I’m white knuckling the steering wheel caught between the need for speed and the will for safety. My mind is completely focused on getting to Naomi. All Clem could tell me was that three boys captured her on the side of the community center. I didn’t think to ask who did it. I asked for my mother. Ma assured me everyone was okay. Clem was shaken. But Naomi … she’s missing. Kidnapped.
“Didn’t you, like, have, like, a fight with, like, the witch or something?” Dahlia says to me halfway through the drive. “Why are you, like, so anxious to get to her?”
My eyes close. Give me strength. Someone, anyone. God. Goddess. Any supreme being who will listen.
“No, we did not have a fight. We … we’re unfinished business. And don’t call her a witch,” I say. I don’t know how to explain to my daughter the second chance I want with this woman, or rather the third. The power of three.
“Do you know something about this capture the witch stuff?”
“Capture the witch,” Dahlia says, twisting in her seat to stare at me.
“Dahlia,” I growl, my heart racing in my chest. “What do you know of it?”
“Like, I thought it was, like, all a joke.”
“Out with it,” I bark. Dahlia tugs at her too short skirt, sensing the severity of my tone. My God, that scrap of material hardly covers her. “Tell me more.”
“Kids talk. Iron Wraiths. Said they were, like, planning to, like, rekindle the old game, like, only this time, like, they’d, like, do more than, like, rekindle it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Rekindle means, like, relight a fire, Dad.” Her sass, so help me.
“I know what the hell the word means, Dahlia. What do you think it means to the boys?”
Her eyes widen, and a hand covers her lips. “They wouldn’t, like, set her, like, on fire, would they? Like an old-fashioned witch burning?” But there’s no doubt between either of us, they very well could intend to burn Naomi at the stake. I’m ready to vomit.
“Which kids?” I snap.
“Wraith wannabes. Junior Henderson and Toby Bryant.”
My hand smacks the steering wheel and Dahlia flinches.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” My voice rises.
“I didn’t think, like, they were, like, serious. They’re always, like, joking about things, like, saying stuff they, like, do, like, plan to, like, do. No one, like, believes them.” Dahlia’s head dips and I shake mine. I remind myself Dahlia is still a child, a teenager no less, and they just don’t always use their head. Case in point, this evening. I can’t drive any faster down this damn road and my nerves are almost shot with the lack of speed, the questions in my mind, and the fear racing through my blood.
I fumble for my phone, wanting to call the sheriff’s department, only to find I have no reception.
You’ve got to be kidding me. How did we survive without cellphones?
“Why, like, can’t it work out with you two? Is it, like, because she’s a witch?”
“Damn it, Dahlia, no. I don’t care if she’s a witch or the freaking Wizard of Oz. I like her, okay?” I smack the steering wheel once again and shift my eyes to my daughter.
“Look,” I sigh. “Naomi is not a witch, okay? And even if she is, she’s important to me. I heard what you said back there, and I appreciate your concerns about girlfriends and getting left behind.” I stop short, no longer knowing which direction I’m going with my thoughts or what I want to say about Naomi and me. I think I love her, and I want to be with her.
“Too bad about it not, like, working out then,” she mutters, a touch of sincerity in her voice. Here’s the other thing about seventeen-year-olds, they can totally surprise you sometimes.
“Why?” I feel like I’m falling into a trap asking this question but I’m too curious to ignore Dahlia’s comment.
“You were smiling more lately. It’s been kind of nice.” See? Surprise. My eyes shift to my daughter who refuses to look at me, keeping her eyes focused forward.
“I was smiling?” I question, a grin joining my inquiry.
“Yeah, you weren’t, like, grumpy like you’ve been, like, the past week. You were actually … pleasant.”
Big word there, I want to tease, but then my chest clenches.
Was I smiling? I was happy. I miss talking to Naomi each night on the phone. It is a bit adolescent, but I looked forward to that time. I also liked popping in to see her on my lunch hour. She always seemed so surprised at the spontaneity and I loved the look on her face. Like she was equally happy to see me. I think of poetry night, how she was tickled by my weak attempt at a poem, and how she said it was a gift. In less than a month, this woman has turned me upside down and inside out.
“I don’t know if it’s going to work out or not, but I want it to. I want to try to make it right,” I tell my daughter.
“Clementine thinks you, like, love her,” Dahlia softly teases.
I’m stuck on you.
Maybe I do.
“I’m sorry she’s missing,” she adds even quieter. “I hope she’s okay.”
Me too, I think. She better be okay or heads are going to roll and I know right where to start.
“I like you better when you smile,” Dahlia whispers and my head briefly turns to her. I can’t take my eyes off the road for more than a second.
“Yeah? Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve had a lot going on lately,” I say, not needing to explain the pressure from the Wraiths or the fear of Dwight’s retaliation on Naomi. “You and Clem make me smile, I just want to have Naomi smiles, too. Okay? I like me better when I have those smiles as well.”
But right now, I’m afraid I’ll never have one of those smiles again.
Finally, I pull up to the community center, and Dahlia turns on me again.
“What are we doing here?”
“I need five minutes with Clem and the sheriff. You can stay in the truck or come inside.”
“I can’t go in there,” Dahlia scoffs, pulling down the visor for the illuminated mirror. Her face is streaked with tear-stained makeup. She snaps the mirror shut and hastily returns the visor to its place. Crossing her arms over her midriff, which I noticed is newly pierced at the belly button, she says, “I’ll wait here.”
As I exit the truck, an ominous feeling ripples up my spine when I see the blinking lights of the sheriff’s car.
“Jackson,” I address him as I pause by the front door of the community center. “Where’s Clementine? How is she?”
“She’s fine. A little shaken up but okay. She’s inside with your mother.”
I step up to him, our heights nearly equal. “What happened?”
“Seems your daughter witnessed some men take Naomi Winters from the side of the building.”
I already know this. “Why were they outside?” I ask. The front door to the community center opens and Clem races toward me.
“Daddy.” I bend as she tackles my waist, and I cup her head against me. Holding her, I try to process what the deputy said. Clem coughs.
“You’re squeezing too tight.”
I release her and skim my hands down her arms, examining her face. “What happened, Dandelion?”
“Miss Naomi and I were outside, and some men took her. They pushed me down and then grabbed Miss Naomi. She put up a fight, kicking and screaming like you told me to do if anyone ever tried to take me, and she told me to run inside.”
Sweet Jesus. Why didn’t Naomi run, too?
“Did you see who it was? Did you recognize any of them?”
Clementine grows quiet, her lips sucked into her mouth.
“She hasn’t opened up to us. We want to help but we need a name,” Jackson interrupts.
“Clem,” I say, shaking her wrists in my hands. “Please, baby. This is important.”
Love in Due Time Page 24