I debated pretending the phone had dropped her call, or creating a static noise with my mouth and pretending I hadn’t heard her question, but I’m not a coward, so I stayed on the line. I didn’t say anything, but I stayed on the line.
“Cody? Cody are you even listening to anything I’ve been saying?”
“No.”
“No, you haven’t been listening or no you won’t talk to Mom?”
“No, I won’t talk to Mom. I love you, but as your big brother it’s my job to tell you to pull your head out of your ass.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” May’s voice was a bit heated, but she wasn’t prone to drama. She should be prone to drama as the youngest, but she’d never had to resort to it to get what she wanted and had ended up being a relatively calm person.
“How many degrees do you have, May?”
“Three?” she said, like it was a question. Nothing about May was submissive or shy or stupid, so I knew the question in her voice was about where I was going with this.
“And how many jobs have you had using any one of those degrees?”
“None, but that’s because I hadn’t figured out what I really wanted to do, yet. Now I know. I want to be a photojournalist.”
“Okay. I’ll support your desire to be a photojournalist, but I won’t support you spending more of Mom’s money to do it.”
She huffed. “So how am I supposed to do it?”
“Do what normal people do and get a job. Save your money, maybe get some experience in the field you want to go into, and then go get the degree.”
She huffed again. “Damn it, Cody, I think I liked you better when you were the wild black sheep of the family. When’d you get so damn sensible?”
“I’m still the black sheep of the family,” I said. “And I got sensible when my wild ways ruined our mother’s dream.”
She groaned. “Oh, my god, you are a bigger drama queen than Noah. You didn’t ruin Mom’s dream, you ruined one deal. As soon as she gets the capital, she’ll retire and get her horse farm.”
“She’ll never be able to find another property or house like the one she and Dad found together. If I’d acted with any kind sense, if I’d thought of anyone but myself, I wouldn’t have ruined the deal. Mom would have her dream and Dad would probably still be alive to share it with her.” The words just kind of slipped out and I realized maybe it was time I fessed up to my crimes.
She laughed. “Have you seriously been holding onto that for two years, Code Red? It sounds like a Shakespearean tragedy. Yeah, Dad was pissed at you and yeah you screwed up, but you didn’t kill Dad. You didn’t destroy any hope of Mom someday getting her horse farm. She’ll find another property. Is that why you won’t take any of Dad’s money to help with your winery?”
“I just need to do this myself,” I said. “Dad never would have wanted his money to go toward the winery. He hated that I didn’t want to be in the family business, he hated that I wanted to go my own way. I won’t use his money to do something he would have hated.”
“Maybe you need to pull your head out of your own ass, big brother. Dad was pissed when Jenna decided to get her PhD and be a college professor, but he got over it and bought her a house. He was pissed when Jared decided he’d rather be a veterinarian than go into the family business, but he eventually came around and invested in Jared’s practice. He would have come around and invested in your winery. He would have forgiven you for screwing up, and he would have been proud of you. His body just failed him at the wrong moment.”
“Sure.” I wanted to believe her, but she hadn’t seen the look on his face. She hadn’t seen the hurt under the rage. I’d let him down in every sense of the word and I didn’t deserve another penny of his money. “Listen, if you need a job, I could give you one just as soon as I get the right property.”
She groaned. “I don’t want to work in the middle of nowhere, digging in the dirt. You know I’d never survive that.”
“You could help with hiring,” I said. “And you could supervise the digging in the dirt and the plans for the vineyard and the winery. Don’t you have a degree in interior design? You could help me decorate.”
“Don’t try to butter me up,” she said. “No matter what you say, the job is still in the middle of nowhere. I would wither up and die in the country. I’m a city girl.”
“Maybe you could visit sometime. It’d be good to see you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Love you, loser.”
“I love you, too.”
CHAPTER THREE
Carrie
“Why did you do it?”
I looked up from The Color Purple, which I was re-reading so I’d be ready to discuss it with my classes the next day, to see Kayla Wilson standing on the other side of my desk. Her eyes were red like she’d been crying or was about to cry, and there were dark circles under them. Her hair was greasy and her t-shirt was dirty. I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about, I already knew. Already felt like I’d betrayed her. “You weren’t in class today, even though your home-room teacher marked you as present. I reported your absence to the principal because I was worried about you.”
Her mouth pressed into a flat, grim line and she shook her head, her chin wobbling just a bit. “I thought you were on my side, but the first time I make a mistake…” Her voice shook and she curled her hands into tight fists. “Now, I’ve got to stay after school for detention tomorrow and there’ll be no one to get my little sister and brother from the bus.”
“What about your dad?” I asked, feeling like the lowest of the low.
She rolled her eyes. “He’s working. It’s my job to get them from the bus. I need to be there.”
“Did you tell the principal that?”
“Yes, but she didn’t care about that any more than she cared about my reason for skipping class.”
“Why did you skip?”
“I forgot to put sister’s favorite stuffed animal in her backpack,” she said. “She goes everywhere with that thing and she was so upset…I got a ride home with a friend and took it to her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my guilt ratcheting up. “If you’d just told someone…”
“No one would have understood why it was important for me to take a stuffed animal to my sister.” She shook her head. “I’ve got to catch the bus.” She walked out, her shoulders hunched, her shoulder blades jutting out sharply under her thin shirt.
“Shit,” I muttered. This wasn’t what I’d intended. I just…I was worried about her.
I loved all my students, I really, truly did. Some of them were spoiled entitled brats and some of them yelled at me or cussed me out or rolled their eyes at me, but they were all just kids, trying to figure out who they were and what they wanted and how to handle life. I didn’t always like them, but I always loved them, like a parent loves her children.
I considered it a weakness and a blessing that I could see the good in every student, because I could help those who’d let me, but I also hurt, really hurt when one of my kids was hurting, and Kayla was really, really hurting. She was hurting and I didn’t know why and I didn’t know how to help her. She was one of my brightest students. I think she loved to read more than I did. She could analyze a book on a level way beyond that of an average ninth grader, probably because she’d been reading everything she could get her hands on since she was a kid. That’s really all I knew about her, except that she lived in a decent neighborhood on the edge of a bad neighborhood with her dad.
I also knew her dad was in a car accident two years ago, an accident that had killed her mother, and he’d had a slow and painful recovery. Kayla had never been particularly outgoing or outspoken, but she used to smile more and she used to get excited about discussing books. Lately, she’d been withdrawing into herself. She’d been walking around with dark smudges under her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping, and she’d seemed far away, even when she was right in front of me.
So, when she wasn’t in
class, I reported her to the principal. I love my students, but I’m not their friend and I didn’t want to lose Kayla to whatever demons were haunting her. Better she hate me than slip through the cracks, start skipping school or hanging out with kids who lead her into trouble. For some kids, getting in serious trouble is enough to snap them out of it, to get them back in line, and I believed Kayla cared enough to be scared straight, so to speak. I’d done it for her, with the full knowledge that she might never forgive me. I was okay with that.
Except I’d betrayed her and I’d made her life more difficult. Now, there was one less adult in the school she trusted and her brother and sister would be getting off the bus to an empty house while she was in detention the next day. I dropped my head in my hands and sighed. I usually stayed at school late, working on lesson plans and grading papers, but I’d had enough. I needed to be home.
I gathered up my stuff and headed out. I managed not to run into anyone. I got back to my quiet, calm house and shut the door behind me with a sigh.
I kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the couch, feeling weary and drained.
When my phone rang, I picked it up without looking at caller ID.
“Hey, Aunt Carrie.” It was Harrison, but he sounded off, not like himself at all. He’d broken up with his sweet girlfriend, Frankie, and I’d made the mistake of trying to push them together by arranging for them to both be at my house at the same time. It kind of blew up in my face and I’d expected Harrison to be mad at me, but he sounded sad. I couldn’t help worrying about Harrison. Every time he got down, I wondered if he was going to slip back into being that angry, aggressive, troubled kid he’d been when he’d first come to live with me. Every time I saw him pull back from life I wondered if I’d waited too long to get him away from his father. If I’d done enough to help him get over the trauma of his childhood. “Any more bad dates? I need some cheering up.”
“What’s wrong?”
He huffed. “Nothing except I’m an idiot and pushed away the one girl I want more than anyone.”
“Why?” I asked. “I know you’re crazy about her.”
“I’m not good for her and she deserves…She deserves a guy who’s as good and real and kind as she is.”
“You’re a good person, Harrison. I wish you could see how lucky she’d be to have you.”
“You’re a tiny bit biased, Aunt Carrie. I’ve got issues a mile wide and five miles deep and no one should have to deal with them but me. Frankie is just figuring out her own life, she doesn’t need to be weighed down by my shit.”
The tears I’d been just barely holding back spilled over my lower lids and down my cheeks. “We’ve all got issues, Harrison. You should focus on all the wonderful things you do for people, the good, kind man you are now, rather than on your past.”
“I wish it was that easy, Aunt Carrie. But thanks for the support.”
“I just…” I took a deep breath to hide the fact I was crying, and tried to figure out a way to make him see he deserved to be happy. He was so caught up in mistakes he’d made in the past that he couldn’t see the present clearly, couldn’t see how much happiness he deserved. But I’d said everything to him before and it had made no difference. Instead, I told him about my librarian date and made him laugh. I wished that was enough.
***
“I’ve never seen anyone cry while they’re gardening,” Cody’s warm voice washed over me, cocky and a bit smug. Of course he could afford to be smug, he hadn’t let down two young people who depended on him. “Are you planting onions? Or did you have another bad date?”
I put down my hand trowel and glared at him. After my phone call with Harrison, I’d changed and gotten to work on my garden, an activity that never failed to calm me. It had calmed me, but it hadn’t stopped the tears. “You’re trespassing on private property,” I said. I tried to look scary, but my tears probably ruined the effect.
His smile widened. “I saw my neighbor in distress and I came over to make sure she’s okay. I don’t think anyone could accuse me of being in the wrong here.”
Gah, he was such a jerk. “If you were really worried about me,” I said, brushing at another tear that had escaped. I just couldn’t stop crying. “You wouldn’t have made that snide comment about a bad date.”
“Well, you do have seriously bad taste in men. I just wanted to see if there was anyone else I needed to talk to.”
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean, anyone else?”
He shrugged. “Betty told me where to find that guy who stranded you at Vince’s. I figured I’d have a little talk with him about the appropriate way to treat a lady.”
I was on my feet, my sadness giving way to an uninhibited rage. I may not be able to fix all of Harrison or Kayla’s problems, but I could certainly make sure my meddling neighbor stayed out of my life. “Don’t you dare go talk to him. I handled it just fine.”
“Maybe I want to make sure he knows to stay away from you.”
“What? Are you my bodyguard now?”
“Somebody should be.” He crossed his arms over his chest and a flame of something like anger lit his eyes. “You certainly don’t seem to do a very good job looking out for yourself.”
Something in me snapped, some basic, primal part of me rushed forward and took control of my body. Before I’d even realized what I was doing, I’d chucked the trowel at Cody and screamed out a guttural expression of anger and frustration. I’m not good at sports, I couldn’t hit the side of an elephant with a ball and I close my eyes when I should be catching something. I’m also not violent, I’ve never hit or hurt anyone, and believe me when I say plenty of people I’ve encountered in my life deserved violence. But Cody brought out something I didn’t even know I had in me. I flung that trowel and I hit him square between the eyes.
I immediately freaked out. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I’ve never…I didn’t mean…I would never.” Cody was bent over clutching his face and I pulled in a deep breath and prepared myself for the worst. I walked over and put a hand on his back. “Are you okay? How bad is it?”
“It fucking hurts,” he said. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“That’s not important right now, we need to assess the damage and get you fixed up.”
He straightened a bit, his hand still cupped to his forehead, and I could see blood dripping down his face. Oh, my god, I could have killed him or put out his eye if the trowel had hit him just a little bit differently. I was a bad, bad person, and I shouldn’t be allowed around dangerous objects like trowels ever again. I’d give up gardening in penance…Or whatever. I did my best to calm down, so that I didn’t freak him out. “The light’s pretty dim out here,” I said. “We should go inside, so I can get a good look. I’ve got first aid supplies.”
“You promise not to throw anything else at me, in there?” Did his voice sound weak? I shouldn’t be happy that all his smugness was now gone, should I? I was so going to hell.
“I solemnly swear never to throw anything at you ever again,” I said. “I won’t do anything to cause you any sort of physical harm.”
“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”
I took him by the hand that wasn’t covering his face and led him inside.
***
It’s not easy to lead a man who’s a good foot taller than me and almost twice as wide into my small house, especially when he’s in pain and covering his eyes. I may have walked him into the porch railing and forgotten to mention there was a step, causing him to stub his toe and hop around for a minute, cursing and swearing. I might have also forgotten to mention the lintel at the front door, causing him to stumble and fall against me, dripping blood on my t-shirt. All that may have happened, but I don’t like to dwell on past mistakes. It’s best to move forward and focus on what I can control: the present.
A present that included a man sitting in my small guest bathroom, making it look even smaller as he sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat. I did not want to pull his hand
away from his face and see what I’d done to him. I did not want to know how my irrational moment of rage had marred his perfect, gorgeous face. But I’m not a coward and I couldn’t just leave him sitting in my bathroom and do nothing.
I got all the bandages and ointment I owned, as well as a clean cloth and I set them up along the sink. “Okay,” I said. “Take your hand away.”
He dropped his hand and my heart sank. There was so much blood. His face was covered in blood and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. With shaking hands, I wet the cloth and began gently wiping his face. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?”
“No,” he said, his voice a bit husky. I wiped the blood from his nose and mouth, moving as carefully as I could.
“You hit me on the forehead,” he said. “It’s probably best to stop the bleeding first.”
“Right,” I said, feeling like a complete and total moron. I had never been good in a crisis situation. I moved up to his forehead and wiped away what blood I could, but it seemed mostly dry and I didn’t want to rip away a newly formed scab and cause more bleeding, so I moved slowly, doing my best not to hurt him.
I finally found the small cut, right between his eyes. “This is tiny,” I said. “I can’t believe it caused this much blood.”
“Head wounds bleed a lot.”
I bandaged the small cut and cleaned his face, becoming more aware of his nearness, of the hard planes of his body and his smooth, tanned skin as I worked. Now that I was no longer worried he might be near death, I relaxed a bit and just felt like the worst human being on the planet. I cleaned off the rest of the blood and stepped away to examine his face. He watched me with dark, hooded eyes, his mouth tipped up in a tiny, wicked smile. I took another step away from him and my back hit the wall.
He put a hand to his head and felt the small band-aid I’d put there. “I probably won’t even have a scar,” he said. “Thanks for fixing me up.”
“How do you feel? Still no dizziness? Headache?”
The Deadbeat Next Door Page 4