Even if I wanted to, Delia would never get anywhere near me. Not like that. She’s more likely to stab me with a pen than let me go down on her.
I’m not even aware of having driven, yet somehow I find myself parking and heading up to my condo. It’s dark, and quiet, and lonely, and empty.
I genuinely hate this part of being perpetually single: the empty apartment. It’s not like I’m not used to it, and it’s not like I want a live-in girlfriend getting on my shit about coming home at a certain time and keep it in your pants, Thai and put the toilet seat up and all that shit.
But I do get lonely, sometimes.
Yeah, fuck this.
I have no interest in being here alone.
I grab a bottle of scotch, a bag of chips, and a Bluetooth speaker, and get back in my truck. I don’t really have anywhere in mind, I just don’t want to be there. If I’m going to be alone, I’d rather be outside.
I just drive, at first.
After a few minutes, it becomes obvious where I’m going: The Spot.
As kids, Dell and I created a “clubhouse” in the woods behind our properties—a real, honest-to-god hundred-acre wood. We hauled all sorts of stuff into a clearing and created a place just for us to hang out and dick around. Milk crates, storage tubs, an old bookshelf, a broken Lay-Z-Boy, a Stop sign we stole, a dirty white Igloo cooler we’d keep filled with lukewarm beer. Then, when we hit high school, we upgraded it from a kiddie clubhouse into a teen hangout. We dragged a couch out there, strung some white Christmas lights from the tree branches and connected them to and a gas generator. We even stole a stoplight and leaned it against a tree trunk. We tried out a bunch of cool names for it, but in the end, the kids we invited to parties there named it for us: The Spot. It was the place to be, back in the day. You hoped and prayed Dell and I would invite you to one of our parties, which I imagine are still legendary. The Spot is where the snake incident happened.
I haven’t been back since returning to River Gulch. I’ve been meaning to, but my deep dive into the world of working at McKenna Construction has taken up all my time. This is the first day since coming back that I’ve put work aside before I physically passed out.
It’d shock Delia, probably, but when I do find something I like doing, I tend to be a workaholic about it.
I have no intention of seeing my parents at the moment, so I go the back way—there’s a path to The Spot from the other side of the woods from the houses, and when Dell and I were setting up a party, we’d use the back way so we didn’t risk alerting our parents that we were up to anything. It’s just a barely visible two-track through the trees, which you have to know about to even know how to find. It’s been almost a decade and it’s overgrown from disuse, so it takes a while to find it. I flick on my brights and aim them at the tree line—no way my truck is getting in there. Not without totally ruining the paint, at least, and I just got this thing. So I shut it off, grab my stuff, pocket my keys, and head out on foot.
It’s farther than I remember. A full ten minutes of walking down a dark, overgrown trail, which my cell phone flashlight only dimly illuminates, and then I finally emerge into the clearing. The couch is still there, but it’s garbage now, rodent-eaten and -infested, likely. Avoid that. The stoplight is still there, rusted and much worse for wear. The firepit still has old ashes in it, rotting stumps where we used to sit.
Man, this place seemed a lot bigger back in the day. Now, it’s just a tiny little clearing in the forest. I could toss a pebble underhanded across the entire space. It used to feel so big, so cool. We were gods, back, then. Kings of the world.
There’s a stacked pile of firewood—I check it, and a lot of it is rotted, but the stuff in the middle seems like it’d burn okay. We used to keep a Zippo in a little hollow in the old dead tree near this stack of wood…still there, and it still works. It’s been an age since I made a fire, but old skills come back easily. Make a little nest with dried leaves and bark, gradually feed larger and larger sticks to it…within a few minutes I’ve got a nice little fire going.
Put some Miles Davis on the speaker, kick back in my old spot under the tree.
Not as fun alone, but better here than that empty condo. I don’t say home, because it’s not, not really.
I sip scotch and let my mind wander, thinking back to the good old days with Dell, when were the kings of River Gulch. All the guys wanted to be our friend, and all the girls wanted to get with us. Or…most did, at least.
A stick cracks, followed by a flashlight beam, bright and white, a spear in the darkness. Behind the beam comes Delia, double-barreled shotgun under one arm.
“Oh.” She lowers the flashlight. “It’s you.”
I eye the shotgun. “Who’d you expect? Sasquatch?”
She shrugs, gestures around with the now-off flashlight. “There’s actually been quite an increase in black bear activity in these woods, last couple years. I’m not about to go traipsing around in here unarmed.” She gestures at the fire. “Saw the fire from Mom and Dad’s back deck, and I came to see who was making a fire in our woods.”
“Just little ol’ me.” I frown. “You can see this from the house?”
“If you’re looking.” She smirks. “You and Dell weren’t as sneaky about those parties as you thought. Our parents just didn’t care.”
I grin. “As a punk kid, I thought it was the best. As an adult looking back? I kinda wonder if maybe someone should have shut some of those parties down. We got blasted in here, back in the day, man.”
She laughs at that and edges closer, her gaze flicking to the bottle in my hands—it’s nothing special, just some 10-year Lagavulin. “Yeah, someone should have, for sure. I guess they all just figured kids would be kids.”
I extend the bottle toward her. “Peace offering?”
She sits on the log with me but leaves a full arm’s length between us. Takes the bottle and swigs from it, two good pulls, swallowing with a hiss that tells me she’s no stranger to whisky. “Thanks.”
“It’s kind of a wonder to me that we never really got into any trouble, you know? Like, there never any real fights, just some drunk scuffles. No one ever got pregnant that I know of. No one wrecked or hit anyone.”
She hands the bottle back. “Leslie Donovan got pregnant.”
I laugh. “That explains where she went senior year. But are we honestly surprised, though? Leslie was…”
Delia snorts. “No, I can’t say I’m surprised. She was the first girl I knew of who claimed to have had sex…in eighth grade.” She looks at me sidelong. “You and her ever…?”
I stare back. “You really want to know, or are you just looking for an opening for a dig?”
“I’m genuinely curious. I know Dell says he did, once, at a party. That was…junior year, though, according to his claims, and she got pregnant start of senior year. So, you know, it wasn’t his.”
“Do you know whose it was?”
She shakes her head. “Nah. She just up and vanished. It was as much of a surprise to me as anyone else—we weren’t really friends. I hear she went to live with her aunt and uncle down in San Diego, but that’s all I know. No guy I know of ever claimed it, and she never came back to say. And even the fact that she got pregnant is, honestly, more hearsay than hard fact. I never heard it from her, is what I mean.” A glance at me. “So. Did you or did you not ever sleep with Leslie Donovan?”
I sigh. Nod, once. “I did.” A tip of my head sideways, and then I sip scotch. “Sort of.”
“How do you sort of sleep with someone?”
I hand the bottle to her. “I, um…” I groan. “It’s not something I talk about a lot.” I grin at her. “Not for the reasons I think you’d assume, though. I actually asked her out on a legitimate date, and we actually went on one.”
“You and Leslie Donovan went on a date? When?” She’s incredulous.
“Junior year, toward the end. This was after Dell and her hooked up—and I can confirm his claim, FYI. I was there.�
� I laugh. “Not, like, you know, when they were doing it. But at the party. So unless they went into the bathroom together and came out twenty minutes later and didn’t actually do anything…”
She shudders. “Ick.”
“Hey, Leslie Donovan was hot.”
She shakes her head. “Sure, but that’s my brother.”
I shrug. “True. But you brought it up. Anyway. We went on a date. Charlie’s for dinner, the theater for a movie. Afterward, we went for a drive. Found a little spot north a ways—”
She drops her head and nods, laughing. “I know the spot. Every teenager who grew up here knows it.”
“And so do the cops, apparently,” I say with a rueful laugh. “Because we were literally seconds away from going at it when along comes who but Officer Alsworth knocking on the window. Sort of ruined the mood.”
She snorts. “And you never tried again, anywhere else, later?”
“I was going to, but then I found out she went out with Tom Crawford the very next night and slept with him. So I was like…maybe not.”
“Why? You can screw a different girl every night but she can’t do the same thing?”
I swig, hand it to her. “You know, I never thought of it that way. But yeah, I guess that kind of was my mindset, back then.” I take the bottle back after she’s done. “And honestly, it wasn’t a different girl every night.”
“No?” She’s supremely skeptical.
“Nope.” I’ve had enough, so I cap the bottle and set it down—Delia doesn’t object. “It was a different girl every weekend. I was doing homework on the weeknights.”
She wipes at her lips with a thumb, and it has to be the whisky in my system, but for the first time I notice her lips—plump, pink, with a perfect Cupid’s bow. They have sparkles on them, as if the lipstick or lip gloss or whatever she put on them had sparkles in it.
“You know, I always assumed you paid one of the tutor nerds to do your homework for you.” She shrugs. “Just the truth.”
I laugh. “Nope. I earned that salutatorian on my own, thank you very much.”
She blinks. “You were, weren’t you?”
I nod. “Yup, I was. Didn’t have a chance at valedictorian, though. The girl who earned that was a serious overachiever. I think she had, like, a five-point-oh GPA or something ridiculous.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s even possible.” A sigh. “It was four-point-two-seven.”
“I heard four-point-five.”
“There were a lot of rumors. It was four-two-seven. And I didn’t blow the principal to get it, either, despite what the rumors claimed.”
I cackle. “I heard that one. I knew it wasn’t true, though.”
“Why, because you started it?”
I tilt my head. “No, that wasn’t one of mine. Could have been, but wasn’t.”
“So how did you know it wasn’t true?”
“Because you just weren’t that type. You never did anything but homework, study, and work for your dad.” I smirk. “Also, I always kind of assumed you just didn’t…do…that. To anyone, let alone an adult for extra GPA points.”
She frowns. “I don’t know whether to be insulted by that or not, actually.”
I laugh. “I’m not sure how I meant it, myself.”
“I mean, on the one hand, I worked my ass off. Anyone who actually knew me knew that was true.” She stares into the fire, which is going low at this point. “But you assuming I wouldn’t blow anyone? Like, you assume I’m just this…sexless robot? I’m glad you knew I wouldn’t suck off an adult—Mr. Greely especially, because gross.”
“Whoever started that rumor about you and Mr. Greely must have started it about a few girls, because I heard it about you, Tanya Moynihan, and Kelly Tanner.”
She snickers. “In Kelly’s case, it could be true.”
“She barely graduated—what are you talking about?”
A snort. “Yeah, and I think it’s possible she did something with Mr. Greely to let her graduate, because that girl did nothing. Literally, nothing, ever. She failed gym class because she refused to change. She failed lit class sophomore year because she kept turning in book reports on Marie Claire articles instead of the books.” She glances at me, and I can tell she’s feeling the scotch. “I’m not a sexless robot, Thai Bristow. I’ve had sex. I like sex. I’ve even given a blowjob before.”
I genuinely don’t know how to answer. My previous observation of her plump, pink, sparkly lips suddenly seems less innocent, with that statement out in the air.
Delia…blowjob.
It doesn’t compute. She’s not a sexless robot, I know that intellectually. She’s got more curves than a mountain road, and in the past few weeks I’ve seen her dress to accentuate it, if not flaunt it. Logically, it’s only sensible that she’s not a virgin. But—
My brain, that strange, deviant place, feeds me an image.
Of Delia.
On her knees.
That thick, lustrous black hair loose and wavy around her shoulders, maybe a few flyaway wisps in her eyes and sticking to her lips. Which are parted…to close around my cock. Blue, blue, crazy blue eyes staring up at me as her lips stretch around me.
Sink down.
I blink, and the image vanishes, and suddenly it’s just Delia and I again, several feet between us, on a log in clearing in the woods.
Clothed.
And enemies.
What the fuck was that?
That will never happen.
I don’t even want it to. That’s Dell’s sister, his twin.
And she fucking hates me.
Yet we’ve had this whole conversation, and it’s been remarkably…civilized. Only a few digs have been exchanged.
“Nothing to say to that, huh, Thai?” She rolls her eyes.
“No, I just…” I huff. “I believe you.”
“Oh, well,” she laughs, “thanks for that. I’m so glad you believe me when I say I’m not a nun.”
“I mean, no shit. No nun I’ve ever met wears skirts like that.”
Knee-length, green and white plaid, tight around her hips yet stretchy enough to move with her. White button-down, unbuttoned to show enough cleavage to hint at a lot more left unseen. Incongruously, she’s wearing mud-stained pink camouflage Crocs with the outfit. I can’t help but snort at the sight of them.
“Don’t laugh at my Crocs. I only wear them to do yard work.”
I frown and laugh. “You? Yard work?”
She nods. “Me, yard work. I have an actual house of my own, Thai. With flowers. I also have a fireplace and I chop my own wood. I do adult things like that.”
I laugh. “Hey, I do adult things.”
“Have you ever mowed a lawn? Chopped wood? Weeded a flower bed? Bought your own groceries?”
“Believe it or not, I can actually cook rather well.”
She cackles. “Bullshit. You can not.”
“I can!” I point at her. “There’s a lot more to me than you give me credit for. What did you think I was doing the last ten years? I can cook. I was sick of living on takeout, you know?”
She shakes her head. “I would never have pegged you a cook. Takeout, maybe grill a steak at most.”
I snort. “Seems like you wouldn’t peg me for much of anything good.”
A nod. “That’s fairly true, actually.”
I laugh. “As long as we’re clear, I guess.”
“Any other surprises?”
I smirk. “Oh, plenty. But I’m gonna keep those secret, for now.” I grab the bottle and stand up, kick dirt over the dying fire; the light in the clearing fades until I can barely see her in the dim orange glow of the coals. “I just like that look on your face. Like, you’re so shocked I can do…literally anything at all other than breathe with my mouth closed.”
“Nah, I know that. You’re not Dell.”
“That’s not entirely fair.” I find my speaker, which is still playing jazz, and turn it off. “Dell’s just…a little lost
, still.”
She doesn’t respond for a long time. “I don’t want to talk about Dell.”
“Fair enough.” I kick more dirt onto the coals until the coals are covered—now it’s totally dark in the clearing.
A memory occurs to me, and I laugh, thinking about it. “Remember when we played spin the bottle out here?”
“Yes.” Her voice is tight, angry. Pained.
That kills some of the humor I’m feeling. “I thought it was funny. We were out here, in The Spot. You, me, Dell, god who else was here that night?”
“Dane Couzens, Olivia Heffernan, Callie Bellows, Rob Prescott, and Leslie.” Her voice is quiet and cold.
I feel like maybe I’ve stepped onto thin ice, here.
“We played spin the bottle. It was harmless fun.”
She whirls on me, and I can feel her anger, even though she’s little more than a shadow in the darkness. “Harmless fun? Thai, that was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me? What’d I do?”
“You don’t even remember?” She laughs, but it’s bitter and disbelieving. “Allow me to enlighten you. It was my turn, so I spun the bottle. It landed on Dane Couzens.”
Ohhhh shit. I’m starting to remember. “You had a crush on him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. A major one. I thought I’d kept it to myself pretty well, because he was your friend and I knew if you found out, you’d do something mean, and also I knew Dane was part of your Big Swinging Dick club of assholes and idiots. He was just cute, you know? I was attracted to him physically. He had a nice smile, and when he laughed, it lit up the whole room.”
“His laugh was infectious,” I agree. “You couldn’t help but laugh when he did.”
“I still have no idea how you found out. But you did. And when I spun the bottle and it landed on Dane, I was, like…all mixed up. Giddy, because I’d get to kiss Dane without having to tell him I had a crush on him. But also scared that he’d find out. But the moment that bottle landed on him, you got this look on your face. It was the look you got when you were about to do something horrible to me.”
The Parent Trap Page 8