by Leigh Tudor
They clapped with far less enthusiasm, fully aware there was no arguing with their older brother.
As Trevor pulled into the driveway, Cara noticed that Loren’s Volvo was still parked near the front steps.
Great, she hadn’t missed her.
The last time she’d seen her sister had been a disaster, much of her making. She was so angry to, once again, be the last to learn the latest happenings in the family. Not to mention, it had been a bad day at school, and, like the emotionally chaotic teenager that she was, she had taken it out on the people she loved the most.
She should have been happy and excited for her sister and thrilled to learn what she’d already suspected about Madame.
Prior to that regretful day, she hadn’t seen her oldest sister in months and was now nearly bouncing in her seat with the same level of excitement as Marleigh and Haley when hitting an entertainment park. Excited to both apologize and maybe pull Loren aside for some desperately needed one-on-one big sister time.
“Are you coming inside? Mercy should be home,” Cara said, aware of the attraction between her sister and the single father who was new to town and had captured the fluttering eyes of half the female population of Wilder over the age of sixteen.
Mr. Forrest hesitated as if battling with the simple question and then sighed. “Better not. Nate’s watching Haley and Marleigh until I get back.”
“I don’t know. Nate’s a pretty responsible kid.”
“It’s not his lack of responsibility with the girls I’m worried about. It’s how many SEC violations he can commit in the time it takes me to get back home.”
She grinned. “Good point, he’s a veritable Rupert Murdock in the making.”
Mr. Forrest chuckled. “He’s on the razor’s edge of becoming either a finance mogul or the morally corrupt founder of a sketchy multilevel marketing scheme.”
Eager to get inside and see her sister, she opened the car door. “Alrighty then. Bye, Mr. Forrest.”
“Hold on, Cara,” he said, pulling some cash out of his wallet. “This for watching the kids this week.”
Not giving the wad of cash a second look, she stuffed it in her pocket, thanked him, and ran up the front porch steps into the living room and straight into Loren’s arms.
“Oh, hey there.” Loren laughed with surprise, hugging her back. “Omigosh, look at you. Your hair is so pretty.”
Cara had, once again, changed her hair back to its original color. Her desire to be somewhat attractive had begun to outweigh her desperate need to capture her sister’s attention with the bright orange hair, black nail polish, and eyeliner.
Not that it was working anyway.
But all of that seemed kind of silly now.
With the exception of when she had her melodramatic meltdown, the last time she had seen Loren was that fateful day at Wilder’s Hardware. No one had mentioned the circumstances of that day or what had transpired, choosing to look to the future than the tragedies of the past.
Loren finally released her to swipe at her eyes, just as Madame walked in from the kitchen with her own handkerchief dabbing beneath her glasses. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Everyone, wash up.”
Mercy had one knee on the back of the couch, peeking through the living room curtains watching Mr. Forrest pull out of the drive with droopy shoulders and a forlorn look on her face.
“Geez, Mercy, just go talk to him,” Cara said, shaking her head.
“About what?” Mercy said with a half shrug as she reluctantly moved away from the window.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cara said with typical teenage sarcasm. “How about the fact that you’re madly in love with him and want to jump his bones?”
Mercy’s head jerked toward Cara. “What do you know about jumping people’s bones?”
“I know when two people like one another but are too stubborn to admit it.”
Loren chuckled, and Cara gave her older sister an accusing scowl. “Don’t laugh. You’re just as bad when it comes to Alec Wilder.”
Mercy began to twist her fingers together. “Did Trevor say anything, you know, about me?”
Cara had to remind herself that she had promised to be less snarky and more appreciative of her sisters. But come on. “No, Mercy. Mr. Forrest didn’t hand me a note in class asking if you thought he was hot and if you’d go to the school dance with him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mercy sneered. “Adults don’t go to school dances. Unless, of course, to chaperone.” She turned to Loren. “Isn’t that right? In the movies, aren’t there adults policing the gym, making sure the kids don’t feel one another up and put alcohol in the punch?”
Loren’s eyes narrowed pensively as if trying to recall. “I think so… that was in the movie Grease, Ten Things I Hate About You, Footloose, Sixteen Candles… I believe that was the case in all of them. Oh! And Carrie.”
Dear Lord. She told them not to watch movies without her there to provide context and commentary.
Cara rubbed her forehead. Her sisters were so smart and so clueless at the same time. “You do realize that each of those movies was made before I was even born and, therefore, hardly depicts today’s typical high school dance.”
“Oh, I know!” Mercy said, clicking her fingers. “Twilight and Kissing Booth.”
Loren shook her head, tapping her index finger against her mouth. “I don’t remember adults chaperoning the dances in those movies. Regardless, I’m not sure those are good examples. I question the permissibility of open flame tiki torches and vampires at a high school function.”
“Ooh, let’s watch them tonight,” Mercy said with excitement. “We can all bone up on high school dances for when Cara gets asked.”
Cara’s hand covered her mouth briefly with her hand, shaking her head. “Let’s all agree to never say the word ‘bone up’ ever again.”
Loren cocked her head to the side. “Wait. Why is it okay for you to say ‘jump his bones’ but we can’t say ‘bone up’? Doesn’t it mean to learn as much about something as you can?”
Cara wasn’t going there. “You might want to check the Urban Dictionary’s definition on that one.”
Mercy looked at an equally confused Loren. “Urban Dictionary? What the hel…heck is an Urban Dictionary?”
Cara took a deep breath. “It’s a dictionary that defines the meaning for words considered current-day slang.”
“So, what does ‘bone-up’ mean in current-day slang?” Mercy asked.
Nope. Cara refused to educate her sisters on this.
Loren scrolled through her phone. “She’s right. There is an Urban Dictionary.”
Cara lifted her hands in frustration. “Of course there is. Did you think I made it up?”
“So what does it say ‘bone up’ means?” Mercy asked Loren, looking over her shoulder.
“Oh my.” Loren’s eyes bugged out of her head and her head jerked back.
Mercy leaned in further and read, “Slang term for getting stoned and masturbating at the same time.” She sucked in a breath and then continued, “sample sentence…I was bored and had weed, so I found a couple of porno mags???… and started to… bone up???”
Mercy glared at Cara. “Is this what you and your girlfriends do at parties? Smoke illegal substances and… and diddle yourselves to porn magazines?”
Cara face-planted into her palm. “Of course not… and let’s add diddle to the list of words we never ever say.”
Loren’s face was white as a ghost. “Just where exactly are you getting your porno magazines? It’s Marybell Simmons, isn’t it? Amarilla’s mother. I bet she keeps a stash in her bedroom closet.”
She used to think her sisters were weird. But she was beginning to realize that the attribute was true of all adults. “Just because I know about it doesn’t mean I’m doing it. Geez, cray-cray much? Cut me some slack, you looney tunes.”
Mercy pulled her eyebrows together in a frown. “I have no idea what she just said.” She yanked Loren’s hand up,
holding her phone. “Check cray-cray in that slang dictionary.”
“What I’m saying,” Cara said, as calmly as possible, “is that I am still the same unpopular and universally boring sister I’ve always been. A boring teenager who doesn’t read porn, smoke weed, or… do that other thing, ever.”
Loren and Mercy’s shoulders lowered in silent relief, all but verbally agreeing with her lackluster self-assessment.
Wait, what? Her eyes played ping-pong between her two older sisters, who seemed… mollified.
Oh my God, they didn’t even bother denying it.
They thought she was boring and unpopular, too.
That was it. Time to make some changes. Mix things up a bit.
Maybe it was time to be bad?
Even Ally had been pressing her to sneak out of the house and attend one of the more risqué parties thrown by the older students whose parents were out of town for one reason or another.
Why the heck… hell not?
Well, for one, she had gotten into tons of trouble the time she and Ally and some friends had driven to Dallas to watch a cover band. She hadn’t liked how disappointed her sisters had been in her or how they had worried. She’d managed to maintain a bored and unaffected demeanor as Loren and Mercy had interrogated her and Ally for details, but she swore she’d never put them through that again.
But come on. She was fifteen, a milestone birthday everyone had forgotten in the midst of their superhero, extracurricular activities. And she had never been to a party, kissed a boy, or drunk alcohol.
Which, in the world of high school, made you dull and unpopular.
She used to believe that if you did and said the right things, then good things would happen to you. But she was learning that wasn’t always the case. Good people, like her sisters and even Miss Becky, got hurt despite doing the right things all the time.
Seriously, she was beginning to wonder what the point was. Everything Madame had taught was flying in the face of convention—making her feel unanchored and adrift and unsure of herself and her sense of right and wrong.
Madame broke her meanderings and her sisters’ slang-centric search efforts. “Ladies, dinner is ready.”
Loren started to make her way to the restroom to wash up when Cara grabbed her hand. Not sure what to say, she blurted, “Hey, how are you feeling?”
Loren appeared a bit self-conscious as she hugged her waist and nodded. “I’m okay. But I’m sorry if you felt like you were the last to know. Trust me, you weren’t,” she murmured. “And I know it didn’t happen under the most ideal of circumstances…”
“Stop,” Cara said, giving Loren another side hug. “This baby is going to be ridiculously loved. That’s about as ideal as it gets.”
Loren smiled with relief and hugged Cara back. “I’ve been so sick; I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t some sort of penance.”
Madame interrupted with a ladle in one hand and a pot holder in the other. “I keep telling her it’s how the women in our family carry children. With a strong heart and a tumultuous stomach.”
“Don’t forget that pesky auditory disorder where she wants to bludgeon the most innocent of people for the crime of chewing their food,” Mercy added.
“As long as you chew with your mouth closed and with a modicum of manners as opposed to, say, a barn animal of the swine variety, you should be fine.”
“There is another condition that manifests in the pregnant women in our family, but I do believe I’ll wait before sharing that bit of information,” Madame added wryly, as if harboring a secret of vast import.
Mercy grimaced at Madame Grands’ words and made her way into the dining room. “Oh, swell, another gestational anomaly we all get to suffer through.”
“Hey, Loren,” Cara said, once again taking advantage of it just being the two of them in the living room. “Do you think we could talk after dinner about a few things?”
“You want to talk,” Loren asked as if stunned, “like, with me?”
“Yeah, about school and stuff.”
“Are you having problems in pre-calc?”
“No, that’s fine. I thought we could talk about boys and stuff.”
Loren grabbed her by the forearms with a little too much enthusiasm. “I would love to talk about anything you want. Anything at all. Is everything okay?” she asked with sudden concern.
“Oh yeah, nothing dire or anything. Just have some things on my mind. You know, normal teenage stuff. Nothing we have to break out the psychiatric textbooks for.”
Outside of an existential crisis.
“Okay, good. Right after dinner, you and I will go outside, sit on the front porch swing, and… talk about boys and stuff.”
Cara was a little worried about the level of excitement Loren was exhibiting at the idea of chatting through her teenage angst issues.
But hey, if trudging through her feelings of inadequacy gave her sister a sense of purpose, then she’d suck it up and let it all hang out.
“Awesome,” she said, beginning to feel lighter for having made her sister grin with the sheer delight of tackling her high school drama.
Funny what made some people feel needed and useful.
Maybe now that everyone was somewhat back together, things would slow down and settle. Get back to how they were before. Like when they’d first come to Wilder.
With full hearts and empty stomachs, they all sat around the dining room table as Madame brought out plates of food.
“We have a lovely salade nicoise and poulet au vin blanc.”
Cara began to spoon the chicken onto her plate. “Madame, was Levi sad when you moved out?”
Madame sat, opening her cloth napkin and placing it in her lap. “He’ll be fine. He needs time alone with Marybell and Amarilla. Honestly, I don’t know which one is in need of more parental guidance.”
Loren’s phone rang, and she gasped when she caught the caller’s name and dropped her fork on her plate to bring the phone to her ear. “Becky?”
Everyone froze and all eyes landed on Loren, who had stood after answering the phone. “Yes, I can come and get you,” she said, turning to Mercy and turning her wrist indicating for her to get the car keys. “Of course, but I’m in Wilder. But we can be there in less than an hour.”
Cara waved to capture Loren’s attention and mouthed, “Ask about Samantha.”
She nodded. “What about Samantha? Do we need to get her as well?” She nodded at whatever Becky was saying and gave Cara a sad shake of her head. “No, yeah, if you say she’s safe and okay, that’s all we can ask. Of course you can stay with me.”
Cara sat back in her chair, wondering where Samantha could be and why she wasn’t taking any of her and her friends’ calls.
Within minutes of getting off the phone with Becky, Loren and Mercy were grabbing their purses and rushing toward the door. An unspoken understanding played out that the two older sisters would go to Becky’s rescue while boring Cara stayed at home diddling herself.
Loren grabbed the door as she explained to Madame that Becky had been released but had no family nearby who could pick her up. Cara was pretty sure the only reason she was made aware of this information was because she happened to be sitting there while it occurred in real-time.
Madame moved into nurturing mode, covering plates with plastic wrap and insisting they take their food with them, along with a helping for Becky.
And then, she and Cara watched the headlights of the car turn on and pull out of the driveway.
So much for that talk.
Guilt bloomed within Cara, who was well aware that Becky calling and asking for a ride from the hospital was a huge breakthrough. She just wondered if life would ever settle down long enough for her problems to become a priority.
Sensing her disappointment, Madame pulled her toward her and gave her a Madame-style, stiff but appreciated, hug.
“Are you okay, my dear?”
“Yeah,” she replied. What else could she say? She wasn�
��t being tranqed and hauled back to the Center, or fighting against a drug cartel, or rescuing children from people with nefarious intentions. Nor was she rushing to the aid of her friend who had been beaten by her husband.
What did she really have to complain about? A less than spectacular high school experience? Friends who were sick to death of being left out of all the fun because of her Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes persona? A popular boy who seemed to like her, but she had to pretend was Lucifer so as to protect herself and not get hurt?
No, she was just peachy.
Chapter Seven
“I know [canned music] makes chickens lay more eggs and factory workers produce more. But how much more can they get out of you on an elevator?”
— Victor Borge
Loren felt a wave of serenity wash over her as Jimbo stood at the stove, stirring whatever was in the large cast-iron skillet with the focus of a master chef. Having him in her home, cooking and chatting, and just coexisting, provided Loren an unexpected level of comradery. Almost as if he were a parental figure, listening to her day-to-day concerns and giving his two cents in a loving, supportive manner.
Not to mention, he cooked like a boss.
Loren loved to sit back and watch him create a meal with intensity and purpose. The burly man wore a plaid shirt and navy Dickies with a kitchen towel shoved down the side of his waistband, so he could reach down and clean his hands whenever necessary as he toiled over a cutting board or the stove.
His beard was groomed these days, and his clothes were clean as a pin. He seemed to take his personal hygiene quite seriously, considering he used to live behind a bar and slept on a stack of blankets. Somehow, by living with Loren and having a sense of purpose, his bathing standards rose a few notches.
“You still drawing pictures, Half-Pint?” he asked, looking over her shoulder as he wiped his hands on the dish towel.
Loren nodded, pulling back from the paper she was writing on and giving him a better view while sitting at the kitchen table. “Yes, just playing with pi.”
“Pi? I take it you’re not referring to the pie you bake but the one you cipher?”