My dad straightens up in his chair. His old, blue, terry cloth robe droops to one side. He flexes a fist on the table, and I see the muscles respond all the way up to his neck. My dad’s a powerful man, and even though he’s never once laid a hand on me, he’s put a fist through the wall before. Well, one time. But it’s stuck with me and makes me worry that he’ll do it again, or that at some point, he’ll make a mistake and put it through me.
“You’re gonna meet Oscar soon,” he says, with a strained, but gentle, tone. He flattens his palm on the table when he catches me staring at his hand. “But this is it, Hale. We’re beyond broke. There’s nothing. We’re going to end up homeless in another couple weeks, unless we figure something out. What’s happened with Otto, well, it’s awful to say, but it couldn’t have happened at a better time for us.”
“We can figure something else out,” I say, but he shakes his head, and I can tell he’s not going to give in. He’s glued this ridiculous idea to his brain, and there is no pulling it off.
“This is already figured out,” he says, his voice dropping to a growl. “It’s already happened, and it’s not so bad if you just think about it the right way. It’s our one chance, and you gotta see it for what it is. You play your cards right, and you won’t be eating out of soup cans all your life. You won’t have to worry about ever being homeless. You’ll have a house and a family and...”
“And a life I didn’t want!” I snap. My father rubs his chin.
“Hale,” he says softly. My dad, the guy he used to be before my mom couldn’t take it anymore and left us both, suddenly reaches over the table and puts his big, bear-paw of a hand on mine. “I’m pretty sure the one we’re living right now ain’t the one you want either, honey. But this is the best I can do for you.”
#
I’m in the truck with a box of lawn-cutting fliers on my lap. My dad got a zillion of them copied off, and he’s bent on plastering them all over town. The name of the new company is Simmons and Maree Lawn Services, but due to lack of space, it’s now S & M Lawn Services, and I can see loads of problems with that. My father, however, doesn’t. He’s sitting behind the wheel of a brand new Silverado that we could never afford, even if we stopped eating for a year, and there is a trailer attached to the back, with sparkling new lawn equipment that squeaks as we fly over the bumps in the road. We’re going to drop off the lawn crap at Mr. Maree’s house and see his loser son, Oscar.
Oscar. The name only conjures up fuzzy green monsters and fat, sloppy, old men now. What kind of name is Oscar anyway? My God, I want nothing to do with this.
My father got me out of bed at eight this morning and announced that we were handing out fliers for his brand new business today. I said, “No.” He grabbed hold of my sheets and yanked them off me. He carried them out of my bedroom, and told me I wouldn’t get them back until I started cooperating. It’s the most we’ve said to each other since ‘the talk’ two days ago.
When I finally threw on some clothes and appeared in the kitchen, my father gave me a look up and down, and frowned.
“You aren’t going like that,” he said.
“Good, because I didn’t want to go at all,” I said. He sighed. It wasn’t one of those ‘we’ll see’ sighs or even a ‘you’ll see this is for your own good’ sighs. It was a ‘you better get your ass moving’ sigh, and, out of my father, a sigh like that wasn’t something to be ignored or argued.
So, I’m sitting beside him, not talking to him, watching out the window, with his massive box of kinky- named, business fliers on my lap.
“This kid, Oscar,” my father starts, and I cut him off.
“What a loser name,” I grumble. He must be high from the new car smell, because he happily ignores my grumbling and continues.
“Otto says the kid’s a looker.”
“Of course he did. It’s his kid! Who cares anyway? I’m just a cow in this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re treating me like an animal,” I snap. My father looks away.
“I’ve never met Oscar, but I assume he’s a good man.” My father’s tone is sober. Maybe he’s finally coming to his senses.
“But you don’t really know and you’re still telling me to marry him.”
“So you’ll have a life!” he explodes.
“That I don’t want!” I explode back. I fume out the window, as my father pulls the truck onto a dirt road that winds back through trees to a house. No, this isn’t just leading us to a house. We’re squeaking down the road of the Maree’s estate.
“Nice, huh?” My father lets out a low whistle. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me that you’re trying to sell me down the river in exchange for a truck and tractor? Yeah, I think you mentioned it.”
He doesn’t bother to respond, but instead, steers us to the epicenter of the half-circle driveway, right at the front door. He puts it in park.
When my father honks the horn, a chiseled, young man steps out, onto the porch. While the hard sculpture of his body definitely catches my eye, it’s his dark gaze, sifting me from this rolling scenery that sends a sharp tingle straight through the center of my stomach.
The gorgeous stranger moves down the brick steps to my father’s open window and my breath disappears. He moves like smoke, easy and graceful—like smoke that could get in my head and make the world seem fuzzy.
He leans his palms on my dad’s open window. The stranger’s eyes flick to mine, and his lips twitch a tiny grin of acknowledgement, before his gaze switches back to my father.
“You Oscar?” my dad asks. The man nods and puts a hand through the open window to shake my father’s. His eyes flick back to mine, and pause, as he answers in a dark chocolate kind of voice, “That’s me.”
Sludge drops into my stomach, crushing the butterflies. The idea of what my father wants me to do makes any interest I have in the handsome stranger disappear. I turn my face away, looking out the passenger window at the manicured bushes around a ridiculous waterfall. There are three angel statues around the edge. A bright red speck catches my eye. Someone’s dressed the middle angel in a pair of striped, red underwear. I snort a tiny laugh.
“I’ll just grab my phone,” Oscar says. I turn back as Oscar jogs up the front steps and through the front door of his house. Smoke in the wind. I’ve got to clear my head.
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
“Getting his phone.”
“I heard that, but why’s he getting it?”
“He’s coming with us.”
“No, he’s not.” I say, but my father smirks.
“Sure he is,” he says. “And from the looks of him, you got nothing to complain about, Hale. He’s a nice looking guy. He sounds responsible.”
“Because he was getting his phone?” I snap. “Are you serious?”
“Pipe down,” my dad growls, as Oscar pulls his front door shut behind him. I move to the middle of the truck bench to make room, sulking and admiring all at once, as I watch Oscar cross in front of the truck. I don’t know how he walks like that. Smooth as drifting smoke. I tear my eyes away as Oscar opens the door and gets in next to me.
His weight puffs up the seat and our legs knock together. I glance at him with a ready scowl, but he shoots me a quick grin that says hi and sorry for the leg bump and I drop the scowl without meaning to. But, then, his eyes scan me and I turn away and level my scowl straight ahead, out the window.
What an asshole.
He’s checking me out.
He thinks I’m a cow, after all.
And that’s fine with me, because now, he’s going to have to deal with one mega-pissed-off bovine.
CHAPTER TWO
WE’RE IN A SUBDIVISION OF nice houses that are not too nice, but nice enough to have cash for lawn cutting.
“You two take that side of the street,” my dad says, pointing. “I’ll go down this side.”
“Sure thing,” Oscar says. He winks at me. I just grab a stac
k of fliers and walk away. He follows. I might be the cow, but Oscar’s a stupid sheep.
He’s on my heels as I reach the first mailbox and stuff a flier between the box and flag.
“Isn’t that illegal or something?” he asks. I open the next mailbox, and, while I’m giving him my most sour glare, I whip an entire handful of the fliers into the box and slam it shut. Oscar chuckles.
“Okay, let’s do it your way.”
“My way,” I say, with another fist full of fliers chucked into a box, “is alone. That’s my way.”
“Oh,” he says, with another chuckle. Then, all he does is drop back a step behind me. He’s still following me. Like gorgeous smoke. Ugh.
After five houses, Oscar says, “So your dad insisted that you do this?”
He sounds kind of annoyed. I stop, turn, and give him a good look.
“Sucks, huh?” he says, rubbing his arm. He lifts his eyebrows sympathetically. Something about the way he moves his fingers over his skin, or maybe it’s how he seems to really agree with me, undoes my anger a little.
“Yeah, it does. I’m glad you think so,” I say.
“Hey, if it’s got to be done, at least I get to do it with a pretty girl,” he says, shooting me another wink. I draw back in horror. Do it? Did he actually just say that? He said it so evenly, like it was nothing—is he even serious?
I dump my armful of fliers at his feet and walk away. Moronic sheep. I’m not doing this, no matter what kind of cushy life I’d end up living. I’m not agreeing to anything. I’d rather live in a box.
“Hey,” Oscar scoops up the fliers and catches back up to me. I’m charging along, but he doesn’t even seem to have to work that hard to keep up. He’s just a handsome, dark blob in my peripheral, and I intend to keep him that way. “What did I say?”
“You’re actually wondering that?”
“Actually am,” he laughs. Laughs. Jerk. I keep going, but he keeps up.
“Hey, I apologize,” he says. “I’ve never had a girl go rabid just because I called her pretty, but you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. My girlfriend would be furious if she knew I even thought another girl was pretty.”
I throw on my brakes so fast that he’s a step ahead before he jerks to a stop too. Some of the fliers drop out of his hands and flutter to his feet.
“Oh shit!” He chuckles as he bends to pick them up. And all I’m thinking is that he doesn’t even know how right he is.
I bend down and help scoop up the fliers. His cologne is in my nose. He’s the deep smell of sandalwood mixed with the fresh smell of apples. I glance up, as our fingers meet on the same flier. Oscar’s smile is easy and bright. It’s in that second that I realize he’s got no idea what is going on.
“So you’ve got a girlfriend,” I say, and Oscar bites his lip with a grin and looks away.
“I do,” he admits. “Sophia.”
“Pretty name.”
“I think so.”
“So why are you going around telling other girls they’re pretty?” I ask. I don’t know why I feel a twinge of jealousy, but I do. It’s not like I have to own every cute guy and his compliments, especially this one, but hearing him talk about his girlfriend makes some stupidly competitive part inside me stand up a little straighter. I want to kick myself in the face for it. He shrugs.
“I’m as faithful as they come,” he says, spreading his arms with another chuckle, “but I’m not dead.”
“At least, not until she finds out,” I say.
“True.” His wide smile is infectious and I can’t help but laugh a little. We turn and walk back toward the mailboxes we haven’t hung fliers on yet.
“So what kind of name is Hale? I honestly didn’t expect you to be a girl.”
“You didn’t?” I try not to show my surprise. Maybe Otto really was just too drunk to mean anything he said last night. But it doesn’t make sense, why he still bought my dad a truck and a bunch of lawn equipment. Or why my dad is still so bent on pushing Oscar and me together. Unless he just wants to get a rich son-in-law. It doesn’t seem right, but it’s got to be what’s going on.
“Was I supposed to know?” Oscar asks. He’s so damn handsome. But, I remember what Otto told my dad about his son being a playboy, so I put another step between us.
“No, of course not,” I say, and then, to change the subject, I tell him, “Hale’s just a name my father liked.”
“Your mom didn’t have any say?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Well, I’m sure she did, but she let my dad have his way,” I lie. I have no idea if she cared even then, but I know she doesn’t care now. She’s re-married and lives somewhere in Texas, last I heard. She made a new life for herself, complete with replacement kids and the guy who was once ‘the other man’ in my parent’s marriage.
“It’s unique,” he says. His gaze lingers too long.
“Thanks, but I bet if Sophia of the Pretty Names heard you say that, she would be upset by it.”
“Sophia of the Pretty Names is so busy hanging out with her friends that she might not even notice,” he says and I snort. I actually do, and then I think, who cares? I can snort all day long. No matter how hot Oscar Maree is, he’s got a girlfriend, and no matter how much flirting he does, he’s already let me know it’s not going any further than this. He’s loyal.
So I snort again and say, “She sounds like a catch.”
“I’ve been starting to think that myself,” he says, sliding a flier between a box and its flag.
“Don’t think it too much. Remember your loyalty.”
“I’m only loyal while I’m in a relationship.” His eyes flash at me, and my stomach does this wobbly thing that could be either wild butterflies, or my instinctual warning system trying to alert me to a predator. Or maybe my gut is signaling both. Oscar pins another flier on a box without taking his eyes off me. “What about you? Boyfriend?”
“Fifty of them,” I say. This wins me a full smile. Why do I even want it?
“Huh,” he says. “I better be careful then.”
“You should. It sounds like Sophia could ignore you to death.”
“Yeah, but I was talking about your fifty boyfriends,” he says with a grin. I return a sarcastic smile as I pop a flier into a mailbox.
“I heard you’re a playboy.”
“Did you now?”
“Sounds like it’s accurate.”
“Who were you asking?” Oscar looks both ways so we can cross the road and work our way up another street. I follow him.
“I didn’t ask anyone,” I say. “Your father told my dad that.”
“That explains everything, then. My father can’t stand Sophia. He’s been trying to get me away from her since we started dating, three months ago.”
“Why doesn’t he like her?”
“He doesn’t think she’s right for me.”
“What do you think?”
“I think he’s probably right,” Oscar laughs, “but I’ve got to be sure first.”
I don’t say another word about how our fathers were talking. Maybe it really is nothing. We walk along beside one another, me and the handsome smoke. It’s weird how I feel like I’ve lost something.
“That’s tragic,” I say. “You should be with the person you want to be with.”
“Well,” he lowers his voice, as if his father might jump out from behind one of the economy cars parked along the curb. “The truth is, he probably doesn’t have to work so hard to convince me. Sophia’s a great girl, but I don’t think I’ve been completely sure that she’s the right one for me.”
A little nerve of panic pops up inside me as he flashes his grin. If he’s not with Sophia, and if he doesn’t really care what happens between them...oh God.
Our drunken fathers’ conversation streams through my head again. I wipe my palms on the back of my shirt, as if I’m stretching my back, instead of getting ready to run away. Not from Oscar exactly—I really don’t think he has a clue about what our fathers
said—but from his reaction to all the crazy marriage talk, when they tell him. If they tell him. If this isn’t just my big misunderstanding of an eavesdropped conversation about goodness and grandkids. Then I think of my dad at our kitchen table this morning, so solemn in his drooping blue terry cloth robe, and I just don’t know what to think.
I blink out of my thoughts, coming back to the subdivision street. Oscar is staring at me. His eyes are warm and dark and intense. His gaze delivers a full shot of delicious adrenaline all at once, erasing everything else in the universe, but his eyes. When I finally catch that his lips are moving, I have to concentrate extra hard to remember that there is more to him than the soul that seems to want to explode from his gaze.
“Would you?” His voice is soft, his brow questioning. His hand reaches for mine, but I’m still holding a bunch of fliers. Would I? Alarms go off. Would I what? Does he know after all? Is he planning on getting down on one knee? Why is he still looking at me at like that, and putting his hand on mine, and talking like his voice is made of milk chocolate? Why is he having this effect on me?
“Would I what?” My legs fill up with adrenaline and my muscles are ready to go.
“Would you like to take that side of the street and I’ll take this one,” he says. Oh, pop. The adrenaline is gone and I look down the row of houses, as if it’s actually interesting.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say. “We can get it done faster that way, so you can get back to...whatever.”
Oscar pinches his face, like I just swung a bat at his head.
“I don’t have anything going on today,” he says. “I’m good with spending it out here, walking around. I just figured you had better things to do on a Saturday. Like getting back to your fifty boyfriends.”
“Well, yeah, I do need to get back to them,” I say, “but we still have to hand out a ton of fliers. No reason to be totally bored while I do it.”
Hale Maree Page 2