“We’ll stick together, then,” Oscar says and suddenly, I feel as unstable as if I’m standing on the top of a thin fence, flailing to keep my balance.
#
“Where have you been all day? I’ve been worried sick!” Sher shouts into the phone. My dad finally dropped me off at our apartment and is driving Oscar home.
“I had to hand out fliers,” I grumble. “for the lawn business.”
“It’s for real?”
“I don’t know. But I met Oscar and he doesn’t seem to know what’s...”
“Oh my God! What does he look like?” she gasps. I even hear the wince in her tone, waiting for the bad news. His name is Oscar, after all.
“He’s actually super hot.”
“Are you serious? A hot Ocker?”
“Did you just call him Ocker?”
“It slipped. I was gonna hope you didn’t notice.”
I laugh. “I think that’s what we should call him from now on. Not to his face though, of course.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “So you’re seeing him again? Are you engaged or what?”
“No, he’s got a girlfriend,” I say, and that sad little tug I felt before, pulls at the bottom of my stomach again. “I think Mr. Maree was just kidding last night. But I am kind of worried, because I think my dad’s still taking it all serious. Something did happen, because Otto did end up getting my dad a truck and a bunch of stuff to start a lawn business. Something’s going on, but I don’t think it’s what I thought.”
“What did Ocker say about it?”
“Nothing. I don’t think he knew anything at all.”
“Maybe it is nothing then.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” I say. The call waiting clicks. “Sher, someone’s calling. I’ll call you right back, okay?”
“Yup,” she says and I click over.
“Hale?” Oscar’s voice sends a quiver down both my legs and back up, meeting in places that shouldn’t tingle just because a guy, who has a girlfriend, says my name.
“Hi,” I say. I’m about to ask if he left something in the truck as he cuts me off.
“I was wondering,” he says. “If you’d meet me at a coffee shop tonight?”
My brain trips over my pounding heart. Did my dad tell him on the ride back to his house? Oscar’s voice is so weirdly calm, I’m not sure that he knows anything yet, so I play along.
“Sure, I’ll meet you. Are you bringing Sophia?” I ask. He puffs an I’ve-been-called-out breath on the other end.
“I was thinking I’d leave her home tonight.”
“Probably not a good idea, Oscar,” I try to joke. “You are loyal, remember?”
“I am,” he sighs, “but if you are going to be my wife, I guess that trumps any loyalty I have to a girlfriend, now doesn’t it?”
I don’t know if he says anything else, because I drop my phone and the screen shatters when it hits the floor.
#
I generally cling to the notion that people aren’t evil bastards. It’s hard to stay on task sometimes and keeping thinking it, like when the girl at my school begged me, in the ladies room, for a buck, so she could buy a tampon from the machine. It was hard, because she didn’t use the money for what she said she would, but ended up two people ahead of me in the lunch line ten minutes later, buying a tray loaded with a burger, fries, Coke and two desserts.
It was hard to keep believing when the guy upstairs told the cops my dad was a dealer, to throw them off his own scent. I mean, I try my best to assume that lunch girl really needed the dollar more than I did, and that the guy upstairs just made a super crappy mistake. I believe in karma and, sure, sometimes I even try to kick it in the pants, to wake it up and help it get an eyeful of what’s happening, but even when it doesn’t come through, I still cling to the hope that people are good, down deep. The prospect of life being full of a bunch of evil people, who are waiting to screw you over the minute you turn your back, is way too depressing.
But today, I am completely pulled under by the idea that the biggest evil bastard of them all is the person who helped create me. There’s something really jarring about figuring out that your father isn’t just imperfect, but actually evil.
My father walks in ten minutes later and I’m standing five feet from the front door with my arms crossed over my chest. He glances at me and tosses his keys on the dining room table.
“You talk to Oscar already?” he asks.
“You must’ve given him my number. He called me.”
“I figured he would.”
“I am not marrying a stranger,” I tell him. “Whatever you did to make this happen, you have to un-do it. Give the truck back to Mr. Maree and whatever he gave you. If you don’t, I swear that I will leave tonight and you’ll never see me again, Dad. Never. I mean it. I’ll live on the streets if I have to. So, you tell me what you want to do. Should I stay or go?”
My dad rubs his face, exhausted. He motions to the couch, for me to take a seat. He drops into the chair, but I sit at the edge of the furthest couch cushion.
“I’m trying to give you a better...” he begins, but I stop him with a glare.
“I don’t want a better life.”
“Okay.” He rubs his hand over his face again. “Okay. Here’s the deal, Hale. I am trying to get you out of this mess. All the messes I’ve made. You got to trust me on this. I can’t tell you everything because...because I just can’t.”
“That’s not good enough, Dad. I’m your daughter, and if you can’t trust me, then there’s nobody else. If you’re going to ask me to do something as crazy as this, then I think I should know what kind of trouble you’re in.”
My dad rocks the chair he’s in by pushing his toe against the floor. He moves his tongue around his mouth, staring at me in deep thought while he does it.
“It’s not my trouble, but it could turn into that,” he finally says. “I helped out a friend and he owes me for it, but having you marry his son is necessary. It’s not just giving you a better life with money, but it’s also keeping you safe.
“Safe,” I repeat. My voice slopes down to a whisper. “Dad, did you murder someone?”
“I didn’t do anything, Hale,” my father says. “But Otto made a mistake, and I happened to be there to see it. I’m a witness. You understand what I’m saying?”
I realize I’m holding my breath, but I manage to answer, “I think so.”
“I saw something I shouldn’t have. Otto’s not a criminal, he’s not, but this mistake happened and now Otto could lose everything if anyone were to find out. Otto didn’t make this lawn-business deal to shut me up; it’s not like that. He’s just asking for my help, and he’s going to help me out in return.”
“He killed someone?”
“I’m not talking about what happened.” My father sits back in the chair. “It’s better if you don’t know anything about it, so don’t ask anything else.”
“He’ll assume you told me. Or the cops will.”
“Not if you don’t know anything. Nobody can assume nothing. That’s why Otto decided that if you’re married into his family, it’s just extra security for both of us.”
“He doesn’t think I’d turn in a father-in-law?”
“Would you? Even if it destroyed every shot you’ve got at having a decent life? Even if it led back to your old man?” My dad’s eyebrows hike up.
He caught me. Of course, I wouldn’t. I’ve watched enough mobster movies to understand what’s happening. Otto’s keeping friends close and his accomplices even closer. But, as far as I know, Mr. Maree isn’t a mobster. He’s a corporate big wig with a bunch of degrees.
“I don’t want this. And Oscar’s got a girlfriend, did you know that?” I say. “It’ll never work with us. You and Mr. Maree need to figure out something else, and keep me and Oscar out of this.”
“It’s too late,” my dad says. “We already made our deal. If you two are married, Otto would know for sure that I’d never tell.
I wouldn’t say anything either way, but with you in his family, Otto knows I would never change my mind about going to the cops. And I’d know you’d be safe.”
My father shuts his mouth, and I don’t open mine. I listen to Mrs. Coley’s TV blaring downstairs. If I don’t marry Oscar, it means that my father can’t be trusted. I’ve seen enough movies to know what happens to someone who can’t be trusted. I hear the air conditioning kick on, and before the air even gets a chance to rush into the room, goose bumps climb up my arms.
“Oscar wants to talk to me,” I hear myself say. It’s like someone else is talking and I’m miles away. I’m handing over my life in this moment, and I don’t even feel like I’m actually there, doing it. What I say next is, “He wants me to meet him for coffee, and I don’t know where, because I broke my phone.”
My dad frowns, leans to one side in the chair, and pulls his phone off his belt. He holds it out to me, and I take it, meeting his sad gaze.
“Look at this the right way, Hale,” he says. “You can look at it good or you can look at it bad, but since it’s got to be done, it’s best to look and see that you can do it.”
CHAPTER THREE
I’M NOT A GIRL WHO doesn’t know she’s pretty, but I’m also not a girl that broadcasts it. I walk to the coffee shop up the street and sit by the window to wait for Oscar. I stare at my reflection in the glass. I know what I see, but I wonder what Oscar sees when he looks at me. I wonder if it matters. He’s got to realize how crazy this is, but his voice was so weirdly calm on the phone, almost blank. That flips me out.
When Oscar pulls up, I am not sure it is him right away. A million people have come and gone with cups of coffee for carryout, so when Oscar finally pulls up and gets out of a silver truck, I’m surprised that I can place his silhouette right away. His shoulders are back, as he walks toward the front door of the coffee shop, like he’s just making a coffee run, and not like he’s coming to talk about our impending doom. When he steps out of the shadows and through the door, his eyes are already on me. Startled, I look away.
I’m all frightened and shaky inside, so I take my hands off the table and wipe my palms on the napkin in my lap. Oscar gives me a suave wink and a smile when he walks in, but he buys himself a cup of coffee at the counter before walking over and sliding into the seat across from mine.
“Hi there,” he says.
“Hi,” I say, but what I really want to say is; you’re hot as anything, but I still don’t want to marry you. This is your dad’s fault. You’ve got a girlfriend, and I’d like to have a life.
He leans back in the chair and removes the lid on his coffee. He lays it on the table and moves it around absently with one finger while he stares at it. It makes me uneasy.
“Did you know what was going on when we were handing out the fliers?” he asks. He glances up to see me nod slowly.
“I thought my dad had just been really drunk and got it all wrong.”
“Do you know why this all happened?” he asks.
“No,” I say, remembering how my dad was so reluctant to tell me. I think it’s smart to play stupid, in case Oscar goes back and reports to his father. “Do you?”
“No,” he says, and I don’t believe him at all. I think he knows as much, or more, than I do, but he’s not willing to say anything either. My dark guesses sink inside me. I think Oscar’s dad killed someone and that my dad saw it.
I lean over my side of the table and whisper to him, “I still don’t think that what they’re asking us to do is right and I’m not going to do it. So, you don’t have to worry. You just have to let your dad know that my dad can keep a secret.”
Oscar takes a drink of his coffee, keeping his gaze square on me. The shiver down my spine isn’t attraction. It’s pure anxiety, from what I see in his eyes. Resolve.
“It’s not that easy,” he says, as he puts the cup down. He hasn’t moved his eyes a millimeter. He leans in and, suddenly, our faces are only inches apart. The sandalwood and apple scent of him wafts up my nose and calms me. If any one glanced over at us, I’m sure they’d think it was just a couple whispering I love yous across the table to each other. But if they were sitting where I am, I’m sure anyone of them would shrivel in their chair at how darkly serious Oscar’s eyes appear.
“You have a girlfriend.” I whisper the nervous reminder. His eyes flick to my lips.
“I need a wife,” he says.
“Then you should marry Sophia,” I say. He stands and reaches for my hand.
“Impossible,” he says. I pull my hand away, staring up at him, tall and dark, with eyes that would melt me if they were looking at me with desire, instead of resolve. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“We need to talk where it’s more private.”
The third shiver of the night slips down my spine. “I don’t even know you, Oscar. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Hale,” he says, but he drops his hand, and the steel in his eyes blows away like dust. What’s left is something sad that makes me listen to him. “Don’t be afraid of me. I wasn’t expecting any of this either.”
And that’s why murder victims go willingly, I think. The sad eyes, the soft voice, the boy who seems to have just as much to lose. I stand up, even though I still don’t take the hand he offers me, and we go out the door to his truck.
#
“Where do you want to go?” I ask when he starts the engine. His knuckles are tight on the wheel.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe we can just drive. You still scared?”
“Should I be?”
“No,” he says. He pulls into traffic. I look at the dash, the door, the window. I just don’t look at him. I don’t know what to say to this stranger. We can’t really talk about what’s happened without one of us revealing what we really know, or really think about what’s going on. All I know for positive is that it’s not going to be me.
We drive through the side streets, past my street, and he keeps going. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t turn on the radio. It gets really nerve wracking. It turns out, I’m the one who can’t take it anymore. I break the silence after all.
“This is messed up,” I say.
“Which part?” He finally glances over at me. I shrug.
“Every part,” I say, and his lips turn up in an understanding grin. He steers the truck off the road and onto a twisting drive. I know the one. It leads to a park with a track running around the brim of it, a playground on one side, and just grass in the middle so kids can play football or soccer. In the dark, the trees lining the drive look like crowds of warlock giants, waving wands and casting spells as we drive past them. He drives us up to the parking lot near the playground and puts the truck in park. He turns in his seat to face me, resting his back on the door.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says. I stare at him blankly. Is this his idea of a date? An interview? I look out the front window.
“I’m really sorry all this happened, Oscar, but I think this stuff about getting married is absolutely nuts. Don’t you?”
“No,” he says. I swallow. The truck suddenly seems too small and the drive here too far. My hands pour sweat.
“I think you should take me home.”
“No, I can’t,” he says. “I need to get to know you, Hale. This situation is out of control, but it’s definitely happening, and I want to know who you are before it does.”
I put my hand on the door latch and quickly flip the door open, in case he tries to lock me in. I jump out and run. I hear his door open too. My ears pound as I sprint across the track and onto the grass. I glance behind me. Oscar’s right on my heels. He grabs me and I trip. We tumble down onto the grass together.
The adrenaline forces me back up, but Oscar grabs my ankle.
I fall and he jumps on top of me this time, a leg on either side of my ribs, and one hand holding both of mine, his other hand clamped over my mouth. He lowers his chest onto mine and I feel a
ll his muscles tensed against me, trying to hold me down and keep my mouth shut, all at once. I try to land a kick, bite him, and push. Nothing works. Oscar is fast and strong and athletic, and I’ve spent way too much time being a solitary bookworm.
“Hale!” he says in my ear. “Listen to me! I’m not trying to hurt you or freak you out, but somebody’s going to hear!”
“Good!” My reply is muffled through his hand.
“Not good,” he whispers back. “If I land in jail, what do you think would happen to your father?”
I go limp. This is how morons get subdued. That, and because I’ve got an out-of-shape body that is sucking wind through Oscar’s fingers, and blowing out snot and air on the edge of his hand. He leans his head down to whisper in my ear again. I feel his chest, his arms, and his guy parts, all pressed against me.
“Listen, I know what happened,” he says. “I know why we have to get married and if you want me to tell you, I will, but it’s got to stay between us. I’ll let go of your mouth, but you have to talk to me...not scream your face off.”
“Okay,” I muffle into his hand, and he slides it slowly off my mouth. His nose and mine are still too close. “Get off me.”
Oscar rolls off and sits beside me on the grass. I sit up and fix my shirt.
“So tell me,” I say.
“My girlfriend? Sophia?” he says. “She was cheating on me. She was getting with someone from her work. Rick Tatum. Stupid name, huh?” He shakes his head miserably. He doesn’t need an answer. “He came looking for me and found my dad instead, while my dad was having a drink with your father. He didn’t realize my dad wasn’t me, so he must’ve been looking for my truck. My dad was using it because his was in the shop. Anyway, Tatum was waiting out back, by my truck. But our fathers left the bar and went down the block to get cigarettes, instead of going right home. They stopped off at another bar, and then, when they came back to my truck, Tatum confronted them in the parking lot.
Hale Maree Page 3