“Oh, they’re my grandkids.”
“Really? You don’t look old enough to have grandkids.”
“Come on, Bailey, time to go,” Alexis interrupts, following what must be the shortest restroom visit ever recorded. Someone should alert Guinness about it.
Bailey doesn’t move. Not a flinch or a twitch or anything to acknowledge that she heard a voice.
“Bailey, listen to your mom,” I say. She lifts her head and peers at me under those long, dark eyelashes, but she doesn’t argue. Her tiny tennis shoes hit the floor as she rises to her feet.
As I gather the trash and take it to the receptacle, the girls head toward the door. By the time they reach the car, I’ve managed to catch up with them, and I tell Bailey “see you later” as her mom straps her into her car seat.
“If we get separated, I’ll see you there,” Alexis tells me without bothering to glance in my direction, still focusing on Bailey.
“No worries. I’ll be right on your tail the whole way, Alex.”
She springs back from the car, those dark eyes drilling into me. I thought I’d seen all her icy glares and flat dirty looks, but this one takes the cake. Somehow I’ve warranted such an imposing stare-down that I’m almost convinced her eyes really could pierce me. Surely she’ll let me have it now—scream, pummel me, call me an imbecile…something.
But no, the glossy mask slides back on as she steps around the side of the car without a word and shuts herself into the driver’s seat. Still immersing herself neck-deep in whatever game she’s playing.
Without question, though, something I did just upped the ante.
Chapter Four
Alexis
The nerve of that man! The unmitigated, unadulterated gall of that man!
Weaving his manipulative, impulsive, irresponsible tentacles into every situation. Flirting with that still-in-high school McDonald’s cashier, and that woman who was old enough to be his mother. I swear, the man would likely flirt with a rock if he thought he could make its eyes trail after him when he walked away.
To live in a world where rocks had eyes. Maybe then his kind couldn’t hide under them. Maybe then I could actually go to the restroom and leave him in the company of my daughter, instead of simply walking a few steps away and spying on them because I don’t trust him.
And even Bailey, blindly obeying him just to show me up. “Bailey, listen to your mom.” Naturally he’d say that in front of other people to make me look weak and pathetic, and she’d choose that instant to get up like she probably planned to do in the first place. Purely a coincidence that she did it after he spoke, but I’m sure it looked like…
And where does he get off calling me Alex? Twisting the knife a little after he’d already sliced through me with that whole Bailey obeying him bit.
Ugh, I hate him.
No, not really, because my dad taught me years ago not to hate. So I guess I just dislike him. Really, really can’t stand him. Maybe loathe him even.
Plus, I’m not too happy about the fact that my stomach is growling right about now.
And I abhor the fact that I still need to pee.
“Will Gump and Nan come?”
Bailey’s quiet voice is enough to make me turn down the volume on the rock song streaming through the car speakers. Usually music has a way of calming me down, but the sight of that man in the truck behind me is demanding some loud, screaming guitars and pounding drum beats.
“Do you mean to our new house in Louisville? Sure, they’ll come sometime. Probably not right away, but we’ll come back to see them.”
“I want Gump.”
“I want Gump too, baby, but we’ll be alright.”
Bailey and my dad have been in love with each other since the first time their gazes locked together. Maybe even before that, really. One of the nurses placed Bailey in his arms in the hospital room, and he stared down at her little red face as though dumbfounded. He traced the side of her small hand with his index finger, and she clamped onto it as though she’d been waiting nine whole months to find it. I’m pretty sure she seized a piece of his heart that day, too, which was evident as I watched him cry with my baby in his arms.
His reaction naturally led to crying for me as well, which was unfortunate as my mom hadn’t taken her pictures yet and I was already swollen and puffy. Add a blotchy, red face to the mix, and the whole lot of us looked half crazy.
It’s a beautiful memory.
The first time Bailey attempted to name my dad, he was pulling her around the yard in a wagon. She was eighteen months old, or maybe twenty, and she was giggling loudly enough as he jostled her around the yard that I’m sure even the distant neighbors could hear. He paused a few minutes later to catch his breath, and she was most definitely unpleased with his action. She balled her hand into a fist, puckered her lips, and yelled, “Gump!”
He was Grandpa. That’s the only name I had ever used in front of Bailey, other than Dad of course, but her version of Grandpa burst forth as Gump. He loved it so much, for the next week he asked Mom every night if we were having shrimp for dinner.
Mom got so tired of him asking, she made him shrimp four nights in a row. He probably hasn’t eaten shrimp since.
“And Hoppy?”
Lifting my eyes to stare at Bailey in the rearview mirror, I fight to avoid sighing.
“Sweetie, Hoppy is in one of the boxes in the trailer behind Jake’s truck. Remember? I told you that earlier.”
Three times, at least. Hoppy is Bailey’s best friend in the whole wide world. I’ve heard this statement more times than I can count. The fact that he’s a stuffed rabbit with one ear longer than the other and one of his button eyes cracked in two is irrelevant to my daughter. He’s real, he matters, and I’m a horrible person.
Should I have remembered to put Hoppy in the car next to Bailey? Maybe even buckle him in as though he were real? Probably. Putting him in a dark, scary box isn’t earning me any mom points, but I haven’t been raking those in recently anyway. Par for the course.
“Hoppy crying in Jay’s truck.”
“Hoppy’s not crying, sweetheart. His little button eyes don’t have any tear ducts.”
“He sad. Jay don’t love him.”
Hmm, seems to me that should make Hoppy want to dance on the face of the moon.
I begin laughing out loud at my little inside joke, and Bailey doesn’t appreciate it.
“Not funny Mommy.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m not laughing at you.”
“Hoppy’s not funny.”
“Hoppy’s not funny? Are you kidding me? Don’t you remember what he did last night?” Bailey tilts her head as she stares into the rearview mirror, meeting my eyes. “He picked up that stick you brought in from outside, and he used it like a cane. What was that song he was singing and dancing to?”
“Ummm…” She pinches her lips tightly together and her eyes dart upward, as though she’s trying to stare into her memory.
“‘Stayin’ Alive?’”
“Yeah, ah, ah, ah, alive!”
We giggle together as she grins and attempts to dance in her car seat, which limits her motions to a few wiggles and squeals.
“See?” I say when she calms down. “Hoppy’s probably back there in that trailer teaching all the other animals to dance. Maybe they’re practicing an entire show that they’ll perform once we get to our new house.”
She seems okay with that explanation, because she reaches her fist up to rub her arm against her nose and lets out a sigh.
“Hoppy is funny,” she decides, turning her attention out the window.
And just like that, a few of my mom points return to me. Very few, but I’ll take them just the same.
We stop about thirty miles this side of Louisville to pick up a U-Haul van. My parents know a woman who was preparing to buy some new furniture, so they worked out a deal with her to sell me her old couch and loveseat. She had her new items moved in the day before, so the movers loaded up
the van and left it sitting overnight at her house.
Jake doesn’t appear to be overly thrilled with our pit stop. I was prepared to drive the van to the house and then come back to get my car, but he insisted that he drive the van. Instead of staring back at his annoyed face in the red pickup, now I’m enjoying the varied scenery of an annoyed face in a U-Haul van. The sheer delight is nearly overwhelming.
Pulling off I-65 to make the final turns toward our destination, I slow as a car merges between my car and that van. Despite the fact that I want to separate myself from his vehicle, he’s forced me to be indebted to him today. Losing him in traffic would undoubtedly mean waiting while he tooled around trying to find the place, and knowing Jake he would drive around the block a few extra times just to make sure I have to wait on him.
Three times I flip the turn signal and wait for Jake to signal behind me, with the roads getting progressively smaller, until my tires roll onto the sleepy little street that is Wonder Lane. I hadn’t given it much thought before, but the fact that Alex is moving to Wonder Lane would send Heather into a fit of hysterical laughter. The added fact that Wonder Lane seems as boring as Heather would insinuate makes the self-inflicted wound hurt a little more acutely.
I really should learn not to let her take up residence in my mind uninvited.
Chapter Five
Jake
Wonder Lane. Never has a street been more inappropriately named than this snooze-inducing place. Houses that blend together, looking similar yet slightly different, most impeccably groomed but out-of-date. Alexis pulls up in front of one near the cul-de-sac, an old-fashioned white-sided number with black shutters. Looks like the most boring house on the boring street.
Probably shouldn’t have expected less.
She parks her car against the curb on the street, so I back the van into the driveway. Bailey is out in the yard almost immediately, poking around with curiosity while Alexis unlocks the front door. My mind had been telling me all the way here that I’d unload the trailer and find a quiet place to be alone, or possibly a loud place where I couldn’t think. When she stopped to pick up this van, though, my evening pretty much went up in flames. Instead of finding a place to crash, I’ll be unloading the furniture, going back for the trailer, making a second trip…
I stretch to the dash of the van, grabbing my wallet to shove it in my pocket. A couple of the neighbors seem to have noticed us and are watching with curiosity, so I attempt to offer them my most charming smile. Alexis will waste no time in letting them know what she thinks of me, so I might as well get a leg up on the competition.
“Bailey!” Alexis calls as she steps across the driveway, most likely getting ready to scold her for touching the dirt.
There seems to be no reason for me to beat around the bush, so I throw open the back door of the van to see what sort of mess I’ve gotten myself into. Two pieces of living room furniture that look like something my granny would have found too feminine, and an overwhelming scent of potpourri.
“Oh,” Alexis mumbles as she steps up behind me. For the first time today, she has morphed away from angry into something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it smacks of disappointment or disgust.
“Can you help me, or am I solo?” I ask. She just stands there looking stunned, and I glance at Bailey, who’s digging her fingers deeper in the newly discovered dirt. “With the couch? Can you help me with the couch?”
“It’s not what I…”
The stammering is a new touch. She might not ever tell me what she’s really thinking, but she never seems to search for her words. They’re always right on the tip of her tongue.
“Can you help me with the couch or not? Because wrestling it alone isn’t going to be the bright spot of my day.”
“Yes,” she answers, puffing up a bit. “It’s just…it smells so horrible. And it’s hideous.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She’s totally right, of course. The couch flat stinks, almost like someone gave it a bath in that stuff my granny used to spray on her pantyhose to keep her skirt from sticking. I’m envisioning this woman fearing that her couch might not be fresh, so she douses it in some type of flowery cleaner. It’s a bit overwhelming to the senses.
I lean over the side of the couch to make certain there’s nothing to prevent us from picking it up easily. “I’ll put you on the back side.” That feels like the gentlemanly thing to do, so she won’t have to walk backwards down the ramp. I look in her direction to see why she’s hesitating, and can’t help but notice that her face has gone a couple shades of red.
That’s another thing about Alexis that perplexes me to no end. How can she be such a wild, party-it-up kind of girl and still act so completely naïve and awkward about everything? I guarantee I happened to mention the words “back” and “side” while I was bent over that couch, and my words caught her looking at my tail end. She probably thinks I said that on purpose, some kind of innuendo to insinuate that I knew she was staring at me.
Most definitely not the case. I mean, it might be something worth attempting with anyone else but Alexis, but I’m not interested in barking up that tree again. Ever.
“The back of the couch,” I clarify forcefully, watching that mask of indifference slip back over her face again. “You gonna be able to handle it?”
“I can pick up the couch,” she states without emotion as she moves deeper into the van. Part of me doubts that she can, because she doesn’t seem very sturdy. Granted, her size could be fooling me a bit due to her tendency to wear those big, baggy sports jerseys. And I should have a pretty good grasp on what her actual size is because of…well, obvious past reasons, but my memory of all that is a little hazy.
“Count of three?” I suggest, reaching for the bottom of the couch. “One, two, three.”
My end of the couch rises into the air, but hers only comes up about five inches before it bumps back down, jolting me in the process as it jerks against my hands.
“I thought you could do this,” I complain.
“I can.”
“Without ripping my arms off?”
There’s the angry Alexis I’ve come to know.
Her side of the couch comes up before I’m ready, so I stoop to jerk mine up as well, hurriedly stepping down the ramp and heading for the front door. We don’t even manage to get halfway across the yard before she yells out the word “stop” and the couch legs disappear into the six-inch grass.
“I just…” She glances at Bailey in what appears to be an attempt to keep her eyes away from me. “I can’t put that inside. It smells like the weird perfumed body powder under my Great Aunt Betty’s bathroom sink.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I regard her silently for a moment as I try not to grin. This would probably be a great opportunity to tease her or insert a sarcastic comment, but my thoughts are jerked away from the subject at hand as I pause to sneeze. My eyes start watering from the force of the action, so I rub the back of my hand across them defensively.
“Maybe it will air out if you leave it outside a while,” I suggest. She seems okay with that idea and heads back into the van to assist with the love seat. Our second attempt goes much smoother, partly because the couch is smaller and partly because we’ve already performed this drill once. As she lowers her end of the love seat to the ground, I do the same with mine, backing away and pressing my palms against my eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and I try to refocus my eyes as I sniff.
“I’m pretty sure your friend has a cat.”
“Just because she smells like my great aunt does not mean she has a cat.”
That statement makes me laugh as I fight another sneeze. “I have no idea what your great aunt and cats have to do with one another, but my allergies are alerting me to the whole cat thing pretty loud and clear.”
My eyes have a bit of trouble focusing on her through the mist of the allergic haze, but she actually looks concerned.
“I
s there something I can do?”
“Nah, I have some Benadryl back in the truck with my stuff. I’ll be fine. So, you’re good with the couch here?”
She glances up the street as she wrinkles her nose. “Do you think it’ll be safe?”
I follow her gaze up the road and see absolutely nothing to make me concerned about her possessions, especially the flowered monstrosities sitting on her front lawn.
“I doubt you have anything to worry about. I’d say you live in one of the quietest neighborhoods available.”
“Yeah, I wanted a good neighborhood for Bailey.”
My first instinct is to say something nice to her about that, because it seems pretty cool that she’s placing Bailey’s safety at the top of her list. The words get stuck in my throat, though, because a couple rogue sneezes force their way out instead. While I’m shaking off sneeze number three, Alexis pushes a tissue into my hands.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding at her. “And thanks for keeping my kid safe.”
Her dark eyes cloud over as she glances at Bailey tracing pictures in the dirt, and just like that my attempt at having a normal conversation with her is over.
By the time I return the van, pump myself full of Benadryl, and make my way back to Wonder Lane with the truck and trailer, it’s getting pretty late. Alexis asks me to leave the trailer and wait until the next day, so I park it in her driveway and find myself sitting unmoving in the cab of my truck. Without the trailer hitched behind me and those taillights in front of me, it would be really easy to keep traveling. The road could take me to a million different places where no one knows my name. Starting over is really tempting.
Not as tempting as turning my truck around and heading back to Tennessee.
About two miles from Wonder Lane, I find a little mom and pop motel. I ask them about rooms for the week, and the older gentleman behind the desk keeps me conversing about the weather, fishing, and dozens of other things that feel like a nuisance at the moment. He seems like a nice enough guy, offering me a beer while we’re having our talk. He doesn’t seem to notice that I nurse it for at least thirty minutes and still have to take it to my room with me.
Curiouser (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 3) Page 3