by Jamie Canosa
“Mrs—Mary, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Hush, child, that’s what people do in times like these. It’s our way of showing how sorry we are and that if you need anything, you can always call on your neighbors. Don’t you forget that, sweetie.”
God, Allie wished that were true. Wished she could just tell her all of her troubles and have her take them away. But she couldn’t. Allie’s troubles were contagious. They followed her around like the goddamn plague and sharing them with the rest of the Ritters would be like infecting all of them as well. She couldn’t do that to them.
~~~~~~~~~~
Across the street, the house was quiet. Her father was home. She’d seen his car in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be seen. That was just fine with Allie. She set to tidying up the house. If the Ritters were coming over, her father would expect everything to be perfect.
She was just putting the last of the dishes in the drying rack when he marched downstairs. He was stone cold sober. Honestly, she’d expected him to be seven sheets to the wind by now, but instead of heading to the bar right after the service, he’d come back home. Figured, of all the things in his life worth getting trashed over, his wife’s death wasn’t one of them. Allie wished she could get drunk. But for a guy who drank more alcohol than water, he never kept any in the house.
“Mrs. Ritter said to tell you she made a casserole she’s bringing over in a bit. They’re plannin’ on joining us for supper tonight.”
He grumbled something about people turning this into ‘such a hassle’ before stomping back up the stairs. At the top he stopped to bellow, “This house had better be fucking spotless!”
Yeah, she’d already figured that. Scooping up the dish rag, she folded it and tucked it over the cabinet door. Just a few more hours. A few more hours and this awful day would be over.
When the Ritters showed up with a steaming chicken casserole, Allie helped Mary find the plates and serve the meal. Her father reluctantly joined them at the last possible moment, but the second his foot touched the first floor his entire personality shifted. Allie had seen the transformation before—lots of times—but it still shocked the hell out of her every single time.
“Mary, thank you so much for this.” Mrs. Ritter gave him a quick hug and he placed a friendly kiss on her cheek that made Dean growl. Yeah, this was going to go well.
“Think nothing of it, Jim. We wanted to help out. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It’ll be difficult,” difficult, her ass “but I’m sure Allie and I will do all right for ourselves. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He turned to face her and she felt Dean tense up behind her.
It was situations like these when she really had no fucking clue what to do. It was like being in a play in front of an audience and forgetting all of your lines. Or never having been given the damn script in the first place.
“Yes, Sir.” Best to keep the words to a minimum. Less chance of fucking up that way. “Why don’t we eat?”
They all moved into the kitchen and sat around the table together. It was like something out of one of Allie’s fantasies, only corrupted because he was there. She’d never actually tasted Mrs. Ritter’s cooking before. She’d never dream of eating what little they had. But she’d definitely been missing out. Even with limited means, that woman was a damn fine cook. Too bad Allie’s appetite seemed to have been buried right along with her mother.
The tension was almost a physical thing, especially around Dean, who kept alternating between watching Allie push food around her plate and glaring at her father. Amy and Sarah looked anxious and uncomfortable. The only ones who looked relaxed at all were Mrs. Ritter and her father, chatting at the end of the table.
As Allie got up to help Mrs. Ritter clear the dishes, Dean caught her eye. She knew that look. He had something to say. That was fine because she had something to say, too.
“Mama, do you mind if I borrow Allie for a minute?” She noticed that he didn’t bother to ask her father, who was glaring daggers at Allie the moment Dean opened his mouth.
“Of course. Go, sweetheart. I can finish up in here. You go talk with Dean.” She shooed Allie out of the kitchen, and before she could even think to protest, Allie found herself standing on the front porch alone with Dean.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m all right.”
“Bullshit. Now, how are you really doing?”
Allie sighed, talking to Dean always gave her a headache. “I don’t know, Dean. I buried my mother this morning. I’m a little out of it.”
His touch made her skin tingle as he ran his fingers over her cheek, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
“I am sorry about that, Allie.” He bit his lip and she knew that wasn’t the end of it. “But . . . she’s gone now. I get you needed that time with your mom before and I did everything I could to give that to you, but now . . . She isn’t in this house anymore, Al. You don’t have to be, either.”
Here it was. The conversation she’d been waiting for. The conversation she’d been dreading.
“Look, Dean. I know taking care of people is like second nature to you, but I don’t need your help.” He looked like he was about to argue, but Allie kept going. “I’m a big girl, Dean. I can make my own damn decisions. My mother’s dead. I know that. I don’t have to stay here. I know that, too. But I’m choosing to. This is what I want, Dean. You don’t have to like my decisions, but you do have to respect them. And what I want is to stay here, and for you to leave me the hell alone. You did your part. You got me through my mother’s death and I appreciate that, but now it’s time for me to take care of myself.” And you. “So, please, just go. Get out, Dean. Go live your life and let me live mine.”
“You ‘appreciate that’?” Apparently she’d lost Dean right around there. “Appreciate it. Appreciate what, Allie? That I was there for you? That I gave you a lift to the hospital? That I loved you? Fuck, Allie, did you ever even love me at all?”
“Dean . . .”
“This is your choice? After everything you’ve been through, you choose this?”
“I do, Dean. And I’m asking you to respect that.”
“Respect? I’m sorry, Allie, but I don’t think I have an ounce of respect left for you.”
Allie sucked in a harsh breath and watched him stomp down the front steps. He was angry. Angry and hurt. She kept reminding herself of that as she watched him storm all the way back to his house and slam the front door.
Chapter Fifteen
Dean
Allie made her choice. She’d chosen that ham-fisted asshole over him. Dean couldn’t understand it, but he couldn’t deny it anymore, either. She didn’t want his help. She didn’t want him. Christ, how much more obvious could she make it?
She’d run like hell when he’d told her he loved her and disappeared for over six months. And now? Now she would rather be with that abusive bastard than him.
Dean paced his bedroom like a caged tiger. He was so pissed off, he felt like he may explode if he didn’t let it out. He could punch the tub again, or maybe his truck, but what the hell good would that do? None, when what he really wanted to punch was across the street still living with his girl.
His girl? What a fucking idiot he’d been. He’d actually convinced himself that she kept pulling away out of fear. That it couldn’t possibly have been him that was the problem. Well, she’d made that perfectly clear now, and he was done.
Dean ripped his hands from his hair and started refolding the laundry pile sitting at the bottom of his bed. He had to keep them busy so he didn’t do anything stupid.
He was done trying to change her mind. Done trying to get what he wanted—needed—from her. Done trying to protect her from everything, including herself. And done caring about any of it.
Yeah, right. If only it were so easy.
Screw stupidity.
Dean dropped a red t-shirt back into the pile and spun around, planting his fist
straight through the plaster on his bedroom wall. “FUCK!”
~~~~~~~~~~
The goddamn thing still ached as he buttoned his jeans for school the next morning. This was a pain he could take, though. The pain he couldn’t take was the one he could still see written all over Allie’s face.
Yeah, she’d hurt him, but that was no excuse for the way he’d treated her. The things he’d said. She had enough assholes in her life. He didn’t need to add his name to the list.
She made her decision. And it was her decision to make. That’s what Dean kept telling himself, anyway. All. Night. Long. He hadn’t slept a wink.
If she wanted to stay in that godforsaken house then who was he to argue?
Who was he? Someone who obviously cared a hell of a lot more about her than she did about herself, that’s who.
He needed time. Time to sit down and figure this shit out. Time he did not have. With school coming to an end and work still consuming almost every moment of his spare time, he was busting his ass and still finding himself buried under a stack of final assignments that needed to be completed. He could not fuck this up. He’d worked too damn hard for too damn long to earn that diploma. Without which, he’d never score the full time position he’d been offered at the yard.
He needed this. His family needed this. But Allie needed him, too, dammit.
“If both your butts aren’t in the truck in five minutes, you’re walking.” Amy and Sarah were already seated at the table when Dean strolled into the kitchen and dumped some fruity store-brand something-or-other into a bowl.
He scowled at the empty container of milk sitting on the table beside the girls before digging into his breakfast dry.
“Good morning to you, too.” Amy collected her dishes and dumped them in the sink.
“You best not be leaving that for Mama to clean.” Dry cereal tasted like cardboard.
“But you said to be ready in—”
“Amy . . .”
“Fine.” She grumbled her way back over to the sink as Dean went in search of his work boots. He had to be at the lumber yard right after class.
~~~~~~~~~~
School was its own brand of torture. Hours spent memorizing useless facts he had no space left in his brain for and thinking about everything he should be doing instead, like working, or checking up on Allie. Not that that would be appreciated. She made her damn decision.
When the bell finally rang, Dean wandered toward his locker alone, in no real rush to get to his next class. People congregated everywhere. Students and even teachers strolled the halls in groups. At least with Allie there, things hadn’t been so bad. He wasn’t unpopular. Plenty of girls went out of their way to flirt with him. He couldn’t have been less interested, but four years later still none of them had seemed to notice. The one thing he didn’t have time for, though, was friends. Besides Allie. It was disturbing how much he missed her when he’d just seen her yesterday.
“Hey, Ritter.”
Dean slammed his locker and turned around, mildly surprised to find the hallways had emptied. Mostly.
Justin Harrison leaned up against the opposite bank of lockers, folded arms and a smug grin making him even more irritating to look at than usual. “How’s our girl Allie doin’?”
Dean’s pulse spiked at the sound of her name on his lips.
“I’d check on her myself, but—”
“Son of a bitch,” Dean roared as he closed the space between them. A loud, metallic clang echoed down the hallway as he slammed Justin up against the lockers. He planted a thick arm across his throat and leaned in close. “You call her again and I will end you. You hear me?”
“What the fuck are you talking about, man? You’re crazy.”
“The phone calls. They stop. Now!”
“What phone calls? What the hell are you on? I don’t even have the bitch’s number.”
That sent a bolt of satisfaction through Dean.
“I mean it.” With one last shove for good measure, he released the asswipe and forced himself to back away before he ended up in more trouble than he could afford to be in. Graduation was so close. He couldn’t fuck it all up now.
“So, what? She too good for school now? Decide to make her living without a diploma. Guess there are plenty of things she can do with a body like that. She’s—”
Whatever the hell bullshit was coming out of his mouth next never made it past his lips. Mainly because Dean planted a fist so far in his face he doubted he’d be speaking at all for a while.
“What. The. Fuck?” Justin stumbled back into the lockers before sliding down to the floor, cupping the blood pouring from his nose and split lip.
Damn, guess he didn’t hit him as hard as he thought. Pity.
“I’m calling the cops. You’ll be expelled for this shit!”
Thank Christ the hall was empty. He could still do some damage control.
“You open your mouth and I swear to Christ every girl in a two hundred mile radius will be made aware of your obsessive, creepy-ass, stalker tendencies. I might also throw in something about an STD. Good luck getting laid then.” He’d hit the Prom King right where it hurt, and he knew it when Justin winced at the thought alone of having to keep it in his pants. “You ever say that shit about Allie again, ever even think it, and your next lay won’t be a problem for you anymore. You get me? Stay the hell away from her.”
“You stay the hell away from me, man.”
“Gladly.” Dean scooped up his discarded bag from the floor and headed toward AP Chem with a little more pep in his step than he usually exhibited at school. He didn’t really give a shit if Justin was telling the truth about the calls or not. It just felt fucking good to hit someone.
Chapter Sixteen
Allie
It was done. It had to be done. There was no other way. But that didn’t make it suck any less.
Days came and went. She knew this because the sun continued to rise and set right on schedule. Damn that sun, going on about its business like everything was right in the world when her whole world had come crashing down around her. She lost track of how many. They all seemed to bleed together. Allie cooked, cleaned, answered her mystery caller—who had gone back to calling the day after the funeral and hadn’t missed a single day since—and stayed the hell out of her father’s way.
So far, he hadn’t said one damn word about her still being there. She’d developed a sort of routine that worked for them and stuck to it. Sleep became her only reprieve. Her only escape. But even that was far from peaceful. Her nights were plagued with dreams. Awful dreams. Nightmares full of pain and fear, hunger and cold. Memories from her time on the streets blended with those from home, forming new and creative tortures just waiting for her to close her eyes.
“Allison!” She scurried upstairs at the sound of her father’s voice. She’d become excellent at following his commands. Her safety depended upon it.
She was shocked to find him standing just inside her mother’s room. Neither one of them had gone in there since her death.
“Clean this room out. I want everything boxed and shipped for donation by the end of the day. If you’re going to continue to work for me, I don’t want your shit in my living room anymore.” By her ‘shit’ he must have meant the single blanket she pilfered from the linen closet and folded over the back of the sofa. “I’m going out. This had better all be done by the time I get back.”
There wasn’t much left. Most of her mother’s stuff had been gone before Allie got home. He must have boxed it up the moment she was diagnosed, the bastard. The dresser and closet were still full of Allie’s old clothes. Why he hadn’t thrown those away, she had no idea. Probably because he knew just as well as she did that she’d be back. That this was where she belonged. That she wasn’t better than this life.
Her mother’s only belongings were stacked on top of the dresser. A few sweat suits, her brush, and a tiny glass unicorn Allie had bought her for Mother’s Day one year when she was little
and her mother had always loved. Somehow she’d stopped him from getting rid of that with everything else. Allie couldn’t let him take it now.
Knowing what it meant if he were ever to find it, she carefully tucked the unicorn into her top dresser drawer and covered it with socks and undergarments. It wasn’t like he ever did laundry. The rest only took one box. After taping it up, Allie placed a call to the local charity service and left the box on the front porch for pick up.
She didn’t like being in the room. There was a reason she’d avoided it for so long. It still felt like her mother although it had technically been hers first. There was no other option, though. Obviously, she was meant to move back in.
Changing the sheets helped. As did opening the window and letting some fresh air in. As the nauseating sick smell—the kind that can’t be described, but you know it when you smell it—dissipated, Allie started to feel better about the whole situation. She’d have her own room again. A place where she could go to escape. To get away from her father and have a little privacy. She hadn’t realized how desperately she craved that.
She brought her blanket from the couch upstairs and threw it over the new sheets before collapsing onto her bed. Lying on her back, Allie lost herself staring up at the ceiling. It was white—nothing special to look at—just like the walls. Neither of her parents had ever seen the point of decorating their resident punching bag’s room. There were no posters of bands or movie stars on the walls. No pictures of friends in frames on the dresser. Nothing.
Dragging her ass back out of the bed, Allie rummaged around in her closet until she found what she was looking for. Her old knapsack. The one she’d stuffed full of everything she’d need and toted around with her for the past six months. She’d been tempted to burn the damn thing when she got back home. Watch that time of her life just go up in smoke, but how much worse was it, really, than the rest of her life? Instead, she’d shoved it into the back of her closet. Out of sight, out of mind.
Now, she tore through it, looking for the one thing she couldn’t bear to part with. She felt the folded bit of paper at the bottom of the bag and pulled it out, tossing the rest aside. Carefully unfolding it so that the tattered seams wouldn’t tear anymore, Allie smoothed out the picture on her dresser.