But what could be his motive?
Whatever it is, I could care less. He’s pretty much bedazzled me, holding me so captivated that I’ll be down for whatever he wants. Go ahead, call me a slut. Just know this… Never in my sad and pitiful existence have I been so drawn to another person.
“Now, hop in that vehicle of yours and go on home. I’ll follow you to make sure you don’t have any other problems.”
True to his word he follows me all the way through town, astounding me again with his attentiveness. It’s a feeling I could easily get used to, having someone other than Mom caring about my wellbeing, but I can’t afford to lose my head over a guy.
I’ll enjoy his company when I can, but I won’t turn to stupidity.
We head down the driveway and as he veers to the right toward his home, he slows to a roll, lifting his hand out the window to wave just before I turn out of sight. I’ve always scoffed at the cliché of being a “damsel in distress,” but today, I didn’t mind so much. You can’t always help the hand you’re dealt, so might as well enjoy it, right?
Chapter Eight
The next couple of weeks pass in the same routine. Lyra and I eat lunch together outside every day. If it’s raining, we sit in the small gazebo-like covered area. Every day Gray brings his sister takeout, and every day he brings an extra meal for me. He never does let me pay. He keeps giving me some lame excuse about how he still hasn’t paid me back for the Cabbage Beef soup I had brought on that first night, even though Lyra has made it twice since then. If we’re really keeping count, then the fact he helped me jump off my car that second day should account for something in the way of balancing the scales. He just won’t listen to my reasoning, doing only as he sees fit.
I eat dinner at their house a few times a week, and Lyra and I are hanging out with each other every evening after school. Gray makes himself scarce when I’m around, only coming inside when it’s time to sit at the dinner table and lead us in the blessing. I’m not sure what his deal is with always keeping his distance, especially now that he’s clearly gotten over our starting off on the wrong foot, literally. I try to overlook it and not be offended, though, it honestly does hurt my feelings in a small way.
Tonight, it’s Gray’s turn to cook, and ironically from all the times I’ve eaten at their home, I’ve only been over on nights when Lyra was in charge of the menu. I’m clueless over what he’s making, but I suspect he’s had it on low all day.
A smoky-sweet aroma has assaulted my senses from the moment I stepped foot in the house earlier. Even now, as I’m sitting cross-legged in the middle of Lyra’s queen-sized bed, I’m too distracted by the delicious scent wafting up from the kitchen to participate in our conversation committedly.
“So, will you do it?” she pleads, bouncing up and down on the bed with childlike enthusiasm.
A few days ago, I very stupidly let slip the request Miss Laurent made about the Knightley family. Now Lyra is banking on that information as a means to push my favorite teacher and her brother together.
“Why don’t you just invite her to dinner one night. Wouldn’t that be much less complex?” I ponder aloud as I consider that I’d be there to do damage control, manipulating any unforeseen events if I didn’t like them. Particularly if there was a definite spark between the two.
“Sloane,” she says my name in wonder, “I think you’re a genius. We invite her over to a family dinner and tell her that you’ll even be there. Then, something pops up unexpectedly and we disappear, leaving them alone together to work things out on their own. There’s only so much we can actually do, and there’s only so much that can happen with an audience you know,” she recommends, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Ugh. And just like that, I’ve inadvertently created the perfect setting for the very situation I was trying to avoid.
Way to freakin’ go.
I know if I were to argue, Lyra would likely become suspicious. And if she figured out that I have a school-girl crush on her older brother (much older in the fact that I’m still currently a minor)? She’d flip. It would be the end of a friendship that is becoming one of the most important parts of my life. Despite my extreme irritation over her innuendo of her brother and Miss Laurent not needing an audience, I’m going to need to go along with her current designs for them.
“Ew, Lyra. Please don’t suggest something nasty happening between them,” I gripe.
She grins at me like the Cheshire cat, the same splitting grin that usually makes it impossible not to return. However, I’m not in the mood for bullshitting right now. As if she can perceive the negative energy radiating from me, her cheerfulness fades away.
“What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I’m annoying you with all this, I guess it is kinda childish. We can talk about something else if you’d like,” she suggests, sounding sincere.
“No. That’s not it at all. I’m just starting to get a headache,” I lie, bringing my hand to my forehead for full effect. She jumps up off the bed.
“Come on. We’ll head downstairs and get you some ibuprofen or something. Maybe we can even steal a bite of whatever Gray’s got cooking,” she adds, extending a hand to help pull me up off the bed.
We tip-toe down the staircase and through the hallway, pausing at the entrance of the kitchen to ascertain if the coast is clear. Perceiving no one, we creep on in and head straight to the fridge.
Lyra hands me a Sprite and two ibuprofens from a bottle sitting on top, before grabbing an oven mitt nearby on the counter. She pulls open the oven door, retrieving a casserole dish containing some type of dessert I don’t think I’ve ever had. Nevertheless, it looks and smells amazing. The crust is a light golden brown that appears crunchy because of sugar crystallization, and a dark, thick substance bubbles up over the edges in some areas.
“What’s this stuff?” I ask.
She gives me a look like I’m crazy, looks at the pan of mysterious food and back at me again like she’s making sure that’s what I’m asking about.
“You seriously haven’t ever had Blackberry Cobbler? You have got to be shittin’ me,” she pretty much yells. I giggle at her random outburst, a phrase that’s surely southern, but not because I think it’s ridiculous like I once might’ve. Her adorable southern charm has simply grown on me.
“That’s what this is? I’ve heard of it, but never had it.” She grabs a wooden spoon from the nearest drawer, taking a tiny dollop from the edge, and holds it out for me to sample.
“Taste of it, it’s my mom’s recipe,” she eagerly demands, acting as if she’s showing me chocolate for the first time.
“Taste of it?” I laugh aloud, first taking a hesitant nibble, then commandeering the spoon from her to eagerly devour the last of it, scalding my tongue in the process.
“Just wait ‘til you eat some with homemade vanilla ice-cream on top,” she expresses, shimmying back and forth like she’s dancing. Her absurdity makes my belly rumble with laughter again.
I guess she seriously loves this stuff.
Bam! The slamming of the front door echoes down the hallway and into the kitchen, causing us to nearly bump heads as we spring into action, replacing everything the way we found it. Just in time too, because in walks Gray about three seconds later. Lyra thrusts her arm, still holding the spoon and only remaining evidence, behind us as we stand shoulder-to-shoulder. His suspicious gaze darts back and forth between the two of us, eyes narrowing.
“Why do you two look like you’re up to no good?”
“Because we aren’t,” Lyra admits, without going into details. “Come on Sloane,” she motions, depositing the spoon in the sink as we pass by before her slightly perplexed brother can figure out what we we’ve been up to. I grab my can of Sprite, dragging my eyes over Gray’s powerfully built figure for a moment longer than is decent, and follow behind her.
Once we get back up to her room, we take the same seats we vacated earlier.
“So, the Fall Festival is coming up next weekend. You’r
e still going with me right?”
“Of course. but what’s it like? I’ve never been to anything like that. To be honest, this is the most freedom I’ve ever had. I’ve always been shadowed by my Mom everywhere. I’m surprised she even lets me out of her sight to hang out with you so much. She does really like you though,” I admit.
“She should come back by for dinner again sometime,” she graciously replies, turning her TV on and lowering the volume.
About a week after we moved in, Lyra suggested that my mother come over and have dinner so that they could meet each other and my mom would be more at ease about who I was hanging out with. Mr. Knightley even showed up for the occasion which Lyra and Gray were extremely grateful for since he rarely interacted with anyone other than his kids. He was a quiet man from first impression, but nice enough. It became evident where Gray got his looks, and although Mr. Knightley was trying to recover from an extensive injury, you could still tell he’d been in shape most of his life.
Naturally, all three of the Knightley’s were enraptured by my mother, being the prim and proper enchantress that she is. Of course, she stroked their male egos by claiming to be taken aback ‘by having so many handsome men in the room’ after not hardly being around any in so many years (or something along those lines).
“Soooo… they have all these little booths set up, up and down the streets on both sides. A lot of the businesses in town have commercial items in their booths, but there’s also crafts, tons of food vendors, activities and games, hay rides, contests, and so much more. I can’t even explain it all. It’s basically one of the only fun things this sleepy little town does.”
“Ok, I’m sold.” I was going to go regardless, but this all sounds intriguing. It’s crazy to think I was an incurable hater of small towns a mere month ago, but I finally get the allure. “Just tell me the date so I can save it in my phone. That way there’s no possible way I get it mixed up or something,” I tell her, pulling up the Calendar app on my phone.
“It’s Saturday, October 31st… NEXT SATURDAY,” she annunciates slowly.
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was so soon and I completely forgot about it,” I mull over, realizing the day of the festival which was now less than two weeks away, was also the same day as my 18th birthday.
“What? I’ve been telling you about it non-stop. What do you mean you forgot?”
“No silly, I forgot my birthday was coming up. It’s the same day,” I explain.
“Does that mean you won’t be able to go with me because you have other plans?” she asks, voice turning flat with disappointment.
“No, Mom and I don’t have plans for that day that I’m aware of. Not big ones anyway,” I reassure her, sitting my phone down beside me.
“Well then, we are going to have an awesome time not only because it’s the festival, but now we get to celebrate you turning an adult as well. We’re going to have cake, and NOW you have to sleep over here that night so be telling your mom so she can’t have any disagreements!” She bounces up and down excitedly once more, shaking the whole bed. This girl and her plans, there’s no stopping them once she gets started.
Moments later, Gray’s voice carries up the stairs, letting us know dinner is ready. We immediately drop everything, mostly excited about dessert.
“You need help carrying the food to the table?” I ask, attempting to be helpful despite his show of ignoring me most of the time. His dark hair moves from side to side, shooting down my offer.
“Nope, you girls get to sit down and enjoy the dinner I’ve prepared. I’m in charge of everything tonight,” he establishes for the record. I can’t help but think that he’s probably in charge all the time, in every aspect of everything he involves himself in.
We sit at the dinner table, taking the seats we always take, mine being beside Lyra and across from Gray. Gray makes multiple trips back and forth from the kitchen, carrying out several dishes for us to feast on. I’m not sure why he waited until after we sat down to place all the food in front of us, but I’m guessing he was going for the surprise effect.
My eyes roam over the feast placed before me. So many choices that my stomach is literally on the cusp of rumbling a ferocious growl rivaling that of the wildest of animals. When Gray finally takes the seat across from me, I’m ready to pounce.
However, I know the rules in this family in regards to eating: Give thanks first, always. Bowing our heads, he begins the blessing and I’m ashamed to admit I miss half his words this time, focusing solely on the warm and soothing tone of his voice.
“Amen,” he concludes, pulling me out of my Gray-induced haze. I repeat his sentiment, and then dig in.
The main course is barbeque ribs, which I’m informed have been cooking low-n-slow all day. There’s also potato salad, fresh cooked collard greens, mac n’ cheese, and garlic bread. I never knew a man could be capable of whipping up an entrée so delicious. I know that’s sexist, but it’s still true. I tell him so, word for word, earning me a raise of the eyebrow and a burst of laughter from his sister.
“I find it hard to believe none of the men in your family ever produced an edible meal. What about grilling?” he inquires.
“My family wasn’t very big at all, but I distinctly remember Father never even stepped foot in the kitchen. Ever. It was all left up to Mom, that is when they did dine together at home,” I explain.
“You said he passed away right?”
I nod, not wanting to open up a line of questioning that becomes too imposing. I instantly start lining up possible questions, and what my evasive answers will be.
“That sucks that you don’t have many memories of him. Our mom was the main cook in the family, but she made sure we all got involved in some way. Dad was usually in charge of the grilling every time,” he informs me as Lyra nods her head in agreement.
“They always made a pretty good team,” she chimes in after swallowing her food. A dreamy expression warms her eyes as she clearly remembers some special memories I know nothing about.
“And some pretty good grub,” Gray agrees.
We all three grow silent, chewing our food while consumed by our own thoughts. Except, while I’m sure they are thinking of sweet and joyful memories born amidst a loving home, mine have deviated toward a darker path that was born of a dysfunctional sociopath of father. One who belittled and practically terrorized my mother.
I can usually suppress the unpleasant memories about my childhood and the father who may as well have hated me because he never showed any affection, but on days like today, they crash down upon me all at once. Paired with the silence of my dinner-mates, there’s no diverging from this pathway of thoughts.
XoXo
Valley, Age 6
“Ok, my Valley-girl. They just rang up from the front desk and informed me your father has entered the building and is on his way up. I’m thinking since you’ve already eaten and had your bath it’s time for bed. Your father has been working hard, and I’m afraid he will only be in the mood for adult company tonight,” Mama tells me.
Father is never in the mood for anything but adult time. He barely looks in my direction. I can only think of a few times he’s ever spoken to me, so I’m not surprised at all by this announcement. As long as I’m spending time with Mama, I don’t need him.
Besides all that, Father scares me. He’s always wearing a black suit, never smiles, and his voice… I could say it’s unfriendly, but that isn’t the right word. His voice reminds me of a villain from a movie.
I look to the big clock above the fireplace. It looks like it’s still 30 minutes ‘til my bedtime, but I might be wrong since I’ve not been learning on how to tell time for very long. Usually, I get it right, but sometimes it can be tricky. I could argue with mama and tell her she’s wrong, but something about the way she speaks tonight signals that this isn’t up for ‘gotiation. I sigh.
“Okay, Mama,” I settle, as she scoops me up and places me on her hip. I’m way too big to be carried, but she
tells me she likes for me to be little as long as I can be, and sometimes she even holds me like a baby and rocks and sings to me. She’s silly, and I love our funny times together.
I tuck my face against her neck and breathe in her sweet-scented perfume. It reminds me of flowers mixed with something I’m not yet familiar with. My nose rubs against the strand of pearls that rest at her throat, as I attempt to continue sniffing her.
Grasping the pearls between my two fingers, I study them. Mama once told me they were left to her from Grandmother. I miss her. Father rarely let us visit with her, and now she’s gone to Heaven.
The click, click, click of Mama’s heels as she carries me through the apartment to my bed are the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep. At least until I wake up to Mama’s cries in the middle of the night.
XoXo
Thankfully at just the right moment, Lyra decides to speak again, telling her brother of our plans for the following weekend in attending the Fall Festival. My mother’s cries fade into my subconscious once again, where hopefully they’ll stay.
“Sloane has never been to one before Gray, so don’t make any plans next weekend because I know Daddy won’t let me go unless you’re there to supervise,” she points out.
Gray grumbles under his breath, something that sounds similar to ‘already had plans.’ It doesn’t get past Lyra, who always has a contingency plan.
“Well big bro,” she grins at me “did you know that Sloane’s birthday… her 18th birthday, by the way, is also the day of the Fall Festival. We’re going to go, so you better just clear up your schedule,” she sasses to him. She might be a girl and the youngest in the house, but she can definitely sway the decisions made by those around her.
I continue stuffing my face with these fall-off-the-bone ribs, creamy potato salad, and more tender than I ever knew was possible greens, not saying a word. The overwhelming tingling sensation one gets when they’re being watched suddenly overtakes me, and sure enough when I look up, Gray is eyeing me like a hawk. Lyra must become conscious of my extended period of silence at the same time.
Love on the Run Page 10