Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3)

by Dorothy Barrett

  “Alright already!” PJ’s hand fired up. “It was me. I had to borrow it to help out a friend.”

  “Not cool, Janie Lou. You should have asked—”

  “Fine. Damn! I won’t do it again, okay!” PJ was almost yelling now. Her mother didn’t look too impressed; her eyes had narrowed to slits. “Look, I’m sorry,” PJ managed with a little less attitude.

  Francine’s mouth pursed, her gaze shifting upwards. After several seconds of praying to their ceiling fan, she turned back to PJ with an exasperated sigh. “So, were you able to help out this friend of yours?”

  “Not really. It was sort of the other way around.”

  “And this upsets you because…?” Francine looked confused.

  PJ couldn’t blame her. Her own feelings toward her “friend” were pretty mixed up after the party. On the one hand, she was actually a little pissed at Lily for rushing to her rescue because that definitely wasn’t how PJ had anticipated things going down. Lily was supposed to have been the damsel in distress, and PJ should have been the one crushing toes. Or testicles. Either would have been fine, really. But instead of kicking Wade in the nuts, or maybe doing something productive with the knife she’d borrowed from Johnny’s toolbox, all PJ had managed to do was cower like a frightened puppy as Lily unleashed her inner bitch.

  And that’s where PJ’s feelings about the princess got a little jumbled, because as galling as it was to have been the damsel in this scenario, PJ had to admit, she was genuinely impressed by her former stepsister’s inner bitch.

  It also hadn’t gone unnoticed that the chick had referred to PJ as her sister that night. Not her former stepsister. Not her stepsister. Just her sister. And the crazy thing about that was how nice that word had felt, especially after all Wade’s ugly ones.

  “PJ, what’s wrong?” She must have been wearing some sort of vaguely traumatized facial expression because Francine was leaning towards her and reaching out a hand.

  PJ didn’t take it. She wanted to, but she didn’t trust her eyes not to start malfunctioning again if she did. She just wanted to drop the whole conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Her mother swallowed, her hand falling. “Listen, Janie Lou, I know I might seem a little scatterbrained to you at times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice things, and I sure as hell don’t forget the important stuff. That look you’re wearing right now? That’s pretty much the same look you were wearing after you graduated from Baylor.”

  “Okay, I really don’t want to talk about that,” PJ said darkly.

  “I know you don’t, but maybe you need to.”

  PJ shifted her stony gaze to the black screen of the TV, but her mother still wasn’t giving up.

  “When I asked you back then… what had happened at the end of the school year, I remember you telling me almost the same thing you told me just now. That you were trying to help out a friend. That someone had tried to hurt your friend.” Her mother’s voice shook as she continued. “I l-let it go before, but I’m asking you now… was that friend you? Did some boy h-hurt you, Janie L—”

  “What?” PJ’s eyes flew back to her mother. “No wait, hold up—”

  But her mother plowed on, agitation and guilt pouring out of her without pause. “’Cause you changed almost overnight. You started wearing all the makeup, and hanging out with those skate park kids, and getting in all those fights at Finkerton, and I’d been binge-watching a whole lot of old Sally Jessy Raphael, so I knew you could have been acting out after being victimized, trying to find your own sense of power after being made to feel powerless—”

  “Jesus Christ, Francine. It’s not what you think—”

  “—then I was thinking, maybe you’d had this really awful experience with some monster in middle school, and with your father not being around much back then, and you not having any brothers to look out for you, I thought maybe you needed a positive male influence in your life, and Grayson and I had just started dating—”

  “Are you flipping kidding me right now? You married the Colonel because of me?!”

  Francine waved off the outburst. “Only a little. Mostly that was on account of how hot his ass looked in those sweats he used to wear to the gym. And ‘cause he’s funny as hell. And, yeah, I knew he could afford to get you into a good private school.”

  “Francine…”

  “I won’t apologize for it,” her mother said mulishly, her chin starting to tremble. “Gray and I both found what we needed in each other for a time. It wasn’t love, but it was friendship, and the only thing I’m sorry about was how I ended it. I should have been straight up with him about my feelings for Johnny. I should have been a better role model for you in that regard. And I definitely should have been a better listener, especially after whatever it was you went through—”

  “Mom, I really need you to listen to me now.” This time PJ did take the woman’s hands. “I wasn’t raped, so you can stop freaking out, okay?”

  Her mother’s shoulders visibly relaxed, air rushing from her lungs in one big whoosh as she calmed. “Then what did happen?”

  “I was trying to save a friend from… a monster. I guess I took some damage in the attempt. Then… and now.” PJ took a deep breath as her mother squeezed her palms encouragingly. “Honestly, it wasn’t so much because of what he did, as it was what he said. That whole sticks and stones thing is bullshit, mom. It’s bullshit.”

  “I know. Words can hurt—”

  “Like a bitch—”

  “But only if you believe them,” her mother continued urgently. “So don’t, Janie Lou. Whatever that monster said to you, whatever poison he filled your head with, it’s nothing but lies. Don’t believe it—”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “Yes, it is that simple. You are strong, you are smart” — her mother curved both hands about PJ’s cheeks — “and you are beautiful.”

  “My nose has all these ugly freckles, and I have weird eyes.”

  “You have the most beautiful nose in the whole world, and you have my eyes, kiddo, so watch it.”

  PJ snorted. Her mother only smiled as she continued to cup her face like it was some priceless treasure. “Wanna know what’s even more amazing than your beautiful nose and your beautiful eyes?”

  “My beautiful personality?”

  Francine’s lips settled into a wry smirk. “I was going to say your beautiful heart, smartass.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Francine brushed the hair back from PJ’s face, eying every inch of it with something like pride. PJ could feel her weird eyes acting up again as her mother continued. “Probably one of the most beautiful things about you, sweetie, is just how sweet you actually are.”

  “You talking about that time I dumped my Cherry 7Up on that witch at Finkerton? Or when I froze Lily’s car keys and dipped ‘em in chocolate magic shell right before her final?”

  Francine rolled her eyes. “I was talking about you flying halfway across the country to help a missing girl you’d never met before.”

  “Ulterior motives.”

  “And what about the center full of ASD kids you just signed up to help out?”

  “Ditto.”

  “Not buying it.” Francine shook her head. “I’m pretty sure you did all those things for the same reason you filled up Johnny’s car Saturday night… even though you had to know it would get you into trouble.”

  “And why’s that? Because I’m all heart or something?”

  “Yes, Janie Lou. You are. And I think it’s high time you stopped hiding it.” Francine hopped up, swiping at eyes grown suspiciously moist. “Now, I best be off, or Gloria will probably mess up my playlist with some of that country music she likes so much.” Her mother pivoted in her Reeboks, took two steps for the door, then promptly turned back around. “Forgot my bag.”

  PJ bit back a smile.

  Francine snatched up her duffel before waving a finger at her. “But don’t think I forgot about that te
st of yours today. And you had better not call in sick again. Momma needs you to get a j-o-b, ‘cause I’m expecting some rent money soon.”

  PJ rolled her eyes, rising from the couch for what felt like the first time in days. “Don’t worry. I won’t. The kids at Journeys are much cooler than the flippin’ Brady Bunch anyways.”

  “That’s my girl.” Francine walked out of the apartment. Five seconds later, she walked back in, slapping her head. “Oh my gosh. I almost forgot. Can we do your birthday thing tonight? Jo scored John Legend tickets for Friday, and I reaaally wanna go.”

  “Awesome. Have fun.”

  Francine wrapped her up in a bear hug. “You’re the best, sweetest, most beautiful girl ever. My last class ends at 6:30. I’ll pick you up at the clinic after.” Francine dashed for the door. “We can check out that new Marvel flick on IMAX.”

  “Great. Set your phone alarm,” PJ called as her mother left the apartment for the last time that morning. Then she headed for the shower.

  Ten minutes later, she was dressed and putting on her game face, applying a light layer of foundation and a quick sweep of blush. Dinah watched the procedure from her perch on PJ’s vanity.

  “I’m not cured, okay.” PJ moved on to eyeshadow, dusting on a rosy sienna shimmer to go with her nude lip. “One heart-to-heart with the parental unit is not gonna break this addiction, Di.” PJ reached for a set of violet LashGirl extensions and hesitated. “But maybe I don’t really need these. Maybe I could just roll with some mascara. What do you think?”

  Dinah blinked at her.

  “You know what? You’re right. You don’t even have eyelashes, and your eyes are beautiful. Don’t even worry about that whole cross-eyed thing.” PJ grabbed the case of falsies and pitched them in the wastebasket under her vanity. Then she chucked her white set, her blues, and her bubblegum pinks, filling up the trash with hundreds of tiny little fake hairs as Dinah sat by in a quiet show of solidarity. “Keeping the blacks though. Black is classic.”

  Dinah lapped at the silky ebony fur on her leg before swiping it over her ear.

  PJ rummaged through her Louis for a tube of mascara. At the bottom of the makeup purse her fingers brushed over a small plastic bag. PJ smiled as she pulled out her collection of temporary tattoos, a design already forming in her head as she flipped through her stash.

  She definitely wasn’t over her addiction to cosmetic enhancement, but maybe it didn’t have to be about hiding anymore. Maybe it didn’t have to be about concealing who she really was.

  Maybe it could be about revealing it.

  Chapter 21

  It was Wednesday, April 1st, just two weeks left until the end of the tax season. Beau was in the home stretch at the office. There would be extensions, of course. Some of his clients were habitually late to the party no matter how many reminders Gladys sent out. But for the most part, Beau’s busy season was rapidly coming to an end… as was his workday. He only needed to get through this one last appointment, and he could pack up and head over to Leighton Mills.

  The problem was, his last appointment was with Ms. Artemia Wells, and their meetings were never brief. This was because the elderly widow spent half of the time worrying over her annuity and the other half trying to fix Beau up with every available woman she knew under thirty. Currently, they were well into the latter of the two.

  “Now, my Rosy’s daughter, Kylie, she just tied the knot in December to a real nice fella who works in the governor’s office. He’s a Republican, but I won’t hold it against him—”

  “That’s great, Ms. Wells.” Beau shifted some forms her way. “I’ll just need you to initial here and sign at the bottom, so we can get you e-filed.”

  Artemia lifted a pair of readers from an eyeglass chain dangling around the thin skin of her neck, then perched them on her nose. “Of course, that does mean the last of my granddaughters are off the market…”

  “Oh, I sure am sorry to hear that,” Beau said, glancing at his watch as the senior bent to peruse the paperwork. Gladys had warned Beau against adding Artemia to his schedule so late in the afternoon, but their elderly client had called just that morning, adamant about getting her taxes done right after her hair appointment at the salon down the street.

  “Don’t you worry,” Artemia said, grabbing a pen and scribbling something on the block of sticky notes he kept on his desk. “I’m giving you the number to my stylist, Lena. Such a lovely girl. Does fabulous work.” Artemia patted her soft blond pixie cut.

  “Yes, ma’am. She sure does.”

  “I told her you were a charmer,” Artemia drawled with an impish grin.

  “Appreciate the kind words.” Slipping the note into his pocket, Beau gave the documents in front of her a nudge. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  Artemia managed her initials before she grew distracted again. “Of course, Lena is bisexual, but don’t worry, she told me today while she was doing my highlights that she’s on one of her ‘man phases,’ and so I told her how you looked like a brown-eyed version of Clint’s boy, and then she seemed real interested, and I do think you might have a shot if you act fast.”

  Beau rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Clint’s boy?”

  “Clint Eastwood,” Artemia explained with an airy wave of the pen. “Can’t recall what his son’s name is right now, but he was real hot in that movie ‘bout the bull rider.”

  Gladys snorted at her desk where she sat checking over another stack of documents that needed to be forwarded to the US government. Beau suspected she found the Eastwood reference vastly more amusing than the paperwork.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Wells,” Beau told his client, "but I’m a little pressed for time. I’ve got my son to pick up from school in ten minutes.”

  “Oh, why didn’t you say something,” she admonished, “listen to me carrying on…”

  “That’s quite alright, Ms. Wells. I just need one more signature from you, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Beau smiled patiently as the woman patted his hand.

  “Such a sweet young man,” she murmured, scrawling her name on the form at last. “Just like my Harold, may God rest his soul. Such a wonderful father. Always made our girls his top priority. Of course, he did work himself into an early grave putting away money for all their college educations.” Artemia handed Beau the pen with a wistful sigh.

  Beau didn’t feel particularly sweet as he was gathering up his things, waving to his assistant, and rushing an eighty-year-old woman out the door. He also wasn’t so certain his haste to leave the office was entirely about his son.

  The truth was he hadn’t heard from PJ since the night of the party, and he was starting to worry. He’d sent her a couple cat memes just to test the waters, but both had gone unanswered, and when he’d dropped Max off at Journeys Monday and Tuesday, he hadn’t seen her there. Nor had he noticed her at pickup. But he did remember PJ mentioning that she had an exam there today, so he was eager to catch her at the clinic and make sure she was okay.

  “Such a sweet young man,” Artemia said again, stopping abruptly in front of him as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Just like my Harold. Always looking out for the ones he loved.”

  Beau had no idea what to say to this. The elderly woman reached up to pat his cheek with an arthritic hand. “Just don’t forget to love yourself a little in the process. It’s okay to have some fun on occasion.” With one last grin as she stared pointedly at Beau’s pocket, Artemia Wells walked away from him, ambling towards a Jeep parked at the curb. A much younger woman sat behind the wheel of it, glued to her cell phone — no doubt one of Artemia’s numerous granddaughters.

  “Have a nice day, Ms. Wells.”

  She winked at him as he helped her into the passenger seat. “You do the same, Mr. Browning.”

  ***

  By the time he made it to Leighton Mills, Beau was several minutes late for pickup. Fortunately, Max was having too much fun to melt down over it. The few kids still remaining in the courtyard in front of the p
reschool were chasing each other around with cans of silly string. As soon as Beau walked through the ivy-covered gates surrounding the property, he was tagged by a little girl with pigtails.

  “Pranked you!” she hollered, firing several ounces of neon pink foam at his face.

  “Pranked you, pranked you, pranked you!” Max hooted, taking a follow-up shot with a can of neon blue.

  Miss James strolled over with a sheepish grin as the kids scampered off. “Sorry. It’s April Fools’ Day, and one of the parents brought loot bags…”

  “It’s fine.” Beau pulled off his glasses and cleared off the mess of string before replacing them. “Serves me right for being late.”

  “Yes, let that be a lesson to you, or next time it might be water balloons.” Beau laughed as the woman handed him Max’s backpack. “He had a good day,” she continued. “No problems at all.”

  Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Beau breathed a small sigh of relief. It had been touch and go the first week after Max’s move to the new class, largely due to an ill-timed fire drill that had scared the crap out of him on day one, but also because Max was no longer able to take his favorite peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches to school because of a classmate having severe nut allergies. One month later, however, things were going much smoother. “I’m glad to hear it. It seems like Max is settling in nicely.”

  Miss James tilted her head towards the girl with the pigtails. “He has… but I should probably warn you that he’s been calling Ling his girlfriend.”