She smiled. The tiniest of smiles twitched Braden’s beard.
Maddie elbowed her. “Amber!”
Reluctantly, Amber turned. “What?”
“I said…doesn’t that picture look like Greg?”
It was some actor from some movie Amber hadn’t seen and never would. The actor looked a little like Greg—same short, brown hair, same broad shoulders—but the face was wrong. Too round. Even then, Amber decided to up the stakes in their little game.
“Definitely,” she said with sudden enthusiasm. “Except Greg is way cuter than that guy.” She stole a peek through her dark lashes. Braden shook the goat’s milk with sudden intensity.
Lindsey huffed. “Well, is Carrie going to make a move or not?”
“I doubt it,” Amber said. “Carrie is just so…so…”
“Carrie,” Maddie finished, and the three girls burst out giggling.
They stopped abruptly. Braden stood above them. “This jar is ready to be strained,” he said to his sisters. “There are three more in the kitchen. You better finish before Mom gets home and finds out you’ve been wasting time on those magazines again.”
Amber’s friends looked at her for what to do.
Go, Amber yelled silently. GO!
When they failed ESP, she inclined her head toward the hallway. Like the best friends they were, they darted out of the room, leaving her alone with their gorgeous older brother.
She took up her previous study of the magazine, or at least pretended to. In reality, she watched Braden out of the corner of her eye. For a few moments, he stayed motionless, standing above her like a Greek god. Then he came down to her level, sitting right next to her, so close his hand brushed her leg. Her stomach did a few flips. She forced herself not to turn to see how close his face was to hers, although she guessed it was very close.
“So,” he said over her shoulder, “you think Greg is…cute?”
“Only compared to that guy.” The line didn’t come off as casually as she hoped. It squeaked out of her.
Braden laughed. Then he leaned closer to peer over her shoulder. She studied the actor again, wondering if life had gone differently, if Braden would have tried modeling. He could have if he wanted.
After a second, she realized he wasn’t looking at the magazine at all. He was studying her. She tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear, giving him a full view of her face. Braden hadn’t kissed her yet—heck, he hadn’t even held her hand—but he kept giving her every reason to think he would. He’d lean in close and study her face before backing off with a laugh. One of these days, she’d get the nerve to plant one on him. Of course, that would mean she had lost their little game, but at that point, would she care?
The thought emboldened her.
She turned.
Like she hoped, his perfect face was right there, inches from hers. Braden had the most beautiful turquoise eyes. Eyes flecked with the sun. Eyes—she nearly screamed—that were admiring her lips.
Today is the day! she cheered. Today is the day! She wet her lips as casually as she dared.
“I think,” he said in a whisper she could feel, “I better go.”
She didn’t move. His words said leave, but the rest of him said stay. She tried to make her head move those last few inches. Get that kiss. Lose the game. She didn’t care. But her head wouldn’t budge, not even a smidge. And then it was too late.
Jumping up, Braden grabbed her hands and pulled her up. He smiled his amazing smile and unleashed his deep voice on her.
“See you later, Amber.”
Then he turned and trotted out of the room, leaving her gaping after him.
It took two full houses to break out of the Braden haze and remember she had left their water wagon on the front porch. Once on their porch, she realized she’d completely spaced telling any Zieglers about the Oliver-less raid, the whole reason she went—supposedly.
Not all that sad to be back, she knocked the clan pattern on their door—two fast, one slow, three fast—hoping the right person would answer.
She wasn’t disappointed.
Braden opened it with a smile. “Back so soon?”
Distracted from her purpose yet again, she took in the sight of him now that they were face to face. He propped one hand up on the frame, muscled body leaning somewhat toward her. He had great arms—really great arms—and a perfect smile except a small chip in a side tooth. Somehow, even the chipped tooth looked great.
“I forgot to tell you about the raid this week,” she heard herself say.
“Hmmm. I wonder what else you forgot to tell me.”
“That I’m in love with you.” It just blurted out of her, desperate for escape.
His thick brows shot up.
“Oops,” she giggled. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yeah. I think you did.” He shook his head with a slow smile. “Wow. Good to know.”
“Is it?” she asked coyly.
“Very.” He winked, sending her heart racing again. “So, what’s this raid about?”
In her distracted state, she relayed the message. No Oliver. Saturday night. Braden’s smile faded. Normally people hated sharing the Trenton’s home for a night, but she was thrilled to have unlimited, uninterrupted Braden time. Yet he frowned. Either he wasn’t as excited to be stuck together all night as she was, or he hadn’t put two and two together yet. She gave him the benefit of the doubt.
“I’ll let my parents know,” he said. “Sleepover at the Trenton’s, eh?”
“Yep!”
He shook his head with another laugh. “Okay, now I really better go split wood with Jeff before my dad kills me. See you later, Amber. Unless you can think of anything else you forgot?”
My kiss, she almost said.
That time she was smart enough to keep her big mouth shut.
twelve
“AMBER!” CARRIE YELLED UP the stairs. “Did you get the book by my bed?”
“Yes!”
“Did you empty the bathroom drawer?”
Amber poked her head around the corner and glared at her.
Carrie held up her hands. “Sorry. Just making sure.”
She hoped Amber was nearing the end of her snippety phase, especially since Zach was starting his.
“Are you done sweeping out the fireplace, Zach?” Carrie called.
“I don’t get why I have to do this,” he grumbled back.
Carrie didn’t respond. Zach knew how important it was to make it look like nobody lived there. Suspicious patrolmen were dangerous patrolmen.
She wrapped the last of their dishes in her bed sheets and laid them in their laundry basket. Sadly, all their worldly belongings fit into two baskets. Everything else had been burned, traded, sold, or stolen over the years. Some of their old stuff was in the Trenton’s garage still waiting to be traded. The only exception was books. The clan kept every single book in hopes of educating the next generation—a library of sorts. But even those would be traded if the need arose.
Carrie picked up her porcelain doll, her one nonessential item. Everyone in the clan was allowed to keep one keepsake. The doll had golden hair and fair skin like her, but that’s not why she kept it. The porcelain doll had been her mother’s, her grandmother’s, and her great-grandmother’s, something passed down for four generations. Carrie kept it next to her mattress at night, something matriarchal watching over her as she slept. Someday she would pass it to her oldest daughter—assuming she ever had one. For now, it went into the laundry basket with the rest of their stuff.
Zach didn’t add his nonessential item to the pile. Not because he didn’t have one, but because he was too lazy to care if his baseball was stolen. Amber always took the same thing: a burgundy dress she’d grown too tall for and rarely wore.
Once they finished the inside, Carrie dumped their card table which functioned as their kitchen table, three folding chairs, and their mattresses onto the front lawn so the men could take them to the Trenton’s garage. Not thei
r couch, though. That would stay. Not even the patrolman wanted that ugly thing.
She smiled, remembering. Their family had only been back from Aurora a week when the first government sweep came through the neighborhood. While they huddled in the Trenton’s basement, the patrolmen stripped their home of computers, TVs, wedding china, beds, clothing, tables, and an expensive armoire—all things her dad planned to sell for food. But for some reason, the patrolmen left their living room couch. Maybe it was the hideous color, a sad olive green, or maybe it was the weight since the thing was a beast. Either way, in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, her dad went ballistic on the poor thing, leaving several gashes in the heavy fabric. Her mother had walked in, taken one look, and said, “I like it better that way.” Ever since, Carrie had loved that couch. Normally she kept one of Jenna’s patch quilts over the worst of the gashes, but that went into the basket as well.
When the home was sufficiently deserted and her thirty plants—now two inches high—moved outside into the woods for safe keeping, the three of them headed to May’s. Most everyone was already there with their bedrolls, making for tight quarters.
Sasha Green walked in behind her. “Don’t you just hate this, Carrie? As if life isn’t hard enough, we have to squish in here all the time.”
All the time was only a couple times a year, and it was nothing compared to the twenty-four-seven life they had once endured.
“I don’t mind too much,” Carrie said.
“Oh. I forgot. Of course you don’t mind being here, do you?” Sasha said. “You probably told Oliver to take off so you could spend time with the new guy. Nice.”
Carrie followed Sasha’s gaze and froze. Greg had been rubbing Zach’s newly cropped hair five feet away, probably making fun of Carrie’s first—and last—attempt at a haircut. Greg turned and glared at Carrie, making sure she knew he’d heard perfectly.
Carrie scrambled for a denial, one that would carry.
“By the way,” Sasha added without waiting, “purple looks great on you. I thought we had a quota on clothes, but maybe not.”
Stunned, Carrie watched Sasha move away. It was true. Clansmen were only allowed two non-sleeping outfits. She’d forgotten, but obviously Sasha hadn’t. Sighing, Carrie slid through the group and pushed their basket under the kitchen table. It was going to be a long night unless she could—
“What’s the weather?” someone said right behind her.
She jumped and fell back. Then she saw who had startled her.
Greg!
Jeff Kovach laughed with several others, but Greg stood back, arms folded, waiting for her response. Every instinct told her not to answer, but she did anyway.
“A five.”
Greg snorted but thankfully walked away.
Right, Sasha, Carrie thought. As if she was looking forward to a night of that.
She scanned the house for a quiet spot to pass the next sixteen hours. Zach ran past, headed for the cement basement with Tucker, and Amber sat in the far hallway with Braden. Carrie wasn’t about to hang out with the young marrieds again, but at the same time, May and Mariah were only a few feet from Greg who still watched her, daring her to approach his family.
Grabbing The Wonderful Wizard of Oz from May’s shelf, she asked Little Jeffrey if she could read to him. His attention lasted all of three pages, but after that he let her push his ‘twuck’ around with him, passing an hour or two in quiet seclusion.
Being around a carefree kid made Carrie wonder what her problem was. She’d never let angry people affect her before. Greg wasn’t any different than Sasha and Dylan or Jeff and Jenna. Putting him in that category helped enough that, by dinnertime, she hopped up to help, no longer worried about where Greg was. She passed on May’s invitation to eat at the main table again because Jenna needed help feeding the boys—or at least, that’s what she told May.
Before she knew it, the sun had set, and the parents declared it was time for bed. May’s living room emptied as people worked on settling the kids in the back bedrooms. Mariah sat alone on the couch. Greg had disappeared somewhere, so Carrie decided to risk it. She wandered over.
“Mind if I join you?” Carrie asked.
Mariah looked up and smiled warmly. “You bet, darlin’. Have a seat.”
A smile? Was she actually related to Greg?
Resisting the urge to hug her, Carrie sat next to Greg’s mom as she flipped through May’s family album. The soft candlelight offered little detail to the pictures, but Carrie already knew them by heart. Some pictures were of May and CJ with Mariah and her older brother, Curtis. But most of the album was filled with May’s grandkids.
Mariah stopped on one, a picture of Kendra and Greg at Wrightsville Beach in North Carolina. It had been taken shortly after Greg’s high school graduation. Carrie knew this not because it was labeled, but because it was May’s favorite story: the time Greg was almost eaten by a shark.
“My Gregory likes to surf,” May would usually start. “I can’t understand why. Do you like to surf, Carrie? No, No,” she would answer before Carrie could. “Of course you don’t. It’s too dangerous, but that doesn’t stop my Gregory. He loves to surf. He loves everything really. Oh, Carrie, I wish you could meet him. He’s a wonderful boy, so gentle and kind”—that one was a little tough to swallow—“and handsome. Don’t you think he’s handsome?”
Carrie groaned inwardly. Why had she ever said yes? But in her defense, Greg was handsome—or at least his picture was. Bronzed skin, wavy, chestnut-colored hair that brushed the tops of his eyes, and a smile that could break the heart of any girl. But the picture lied. It was everything May said he was, but nothing like the real man. The real Greg Pierce didn’t smile.
Ever.
“I miss her,” Mariah whispered.
Carrie shook out of her thoughts and focused on the right Pierce. Greg’s little sister was tucked under his tanned arm. With deep dimples and the same heartthrob smile, Kendra looked like a girl with her whole life ahead of her. According to May, Kendra had been the top of her class, head cheerleader, and friend to the whole world. While May was off on her assessment of Greg, Carrie believed her when it came to Kendra.
“She could make anybody laugh,” Mariah said, stroking her daughter’s face. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Anytime.”
Carrie smiled sadly. “You know, May’s favorite story is about Kendra. Something about a Christmas present possessed by an evil spirit?”
Mariah sniffed back a laugh. “Present on a fish line. Mama squealed like a newborn piglet when it jumped off her lap. About near gave her a heart attack. I was sure she’d never forgive Kendra or Greg, but she did. She always did.” Mariah sighed wistfully. “Oh, my sweet, baby girl.”
Finishing, Mariah set the album aside. “My folks can’t seem to say enough about you, Carrie Lynne Ashworth. Seems like you been loads of help to them over the years. Loads of help to a lot of—”
Mariah stopped suddenly, overtaken by a coughing spell which shook her whole body. It was a deep, hacking cough, and though it only lasted a few seconds, it was frightening to hear. And watch.
“Are you okay?” Carrie asked when she quieted. “That sounds awful.”
Mariah waved it off even as she coughed again. “I’m fine. I’ve had that ol’ cough a while. It just likes to act up every now and then.” Clearing her throat, she started again. “I was just gonna say how much I appreciate you watchin’ out for my folks all this time. Mama says you’re sweeter than fresh peach pie. I gotta agree.”
Carrie’s heart swelled thinking she’d maybe found a friend after all. “Thanks, but May and CJ are the ones who need thanking. They took me and my siblings in after…” She drifted off as Mariah’s gaze lifted over her head.
“You need somethin’, son?” Mariah asked.
Carrie’s heart sank. Not now. She couldn’t bear to turn around, already knowing where this was headed.
“Somebody in the kitchen wants your flat cake recipe,” Greg said.
Carrie hated herself, hated that she didn’t turn and ask Greg why he kept taking his family away from her one painful person at a time. First May and CJ. Now Mariah.
Completely oblivious, Mariah smiled up at her soul-crushing son. “You’ve been braggin’ on me, boy? Good. Keep it up. Besides,” she said with another cough, “some water might clear this frog outta my throat.”
Carrie forced herself to turn and meet Greg’s glare head on. Only he wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even looking at her. He offered a hand to his mom. Mariah took it and he pulled her up, but she didn’t make it all the way. She fell back on the couch. That’s when Carrie noticed her legs trembling in the soft light. Her hands were shaking too.
Carrie jumped up and grabbed Mariah’s other hand. Between her and Greg, they got her upright. With Mariah’s face toward the candlelight, Carrie noticed how pale she suddenly looked. Clammy, even.
“Thanks for chatting, darlin’,” Mariah said, offering another smile even though it seemed to take effort. Then she headed into the kitchen, walking gingerly as if every step hurt.
“Is your mom sick, Greg?” Carrie asked. Being sick was awful enough, but without access to things like medicine and doctors, a simple illness often turned into something worse.
Greg studied her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t a glare. It wasn’t even intimidating. More…blank. However, that’s all she got. Turning, he left and joined Terrell Dixon starting a game of Poker.
Maybe he was adopted.
Thankfully the evening was almost over. Amber and her friends were setting out their bedrolls and Carrie did the same. Like other Oliver-less sweeps, the men and older boys slept in the cement basement where it was uncomfortably ten degrees colder. That left nineteen women and children to find a spot upstairs. Carrie quietly arranged for Jenna to get one of the three mattresses since there hadn’t been a formal announcement about the pregnancy yet.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 9