by S.E. Akers
I AWOKE WITH A THROATY GASP and clutched my wildly beating chest. Automatically, I swiped my hand down my right leg to see if I was bleeding. I wasn’t. Not a drop. It felt as smooth as ever. Even the throbs I’d sensed pummeling every inch of my lacerated arms had completely disappeared. I sprang to my feet and began gathering as much sensory data as I could. My heavy breaths became more controlled as the muddled, yet familiar sights filtered through my rattled head.
Oak mantle… Mirror… My father’s leather chair… My mother’s glass curio and her stash of wine bottles… I looked down at the sofa and then over to the pale flush of the TV. The same one I’d left on and apparently fallen asleep watching after I’d come downstairs around one o’clock, when I couldn’t get to sleep. I collapsed onto the sofa, thankful that it was only a dream.
Well, at least, THIS TIME…
A prickly shiver raced down my spine that had my rear shooting to the edge of the seat cushion, unable to shake the jar of how real the nightmare had seemed. Then paranoia swiftly stepped in and sent my fingers raking through my ponytail, just to be sure it wasn’t braided the same way I wore it when I was little. Thankfully it was plat-free, so I avoided waking the entire house with a foundation-rattling scream. Though judging from the chill of goose pimples piquing my skin with the jut of a porcupine, you would have thought the scaredy-cat was about to turn eight years old instead of a levelheaded eighteen in a matter of days.
After a couple of scolding headshakes, I locked my arms in a cross at my chest and rubbed the irksome bumps like I was scrubbing the bottom of a filthy pot. Once those little buggers were well on their way to being tamed, I took one more deep breath in hopes of ridding the rest of my lingering panic. A part of me couldn’t believe I’d dreamed about THAT DAY, especially in such vivid detail. It was a single incident that had happened almost thirteen years ago — a freak and horrifying day I consciously chose not to dwell on for my own sanity. But I guess even the most determined girl’s defenses are prone to take the night-off once in a while. I should have known my drift off to dreamland wouldn’t hold the first pleasant voyage on any tranquil seas. I’d turned in feeling downright pissy and had spent enough time rolling around restless in my bed that desperation ended up driving me down here in front of the TV, thinking a bright light smacking my eyes in a dim room would surely knock me out…or at the very least, that the reruns might bore my lids into sedation. My waitressing shift at the Sterling Drive-In last night certainly didn’t help matters. Granted, it was rougher than usual for a typical Wednesday evening, but I suspected something else was at play. Definitely, I nodded as I stared into the darkness and sifted through my thoughts. I’d tallied a handful of worse nights pulling carhop duty in the trenches of the Sterling Drive In’s packed parking lot and rest assured, none of them had ever thrown my subconscious off-kilter enough to trigger a nightmare as foul as that one. It wasn’t long before my hammer had sought out the perfect little nail that I suspected had been the true culprit — the very pointy spike that had pricked me in the butt practically upon stepping through the front door last night, just in time to cap off my crappy evening. Nope, I confirmed, my eyes heavy and heated. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that my horror-show had been graciously manifested by an overactive psyche all because of a “simple” request — a favor, coerced by my maliciously manipulative mother and equally scheming little sister. Yep, a string-laden act of kindness that had twisted my arm (and apparently my nerves) into submission, wrenched at the hands of the travel agent for guilt trips and the apple-of-her-eye trainee.
“Some FAVOR,” I grumbled. The cringe that rocked my body alone could have put me in the Seizure Hall of Fame. I thought it was best to put that good deed out of my mind. ’Cause Saturday will be here soon enough, I affirmed with a nauseous roll.
You would never know it now, but my mother, Charlotte Wallace, seemed to actually care for me when I was little (or, at least, she pretended a lot better). To say we were distant would be like declaring the Grand Canyon was just a little ditch. In fact, things had gotten so bad between us that I’d stopped addressing her as “Mom” when I turned 16, two years ago — but never around my father. That was way too disrespectful in his book, and I would never, ever want to disappoint him in any way. Though to be quite honest, Daddy wasn’t even aware of the constant friction between us. Charlotte was far too clever when it came to covering her hostile tracks, choosing only to unleash her wrath when he wasn’t around and then covering her icy words with sugar whenever he was. So without any concrete evidence, I felt it was for the best just to keep our feud securely under wraps. Upsetting Daddy was the last thing I wanted, and my continued silence on the matter practically ensured my mother’s claws remained at a tolerable distance. That’s what the optimist in me reasoned after looking down the road to Graduation Day, which sadly was still seven draggy months away.
I had to think back a ways (a really long ways) to a time when things weren’t so bad between us. My head fell back as I let out a laugh. As crazy as coincidence could be, it was actually around the time of my harrowing run-for-your-life stroll across the ridge.
I remembered my mother had just stepped outside to hang up some wet laundry when she found me lying on the ground, trembling and terrified. She dropped her basket and rushed over to see if I was okay. I asked her to look into the woods, at the ghost-like fog that had been chasing me. She didn’t see anything at all and insisted I must have imagined it. Then no sooner than I’d calmed down, she ordered me never to go back out there ever again and shored up her demands for my safety with one of the worst spankings my backside had ever seen — ironically. Truth be told, nothing could have been further from my mind. I told Daddy about it as soon as he came home from work. He seemed to be the only one who believed me or acted like he did for my sake. The incident scared me so much I snuck into their bedroom every night for a week just to soothe the sting of my repeated dreams. Then one day after school, Daddy surprised me by painting my bedroom door a lovely lavender color. He insisted the door was “magical” and swore that nothing bad could harm me while I was in my room sleeping. His imaginative scheme must have worked because I haven’t had a bad dream since. Then again, that was also around the time my mother gave me, and my little sister, Chloe, our matching lucky golden charms.
I lifted the little oval locket off my chest and gave it a few comforting twists. Her surprise gift was honestly the last motherly thing I could remember — her final show of maternal kindness that would be second nature to most. She’d even had them engraved with our initials, both in the same elegant script. I never could get mine to open — no matter how hard I tried. So one Saturday afternoon, Daddy took me, and my precious gold locket downtown to Stowell’s Jewelry shop in search of some professional assistance. Though regardless of how many attempts Mr. Stowell’s skillful hands made with any of his special tools, even he couldn’t get the clasp to budge the slightest bit. And then hearing him say he might damage it if he tried prying it open only served to send my worrisome little fingers scrambling to fasten it back around my neck for permanent safekeeping. A broken locket was the last thing I wanted, even if it could be repaired. Either way, I would be without it for an unknown amount of time, and my impatience simply wouldn’t stand for that, especially knowing our mother had placed something special inside them. Chloe’s held a picture of Mom on one side and Daddy on the other. Since I already knew what was in the locket, the need to open it diminished and eventually passed. My mother’s present was far more precious in my mind knowing she’d given it to me out of love. I never took it off. I never wanted to. My little gold locket gave me a comforting sense of security, and I always found myself reaching for it whenever I was upset. But above all, it served as a significant token — a cherished reminder that my mother was once capable of loving me unconditionally. Deep down, I knew it was the last shred of hope I was clinging to that maybe one day she coul
d feel the same love in her heart for me again. In spite of all the unwavering turmoil between us, I needed that security.
Wishful thoughts filled my head as the tip of my finger trailed the delicate curves of the “S” etched on its surface. I started to flip the little locket over to the side that remained hidden—the side engraved with my actual name that I rarely ever looked at—only to let it fall from my grasp when I felt a small tear taking form. Now there was a slap in the face reminder, which only added insult to injury — right now in particular. I was named after that creepy ridge and reminded of that unsettling fact on numerous occasions. However, since THAT DAY—when I saw that THING or whatever IT was—not only did I vow never to step one foot on that daggone stretch of land ever again, I didn’t even want my name associated with it. So in a pathetic attempt to distance myself from the unnerving event, I changed the “i” in my name, to a “y”, strategically manipulating it into Shyloh. It helped…a little, despite the fact that I could never get anyone else to acknowledge the switch. A few of my teachers had even knocked a point or two off my assignments over the years for what they viewed as being “an error”. But even as grade-oriented as what my hard head leaned, as long as I still made an A, their deduction was fine by me.
I couldn’t help but let out a caustic little laugh trying to lighten my gloomy mood. Regardless of what made my bad dreams come to an end, whether it was her gift or Daddy’s trick with my bedroom door, I’ve never seen that fog-like creature again nor dreamt about it until today. Realistically, those tactics only work when dealing with the mind of a child. Psychological ploys aside, I knew it was only because I’d stayed the hell off that ridge and nothing would make me go back out there again. Absolutely NOTHING!
A soft chime rang from our grandfather clock, sounding its hourly chorus. It was 5:00 AM. Both the sun and Daddy would be arriving soon. My father, Caiden Wallace worked the nightshift at the Riverside-Pocahontas Coal Mine as one of their senior foremen and without question, he loved his job. I just hoped he could keep it for many more years to come. Now that was something else that had my head fraught with worry.
Rumors had been floating around Welch for the past month that its owner, Harper Riverside, was trying his damnedest to sell it. A few weeks ago, I’d overheard his son, Mike complaining to some of his friends that his dad felt the mine had become more trouble than it was worth. Even though it was one of the safest mines around, the state had imposed a slew of new mandatory regulations. Mike said his dad was constantly griping about all the money he was going to have to shell out to get it up to snuff. The town’s gossip mill was working overtime, cranking out various speculations with each day that passed. A round of layoffs would leave hundreds of employees out of a job with no decent work to be found for miles. A sale would send the local coal miner’s union into a tizzy about having to renegotiate their contracts and most likely whittle their workforce in half. And lastly, a straight-up closure would utterly devastate the town. I could just picture all the tumbleweeds rolling down Main Street and crashing into abandoned buildings caked with dust. Talk about your pick of poisons. None of them had a smooth bite.
I turned off the TV and walked towards the window, guided by the rays streaming from the porch light outside. I gently pushed back a small section of sheers. My foot tapped a steady beat on the hardwood floor while I waited for the telltale sign of headlights coming around the bend. I wanted to catch Daddy before he headed off to bed, but I was also dying to know if there had been any official word yet…’cause being in limbo sucked!
Ever since my father’s promotion several months ago, my opportunities for scoring some golden “daddy-time” seemed few and far between. Breakfast and a few minutes in the late afternoon, before his shift began at the mine, was all I could catch during the week. And the weekends weren’t any better, what with me pulling ten-hour shifts at the Sterling Drive-In. My mother appeared just as annoyed by his new schedule, though not because he was gone at night — far from it. The rain drenching her parade stemmed from him being home during the day. That was her time. Even though Daddy would usually be sleeping, Charlotte constantly complained that he was and I quote, “interrupting her routine”. My mother’s so-called routine consisted of her lying around the house watching whatever Reality TV show she was currently into. And I would straight-up bet my iPhone she knew all the full names and birthdays of every last Real Housewife on the Bravo network by heart. Then there were her weekly trips to the beauty salon, as well as all the impromptu lunches that would pop up after getting an out of the blue call from one of her friends. And of course, I couldn’t forget about all those spur-of-the-moment shopping sprees that she and my little sister would take to the mall in Bluefield. Busy, busy, busy… I could see why she never had any spare time for cleaning or going to the grocery store. But then again, why buy groceries when you aren’t the one who cooks anyway? If I’d learned anything from living with Charlotte over the years, one credo held true: around our house, it was “fend for self”. Well, unless your name was spelled C-H-L-O-E.
I secretly wished we could heal our broken bond. But how can you fix something when you don’t know how it got broken in the first place? I truly envied Charlotte and Chloe’s relationship. Even though I didn’t share their egocentric outlooks on life, I did want to find some way to fit into their world or, at the very least, coexist with them without too much chaos or drama. And that was ultimately why I caved to the favor they had asked last night. I dropped into my father’s leather chair with a heavy plop of defeat, remembering last night’s events in dreadful high-def detail.
The early dinner crowd at the Sterling Drive In had started off particularly demanding and by the time Kara Leighton had clocked in (running late as usual), my evening had taken an even more aggravating turn — yet another night of cleaning up after HER customers and picking up HER slack while she flirted with every guy thumping a pulse. Then to make matters worse, Coach Earl Hayes, the head of our school’s football team and my gym teacher, made his usual Wednesday night appearance with his wife and their four-year-old little monster in tow. And if my night wasn’t proving craptastic enough, Chloe graciously topped it off when she and her too-cocky-for-words senior boyfriend, Mike Riverside pulled into the parking lot running their mouths. So needless to say, between a huge mess Jeffery Hayes had made (which kept me from punching out on-time) and a heated exchange with my oh-so sweet little sister and her jerk-of-a-boyfriend, I needed the rest of my evening to be uneventful. I should have taken it as a bad sign when I pulled up to the house at quarter till eleven and noticed all the downstairs lights were still on. I’d tried sneaking up to my bedroom, but fate had other grand plans for me. My mother busted me while I was creeping up the staircase — all because I’d forgotten to turn my cell phone on vibrate. I knew I should have climbed the side of the house and snuck in through my window. She was the one who had called me. I would soon find out that she needed me, finally…for the first time in a long while. But what she needed was a favor.
Funny…I didn’t know she even knew my number.
Knowing my location had been announced like the shuddering sound of a gong rolling through the house, I huffed and puffed back down the steps as pouty as a toddler. A nagging suspicion sent my eyes peeking into the living room. My hunch was confirmed when I spied an open bottle of white wine sitting atop Charlotte’s curio cabinet. Almost empty. Great… Looks like it’s drunk Charlotte tonight, I predicted and headed straight for the kitchen. She must have been low on Xanax. I preferred a medicated mother. Oh, she was still firmly straddling that broom of hers. But on the bright side, the witch would be flying those not-so-friendly skies of hers completely stress-free.
I grabbed hold of the doorframe and swung myself around into the brightly lit kitchen. There they were, the terrible-twosome, sitting all huddled around our round oak table in the center of the room. I felt the weight of their eyes scrutinizing me
like they were about to hold court and the lowly peasant they’d summoned had finally arrived to do their bidding.
Just as I’d figured, Charlotte was sipping on a glass of white wine in her usual lush-like, diva fashion. I noticed her dark roots had been touched up, so she must have spent the day at Ginny’s Salon. If Charlotte wasn’t sleeping, drinking, or fussing, she was usually pampering herself. What else would you expect from someone who spent twenty years competing in local and state beauty pageants, only to be chosen as First Runner-Up their entire life? From what Daddy had told me, the coveted crown always ended up on the head of Beverly Rhodes, her childhood best-frienemy. Though to be fair, if they’d strictly been judged on looks, I honestly didn’t see why she had never won a single title (though I totally got why the honor of Miss Congeniality had eluded her). Even in her mid 40’s, Charlotte was still quite a stunner, though a little timeworn naturally. She was a super thin, bleach-blonde, blue-eyed mother of two teenage daughters who wasn’t about to let her youth slip away without a fight. At least not without the help of a little Botox oiling her boxing gloves.
“How was school?” Charlotte inquired, her tone as thick and sweet as honey.
My mother rarely showed any interest in me and never in my scholastic life. In fact, the only time she thought about school was in the middle of summer, when she wished it was back in session. Plus, her sugary tongue surprised me, so naturally I was skeptical.
“Fine, I guess . . . I have a big Geology test tomorrow, and I really do need to go study for it,” I stressed. I was just about to make a hasty U-turn when Charlotte’s voice nixed my spin.
“And how was work?” My mother’s blue eyes widened as she pulled her harsh blonde locks back behind her ears, pretending like she genuinely cared about what I had to say.
“The usual,” I replied warily. Then it suddenly dawned on me what she was actually hinting about. “I won’t get paid until Friday,” I added. The two of them were probably in here discussing what to purchase this week with my paltry check — their “hurricane relief fund” when they were low on cash for any life-or-death fashion emergencies.
After a quick sip of her wine, Charlotte placed the glass back on the table and then smiled at me — an actual smile, her eyes sparkling along with it and everything. She didn’t seem to care about the paycheck, and since an abrupt burp never followed her freak gesture, I couldn’t help but ponder, If she’s not concerned about that, then what’s with her interest in me?
Charlotte’s bizarre interrogation continued. “Do you have plans this weekend, dear?” she asked sweetly.
I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head at her choice of the word “dear”. If it weren’t for the fact that Chloe didn’t work (except on a tan), I wouldn’t think for one second her question was aimed at me.
After a considerably long pause, an awkward “Yes” finally fell out of my gaping mouth. “I’m working Friday and Saturday. It’s Homecoming. You know how crowded it’ll be, especially after the game.”
Charlotte smacked her hand on the table. “I’d completely forgotten that Homecoming is this weekend,” she replied.
Now that was as a downright blatant lie. She was one of the football boosters this year and had been up Coach Hayes’ butt for months. Homecoming was the most important game of the season. Plus, Chloe had been voted one of the attendants on the Sophomore Court. I seriously doubted she had forgotten about that.
“Why?” I probed. My birthday was on Sunday, though I wasn’t about to hold my breath in hopes of her actually acknowledging it in some significant way this year. Daddy always handled that. For as long as I could remember, I would wake up in bed on the morning of my big day to Daddy holding a lit, store-bought cake and singing “Happy Birthday”. One time, he tried making one from scratch. We didn’t have any box mixes in the house—bless his heart—so his attempt turned out to be a huge disaster. In spite of that, my dependable and surprisingly resourceful father marched into my room with a stack of his blueberry pancakes (my favorite), topped with a long white tapered candle that he had snagged from one of the pillars in the dining room. Daddy claimed he wanted to do “something different”, but I knew the truth. Mom hadn’t picked one up, as he had requested. So that year, it truly was the thought that counted.
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “I just thought you might be going to the dance,” she probed in her coyest of voices.
“No — I’m not,” I replied. A thousand reasons why I didn’t plan on going marched through my head. Spending a night off with the same hormone-enraged, drama-obsessed classmates I saw every day at school and every evening at the Drive-In — No thank you! I was selective about how I liked to spend my personal time, preferably doing more meaningful things. If I wasn’t working, then I was either studying or hanging out with my best friend, Katie Stowell. She hadn’t mentioned having a date for the dance, so I just assumed we would get together after my shift to watch chick-flicks at her house until dawn. I wasn’t into the school’s social-scene like my sister and couldn’t think of a single soul I was even remotely interested in going with anyway. Well, not when the only guy I’d ever crushed on was currently dating someone and would obviously be taking his girlfriend…especially when I knew I wasn’t even a romantic little “blip” on his pulse-pounding radar.
Why on earth would she think I would go out with some random guy I wasn’t even into for the sake of being “seen” at a dance?
Though I had to admit, there was one thing that made the thought of a high school dance sound appealing — the getting ready for it. A beautiful dress, complete with matching shoes and a sparkly purse… Then going down to Ginny’s Salon to have my hair styled to perfection… And possibly a makeover too — Mani-Pedi included of course… Now that, I rationalized, was the only perk. I rarely pampered myself, but I was by no means a tomboy. All the girly attention had always been paid towards Chloe over the years. A perfect case in point: Halloween, ten unforgettable years ago, when we both wanted to go as Cinderella. Chloe came down the stairs ready to Trick-or-Treat dressed in a beautiful blue satin gown that Mom had custom-made especially for her, prancing and twirling circles all around the living room. My costume, however, consisted of a ratty old peasant skirt and my hair in a kerchief. Charlotte even handed me an old metal pail to collect my candy and then stained my face with coal dust. She explained that we were both Cinderella; I was simply the version of the fairy tale princess just before the magic spell was cast.
No wonder I have issues…
My sister’s eyes were locked on Charlotte, prodding our mother with a steady stream of flares strong enough to send those peepers of hers shooting across the room. That sure piqued my curiosity. What’s Chloe doing or more important, what does she want?
“What’s going on, Chloe?” I demanded.
Charlotte turned to me and announced, “Shiloh . . . Chloe has a bit of a dilemma. It’s quite serious and as a family, we have to do everything we can to help her with this.”
I was genuinely taken aback for a moment. What’s so serious that they need “the family’s” help? Especially mine?
My eyes narrowed like a doorstop when one of the gravest teen-taboos raced through my mind. “You’re pregnant?” I blurted.
“Hush your mouth!” they both shrieked in unison.
“I said this is SERIOUS!” Charlotte snapped.
Well, excuse me… I didn’t know of too many things more serious than a teen pregnancy. So against my better judgment, I pulled out a chair and sat down, somewhat intrigued. If anything, I figured it would prove entertaining. The track record of their past diva-dilemmas practically guaranteed it.
Charlotte cleared her throat and began, “As you know, your sister has been dating Mike Riverside for almost two months now, and even though they’re very committed, it’s still a blossoming relationship in its early stages . . . So it’s extremely fragile.”
Desperate t
o keep a straight face, I pressed my lips together while Charlotte composed herself like a doctor about to inform their patient they had a rare, incurable illness. I, like Daddy, hated the idea of Chloe dating such an over-indulged, obnoxious creep. The only reason he hadn’t forbidden their recent-union was because Mike’s father was his boss. Our mother, on the other hand, was completely overjoyed. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she had already picked out their colors and was finalizing their china registry at the Mercer Mall. And for the record, Chloe was an attractive girl (cutesy really) and a cheerleader — so it wasn’t like her options were limited. I’m sure almost every guy in her sophomore class would line-up for a date. I secretly envied those long and lush raven locks she’d been blessed with, which framed a perfectly round face and made those big hazel eyes of hers pop out like two stars. She could do A LOT better than Mike Riverside, in my opinion. The idea of her going out with the most arrogant senior—with the worst reputation for girls, might I add—made me want to puke. So basically, I couldn’t care less about this Romeo and Juliet saga unless it ended with Chloe getting knocked in the head with a lick of sense followed by a break-up initiated by her. And a swift kick to the crotch would get two thumbs up in my book too.
My mother took another swig of her wine and continued, “The Homecoming dance on Saturday can only be attended by Juniors and Seniors — no exceptions — even though Chloe’s a member of the Sophomore Court.” Charlotte shook her head in disapproval. “Elisa Riverside is the chairwoman of the committee. She won’t allow Mike to go to the dance dateless, just because his girlfriend isn’t eligible to attend.”
“So Chloe’s upset that Mike has to take someone else?” I guessed.
“In a way, but Chloe wouldn’t be as devastated if he went with someone she trusted,” Charlotte interjected.
There wasn’t one friend of Chloe’s who could be trusted with Mike Riverside, especially not any of her cheer-chums on the squad. Pretty much every girl in town was looking to land him like a 747 jet. He was the son of Harper Riverside, the wealthy owner of the coal mine where most all the girls in town fathers’ were employed. Oh, I could think of about fifty-plus million reasons why none of them could be “trusted” with him all right.
“So?” I probed. “Who’s the lucky, loyal friend you’ve picked to go to the dance with Mike?”
Chloe quickly flashed me her sweet & innocent smile. Nothing good ever came from that facial expression. “Not one of my friends,” Chloe replied. “I’m talking about you — My loyal sister.”
I practically knocked over my chair when I shot straight up out of my seat. “NO! Absolutely not! Have you two lost your daggone minds? WE CAN’T STAND EACH OTHER!” I roared. Mike Riverside was a complete ass, but in all fairness, I could totally see why most of my peers idolized him. He had it all. Yeah, he was good-looking (it pained me to admit it), and his physique was that of a typical star quarterback’s — tall and chiseled. His sandy blonde hair was always styled to perfection, and he dressed in nothing but designer clothes. I would even be willing to bet that Mike had more ponies on the shirts in his closet than there were running around the whole freakin’ state. What teenage girl at our school could resist him? His parents’ fortune and their breathtaking mansion were merely icing on the cake. And unfortunately for my little sister, most everything with two legs and a double XX chromosome at our school wanted a slice. But I WAS NOT about to be a party to this desperate, and not to mention ludicrous scheme!
I took a staggering breath and continued, “I know it would be a crowning achievement to get Chloe married off into the Riverside family but come on, Charlotte! Their relationship will be over before the first snowfall.” Or the first zipper fall, I noted silently. “He’s just using her! Mike Riverside doesn’t care about anyone but himself!”
Chloe let out a shrill wail and then started crying uncontrollably, which had Charlotte locking her arms around my little sister in an instant.
“Don’t pay any attention to her, sweetie,” my mother urged to Chloe with a hug that would put a mama grizzly’s to shame. “She doesn’t know anything about true love. She’s never experienced it!” Then she downed a hefty gulp of wine and slammed her hand on the hard oak tabletop. “I’ll never understand why you insist on shutting us out of your life, Shiloh, regardless of how much love we give you. You never think of anyone else! ONLY YOURSELF!”
One lonely and obviously forced tear trickled down her cheek as she stared at me, waiting for my response. My mouth about hit the floor. Charlotte was really earning her Oscar tonight.
She’s got to be kiddin’! I’m the “selfish” one? Is she so delusional that she can’t see it’s been HER all these years who hasn’t wanted any part of my life?
My gaze fell on Chloe. A part of my heart did ache for her. She might be more knowledgeable (or rather “experienced”) about certain aspects of a relationship, but she was certainly misguided about true love and what it meant.
I knelt beside my little sister compassionately. “Look, Chloe . . . I don’t mean to upset you. I honestly don’t, but this is something I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing.” Without delay, my little sister’s head hit the table in one dramatic “thump”, followed by an even more ear-splitting round of sobbing. Knowing the mood in the room was unlikely to improve, I offered her a heartfelt, “I’m really sorry, Chloe,” as I rose from her side and slowly turned to exit the kitchen.
“Well, this weekend is RUINED!” Charlotte proclaimed in a huff. “I just hope Chloe will be able to put a smile on her face Sunday . . . at your birthday dinner.”
I paused in the doorway. “What birthday dinner?” I mumbled.
“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now,” my mother declared without a shred of sincere disappointment in her voice. “Now, you have to promise you won’t tell your father of course, but he wanted to drive over to Twin Falls for dinner, and then we’re . . . NO,” Charlotte huffed abruptly. “I shouldn’t say any more. I’ve already run my big mouth enough for one evening and spoiled half of your father’s surprise. I would hate to ruin the best part.”
I was bursting with curiosity, but I couldn’t summon the courage to turn fully around, let alone look her in the eyes. Twin Falls was a quaint resort nestled in the woods near Pineville. It housed a fancy restaurant that people flocked to in droves for special occasions. I’d only dined there once before with Katie and her family, but I longed to go back.
A special birthday dinner there would be a treat all by itself… What else could Daddy be planning?
I turned around unavoidably, like a fish being yanked on a hook. “What other part shouldn’t you tell me?” I asked.
Charlotte simply sat there mute and looking all innocent for what seemed like a small eternity, which simply validated my longstanding theory that she could have run the tightest P.O.W. camp in Vietnam to a torturous T. And with a bubbly smile on her face to boot.
“Your father and I were going to tell you about your other present after dinner,” Charlotte announced. “It’s a trip we’re taking in a few weeks.”
Chloe’s wails came to an abrupt halt. “What trip?” she sniffled.
Charlotte gave my little sister a wide-eyed nudge. “You know, the trip to let Shiloh tour some colleges, remember? She’s been sending out all those applications. Caiden thought she might like to see a few of the schools she’s applied to and tour them for herself.”
Stunned by her announcement, I stood there silently trying to process what I thought I’d just heard.
“Really?” my voice quivered. “There’s a trip planned for me . . . to tour some colleges?”
Charlotte nodded. “It’s nice to see someone’s in good spirits tonight,” she replied, her cold glare never faltering while she issued Chloe’s head several comforting strokes.
I looked at my little sister. Her tear-stained face made me ashamed of how ecstatic I felt in the midst of he
r misery. Like clockwork, “guilt”—my Achilles’ heel—swiftly reared its ugly head like a glaring red zit on Class Pictures Day.
Charlotte exuded a weary sigh. “We’ll probably go sooner than expected if the mine shuts down,” she added. “I just hope your father receives a well-deserved severance package. Surely the Riversides’ won’t have any indirect ill will towards him . . . You know what I mean?”
Despite how thick the master manipulator had spread her little innuendo, I didn’t need the first shovel to pick up what she’d thrown down. Elisa Riverside was an uppity snob who was bound to hold a grudge if her precious Michael ended up going dateless to such an important school function, especially with her chairing the daggone thing. Harper Riverside wouldn’t like the awkward appearance of his son not attending just to accommodate one of his lowly employees’ daughters either, on top of having to endure his wife’s tireless grumbles. All of Welch knew just how henpecked the titan of our town’s livelihood was and who really wore the pants in that well-to-do family. All things considered, it probably wouldn’t be the wisest thing to slight either of the Riversides right now.
My stare fell to the floor as I swallowed my pride, just before another pang from my conscience could drive the knife further into my chest. “I would have to ask Charlie for the night off,” I mumbled. “And I don’t have a dress . . . not one for a formal dance.”
My little sister sprang out of her chair and leaped towards me. “Thank you, Shi!” Chloe squealed, locking me in her ironclad embrace. “Don’t worry! We’ll find a dress for you tomorrow when we pick up mine for the Homecoming Court.”
Oddly I found Chloe’s hug more gratifying than what I’d anticipated, even as phony as what I knew it really was. My little sister was only acting this way because she was getting what she wanted — at my expense, no less. But as sibling-affection starved as I felt, I would take whatever scraps were thrown my way and pretend it was partly genuine…even if it only amounted to what could fit on the tip of a pin.
I patted my sister’s back. “That’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be nice. I’m not that picky . . . but um, I really do need to study for my test,” I reiterated.
“Sure, sure. Run along now,” Charlotte insisted. The snide way my mother flicked her wrist when she waved me away couldn’t have been more obvious. She couldn’t be happier to see me leave now that their business was done.
I pulled out my cell and sent my boss a quick text as I made my way back down the hall.