Good Girl Complex (24 page)

“Thing is, you know, there ain’t any jobs around here for me right now. I know this fella, though. Met him back in Baton Rouge. He’s got some work. I mean he practically begged me to come back and run the place.” Her bottom lip sticks out. “You know I don’t want to leave my boys, but I gotta make some money. I want to help you two fix this place up.”

She goes on like that for a bit longer. Blowing smoke. Convincing herself there’s some noble end to her perpetual abandonment and broken promises. She’s full of shit—yesterday I saw at least five
HELP WANTED
signs around the Bay. And I’m pretty sure this
fella
is her ex, who she probably sweet-talked into a second chance. Or maybe it’s just been long enough that she could hit him up for round two. Doesn’t matter. If it wasn’t one excuse, it’d be another. She’d leave us for a bologna sandwich as long as it was away from here.

“Once I get settled in, you should come visit me,” Shelley says fifteen minutes later when she’s hugging Evan goodbye. “I’m gonna have to get a new phone. Last one got shut off. I’ll call you soon as I have it.”

She won’t. There won’t be any calls or texts. No family vacations. It’s routine at this point, the bullshit farewells and insincere placations. It doesn’t faze me anymore, but fuck her for putting Evan through this again.

“Yeah, make sure you give us the new number when you get it,” Evan says, nodding seriously. “We need to have a way to contact you.”

Why?
I almost ask, but tamp down the urge. If Evan wants to live in some delusional world where his mother loves him, who am I to judge?

“Bye, baby.” Shelley pulls me in for a hug despite my visible reluctance. She even plants a kiss on my cheek. Someone give her a
Mom of the Year
award, quick. “See you soon, I promise.”

And then, as quickly as she blew in, Shelley’s gone. Inflicting minimum damage, fortunately.

Or so I think.

It isn’t until about a week later, one evening after work, when I discover the true extent of the damage done by my mother’s visit. Mac’s birthday is coming up—turns out it’s the day before mine—and although she told me not to get her anything, I’m determined to buy her something awesome. Mac gives me so few chances to spoil her, I made the executive decision to ignore her and do whatever the hell I want instead.

In my room, beneath a loose floorboard under my dresser, I pull out the old toffee tin where I’ve kept my cash and contraband since I was eleven years old. I open the lid, expecting to find the money I’ve stashed there, all the under-the-table cash I’d earned from side gigs, kept hidden from the bank and tax authorities’ grubby hands.
Twelve grand held together by two rubber bands. The
if all else fails
fund.

But the money’s not there.

Every last dime.

Gone.

MACKENZIE

From the living room, I hear a commotion in Cooper’s bedroom. A sharp snap off the wall and something clattering to the wooden floor. Suddenly, Cooper barrels down the hall.

Daisy, barking her head off because she gets rambunctious about an hour before it’s time to feed her, chases after him as he tramples through the living room.

“Hey, you okay?” I jump up from the couch.

“Fine,” he says, growling the words through gritted teeth. He doesn’t pause to even look at me.

“What’s wrong?”

Rather than get a reply, I watch him fling open the sliding glass door and stomp outside. He slams the door shut in Daisy’s face, barely missing her, though she seems only disappointed that he’s going outside without her.

To appease her, I put out her food, then grab my shoes to go hunting for Cooper. I find him a hundred yards down the beach throwing small pieces of driftwood at the waves. By the time I reach him, I’m regretting not grabbing a sweater first or at least putting on some long pants, rather than running out in shorts and a T-shirt. It’s nearly dark and a steady breeze turns my skin bumpy in minutes.

“What happened?” I ask him.

“Go home.” His voice is eerily flat, a stark contradiction of his angry, violent movements.

“Okay, no. So let’s move on to the part where you just tell me.”

“Damn it, Mac, not now, alright? Let it be.” He kicks up sand, searching for something else to throw and growing more frustrated at the lack of options.

“I want to. I would, if I thought it would help. But I don’t think it will, so …”

He drags his hands through his hair. He’d throw his own head at the tide if he could get it off his neck. “Why do you have to be so damn …” The rest comes out only as grunts.

“Born this way, I guess.” Disregarding his frustration, I sit and invite him to join me.

Several seconds of silence eventually break his will and he plops down on the sand.

“What’s up?” I ask quietly.

“She stole it.”

“What?”

Cooper refuses to look at me, his gaze glued to the water. “My emergency fund. Every last dollar.”

“Wait, your mom?” Dismay ripples through me. “You’re sure?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Positive. Not even Evan knows where I keep my stash.”

Damn. That’s harsh.

“I should have hidden it the second she showed up,” he says, groaning. “She found my pot when I was thirteen and smoked it all when I was at school. I forgot about that until tonight, forgot she knew about the hiding spot. Or maybe I just gave her too much credit not to steal from her own kids.”

“I’m sorry.” It sounds inadequate under the circumstances. How do I apologize to someone for a lifetime of pain? “How much did she take?”

“Twelve grand,” he mutters.

Jeez. Okay. My brain kicks into solution mode, because that’s how I operate. Whenever there’s a problem with one of my websites, an unwelcome snag in the hotel renos, I become analytical. I assess the problem and try to find a way to fix it.

“That sucks, it really does. I know you’re pissed off and feel betrayed, and you have every right to feel that way.” I link my arm through his and lean my head on his shoulder. For support. And because I’m freezing. Cooper always runs warm, a perpetual source of heat. “But at least it’s only money, right? I can help you. I can replace it.”

“Seriously?” He rips his arm from me. “Why would you—” Cooper can’t finish the sentence. He jumps to his feet. “What the fuck, Mac? Why is that always where your head goes? Throw money at the problem.”

“I thought money was the problem,” I protest.

The thunderous look on his face pricks my nerves. Why is it every time I offer to do something nice for him, I get sand kicked in my eye?

“How many different ways do I have to say it?” he shouts at me. “I don’t want your goddamn money. Do you even grasp how infantilizing it is to have your girlfriend constantly following you around with her purse open?”

“That’s not what I do,” I answer, my jaw tight. This guy is pushing the limits of my patience. He wants to be mad at his mom, fine. He wants to vent, good. But I’m not the bad guy here. “I’m only trying to help. You need money, I have more than enough. Why is that wrong? The money doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“We know.” The words come out as a long, sullen sigh. “That’s the whole fucking point. You clones throw it around like party favors and expect the rest of us to be grateful for the invitation. I’m not another servant groveling at your feet for tips, goddamn it.”

So it’s like that. I’m back to being a “clone.” Fine.

“You know what, Coop? How about you deal with your own hang-ups instead of heaving all your insecurities on me? I’m getting real fucking sick of withstanding the worst of everyone’s little townie microaggressions. Get over it. Because let me tell you something from experience: Rich or poor, bad parents are just bad parents. Your mom sucks. Welcome to the club. Having money wouldn’t have made her stay.”

I regret the words the second they fly out of my mouth.

Both of us stand there astonished at what we’ve witnessed. How quickly we went for blood. Every pent-up feeling I’ve had since my parents cut me off came rushing back to the surface, and I threw it all in Cooper’s face as if it were his fault—exactly what I accused him of doing seconds ago.

Overwrought with remorse, I scramble to apologize. But he’s already storming off, shouting over his shoulder not to follow him unless this is the last conversation we ever want to have. This time, I take his word for it.

Hours later, though, when he hasn’t returned and Evan asks if I know why Cooper’s phone is going straight to voicemail, I start to worry. If he were only mad at me, fine, I’d accept that. But the way he tore out of here … the rage in his eyes … There are a thousand ways a guy like Cooper can get himself into trouble.

It only takes one.

COOPER

There’s a dive about an hour west of Avalon Bay. A shack, if you can even call it that, off a two-lane county road that cuts through nothing but empty swamps and small farms. You can usually hear the rumble of motorcycle engines idling in the dirt parking lot from half a mile away. I pull my truck in and cut the engine, then duck inside to find the place is dead, save for a few mean-looking bikers by the pool table and some old guys spread out at the bar. I take a seat on a stool and order a couple fingers of Jack. By the second glass, a guy a couple seats down starts jawing at no one in particular. He’s going on about football, responding to everything the ESPN talking heads are saying on the lone television above us. I try to ignore him until he leans toward me, smacking the bar with his flat palm. I get flashbacks to being a bartender and have to restrain myself from snapping at him.

“Who ya got?” he demands to know with slurred urgency. When I ignore him, he repeats himself louder and slower. “The Super Bowl. Who ya got, kid?”

I spare him a look. “I’ll buy you a drink to get lost.”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, mocking me. “Get a load of him, huh? Shhh …” He holds his finger over his mouth and shows it to everyone.
“Y’all quiet the hell down. The kid wants some damn peace and quiet, ya got that?”

I came here to get lost, to be left alone. There’s no chance Mac would find me here, and this was the only place I could think of that Evan doesn’t know about. While he was still clinging to Shelley after our dad’s death, my uncle brought me here to blow off some steam at the dartboards. I want to be alone, but I’ll embarrass the shit out of this asshole if he wants to make a thing of it. Hell, maybe I should channel Evan and start a bar fight, let off some steam. I mean, why the hell not, right?

Just as I’m talking myself into the idea, a hand slaps down on my shoulder from behind.

“Let me get two beers,” a familiar voice tells the bartender.

I glance over to find my uncle taking the stool beside me. Fucking hell.

“Gary,” he says to the drunk who was getting in my face. “Why don’t you get on home to the missus?”

“Super Bowl’s on,” a belligerent Gary slurs, jerking a hand toward the TV. “Can’t expect me to leave during the Super Bowl.”

“That’s a rerun of last year’s game,” Levi replies with the patience of a saint. “Super Bowl’s next month, Gary. Now you better go home to Mimi, yeah? Sure she’s about to send the dogs after you.”

“That damn woman.” Gary grumbles his way to opening his wallet and throwing down a few bills on the bar. He mutters something about
can’t let a man drink
then teeters his way outside.

Despite wanting to knock his teeth in mere seconds ago, I can’t help but stare with a bit of concern after the stumbling man.

“Don’t worry. He’ll get about a quarter mile on foot before she finds him passed out in the weeds,” Levi says. “He’s fine.”

I look at my uncle in suspicion. “Mac send you?”

“Evan texted me. Said you left in a hurry.”

Of course he did. Because Mac would’ve run right to her new
best friend so they could talk shit about me. I’ve had it up to my fucking eyeballs with those two ganging up.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter, leaving no room for argument.

“Good,” he shrugs, “I came here to drink.”

Levi tosses back his beer and trains his eyes on the TV, never once sliding a glance my way. It’s a relief. At first. Then an hour goes by. And another. And soon, I’m as drunk as Gary was when he left, and my mind is torturing me with all the shit that went down tonight, from finding my life savings stolen to the fight with Mac on the beach. Replaying broken bits of the conversation in my head, I can’t quite remember what I said to her, but I’m certain it wasn’t good.

“Shelley came back,” I finally say, the alcohol loosening my tongue. “For two days. Then made off with my life savings.”

Levi makes a full quarter turn to stare at the side of my face.

“Twelve grand.” I draw circles in the condensation ring on the bar with my cardboard coaster. “Poof. All gone. Right out from under my nose.”

“Jesus. Got any idea where she ran off to?”

“Nope. Baton Rouge, maybe. But that was probably bullshit. A lot of difference it makes. She’s not coming back this time. No way.”

“I’m sorry, Coop, but that woman is no good.” Levi drains his beer and plunks it down. “I got tired of apologizing for my brother a long time ago. I make no excuses for him. He left you boys in a bad way with all those debts. But that goddamn Shelley ain’t lifted a finger to help in all these years.” Bitterness colors his tone. “You and Evan have worked so hard to dig yourselves out. Now she struts in and rips all that out from under you? Hell no. Not on my watch.” His hand comes down hard on the splintered wood bar, jarring my whiskey glass.

I’ve never seen my uncle this upset. He’s a quiet guy. Steady.
For years, he bit his tongue while Shelley popped in and out as she pleased. After he eventually became our guardian, he never once made us feel like a burden for it. Hearing him talk this way is about as close to spitting mad as I’ve heard him get. For all the good it does us.

“What is there to do?” I feel as bitter as he looks. “There’s no catching up to her now. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

My gut still twists with anger. For the money, sure, but more so for the humiliation. The betrayal. For all the ways this woman has made a fool of us over the years. And we’ve taken it. How Evan still thinks, maybe—even when he knows better—maybe this time it’s real. Goddamn Shelley.

“We ain’t licked yet,” Levi tells me. “And we’re done enabling that woman’s bad behavior, you hear me?”

Before I can answer, he signals someone at the opposite end of the bar. “Steve, hey, got a question for ya,” Levi hollers.

Following my uncle’s gaze, I spot the off-duty cop whose uniform shirt is open to expose a sweat-stained white undershirt.

“What do you need, Levi?” Steve hollers back, because in the Bay, everyone knows everyone.

“How might we go about pressing charges against someone who skipped town?”

What? My startled gaze flies to my uncle, but he’s focused on the cop.

Shaking the glaze out of his eyes, Steve sits up straighter. “What we talking about?”

Levi’s tone is grim. Deadly, even. “Grand larceny.”