Authors: Jaime Reed

Tags: #Young Adult, #Fantasy, #Romance

Living Violet (8 page)

BOOK: Living Violet

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O
nce dressed, I dragged my rolling suitcase down the stairs.

Though it was only a two-day sentence, I went down the checklist of needed items and artillery. Grabbing my keys, I headed for the door, but cringed at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“You heading out now?” Mom asked from the dining room.

I winced. “Yeah.”

“Okay, honey. Call me as soon as you get there. And make sure you lock all your doors, and watch your speed. If a cop flashes you, make sure you stop at a public place, with plenty of people. There was a story on the news about this man impersonating police by using one of those party lights in his car. Anyway, you don't wanna know what happened to the poor woman he stopped. They like to get you in a wooded area, somewhere where there're no houses or buildings you can run to for help.”

There it was. This wouldn't be a proper sendoff without the parting gift of terror. I knew Mom worried, but she needed to work on her timing. This woman struck fear in the hearts of everyone in my neighborhood and friends brave enough to cross our threshold. So was it really a wonder where I got my suspicious nature? I've lived under this woman's roof for seventeen years; something was bound to rub off on me.

“Come on. Give me a hug.” She spread her arms and pulled me in.

Trying not to wonder what happened to that victim's body, I said, “I promise, I'll call you as soon as I get there.”

“Okay, honey. You got a sweater?”

“It's June.”

“Just in case. And you know the number to Triple A?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Phone charged?”

“Yep.” I nodded and pulled the door open.

Wheeling my suitcase to the car, Mom rushed after me with a bottle of water. “And make sure you have plenty to drink. I don't want you having heat stroke like those women at Europia Park.”

I popped the trunk then stopped. “What?”

“Two women collapsed in Europia Park a few days ago.”

After dumping the load inside, I turned to look at her. “Where did you hear this?”

“Where have you been, Samara? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don't watch that show. Plus, I got you here to fill in all of the good parts. So, when did all this happen?”

“Tuesday. I thought you knew about it. You didn't see anything while you were there?”

My mind rolled back to the day in question. “I saw two women fall out, but I thought it was from heat exhaustion.”

“Maybe. But it resulted in a full-blown heart attack and stroke. Luckily, they survived, but they're in bad shape. It can happen at any age, Samara. So be careful.”

Mom handed me the water, then moved in for another hug. Though Dad lived only an hour away, Mom still acted like I was going off to war. I didn't look forward to the devastating farewell when I left for college next year.

I climbed in the car while she stood on the porch and waved. She smiled, as if pleased that her baby had received her daily helping of bewilderment and paranoia. But in this instance, the suspicion came with a good reason. A girl can never be too careful, especially alone.

I pulled up to Dad's place around five. Mr. Watkins and company lived in a gated community on the outskirts of Richmond. Dad would never be featured in
Fortune
magazine, but his house told everyone that he carried a little change in his pocket. I cruised up the path, admiring the geometrically groomed shrubs and the endless stretch of lawn.

Dad was in the process of loading the trunk of his car when he turned and waved.

After I climbed out or my car, a warm hug greeted me.

“Hey, baby girl. Thanks so much for doing this. I know it's short notice.”

“It's cool. Nothing personal; it's just business,” I murmured against his chest.

When we pulled away, I saw Rhonda coming out of the house with more bags. Though a tall waif, Rhonda wouldn't be strutting down a runway anytime soon. She was afflicted with extreme butterface (everything looked good but her face), and she seemed deathly allergic to tact.

Two hyper children flanked her sides like pups begging for scraps. Those playful cherubs deceived all unaware, most of all their mother. Kenya stood to the left, giving me the neck-and-eye-roll combo, and Kyle was straight “mean muggin' .” Staring at those
darling
faces, I could see a little bit of Dad flashing behind their eyes.

Deep, deep down I loved my siblings, but they played too much and owned an endless supply of pointless questions like, “Why does your hair look like that? Why do you talk like a white girl? When are you gonna untie us from this chair?” And so on and so forth.

Bottom line: I didn't look like them, and they saw me as an outsiderâan outsider who had no qualms with whipping out a belt in public. With any luck, they would outgrow this animosity. But today wasn't that day.

Doling out a smile she'd likely practiced all day, Rhonda chimed, “Hello, Samara. Good of you to come.”

I returned the gesture. “Is it?”

“Yes, of course it is. You know you're welcome here anytime. I've invited you to come to church with us every Sunday, and you never come.”

I unloaded the suitcase from my trunk. “We have several churches in Williamsburg, Rhonda.”

She must have taken that as a challenge. With quirked eyebrow and raised chin, she asked, “Oh? What church do you and your mother attend?”

“The ones on TV.”

Lifting her eyes skyward, she let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Samara, it's not the same. There's nothing better than fellowship person-to-person. There's a support system to help you through those troubled times.”

“You mean people getting all in your business and gossiping about you in the name of goodwill? No thanks. I like to keep my spiritual life private.” Translation: I don't answer to you, so keep it movin'.

“Still the little spitfire. You get that from your mother, you know. It's a shame how certain habits pass down to children.” She glowered at me with pity in her eyes. “I'll pray for you. You need it.”

And you need a hot-oil treatment,
stat
, I wanted to say, but Dad stood next to me, holding his breath.

I'm the last one to talk about ethnic hair, but home girl was positively nap-tastic! My dad was a good-looking dude; he could have done better than this. Plus she's mean! But Dad loved this woman enough to marry her, so she must be doing something right. I saw the love in his eyes, a look that he could never give Mom. I didn't have the heart to cuss Rhonda out. Dad looked so excited about this trip, and I needed to conserve my energy in order to survive the weekend.

Rhonda shooed the children back into the house with a flimsy warning about disobedience. Their innocent smiles slid away the moment her back turned. Kenya served me a look of malice, and Kyle dragged a finger across his throat to illustrate his point.

I shook my head, wondering which was worseâthat a six-year-old boy could issue a threat with the best of them or that he meant it.

Once the preliminaries were over, Dad and Rhonda went down the emergency numbers and security precautions and then set out. I waved good-bye, squared my shoulders, and prepared for battle.

The inside of the house was spacious and surgically sterile, like those model apartments inside rental offices. Everything was white, with no sign of organic life, but rather a mock-up of a human family dwelling. How they managed to keep the furniture clean with two worrisome kids running around expanded the boundary of belief.

The rumble of footsteps on the second floor declared that the battle of Armageddon was upon me. To say that the twins were a handful was an understatement of epic proportions, not suitable for the faint of heart or those with back problems. As expected, the next four hours consisted of random flashes of traumatic events the brain fought to suppress: Running up and down stairs twenty-six times (yes, I counted), chasing Kyle a half mile when he ran out of the house, hurdling over toys and bikes, getting peanut butter stuck in my hair from Kenya's “beauty shop treatment,” wringing a steak knife and Dad's power drill out of Kyle's clutches before he hurt himself, or me, and hiding my cell phone from Kenya, who had developed an obsession with buttons. During all this, I clung to the image of my new car like a talisman, the only thing that kept me going.

Thank goodness for technology. I put on a movie they both agreed on, and urban street fighting kept them distracted long enough for me to prepare dinner and draw their baths.

Once the kids were asleep, I crashed on the couch, listening to Caleb's music. My body relaxed as the melody dissolved into my sore muscles and joints. With the house quiet, I thought of Caleb Baker and all the mystery he encompassed.

The boy was interesting; I'd give him that. He gave me butterflies, though I would never reveal that to the rest of the world. I couldn't explain it, but the more we talked, the better he looked. My mind drifted to the night at Europia Park and how he held me on the bridge in Italy. He smelled of sweat and vanilla ice cream. His arms around me felt like home. All I wanted to do was stand there all night.

Slicing through the cotton-candy cloud, logic intervened. Its opening argument featured two women who had collapsed in a theme park on Tuesday. Both had encountered heart attacks, not even thirty yards from where I'd stood. That was the third time that a woman had had a bum ticker within a span of a week.

I never believed in coincidences, so there was no point in starting now. The common variable stood out in bold neon, daring me to overlook it. I thought of Haden's warning about guarding my heart around his brother. It was a rhetorical statement, of course, but it haunted me nonetheless. So much power and magic invested into a tiny organ.

Caleb certainly held an air of enchantment, a shadowy aura that prickled my arms, but never broke the skin. There had to be a logical explanation for all of it somewhere. But there just wasn't enough hard evidence to convict him of anything aside from liking me. Above all else, that notion was the hardest one to believe.

No matter how loud that little voice kept screaming in my head to keep away, an even louder voice demanded to know more, to see more, to feel more. Maybe Nadine was right, I was just making excuses not to like him. This new experience quickened my pulse with excitement, and damn if I didn't want to know where all of it would lead.

T
he first few days of the new month were a bit stagnant. People prepared for the Fourth of July, wearing patriotic colors and waving banners in the air. The smell of barbecue complemented the flute songs of marching soldiers in Colonial Williamsburg.

Mia and Dougie were tighter than ever. I kept an eye on my watch, anticipating the next altercation waiting around the corner. Mia scrambled around town, hunting for the perfect outfit to wear at Robbie Ford's party on Saturday. His Fourth of July bashes were legendary, and everyone who was anyone at my school would be there. Robbie's recent graduation marked the event as the last hurrah before he and his class scattered across creation. Mia wouldn't stop talking about it, and couldn't wait to exploit our new position as the upper echelon of James City High School.

Meanwhile, Mom was still looking for love in all the wrong places online. While setting up a user profile, she tore the house apart trying to find pictures of her, sans love handles. She even signed up for a speed-dating session next week.

Dusting off that gym membership, Mom initiated an emergency makeover. She wiped the house clean of anything above ten calories, leaving nothing but ice cubes and a cool breeze in the fridge. She ate nothing but chicken broth and green tea all week. I would lose my baby fat in God's sweet time, so I had to rely on my survival skills for sustenance. But I had to draw the line when my Tae Bo DVD suddenly went missing.

The store was busier than usual, but I almost looked forward to going to work. And there was only one reason why. Caleb and I continued our customary trash talk with a side dish of public affection. These subtle spars went on throughout the week. We began swapping more music, then progressed to books and movies. He also had a thing for the old black-and-white flicks, and he wasn't afraid of subtitles. Yep, this guy was slowly growing on me.

By Saturday, I had to stop myself from bouncing when he approached the counter with hunger in his eyes. Unfortunately the look wasn't for me, but for the apple tart in the bake case.

After I rung up his order, he asked me what I was doing later that night.

I paused behind the register. “Um ...”

“You're still afraid I'm gonna put something in your drink, aren't you?” He smirked.

Looking down, I handed him his food. “No. I just got plans.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“The kind that conflict with us going out.”

He leaned closer, forcing me to meet his gaze. “What are you doing?”

I gave a dismissive wave. “There's this party my friend's giving tonight, that's all.”

“Cool.” He took a bite of his tart and walked away.

Before I could check myself, I blurted out, “You wanna come with me?”

His brows knit together as he mulled over the idea. “Would this party consist of high school kids?”

I shrugged. “Some.”

“With no parental supervision?” he asked.

“Likely.”

“And beer?”

“Copious.”

“No thanks.” He kept walking.

“
I'll
be there,” I emphasized, hoping that would sweeten the deal.

He stopped, then turned around. He swallowed, then asked, “What time?”

“Nine. I'll meet you here.”

Flashing a smile, he drifted from sight, leaving me to collect myself and withstand the scandalized look from Nadine.

She stood with her mouth open and coffee overflowing from the cup she poured. Catching herself, she grabbed a rag and tended to the mess.

“That's what you get for being nosy.” I pranced to the back kitchen.

She looked like she wanted to say something, perhaps talk me out of it, but no reply came.

After a shower, quick wardrobe change, and another cautionary tale from Mom, I was back at the Buncha Books parking lot just before nine. Caleb stood by his Jeep, looking quite snazzy in frayed jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. When he spotted me, he almost choked on his candy bar.

I couldn't blame him. I looked good in a black one-piece halter set, an outfit I had to peel on in my car because Mom would wild out if she saw it. But my covert operation was well rewarded by the look in Caleb's eyes; a look that, for once, had nothing to do with food.

Swallowing hard, he stepped closer. “Damn, Samara, you've got great legs.”

“Yeah, Mom let me borrow them for the next thirty years.”

“I take it you hear that a lot?”

Feeling heat rush to my cheeks, I studied my feet. “A few times. Maybe I should keep a coin jar under the register at work like you do.”

“You'd make a fortune.” He dug in his pocket and handed me a quarter. “This should start you off.”

“Thanks.” I plucked the coin from his fingers.

“You ready?”

“Sure.” I dropped the quarter in my bag as he escorted me to his Jeep.

Robbie Ford's house was huge with a pool in the back. His parents were always out traipsing around the world, doing God knows what. Why no one called Social Services or who actually signed his permission slips and report cards remained a mystery to this day. Everyone at school had believed he was an orphan until Mr. and Mrs. Ford made a cameo appearance at his graduation.

His folks were a peculiar lot, and one glimpse into their bedroom drove that fact home. There were mirrors on the ceiling and some sort of harness bolted to the wall, complete with an odd assortment of costumes in the closet. Needless to say, that room was off limits to visitors.

Robbie was an interesting one. He was going to MIT in the fall, and I still believed he blackmailed the dean to get in. He was a closet brainâthe go-to guy who could hack into any database and procure just about anything. If one needed to get out of the country ASAP, he could provide a fake passport for a reasonable fee.

He greeted us at the door with a silk bathrobe, boxers, and a pipe in his mouth. “Sammy, my sweet, buttery goodness, you look ravishing,” he declared in the best Sean Connery impersonation I ever heard.

“Thanks, Rob.” I stepped inside to peck cheeks.

Pulling away, he took stock of the tall man in front of him. “Who's this?”

“This is my friend, Caleb.”

“Friend, huh? Is there a benefit package involved?”

I punched Robbie's arm. “Shut up.”

“I'm Robert Ford, host of the Shangri-La.
Mi casa es su casa
, but not the master suite upstairs.” He shuddered at the thought of his parents' bedroom.

“Thanks. Nice to meet you.” After shaking hands, Caleb scooted his way through the crowd.

People underestimated the power of word of mouth. The house was packed. Half of the guests went to rivaling schools and William & Mary.

Robbie had hired a deejay, who stood between four monster speakers in the corner. The house shook with hard dance music, vibrating the pulse between my clavicle bones. The air was alive and breathing within this world of dry-humping and drinking games.

Nearing the center of the madness, Caleb pulled me in for a dance. He wasn't too bad, but the music didn't require many moves, just high-energy bouncing and head bobbing. When a popular song came on, the entire continental shelf rushed the dance floor. Bodies jumped in the air, drinks splashed, voices howled and sung along. It was the end of the world, and we were going out with a bang.

Needing some fresh air, I maneuvered to the patio with Caleb on my tail. Though it was almost eighty degrees outside, it felt like supermarket air-conditioning compared to the dance floor.

Guys plunged into the pool and floated on inner tubes. Girls squealed and raced around barefoot, trying not to get pushed in. Sparklers twirled in hands and fireworks exploded overhead. Guests walked by holding paper plates and red plastic cups. Hotdogs and burgers hissed in the grill to my left, and the line for a sample wrapped around the pool.

All of this set away into a moving backdrop of disengagement. Perhaps the detachment was purely on my end, like a phantom that haunted the last place visited while alive. It no longer felt like home, but I couldn't quite move on.

Caleb stood behind me and stroked my bare arms. “You okay?”

The contact made me shiver. His fingers did a job on a girl's nerves, but I didn't ask him to stop. “I'm fine. I needed air. You having fun?”

“Surprisingly enough. But if you wanna leave, we can.”

“No. I'm just thinking about school. It's funny seeing people in the hall every day, not even friends, just the same old people you bump into. I'll never see these guys again, not like I used to, not all together like this.”

His chest rose and fell against my back. “Will you miss them?”

“Some. I mean, Mia and I are thugs for life. We get to graduate together next year, but Robbie and half of the gang I hung out with already graduated. Everything's gonna change; it's a feeling I can't shake off. I'm moving up in the ranks. I'm a senior now and one step closer to the end. I'm not sure I'm ready for it.”

“Just the fact that you're aware of it is enough, I guess. You've gotten used to people making decisions for you. Stay in school, go to college, get a job, and then what? There's no instruction manual on life, Sam. And not one path is for everyone.”

“Is that why you didn't go to college?” I asked.

“Yeah, I know people who are about to graduate college and still don't know what to do with themselves. If I'm gonna blow fifty grand on education, I wanna know what for.”

“What do you want out of life?”

He kept quiet for the longest time. Squeezing my waist tight, he said, “Consistency, independence, and something that's mine and mine alone.”

I looked up at him. “Have you found it yet?”

“Not yet, but I have time. All I have is time.”

I smiled. “Must be nice.”

He leaned over to look at me. “What school are you going to apply to?”

“Howard. Dad went there, and he wants me to follow in his footsteps.”

“Is that what
you
want?”

“God yes! It's been my dream to be a lawyer like my dad, but I wanna do criminal law.”

“Well, you sure know how to argue, that's for sure.” He kissed the back of my neck.

Warmth coated my belly as a tickle crawled from his lips to the base of my spine.

I shivered. “Why did you do that?”

“What? Kiss your neck?”

“Yeah.”

His breath bounced against my ear. “Well, aside from your legs, that's my favorite spot on you. Does it bother you?”

“No. It's just a weird place to kiss someone.”

He turned me to face him. “I can think of a better place.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. Now that I had him relaxed, I asked the question that haunted me all week, the main reason I invited him to come along.

“There's something strange about you, Caleb.”

He laughed softly to himself.

“What are you hiding? Why are you hiding?”

His smile melted away, that warm sun dipping behind the horizon. “I knew it wouldn't be that easy. Do I scare you?” he asked.

It took a moment to consider it and I answered as truthfully as I could. “No. In fact, I feel comfortable. Too comfortable. I don't let guys hug me like I do with you and that's a sign right there that something's wrong. There's something you're not telling me.”

The back of his hand stroked my cheek. “Tell you what; I'll answer all your questions after the party if you just give me these few moments, right now, with you.”

I didn't like the sound of this at all. It held the finality of a parting gesture, a last request. Was the truth so bad that he would start avoiding me again, or skip town? Or maybe I was the one who would leave. The wait was killing me, but at least I was making progress.

“Okay? Should I be worried?” I asked.

“No. But I have to warn you, it's a long story. You might start nodding off.”

“I doubt it.” My lips were inches from his when something caught my eye. Much like that
Sesame Street
game, one of these things was not like the other; something just did not belong.

“What theâ” I pulled away from Caleb and raced to the drink table. I made it just in time to slap the beer out of her hand.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Alicia yelled, wearing enough makeup to run her own circus.

BOOK: Living Violet

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