Charming (4 page)

Chris stopped his car, yanking hard on the parking brake, then threw open the door and trotted to where she stood—
not
looking at them—on the half-assed sidewalk. Total DA: black slacks, white button down shirt, silver tie with red horizontal stripes hidden beneath a gray vest, cuffs rolled up to expose his muscular forearms.

But she hadn’t noticed. Nope. Not going to look.

And she certainly didn’t look at his slightly messy brown hair swept to the side, or his big blue eyes.

His gaze roamed over her, though, a smile carving up one side of his face—more like a smirk;
yeah, that’s it
—as he took in the full effect of her outfit. “You’re looking good, Haley.”

Haley walked away.

“Oh, come on.” Chris caught up and clasped his hands behind his back, that stupid smile still on his face. “You do. Look great, that is. I like this flashy attire.”

She stopped, anger warring with her desire to accept his compliment. Chris had everything she’d ever wanted: the perfect family, the beautiful house, the great school, friends, and he took it all for granted. Hell, he even had Berkshires. Mr. Charming took over as CEO after Mom passed.

Hate flooded Haley, blinded her, surged through her words, “What do you want, Chris?”

To tease? To gloat?

“To talk.”

“I have to go to work.” He knew this. Chris made weekly stops at the store, keeping up a presence in a place he’d probably end up operating one day, a future Haley had once envisioned as hers. But Haley’s future died with Mom in that car.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Chris swept his hair from his eyes. “Not until they catch that murderer. Let me drive you.”

“Let
me
drive you,” Richard sang in a high-pitched voice from the car.

Haley wanted nothing to do with Chris or his strange offer. Nothing. Not her life anymore. He was just a jerk and probably wanted to make a joke out of the now powerless Tremaine family… in front of Richard, who would no doubt feel compelled to share with the whole school.

Let Chris rule the kingdom.

“Not today.”

She swallowed her pride and ran away.

Haley loved everything about Berkshires, especially this time of year. Horse-drawn carriages packed full of tourists traveled the lot in front of the sprawling store. Gigantic pumpkins arranged near bales of hay sat out front and made the perfect backdrop for family portraits.

Wearing her festive red apron, Haley hurried between shelves, where she straightened candles shoppers had picked up and breathed in, and the cash registers, where she helped Christine bag items for customers to take home.

Mom used to bring Haley here when she was little, telling stories about how every CEO should put in time with their employees. She’d watch Mom assist customers from the moment they walked through the front doors until they loaded their bags into their cars and drove off. Nothing was below Maggie Tremaine.

Nothing.

Sometimes, Haley closed her eyes and pictured Mom helping out on busy nights like this, hair pulled back in a loose bun, pen stuck behind an ear, and a constant smile on her face.

After the customers filtered out one by one, the floors were swept, registers counted and deposits to the safe were made, Haley clocked out. That was the hardest because clocking out was like saying goodbye, and saying goodbye hurt more and more every day. Mom’s favorite candle had been pumpkin spice, and that’s exactly what Haley smelled now as she stood outside the store,
their
store.

“Dude, I know you love this place, but can we please talk about what happened today?” Christine grabbed Haley’s hand and pulled her toward home. “First, start with Mr. Thompson.”

She shrugged. “He said I’m a disappointment, basically. That I ruined his hopes of having a decent student in his class, and that if I fall asleep again, he’ll call Dad and give me a hard assignment to bring up my homework grade.”

The skunky scent of pot—not a scent available for purchase in the candle store—drifted from Christine’s already lit joint, bringing Haley out of the clouds and back to grim reality.

“You going to take his advice?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet. With him involving Dad, it’s kind of tricky.”

Christine brought the hideous thing to her plump, pale lips, then pulled away before she could take a hit. “I almost forgot. Tell me about Chris… every detail.”

“He’s an ass, Christine. Don’t make me waste my breath on him.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?” The joint crackled and glowed bright red in the night as Christine sucked in a huge hit, a dramatic thing that warned Haley this hit was for her.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Don’t tell me I’m a disappointment to you today, too. I don’t think I can handle being Ruiner of Lives. It’s too harsh.”

“You’re not a Ruiner of Lives. But you really should try letting your guard down a little, at least around friends.” Christine stood under the streetlamp, the road desolate, empty of cars at this late hour, yet still full of that all watching eyes feeling that made Haley peek at her house to see if anyone was actually watching.

Lights were on inside, but the windows were miraculously free of fatherly-like shadows.

“Coming over?” Christine dropped the remainder of her joint and squashed it beneath her black boots.

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill, Haley nodded. “Just have to be home by midnight.”

Haley waved hello to Christine’s parents as she entered the modest house decorated with fifties-style chairs and tables, thin things uncomfortable for sitting and large wooden things too large for the small space. Neither of them noticed. They were too busy staring at the TV, listening to reporters spout off the same details about the thirty-five year-old cable company employee who’d washed up on the river bank.

“That poor family attends our church,” Mrs. Michaels said, shaking her head. “I should do something. Isabel must be a wreck trying to explain this to her three children. All of them are under the age of ten too.”

Mr. Michaels grabbed his wife’s hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You should bake a casserole.”

Christine snorted. “We’ll be in my room.”

The girls beelined for the basement, a place where Christine covered termite-infested wood with posters of boys she only loved because they could sing. She’d hung strands of LED star lights at the bottom of the stairs and installed a patchwork of brightly colored rugs along the dank concrete floor. The only time anyone bothered her in this little haven is when they needed to do laundry, but usually she’d collect the bins and wash and fold everything before her parents needed to invade her privacy.

Right. She never let her guard down. The only thing she did was get high to avoid the piercing, judgmental stares of her controlling and critical parents, parents who forced their daughter to have an abortion even though she didn’t want one, parents who threatened to press charges against her eighteen-year-old boyfriend if his parents didn’t relocate him. The Michaels family cared more about what others thought of them rather than what they thought of themselves. They didn’t think about what harm their rash actions would cause Christine.

Haley fell backward on Christine’s shiny, purple comforter and stared up at the newest poster. “Are these boys even teenagers?”

“Does it matter? They have voices of gods and money to match. Just like your Chris.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. He doesn’t have the voice of a god.”

Christine nudged Haley’s ribs, earning a rare giggle. “I bet he’d be willing to serenade you.”

“Please. He just likes to give me shit.”

Christine lit up another joint, then offered it to Haley.

“You ever going to learn?”

“Are you?”

They fell silent, staring at the ceiling and occasionally frowning at nothing, both drowning in their misery. They spent so many nights like this, alone and silent yet comfortable, both carrying a weight many adults couldn’t possibly shoulder.

Christine’s house provided safety, safety that allowed Haley to let her guard down, so she closed her eyes.

“Either your phone is buzzing, or you’ve got something in your pants you haven’t told your best friend about. I know it’s been ages since you and Niles… uh—”

“Shut up.” Shaking her head, Haley pulled the cell from her back pocket and read the message from Joce:
Dad’s looking 4u. Ur late again?

“Christine! I swear your pot is going to get me killed. It’s 12:30!”

Haley made it across the street in record time, palms sweating, and found Dad waiting just inside the door, open bottle of beer in his death grip.

“Not an ounce of respect in that body of yours. Not an ounce of it.” Dad paced his favorite spot on the worn hardwood, stopping only to take a swig, sweat forming a ring around the collar of his grimy t-shirt and rolling down his temples. “How could they yell at me? My wife used to run the place, run it! And you”—Dad said, nailing Haley to the wall with his glare—“You treat me the same way.”

He pitched the bottle at Haley, but she darted to the side and it hit the front door instead, glass shattering everywhere. That wouldn’t do. Not tonight. She saw truth in the ferocious gleam in his eyes, in that all too familiar sneer curling his upper lip. Tonight, he’d hit her. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

“I—”

Dad slapped her before she could say another word, before she could beg or plead or stand up and demand he rewind time and look again. She did
not
roll her eyes. He grabbed his hips, shoulders squared, then looked smugly down at her as she cowered by the door, palm cupped over her cheekbone. “Clean it up. Now.”

“Why don’t
you
clean it up?” Just once, maybe he could leave a bruise for Joce to see. Just once, maybe he’d mess up so that Haley didn’t have to scream it to the world, ruin her family, maybe this could be someone else’s burden.

Dad raised his hand again, ready, grinding his teeth, and Haley took a deep breath and dropped to her knees to sweep up the glass.

Jocelyn was the only reason Haley would allow Dad to do this. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do it.”

She sucked up her weakness, tossed the glass in the trash, then headed to bed, launching herself on the mattress and digging under the covers.

“I need help, Mom.”

ocelyn bounced into Haley’s bedroom, clearly forgetting the hatred she’d hurled her older sister’s way for two years, ever since the night of the accident, the night Jocelyn wanted to know what the hell happened and Haley couldn’t tell.