Fancy White Trash (10 page)

On
Moments of Our Lives
, a woman never calls the cops for help unless the man in question is clearly a Bad Guy, like he kidnapped and raped her sister or works for a crime family in the area. Usually, the two characters will fight and dance around, pretending hostility when really everyone knows that they are perfect for each other. This is not one of those cases. Jackson really is all wrong for me.

I take a different approach. “Jackson, you're going off to college in a few days. It doesn't make sense for you to be hounding me like this.”

“I'm not,” he says.

“Cornering me outside the bathroom is definitely hounding.”

“I'm not going to college.” He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and brushes his palms against his jeans.

“You're what?” Because all Barbara has talked about since Jackson was twelve was how he would go to college and become a doctor. Jackson talked about becoming a pro baseball player or maybe an astronaut. Although come to think of it, he hasn't talked about the future much in the last year.

“Not going,” he clarifies. “Nicaragua, it changed me.” He thumps his chest. “In here. I don't know how to explain it—I just know that college and football, it's not what I want anymore.”

Jackson's not winning any points with me. If there was a Rule #6 of the Plan, it would be that He Must Be Able to Hold Down a Job for More Than Three Months. College seems like a good way to assure you're employable as more than a retail clerk. It was the one thing in his favor, as far as I was concerned, and now he's throwing it away?

A hint of the disappointment I feel must show, because he says, “You don't know what I saw down there, Abby. Children living in the streets, begging and starving and sick. Ten- and eleven-year-old-prostitutes selling themselves to middle-aged men? Kids disappear off the streets every day and no one looks for them. I can't go on with my life like that stuff doesn't exist. I have to do something.”

“What can you do?” This was a new Jackson to me. Not Jack-Off, Cody's hot big brother, but some new person who had thoughts and opinions I'd never heard.

He shrugs and wipes his hands on his jeans again. “I don't know yet. For now, I'm going to find a job, work, and save up money. I've got a little put away for college, but if I want to go down there for good, I'll need a chunk of change.”

“You're going back?”

“Well, yeah. How else can I help?”

Raising money? Petitions? But I don't say it, because I can see he means it and really, it's kind of noble. I suddenly feel bad for resenting my sisters, all the times I got mad when they ate the last Dove bar or wouldn't drive me to the movies when I wanted them to. At least we have a home, food, and a safe place to sleep.

“Does Barbara know?” Because Barbara might think it's all well and good for him to go down there in the summer, but to skip out on college and leave the country indefinitely? It's not the kind of news I'd want to break to her.

Jackson clearly thinks the same. “I'm supposed to leave for A.U. next week. I don't know how to tell her. I'm too late to get any of their deposits and stuff refunded. They'll probably kill me.”

If we were on
Passion's Promise
, he could tell her he was going to college but go to Nicaragua instead and have someone send her fake postcards from A.U. Everything would be fine, until another character vacationed in Central America, saw Jackson, and told his mom, and then she'd have the mother of all cows. She would cut him out of her will, and he would die of some unheard-of illness that usually only afflicts actors who ask for a pay raise.

“You won't tell anyone, will you?” Jackson swallows again. “She needs to hear it from me.”

“You're not worried about your dad?”

“Naw, he's the one who signed me up for the program. Builds character, he said. Dad might be upset at first, but how can he complain about something that was his idea in the first place?”

“So, you're really not leaving. At least not yet.”

“Nope.” He grins. “You're stuck with me.”

Stuck
on
you is more like it, but just because he's not the total selfish jerk he used to be doesn't mean the other Rules don't apply. “I'd better get back,” I say. “Brian must be wondering where I am.”

Jackson's face tightens but he nods. “Whatever you say, Abby. But I still think we deserve another chance.”

I wiggle my fingers at him in a bye-bye gesture. “Jailbait, Jack-Off. Jailbait.”

Chapter
9

When I get back to the living room, the movie is over. Shelby is doing that mom thing where she is oozing herself out of the chair with as little movement as possible so Hannah, asleep on her lap, won't wake up. Everyone is silently watching her awkward gymnastics in a way that makes me think she's threatened them with something horrible to keep them from making noise. Once she's got Hannah out of the room, the chatter starts up.

“Good movie, right?” Gustavo asks, clearly only caring what Kait thinks.

She smiles at him in her slutty way, but I decide it's okay. Gustavo has a lot of the Rules going for him, even #6, Must Be Able to Hold Down a Job for More Than Three Months, which is not officially a Rule. Stephanie is asleep in the sling Kait carries her around in. I hope that if Kait follows through on her slutty-smile promise, she will at least have the decency to leave Stephanie in the living room with me. I can't imagine the hang-ups a person might get from watching Mom do her boss from the crib.

“Pretty good,” Kait agrees with Gustavo. “I've seen it before, though. Or maybe it was another movie. Is there more than one?”

Gustavo looks pained. I guess as a movie-store manager, he's something of an expert in the field. All he says, though, is “Yes, three.”

“Maybe you can bring the others over tomorrow?” Kait suggests in a way that makes me think Gustavo has already gotten lucky. Eewww, a day out of the hospital and she's already back at it. Is that even physically possible?

“Kait, can you help me?” I hand her a popcorn bowl and nod toward the kitchen. Time for a sister-to-sister chat. As soon as we're alone, I ask, “So soon?”

“What?” She blinks at me in confusion, then comprehension dawns when I point my finger in a little you-and-him gesture. “You think I ... ? Do you have any idea how sore my nipples are? Come on, Abby, even you should know there's more than one way to satisfy a guy.”

Again, eewww. I shouldn't have even asked. But the protectiveness I feel toward Stephanie makes me push ahead. “Even using, um, alternate methods, do you really think that's something you should be doing around Steph?”

“She'll be asleep.” Kait stacks the bowl in the sink, then turns and leans against the edge. “Not that this is any of your business.”

“How do you know she'll sleep? What if she wakes up, right in the middle of you-know-what?” I pass her some plastic tumblers to add to the pile in the sink.

Kait shrugs and runs some water over the dishes. “The nurse practitioner told me preemies sleep a lot, and she's right. I actually have to wake her up every four hours for her feedings. Then she drops right back to sleep. Don't worry so much, Abby. Stephanie's an easy baby.”

“That's not how it was with Hannah,” I remind her. Hannah was a handful from day one.

“She had colic.” Shelby joins us in the kitchen, gets a spoon and the ice cream from the freezer, and helps herself to a few bites right out of the carton.

“I'm not saying I'm glad Stephanie was premature, but it's nice that she's so calm.” Kait gets her own spoon and digs out a scoop of cookies and cream. “Dr. Patty says that a serene and healthy mom raises a serene and healthy baby. So that's my focus right now. Serene and healthy. It's even more critical with preemies.”

Shelby grunts. “Right, premature. Kait, you're not fooling anyone.”

Kait freezes, ice cream halfway to her mouth. “What are you talking about?”

Raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow, Shelby says, “If you count backwards nine months from Stephanie's birthday, you end up at Jackson, not Steve.”

“No!” It's Kait that says the word, but I'm definitely thinking it. “I know she's Steve's.”

“Wanting her to be Steve's is very different from knowing.” Shelby licks the back of her spoon and tosses it in the sink. “I'm just saying, better come clean soon. Jackson would be a good dad for her.”

“You don't know everything!” Kait yells, and huffs out of the room, definitely not serene. I saw the tears in her eyes, and a weird knot forms in my stomach.

“Five pounds, eleven ounces is a perfectly normal birth weight for a full-term baby,” Shelby tells me. “I looked it up.”

I just shake my head at her and leave. It was easier when I thought Shelby was lying, but birth weight is a fact. That Jackson and Kait slept together and Stephanie was born nine months later is a fact. I really don't like how this is all adding up. Jackson, Stephanie's dad? It's so horrible, it just might be true.

Back in the living room, the boys have put on another movie, but it doesn't look like anyone's watching it. Kait is on the couch with Gustavo on the floor in front of her. He's holding Stephanie while Kait gives him a shoulder massage. By the glazed expression on his face and the intense concentration on hers, they certainly have no idea that Indiana Jones is once again in a peck of trouble.

“Brian?” I decide it must be awkward for him to watch my sister put the moves on her boss. Almost as awkward as it is for me to think about just what “other ways to satisfy a guy” means. “Do you want to see the eighth wonder of the world?”

“Right here in Cottonwood?” His eyes lift at the corners when he smiles.

“Mm-hmm, follow me next door.” I lead, collecting Cody, and we go out the front and over to Cody's house. I take a left through the family room and a right after the first bathroom.

“My room? That's the big deal?” Cody has not said anything to Brian yet tonight outside of a quick hey when Brian walked in. I guess you could call that good behavior, so he's not technically breaking his promise. He is careful to keep me between them.

I take three strides across the small room. Cody's bed is neatly made, as always, with the navy spread he picked out when he was twelve. His books from school are piled, largest to smallest, on his built-in desk next to his laptop, which is open but sleeping.

Cody tries to distract me by saying, “I've got a whole week of
Passion's Promise
on the DVR. Want to catch a few episodes?”

But it doesn't work. What are Friday afternoons for if not for catching up on all my soaps? “Already seen 'em,” I reply.

“And you didn't invite me over?” He tilts his head in that hurt way he has.

“You were pouting,” I remind him. Crossing the vaguely Navajo throw rug, I fling open the mirrored closet door. “Tada! Have you ever seen anything like it?”

If you watch a lot of reruns of
Swept Clean!
or
Organize Me!
like I do, then you have seen this before. Cody's closet is a marvel of order. Clothes are separated by type, arranged by color from darks to lights, and all hung on black hangers.

“Everything looks good on black,” Cody says defensively, like we are going to judge him for his mono-color hangers.

Even more impressive, at least to me, is the shoe organizer with every shoe clean and matched with its mate. Since I share my closet with Kait, and neither one of us is especially concerned with closet cleanliness, finding a matching pair of shoes is like a treasure hunt. Cody has organized and reorganized my closet, but it never lasts.

“Wow,” Brian says. “My mom would kill for a closet like that.” He kneels down and looks at the bottom row of pants. “Are they arranged by style, too?” Khakis to the left, jeans in the middle, dress pants to the right.

Cody nods, and I could kick him for not talking to Brian.

“Tell him when you did this,” I prompt.

For a second, it looks like Cody's not going to answer. Then he says, “Third grade.”

“Man,” Brian says. “But I guess my closet looks pretty much the same as it did back then, too. A total disaster.”

Another thing Brian and I have in common. “Me, too. Cody's helped me a bunch of times, but I guess I don't have the discipline it takes.” Or the anal retentiveness, or the cleaning lady who comes every other week to keep the rest of the room under control.

“Thanks for showing me,” Brian says. “I think I'm inspired to tame my own closet clutter.”

Cody flicks his gaze my way, like I should do something. But what? I know he won't like what I'm going to do next.

“Cody could help you!” I say it like this brilliant idea has just occurred to me. “Maybe this weekend? Cody and I could come over. It'd be just like one of those shows!”

“Like HGTV?” Brian's smile is really big and shows that one tooth is slightly crooked. This guy is so perfectly imperfect I could gag. “Awesome.”

“Great.” I seal the deal with a handshake. “Your designer, Cody, and his lovely assistant, me, will be glad to reorganize your closet. Hey, we could do before-and-after pictures!”

Brian gets into the idea. “I'll take the before pics tonight, and you guys can come over tomorrow. This will be perfect.” His smile is for Cody, but Cody is looking out the window. His eyes are big.

“What is it?” The view from Cody's room is of my driveway.

“Steve's home.”

I rush to the window and jerk the blinds up and out of my way. Sure enough, the Guitar Player is in the driveway already getting into it with Mom. There is a tall, model-thin woman next to him. She must be the Guitar Groupie he stayed with when Kait was in the hospital. They are standing in front of a new Ford Focus. My first thought is how did she bend all that leg into such a tiny car? My second thought is I better get home right now. Because Mom was willing to buy the “She's just a friend” line over the phone, but it looks like now that they've met in person, things are not all happy in Newlywed Land.