Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (13 page)

I see the lights of what looks like a cab pull
up in front of our house. I peek up from the lounge chair, not
seeing anything, but I hear the door of the cab slam. It pulls away
before I have a chance to inspect. I go back to reading the
assignment I was given, when I hear footsteps coming from the
wooden steps beside the girl’s house. There goes my peace and quiet
until all the drunks get home in a few hours. I sit up a bit,
adjusting my body and my laptop resting on my legs when I see it’s
Harlow. She doesn’t see me as she goes to unlock the sliding glass
door to her house.

“Where’s Elton Joel? He dump you to go to an
after party with Lady GaGa?” She jumps at the sound of my voice,
dropping her purse in the process. I hear the contents fall onto
the deck, her change spilling and bouncing on the wood, and I see
something roll towards me. I stop it with my foot. It’s a small
can, so I bend down and grab it from underneath my toes.

It’s mace.

“Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing out
here?” I look at her then back to the can.

She carries mace. I’m not surprised. She’s a
smart girl.

I set my laptop down on the lounge chair and get
up to give the can back to her.

“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are
you back so soon?”

She doesn’t answer. But she begins to pick up
the things that spilled from her purse from the deck floor and
stuffs it all back in.

“Um, hello? Can you answer me?”

“I wanted to come home, that’s all. My God, why
do you care anyway. You made me look like an ass in front of that
guy tonight.”

“Well, no actually, Elton Joel made himself look
like an ass tonight. Why aren’t you with him and before you even
answer that, why did you take a cab home by yourself?” She
struggles with the key to the glass door and appears
frustrated.

“Damn it, just get in there.” Harlow’s talking
to the door, twisting and turning the key in the lock, and she
yanks on the handle.

I grab the keys with my free hand and pass her
the can of mini mace. She looks at it, then her eyes raise up to
mine. I unlock the door, slide it open and usher my hand towards it
for her to go in. She does without looking at me, but I hear a
faint ‘thanks’ come from her.

She walks in and throws her purse and the can of
mace on the dining table. My question still hasn’t been answered as
to why she’s back without her friends. She goes to the fridge to
get out a bottle of water, with her back to me she opens it, tosses
the cap in the sink, and takes a long drink.

“You can go now.” She tells me in a cold tone.
It angers me because I did nothing wrong. I was trying to help her.
That guy was an asshole.

“You know I was only looking out for you. The
guy just wanted in your pants, and if I didn’t interrupt the two of
you, that’s where he would have gone. I know guys like him.” I want
to say ‘cause I am one, but I think she knows that already. Then
the thought comes to my brain, and I remember what Willow said
earlier.

Maybe she did want what he was going to give
her. Maybe he did the deed. Do I waste more time trying to defend
myself if it already happened?

Yes. Yes, I do.

“I’m trying here, Turnip, but you don’t seem to
care that I am.” I stand there, arms folded across my chest,
waiting for a God damn reply. “Well?” I say after about a minute of
complete and utter uncomfortable silence.

She turns, looking at me with an expression I
haven’t seen before. One of maybe agreement? A slight smirk on her
face, then it softens.

“Well, you were right.” She finally looks up at
me, a touch of sadness in her eyes as she does.

“About what part?” I ask.

She strolls over to the couch and plops down on
it, sighing.

“You are right. Albeit I hate that you are. He
tried on the dance floor, I told him to stop; he did. Then I
excused myself to go to the ladies room. When I came back out, he
grabbed my elbow, tried to lead me to the back hallway beyond the
restrooms, and stuck his hands in places I didn’t want them to be.”
She tells me this very matter-of-fact, not changing the level of
her voice. There’s no anger in her tone, just telling me like I’d
imagine she would if she were talking to the girls. I’m guessing
it’s the alcohol, but her speech isn’t slurred, and her eyes are
clear.

I’m mad at this situation, and I’m going to do
my best to keep my cool. I clench my teeth, and I shut my eyes
tightly.

“You mean to tell me he forced himself on you?
He tried, again, to do what he tried to do on the dance floor? Did
you use that can of mace on the mother fucker?”

Silence again. She looks every which way but at
me.

“Turnip, I asked you a question. I know I’m not
your best friend, but still, I got this big brother type vibe going
on with you I think, so I kind of want to know so I can either bash
his face in, or I can bash his face in.”

She smiles when I say that.

“I didn’t use the mace.”

I bunch up my face in confusion.

“Then what did you use?”

A devilish grin turns up on her face, she pulls
at her bottom lip with her teeth, and drinks from her water
bottle.

“Turnip?” I say with my voice raised an octave,
then a lower one. “What did you use?”

She finishes her sip, flashes me an unbelievable
smile, and says, “My knee.”

I laugh. I mean I really laugh because for as
tiny as she is, I’m not surprised by it. Not the least bit shocked
at her confession. When I laugh, she laughs, tears coming out of
her eyes. A good, old-fashioned belly laugh, and it’s really
adorable. The suit of armor she usually wears is off, and she’s
open with me, joking, laughing, being herself.

Maybe.

I make my way to the sofa and park myself next
to her. She twirls her hair, and I’ve noticed she does this when
she’s tired.

She turns towards me and sits crisscrossed on
the sofa.

“So what were you doing out on the deck, and by
the way, what are you doing home?”

She looks tired, but seems to be in the mood to
talk, so she’s asking, I don’t have a problem telling her. We are
still doing the baby step thing here.

“I was tired. Didn’t want to hang out anymore.”
I keep my answer simple, not wanting her to know she pissed me off
with Elton Joel earlier. She had a bad night, so why tell her
because I think it would have only caused us to argue about it,
whether I was right or not. But I was.

She doesn’t believe me. Her face tells me
so.

I snicker at her. “Seriously, I worked a lot
this week, plus I had some work to do.”

“Work?” She asks.

“Yes. I’m taking an online class to keep up with
the latest past and present case laws and any recent changes to
them.”

“Case laws?”

“Yes. It’s all kinds of legal shit for when I
have to be present at a hearing. It’s for future reference. When I
get a full-time position, I’ll be somewhat up to date on
things.”

She gets up and goes to the refrigerator, grabs
a new bottle of water for herself, well at least I think it was for
her until she makes her way back to the sofa and hands it to
me.

“Thanks.” The gesture was nice, so I take it
from her.

“So with this class, what else does it
entail?”

“You really want to know?” She nods. She really
wants to know.

“Well, I have to stay updated on probable cause,
reasonable suspicion and vehicle investigations.” She begins to
laugh.

“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”

She wrinkles up her nose and her freckles spread
out onto her cheeks when she does. She continues to twirl a strand
of her strawberry blonde hair.

“Nothing, except the tables are turned right
here and right now.”

I’m not understanding what she means. She rolls
her eyes and continues to speak.

“You and I. Tables turned, because I have no
idea what you just said. Big words, you used big words that I have
no idea their meaning. It’s usually the other way around.”

She means cop talk. Funny, isn’t it? She’s
right. Sometimes when we are all sitting around, talking, and she
uses a big one, I pretend I’m checking a text, but I use my smart
phone to Google the word she’s referring to.

“Sorry, it’s to keep updated on new laws. So
what about you? Have you heard anything else yet about any teaching
positions that opened up?”

She lets out a frustrated breath and eases back
on the sofa.

“Not yet. I just don’t want to go back and have
to get a job that I don’t want to do. I know that sounds bratty,
but I just want to teach. It’s my dream and all I’ve ever wanted to
do.”

When she tells me that, she gets a dreamy look
in her eyes. Like if a chick talks about a hot movie star, or a new
bag she wants, or some shit like that, not about teaching, but it’s
cool.

We are talking like old friends. She’s telling
me about how her brother is a junior in college, is also going to
be a teacher and how he’s coming to visit next weekend for a few
days. How her sister is still driving her crazy with her wedding
plans, and how her grandmother, the rich one, is paying for most of
it. She tells me she disapproves of her and her brother’s career
choices that she wished they had gone into law and worked within
the family firm. Her dad never wanted to be a lawyer, but was sort
of forced into it. He made a good living from it, but does very
adventurous things with his spare time. Sky diving, zip lines. He
climbed Everest once, and almost died. He’s very into his family.
He taught his kids the value of a dollar, never spoiling them, but
taking them on extravagant trips to Europe. And a few years ago
they went to Australia, so they could explore a new continent, and
a new culture. She tells me how he wanted his children to stay
grounded, grow up with privileges, but with the values of Harlow’s
mom, who came from nothing.

Harlow’s been everywhere. I’ve been places, but
the places I’ve been to ended in death and destruction. Never for
pleasure, or relaxation.

The five of them, plus her sister’s fiancé,
always volunteer at a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving, donating
and cooking all the food. Her grandmother hates it, but it’s
something they look forward to every year.

I’ve never heard of a rich family doing
something like that. When she talks about her parents, she lights
up. They are the sun and the moon to her. She’s extremely close
with her brother, has little in common with her sister, but they
get along well.

“So tell me about your family? I’m going on and
on about mine, and I feel bad I haven’t even asked you about
yours.”

“Well not much to tell. Mom’s great. She’s a
homemaker. She’s beautiful, kind, loving. We are close, and dad,
well he’s a real jokester.”

These are lies.

All lies.

I tell them because she’ll never find out the
truth anyway, so to keep the conversation light, I lie.

“Yea, my dad loves having a catch in the yard
with my brother and me. He works really hard. He’s a VP at a
printing company, has been for thirty years. I’m going to be an
uncle in a few months. I’m not into kids, but I’m happy for my
brother and his wife, Bella.”

Her face lights up when I tell her about being
an uncle, then it turns into something else for a moment. Girls get
that look in their eyes when you say baby, but the light that was
just there, went out.

“That’s um… that’s great for them. This will be
their first?”

“Yes. My brother told me they tried for a few
years without success.”

She gets up from the couch abruptly and goes to
the cabinet which stores DVDs and games. She rifles through it
while speaking to me.

“Well, some people aren’t as lucky as the ones
who don’t even plan on pregnancies. It’s a shame, really. It comes
so easy for some. I’m glad they are getting their little
miracle.”

Her voice is distant. It seems to not even be
her speaking. Like another person said those words. Sometimes I
don’t get this chick.

“Bella is great. When we were younger I had a
crush on her, but my brother snagged her from me.”

She looks at me, like she’s heard this somewhere
before.

“I remember.”

Did I tell her that? I can’t remember.

“You do?” She comes to sit by me again and holds
a DVD in her hand.

“I do. That night last summer when we um, when
we…”

“Did it?” I say with a grin. She smacks my
arm.

“Yea, whatever. I told you, you were, a um,
a…”

I know what she wants to say, I’ll finish it for
her.

“Good kisser.”

I’m aggravating her.

Score and I’ve earned a blush from her.

“Yes, yes, yes. Ok. Fine. A good kisser, and you
said you practiced on a girl who is now your sister in law.”

She remembered that? But she was drunk. Totally
wasted. At least she seemed to be.

“How did you remember that? It was so long ago,
but I did tell you, now that you mention it.”

She doesn’t want to say, which is fine. She
looks uncomfortable, so I won’t press the issue. She changes the
subject quickly.

“Um, I’m not really tired, and I was going to
watch a movie. You want to watch it with me?”

She wants me to hang around? I think she may be
bipolar. One minute she’s kicking me in the balls, the next minute,
she wants to know my life story. I’m not really tired anymore
either, so what the hell, I’ll just keep working on being a grown
up.

“Sure. What do you have there to watch?”

She holds the DVD close to her chest, closes her
eyes, and lets out a breath, a dramatic one.

“My favorite, A Song In My Heart. I knew Mrs.
Taylor, Willow’s mom still had to have it here. I turned her on to
it.”

“Sounds like a chick movie to me. I want blood
and guts. Can’t you find Rambo or something like that in there?” I
point over to the cabinet.