Hidden Deep (5 page)

Shay Cook was also a junior, with shiny dark curls and perfect skin. She’d won the Squash Blossom pageant the previous weekend. To make it even worse, she was a total brain and so sweet you couldn’t hate her for being pretty and smart. We caught up with her near the snack bar.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t make it to the pageant. We were buried in moving boxes, and my mom was freaking out. Congratulations,” I said.

“Thanks.” She made the whoop-tee-doo signal with her hand. “Whichever contestant looks the most like a gourd wins.” She performed a little curtsy.

“No, she was totally the best one.” Emmy gave Shay’s shoulder a playful poke.

“What was your onstage question? How to achieve world peace?” I teased.

Shay laughed. “No. They asked where I would take a tourist visiting Deep River if I wanted to impress them.”

We all giggled at the thought of anyone being impressed by anything in Deep River. “I thought for sure she was gonna say the Sonic.” Emmy laughed at her own joke.

“Right. No, I b-s’d something about the railroad museum and the historic library building. I don’t remember exactly what I said—I was pretty nervous.”

“You
should
have said you’d bring them here to check out the cute guys in their baseball uniforms.” Emmy shot a dreamy glance over at the dugout where Jake now sat with his teammates.

“Yeah, or take them to drool over Nox, shirtless at the pool club,” I added.

Just then, Emmy looked past me, high over my shoulder. “Hey Nox. What’s up?”

I whipped my head around and stared right at the faded lightning symbol between the AC and DC on an ancient black t-shirt. I had to tilt my head back to see the face of its owner. This was the nearest I’d ever been to him. He was even better-looking at close range. Not goldenly perfect like Lad—Nox’s hotness was messy around the edges—but everything about him made your eyes
very
happy.

He was a senior who looked old enough to be in college. Probably one of those guys who started shaving at thirteen out of actual necessity instead of wishful thinking. I’d never been close enough before to see his eye color, but they were a beautiful hazel, the light irises encircled by an outer ring of deeper color. He flashed me a wicked smile.

Oh God
.
How much did he overhear?

He addressed Emmy, but nodded in my direction. “So, what’s up tonight with Emmy and the Amazon?”

So much for the pretty face. At five-foot-ten, I’d heard every tall joke in the book, “Amazon” the least funny of them all. He could’ve been a little more original. Besides, we’d never actually spoken before—it was awfully familiar of him to tease me when we didn’t even know each other.

My irritation must’ve shown because he laughed and winked one of those mysterious greenish-brown eyes at me. I felt the blood rush to my face. He
was
actually looking down at me, though. That didn’t happen every day. I guessed he was about six-foot-four. So
not
my type. I usually preferred shorter guys who were a little more… manageable.

“Nox, you know Ryann, right? And this is Shay Cook. I’m not sure if you’ve met,” Emmy said.

Nox didn’t even glance over at Shay or acknowledge he’d heard her name. Instead he continued staring at me like a starving cat perusing a tank of overfed goldfish. It was completely unnerving.

“Do you have plans tomorrow night?” Nox asked, his tone soft and low.

“What?” My voice sounded as confused as my face must have looked.

Nox seemed completely comfortable standing there, silent and studying me with those remarkable eyes. I, however, was anything but comfortable.

“I… we, uh… I think we might be busy.” I looked over at Emmy and Shay for help, for all the good it did me. They offered nothing but silly grins.

He puffed out a laugh and started to respond when a baseball came out of nowhere and hit him solidly in the thigh. It fell at his feet with a thud. We all looked around to see where it had come from. Two little boys, around four or five years old, stood a few yards away staring wide-eyed at Nox. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened.

Nox bent to pick up the baseball and walked over to the look-alike boys, who were still motionless, their small hands straight down by their sides. I felt bad for them. His size intimidated
me
—to them, he must have looked like Goliath.

He crouched right in front of them, getting down to their eye level, and held out the ball. “Who threw this?”

Neither boy opened his mouth. The smaller one looked like he might cry. I could almost feel their terror. Thinking I should intervene, I started in their direction but stopped in surprise when Nox cracked a smile.

“Well,
somebody’s
got a pretty good arm. Wow. That was quite a throw.” He rubbed his thigh with one hand.

Now both boys enthusiastically spoke up. “I did!” said the shorter one.

“I think it was me,” argued the other.

“You’re brothers, right? Hmm… I wonder who’s stronger?”

“Me!” The older boy said. He raised his skinny arm in a body-builder pump to show-off a non-existent bicep. The younger one copied him, eager to impress Nox as well.

“You both look pretty strong to me. Keep working on that fastball. Here you go—catch.” He tossed the baseball gently to the smaller brother, and the little guys ran off together, obviously thrilled.

Okay, so he wasn’t a jerk
every
minute of the day. Nox sauntered back over to our group, amusement still lifting his face. When he turned to me, the cocky grin reappeared.

“You should come check out my band.” He pulled a rumpled flyer out of his back pocket, addressing all of us, but putting it in my hand and giving me the same intense stare from earlier. “We’re playing in Oxford this weekend. Come. Really, I’d love to see you there. I’ve gotta go. Shay, Emmy, nice to see you. Ryann…”

Nox’s gaze lingered on me then he gave us all a smile premeditated to dazzle before he turned and walked off. The three of us watched him stroll away.

“Wow-ow-ow,” Shay said when he was out of hearing range, “What is the speed limit to Oxford so I can break it tomorrow night?”

“Did you see the way he was looking at you, Ryann? I think he’s into you.” Emmy said.

“He’s never even talked to me before, and he invited all of us,” I argued.

“Technically. But I bet he couldn’t pick me and Shay out of a lineup. Sorry, girlfriend.”

Shay shrugged. “It’s okay. I could enjoy that one even vicariously. And anyway, our Saturday night just started looking a whole lot better. We’re going, aren’t we, y’all?”

“Will your mom let you go to Oxford?” Emmy asked me.

“I think so. It’s only thirty minutes away, but I don’t know if we should—”

“Good. ’Cause it’s our last weekend as Juniors, and it has to rock!” Emmy threw a fist up in the air and punctuated her proclamation with a whoop.

“Sure, okay,” I agreed, wondering what I was getting myself into as we left the park.

At home, I found Mom curled up on the couch with Grandma’s dog Frisky, mesmerized by an entertainment news show. She didn’t move as I entered the room.

“Mom?”

She finally turned to me, her eyes unfocused. She looked almost dazed—exhausted from a full day, no doubt. “Hey, how’d it go, babe?”

I sat down beside her, reaching over to give the elderly dachshund a gentle tummy rub. “Not bad. We watched a pretty good game. How was your interview at Channings?”

“Surprisingly painless. I
somehow
managed to convince them I’m employable.”

“You got the job? That’s great. When do you start?”

“Monday. I think I’m really going to like it.”

“Really? So, you really wouldn’t be creeped out working at a funeral home?”

She laughed. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Ryann, I won’t be handling bodies—I’ll be the receptionist and help the families with funeral planning, listen if they want to talk, host evening visitations, that kind of thing. I think I’ll actually be pretty good at it.”

I didn’t doubt it. My mother had always been a people-magnet. She was a good listener and always ready to cry with anyone who needed accompaniment.

“Anyway, I need a paycheck,” she continued, “and the classifieds section of the Deep River Herald isn’t exactly expansive. I’m lucky to get any kind of job that doesn’t involve scrubbing toilets or working a deep fryer.”

“Now
I
need to find something,” I said. Problem was, the only thing scarcer in Deep River than a full-time job opening was a part-time job opening.

“You will. We’re going to be just fine, both of us.” Mom patted my hand. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me. “Of course things will still be tight—my salary isn’t exactly huge. And the lawyer told me today I’m definitely on the hook for your dad’s delinquent taxes, even though we’re divorcing. I’m sure they’ll garnish my wages.”

I sank deeper into the couch, drawing my knees up and wrapping my arms around my bare legs, which were getting cold in the air-conditioning.

“But you weren’t even working the whole time y’all were married.”

“I know, honey, but we filed jointly, and that means I’m as much responsible for paying the IRS as Daddy is.”

“Well, that sucks. Why doesn’t he pay?”

“Don’t say ‘sucks.’ It sounds rude. Daddy claims he has no savings, and now he has no income. They already took the house in town, but it didn’t cover the whole debt. So, legally, I’m the next stop. Basically, the IRS doesn’t care who pays them, as long as somebody does.”

“How much is it?” I threw the question out there casually, as if she’d actually share that detail with me.

Mom looked up at me and hesitated then dropped her gaze to the sleepy dog in her lap, stroking the top of his tiny skull. “Don’t worry about it, Ryann. It’s not your problem. I’ll figure it out.” She was using her ultra-calm voice. The one she only used when things were seriously bad.

That must be some big number.
“Well, when I find a job—”

“No. Absolutely not. When you find a job, you’ll save your money for a car. I know you want one. This is not something you can fix, so don’t try.” She leaned over, wrapped her arm around me, and spoke into my hair. “Thanks, though, babe. You’re a great kid, you know that?”

I flushed at her praise, but worry still plagued me. Drawing back to see her face, I asked, “Are we going to lose this house, too? And the land? Grandma told me she put it in your name years ago.”

Mom’s lips thinned as she pressed them together. She was obviously not pleased with her mother for letting that bit of info slip. “I won’t let that happen. The lawyer says there’s one more thing he can try legally. It’s called an ‘innocent spouse’ petition. It says while we were married I was not the income earner and was not aware your father didn’t pay taxes when he was supposed to. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”

“And what if
that
doesn’t work?”

“If it doesn’t work… we’ll find some other way to hang onto the house. Actually…” She stopped right there.

“Actually?”

“Well, there
is
a possibility I could raise a great deal of money very quickly to pay off the debt,” she said, letting her gaze drift back to the television.

“How?” I couldn’t begin to imagine. Was there some precious family heirloom we could sell on eBay?

She gave a quick head shake. “I’ll let you know when and if it becomes necessary.” Her tone made it clear the subject was closed for now. She pried her eyes from the screen to shoot me a sideways glance. “Your father left another message for you on the machine tonight. Apparently he’s in
Miami
now.”

I shrugged. “I know. He left one on my cell earlier, too.”

That got her attention. She twisted back to face me. “Oh, did you already call him back?”

“No.”

“Well, are you going to?”

“No.”

Mom turned her head in an effort to conceal the smile creeping across her face. Some kids I knew from divorced families said their parents sheltered them from the whole thing, trying not to say anything bad about the other parent. Not my mom. She was old school—if I wanted to hate my father that was more than fine with her.

For an allegedly brilliant professor, Michael Carroll seemed to be sticking pretty close to the midlife crisis 101 textbook. Affair? Check. Experimental facial hair? Check. And now he was apparently a beach bum, too. Super. I didn’t know what could have caused him to go off the deep end like this, but there was no excuse good enough in my book.

“Well, I hope he’s calling to say he’s done with his little ‘sabbatical’ from Ole Miss while he finds out if he still has a ‘passion’ for teaching,” Mom said. “He needs to have more
passion
for sending the child support checks.
And
paying the IRS. Never need a man, Ryann. Don’t make the same mistakes I made. You finish college, have your career, and then if you want a man in your life, let him be—”

“I know, I know. Icing on the cake.” I sourly finished the prescription I knew so well. Thinking about my dad made me grumpy. And her never-ending warnings about love and dating made me even grumpier.

I turned away from the wounded expression on her face to the beautiful TV show hosts making happy talk with each other and gushing over some actress’s new haircut. Why was everyone so into these crappy celebrity stalk-fests? Even my mom. It just didn’t fascinate me like everyone else I knew.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Mom got up and left the room. Great.

Clicking off the TV remote, I headed for my own room. On the way, I peeked in on her and heard muffled sobs rising from the bed. I almost eased the door shut again and kept going.

Instead I climbed in next to Mom and stroked the back of her hair until she quieted down. We didn’t talk. I still didn’t know what to say to fix it all. I guess you get what you pay for when your divorce therapist is a sixteen year old who’s never even had a real boyfriend.