Living Violet (3 page)
“Well, your daughter's a bad influence,” I said in defense.
He gave me a hard look. “And you're not?” Not waiting for my answer, Mr. Holloway revved the engine. “You guys be safe going homeâlots of weirdos out there.”
“Will do.” I drifted up the lot with Nadine at my side. I dangled the keys on my finger, all the while trying to sneak a peek at the action without appearing too obvious. The emergency team eased a body out of the driver's side. I recognized the slim build and long red hair right away. That was the same woman Caleb performed the poor man's CPR on earlier today. From the look of her unconscious state, she needed a professional.
Linda moved to the scene and talked to one of the officers by his car. A few head nods and shakes followed, but relayed no solid info to go on.
“She looks awful young to have a heart attack,” I told Nadine.
“You can have attack at any age. It depends on person,” she returned, riveted at the sight before her.
Nadine held an affinity for all things macabre, so something like this was right up her alley. But behind her normal blank-slate expression laid a note of contained anger. “Did you recognize the girl?” she asked.
I had no idea why I said no. Maybe I wasn't up for a police interview in the middle of the night. Maybe it was just a freaky coincidence. I just knew I needed to get home.
“See you tomorrow.” I chucked my bag in the passenger seat.
Nadine waved and inched to her car two lanes down, struggling to break from the draw of tragedy.
As I turned to get in, that feeling returned, that electric zing on the back of my neck. Swallowing hard, I spun around and jumped.
Caleb stood behind me, staring, as if waiting for me to hand over the doughnut I inhaled earlier. I returned the look, slowly backing away until my body wedged between him and the car door. His hand reached for my face. A scream was about to break from my throat before he brushed the side of my lips with his thumb.
“You've got something there.” He pulled back his hand and examined the smudge of powdered sugar on his finger. “See ya tomorrow.” He strolled up the lot to his Jeep, unfazed by the flashing lights and his chick getting wheeled off by paramedics.
That's no way to treat a make-out partner, no matter how bad they kissed. If he owned any decency, he would at least follow the ambulance to the hospital. Just watching his proud swagger made my stomach roil.
For the eighteen months I'd been on this job, at least twelve girls had hung on his arm, and there were no signs of stopping. Mr. Too-Cool-for-School was a man-whore of the highest order.
I couldn't think about it anymore. I was already late, and I didn't want to be the last one in the parking lot. Evidently, this wasn't a safe place for a girl to be alone.
3
I
t was a good thing I lived five minutes from work. I was dead tired.
t was a good thing I lived five minutes from work. I was dead tired.
Warm air rushed through the window, carrying the whiff of yeast that drifted for miles. Commuters on I-64 labeled the smell as one of the many Williamsburg staples.
Most areas of Williamsburg were historical sites. Every child within the state was forced on a field trip here and shown how tobacco was made. It's a quiet city that reeked of beer from the local brewery and the smell of mildew from the old money that circulated through the area. It was wall-to-wall old people, the new Florida, with dozens of golf courses and country clubs. It became tradition to those who grew up here to only return when they needed somewhere quiet to die.
I lived in a pretty decent middle-class neighborhood, just off the main strip of James City County. No one could ever call us wealthy though, that's for sure. Our home was a two-story colonial-style house with a wraparound porch, though it had seen some better days. The white paint curled and chipped, but the tall pines bordering the yard fought to hide that fact from our neighbors. An unexpected bee infestation had slaughtered our bed of gardenias, yellow button poms, and daisies.
Gravel crunched and popped under my tires as I pulled up to my house and met a silver Lexus parked by the curb.
Whimpering, I turned off the car and gathered my stuff. I avoided this situation for a reason, and some people just didn't know when to take a hint. Mom had left the porch light on for me. As always, she worried about her baby.
Entering the house, the smell of sautéed onions and garlic hit me immediately. The aroma dragged me to the kitchen, kicking and screaming. Mom stood over the kitchen island, chopping mushrooms on the cutting board, while Dad sat on the bar stool peeling potatoes.
This was an odd pairing if I ever saw one, but my folks were anything but normal. Unlike most estranged parents, mine actually got along. They rarely argued, and if they did, it was about something stupid on my end. With that said, I couldn't shake off the feeling that this was a setup.
Mom's yellow sundress cast a glow to her fair, lightly freckled skin and revealed more than a peek of cleavage. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun with brown tendrils framing her face.
Though she had put on a little weight over the years, Julie Marshall was a nice-looking woman. True, I got my curly hair, flat butt, and ultra-sensitive skin from her, along with the Wolf-Man eyebrows that required waxing every week. But not even that could detract from her round, honest face and the best legs this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. All the same, if I had a kid at sixteen, I would probably look like a MILF at her age too.
Dad was dressed casual tonight, a far cry from the corporate takeover suits he usually wore. His white button-down shirt made a bold contrast to his dark chocolate skin. The overhead light bounced off his shaved head.
They worked in silent harmony, oblivious to my presence, even as I dropped my bag on the kitchen table. Against its original purpose, the table overflowed with coupons and unopened mail. Mom's laptop, the only thing the woman had ever splurged on, chimed away, letting her know more unread mail waited in cyberspace.
“You can't speak now?” Dad's deep baritone stopped me in my tracks.
“Hi, Daddy.” I bent to kiss his cheek.
“You're home late, honey,” Mom said while cutting green peppers.
“Monthly book meeting. Sorry.”
Rubbing my back, Dad asked, “Is there something wrong with your cell phone, baby girl? I've tried calling you all day, and all I got was your voice mail.”
“I was at work,” I explained quickly. “I can't have my phone on at work.”
“Uh-huh. I figured as much, so I decided to pay you a little visit.” He set down a peeled potato and reached for another. “So your mother told me you agreed to our arrangement with your car.”
“Yep.” The thought brought a smile to my face.
My current car had served its purpose, but it was time to put it down. It was a 1998 Honda Civic with chipped white paint and a busted air-conditioning unit. My phobia of public transportation was the only thing that kept me from chucking it off a cliff.
Dad frowned in thought. “I'm glad to hear that, but she didn't say anything about you watching Kyle and Kenya.”
My smile dropped. “Who watch what?”
“You heard me.” He seemed amused that he had just ruined my victory party.
“Samara.” Mom sighed, knowing this song and dance all too well. “You're their big sister. You need to show them some support.”
Oh yeah, this was definitely a shakedown. I stole a glimpse at my traitorous mother before saying, “Well, now I gotta pick up more hours at work to save up for the car. I don't think I can take the time to watch the twins.”
Dad nodded. “You know it's your stepmother's and my anniversary next weekend, and it would mean so much to us if you could take the time out of your busy schedule to help us out.”
“Why can't Nana watch them?”
“Nana's in Atlanta until next Tuesday. Plus the doctor told her to take it easy after her hip surgery. She couldn't keep up with a pair of six-year-olds.”
“Well, Dad, sorry about your luck. Have you broken the news to Rhonda?”
Dad dropped the peeler and locked eyes on me. For anyone else, that look would involve imminent death, but I was lucky to get away with a sound reprimand. Though the spankings had stopped years ago, the look in his dark eyes told me the legendary belt was about to make a comeback.
Instead, he spoke in the calmest voice. “Samara, it would mean a great deal to me if you did this favor. I haven't gotten a weekend off in months, and the reservations I made are nonrefundable.”
I must have gotten that stubborn streak from him, because I managed to stand my ground.
“If you don't help me,” he continued, “I may have to retract my end of the deal involving your car.”
The statement hung in the air on a dangerous note.
My body went rigid. “What? You can't do that!”
“I'm an adult, and unlike you, I can do whatever I want with my money.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. I wanted to slap him across his big bald head. I had to play it cool, but how could I when injustice was purely on my side? It was no secret that I didn't like Rhonda and her minions, and my reasons were justified. He knew I would do anything for him but that. I loved my dad, but nothing would stand between me and new wheels.
Clearing my throat, I whipped out the SAT vocabulary and my best diplomatic voice. “Father, you of all people should know how injudicious it is to renege on a verbal contract.”
“Verbal contracts rarely hold up in court,” he disputed.
“Not unless there was a witness to the concurrence.” I shot a look to Mom. “Mom is a participant and standing witness to the pact. This new clause was not present during the concord and therefore is not germane to the original contract. In addition, your retraction will result in the infringement with the agreeing parties, signifying that a man's word means nothing, in turn, placing your personal ethics into question.”
Now I stood, waiting for the backhand of justice to strike me dead. But nothing came.
Mom stopped stirring and looked over her shoulder. The sizzling vegetables in the pan replaced the quiet.
After a two-minute stare-down, Dad spoke. “Quite the litigator you are.”
“I learned from the best.”
Slowly, a brilliant smile melted his hard features. “All right, what do you want then?”
I paused. “What?”
“What do you want? Like I said, I can't get a refund on my reservation, so I need you to watch the twins. Since I can't extort you, I'll use old-fashioned bribery.” His smile widened.
I couldn't believe this. He had granted a carte blanche to anything I wanted. I quickly grew drunk with power. Usually, my mind teemed with mischievous deeds, plots of world domination and the overthrow of Hollywood, but nothing came to mind.
Mom finally spoke. “Might I make a suggestion? Since you can't omit the prior contract, then add to it. If she watches the twins, you will ensure that she'll have enough to afford her car, no matter how short she is on her end. You will not only match what she has, you'll pay the difference.”
Dad rubbed his chin in thought. “So basically, I'm paying for the car.”
“No. What purpose would that serve? She'll put a nice chunk of her own money in it.”
My shoulders sagged.
Her blue eyes narrowed at me. “Don't give me that look. I've watched those Sweet Sixteen shows with those brats getting Ferraris and yachts for their birthdays, and talking back to their parents who pay for the whole thing. Life doesn't work that way, and it's better that you learn that now than later. Your father and I believe in hard work, and if you want something, then you earn it. Education is more important than whose name you've got on the back of your jeans. Heaven knows I don't want you ending up like Mia.”
For as long as Mia and I had been friends, Mom had always held a modicum of patience for Mia's flashy lifestyle. Though Mom had once lived in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Williamsburg, her early take on motherhood popped that bubble indefinitely. From then on, Mom was a straight coupon and blue-light-special woman.
“Mom,” I whined.
“I'm serious. Little Miss Trust Fund is giving you the wrong idea about wealth. I see her with her designer shoes and purses that could pay our mortgage for six months. I don't want you to be like that, Samara.”
“I'm not.”
“Then you won't dispute the arrangement your father and I set for you. Whatever you earn at work, we'll match it, and you'll have your car by the fall.”
I stood quiet for a moment, whipping out the mental calculator. Two thousand dollars already in savings, plus two months' worth of slave wage. I still didn't have enough to reach my quota.
I knew the suggestion was dead in the water, but I had to try. “What about my college fund? I could use some of that.”
“Over my cold, dead body! You don't touch that account until you're eighteen. You're going to college even if you have to walk there.” Dad didn't even bother to make eye contact, which rendered the subject closed.
“I'll ask Linda if I can pull a few double shifts at work.”
“Don't hurt yourself, baby,” Mom warned. “You still need time to be a kid. Time will pass quicker than you think.”
I moved around the kitchen island, took my mother's hand, and placed it over my heart. Putting my sophomore drama club acting to work, I declared, “All things must end. 'Tis a heavy challenge you proffer me, but I accept, my lady.”
Mom chuckled.
Dad cut his eyes at both of us, not amused by this transaction at all. “There's no way to get out of this, is there?”
“Nope. Do you accept the terms?” I extended my hand, waiting for the verdict to fall from his lips.
After what felt like days, he shook my hand and almost broke all of my fingers. My heart jumped, and as soon as my stomach stopped doing cartwheels, I was going to call Mia and rub it in her face. Yes, victory would be mine!
“At least it's for a good cause. This trip means a lot to Rhonda.” He stared off with a secretive smile, anticipating the alone time with his significant other. Only God could understand why.
“Where are y'all going anyway?” I asked.
“D.C. I have us booked at the Capital Hotel. We have a whole tour planned out, with dinner and dancingâthe whole nine yards.”
“Sounds nice,” I said as an explosion of clattering dishes came from the sink.
Dad and I looked to Mom, who leaned over the counter. Every muscle in her body looked tight. After a deep breath, she excused herself from the room, her arms glued to her sides, her fingers balled into fists.
Dad watched Mom vanish around the corner before he turned to me. “What's with her?”
“She's going through a thing right now.” I turned off the stove, then removed the food.
Eyeing me carefully, he leaned closer. “Talk to me.”
“Well, you really expect her to be happy about you traipsing off with that woman?”
He scowled. “You mean my wife?”
“Semantics. You were practically flaunting your relationship in front of her.”
Dad shook his head. “I didn't mean to.”
“I know, but she's still a little sensitive about it. She's almost thirty-four and unmarried. She only dresses up when you're here. Did you know that she's been looking up dating services online lately?”
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