Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (26 page)

"Chloe," she said. "This is Loretta. I know
you're there. But fine, if you've got nothing better to do than
disrespect my time, I guess I'll just relay everything in a
message."

She sighed loudly into the phone. "One –
you're bringing salad and dessert. Don't forget. Two – try to be on
time, will you? It's not fair to the rest of us when you keep us
waiting. Three – you mentioned bringing a guest, but I haven't
heard a single word since then, so I'm assuming you're coming
alone. Four – for God's sake, don't dress like a slob, alright? I
want a nice Thanksgiving dinner for once, and I won't have you
ruining it by not taking it seriously. And don't bother calling me
back. I'm busy too, you know."

When the message ended, I tossed the phone
onto the sofa. Chucky, stretched out on the easy chair, lifted his
head and gave me a baleful look.

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

Call me anytime. Day, night, middle of the
night. I don't care. Just call me, okay?

Sitting in my car, I replayed Lawton's words.
I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. Only three minutes
had passed since the last time I'd checked.

It was three minutes too long.

Remembering Loretta's warnings, I wore a
semi-formal green dress with long sleeves and a scooped neckline.
No jeans today, not if I knew what was good for me.

My Thanksgiving salad sat in the passenger's
seat, wedged in a cardboard box to keep it from tipping. A
prepackaged cheesecake sat on the passenger's side floor, with an
apple cobbler balanced on top of it.

One salad, two desserts, and twenty minutes
to get there. I glanced again at my phone. Another minute gone. If
I wasn't on the road in like two seconds, I'd be late.

It shouldn't be a big deal. But I knew all
too well that it was. With Loretta, everything was a big deal.

I turned the ignition key yet again, praying
for some sort of miracle. Why, I had no idea. In at least a dozen
attempts, the car hadn't given any sign of starting.

All it gave was an empty clicking sound that
told me that unless I was planning to dine in the Parkers'
driveway, my odds of a Thanksgiving dinner weren't looking too
good.

If it weren't for Josh, I wouldn’t care.
Going to my Dad's house – correction, Loretta's house, where my Dad
lived – was never my idea of a good time.

But I
had
to go. It was stupid,
really. Loretta didn't truly want me there. Even my Dad was
indifferent at best. Still, there'd be hell to pay if I cancelled
or worse, didn't show at all. And the person paying would be
Josh.

I ran through my options. Call Erika? No, she
was off skiing. Call a tow truck? What for? Even if they got here
in time, and were able to start the car, there'd be no guarantee it
wouldn't stall along the way. Besides, I couldn’t afford a tow
truck, especially at holiday rates.

I tried the ignition another time. "C'mon," I
said. "Just start, okay? Please?"

It didn't.

Again, I thought of Lawton's words.

I couldn't do it. I couldn’t call him.

Instead, I picked up my cell phone and dialed
a number that was only slightly less scary. Thankfully, it was my
dad, and not Loretta, who answered the phone.

"Hey Dad," I said, "I ran into a little
problem, and I'm hoping you can do me a favor?"

Long pause. "What kind of favor?"

"Nothing big," I said. "It's just that my car
won't start."

Silence.

I cleared my throat. "But I'd really like to
make it out there."

More silence.

"So," I continued in a rush, "do you think
you might be able, if it's not too much trouble, come and pick me
up?"

Long pause. "Now?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, actually the sooner the
better." I tried to sound chipper. "I'm all ready, and I've got the
salad and desserts. It's just that –"

"Hang on," he said.

In the background, I heard muffled voices. I
could almost see him, covering the phone like he used to when my
parents were still married, and another bill collector had tracked
them down at our latest rental.

It was nice to know I rated in the same
category as collection agencies.

A moment later, I heard jostling on the other
end, followed by Loretta's clipped voice. "I should've known you'd
pull something like this."

Oh God. Why had he put
her
on?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
"Like what?"

"Don’t sigh at me," she said. "You know
exactly what I'm talking about."

"What?" I asked.

"You
still
can't stomach the thought
of sharing your Daddy, can you?"

Daddy? I hadn't called him that since – well,
never, at least not that I remembered. "No," I said. "It's nothing
like that. It's just that my car won't start, and –"

"And what?" she said. "You want to pull him
away? You want him all to yourself? Is that it?"

"No," I stammered. "Of course not."

"Well, I'm not falling for it."

"Honest," I said, hearing a hitch in my voice
that made me feel about five years old. "I wouldn’t be calling if I
had any other choice."

"Chloe," she said, in that overly patient
tone of hers. "In life, there are
always
choices."

What the hell did that mean? If I chose to
shove a turkey up her ass sideways, was that a choice? Even in the
relatively cool car, my face was burning. From rage or
embarrassment, I didn't know. Desperately, I searched for a
solution that wouldn't send Loretta over the edge.

Obviously, my dad wouldn't be coming, and I
knew better than to ask Loretta. Other than Josh, who was way too
young to drive, this only left one person – Lauren, Loretta's
natural daughter.

Lauren was about my age. We'd never been
friends, but we weren't exactly enemies either. I'd once given her
a ride to the airport. That had to count for something, right?

"Is Lauren there?" I said.

"Are you forgetting? She goes by Lauren Jane
now."

"I'm sorry. But maybe she could come get
me?"

"Oh, so now you want to pull
her
away
too? Well let me tell you something. I'm not sending my daughter
out on a day like this."

"A day like what?" I looked around. The air
was cool, but the sky was sunny. "It's the warmest Thanksgiving I
can remember."

"Thank you, Chloe, for that weather
report."

I choked down the bile and tried one more
time. My voice sounded very small as I said, "Can't anyone come and
get me?"

"The only person left is
me
," she
said. "And I've been cooking since the crack of dawn. So now you
want me to run a taxi service too?" She made a sound of disgust. "I
told your Dad you'd try something like this." She sighed into the
phone. "What have I ever done to deserve this?"

I held the phone away from my ear as if the
physical distance could keep the poison of her words from invading
my skull. I didn't know what to say. I should've called a cab. No
amount of money was worth this.

Like I could afford a cab on Thanksgiving,
assuming they were even running.

"Here," Loretta said to someone on her end.
"
You
talk to her. I shouldn’t have to deal with this."

A moment later, I heard Josh's hesitant
voice. "Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still coming, aren't you?"

"Sure," I said. "Definitely." I closed my
eyes. "It's just my car isn't exactly cooperating."

He lowered his voice so low, I could barely
hear him. "You mean it?"

"Yeah. Of course."

In the background, I heard Loretta's voice
off somewhere in the distance. I couldn't make out the words, but
her tone was all too familiar.

"How mad is she?" I asked. "Scale of one to
ten."

"A hundred," Josh said without any trace of
humor.

I should've known. My call had only made it
worse. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Don't worry. I'll be there," I told
him. And I
would
be, even if I had to walk there, food and
all.

"I'm supposed to tell you," he said in a
shaky voice, "that if you can't make it here by noon to not
bother."

"She's kidding, right?"

"I don't think so."

"Shit," I muttered.

His voice was quiet. "Yeah."

Don't worry, I'll be there." I swallowed.
"But I've gotta go. Alright?"

"That's good. Because remember the thing with
Mom? You know, tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I remember. Don't worry. I'll be there
too." I tried to sound cheerful. "Just like we talked about,
okay?"

"Actually," he said, "she called a couple
minutes ago. She's got this other thing she forgot about, so you
don't need to worry about tomorrow. I just thought you'd want to
know."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I'm sure she really
wanted to see us."

"Yeah. I guess."

I was mad as hell at my mom, but what did I
expect? She did this all the time. Still, poor Josh. I hated that
she'd gotten his hopes up yet again, only to cancel last-minute. As
for me, I'd lost hope years ago. The way I saw it, I was the lucky
one.

When Josh disconnected, I checked the clock
on my phone. The call had cost me five precious minutes. Even if by
some miracle, my car started now, I was still totally screwed.

More accurately, Josh was screwed.

Well, so much for Plan A.

My heart racing, I scrolled through my
contacts, and found Lawton's name. I pressed the call button and
held my breath.

It rang once, then twice, and then, I heard
his voice, nearly breathless. "Chloe?"

"Yeah. Listen," I said. "I've got a
question."

"Yeah?"

"You still want that beating?"

A couple minutes later, Lawton's hot rod
squealed into the driveway, looking only slightly better than it
had the night he'd taken a crowbar to it.

He'd obviously replaced the headlights and
both side-view mirrors, but the car body itself was still a mess,
with a cracked windshield and big, ugly dents all over the
hood.

I was standing near the trunk of my own car,
holding the giant serving bowl of salad with both hands. Resting by
my feet were the two desserts, sitting in their boxes on the hard
concrete.

Breathlessly, I watched Lawton get out of his
car, leaving the engine running, a low rumble that carried over the
cool air.

Lawton looked just like I remembered – hot as
sin, but distinctly underdressed in tattered jeans and a white
T-shirt. The shirt had dark grease stains down the front and sides,
like he'd been leaning over an engine or changing a stubborn
tire.

The jeans had similar streaks, possibly
handprints, just above his knees, where the fabric was torn and
worn to the point where I saw the hint of bare skin showing
through.

Whether his bare arms had similar streaks, I
had no idea. Between the outlines of his muscles and intricate
tattoos, I was having a hard time seeing much else.

Silently, I drank in the sight of him,
watching him watch me as he moved with the kind of intensity that
should've made me run.

He stopped and looked down at the boxes by my
feet. "We taking those?"

I nodded.

Wordlessly, he picked them up and strode
toward the passenger's side of his car. Shifting the boxes to one
arm, he opened the car door with his right hand, and set the boxes
on the floor just behind the passenger's seat.

Salad in hand, I joined him. He held the car
door open while I climbed inside and settled the salad onto my
lap.

Before he closed my car door, I looked up.
Our eyes met and held. It was hard to breathe, much less speak.

But somehow, my mouth opened, and words
tumbled out. "Boy, are
you
gonna be sorry."

He grinned. "Not a chance."

Looking at him, I felt my mouth go just a
little bit dry. When he closed my door and walked around the front
of the car, his smile was still there.

Reluctantly, I felt myself smile too, just
barely, but enough to ease some of the tension.

Our conversation on the phone had been brief
to the point of rudeness, on my part, anyway. But he'd come. Just
like he'd promised. And obviously, he'd taken my words seriously,
maybe too seriously for his own good.

I'd asked him – no, begged him, actually – to
drop everything and come right now. Twenty seconds into my sorry
excuse for an explanation, he was on the way.

I watched him settle into the driver's seat,
all long legs and sinewy muscle.

"I wasn't kidding," I said. "This is gonna
suck." I glanced down at his clothes and winced. "Especially for
you."

He shrugged. "I think I can handle it."

"That's what you think."

He flicked his head toward the street. "Which
way?"

I gave him general directions to my Dad's
house, and he backed out onto the street. When he hit the
accelerator, the car's engine roared, and the seats vibrated with
its raw power. Good thing he hadn't taken a crowbar to anything
under the hood.

I settled into my seat, pretending that my
eyes weren't starving for a good, long look at him. I tried looking
straight ahead. Then I tried looking out my own window. But over
and over, my gaze kept drifting back to where he sat, close enough
to touch, but miles away in all the ways that mattered.

We were going fast, well above the speed
limit. Houses and mailboxes passed in a blur as he navigated the
nearly empty streets.

His dark tousled hair framed his chiseled
face as he watched the road. He had one hand draped loosely over
the steering wheel and the elbow of his other arm resting on the
center console.

"So," he said, giving me a sideways glance,
"this wasn't exactly the beating I expected."

On the phone, I'd given him only the briefest
of details, telling him I needed a ride, and I needed a
distraction. I hadn't lied then, and I wasn't going to lie now.