Swell (21 page)

Christian returned, sweat pouring down the front of his shirt, and sat next to me. He’d found his keys, but not Hillman.

“I ran all over the fucking harbor. He must have split.” He looked at my phone. “Did you call the cops?”

“No.”

“You need to call the cops. Get his ass back in jail. This will nail him.”

“I’m scared.”

He put his arm around me. “You should be. He’s sick. And nobody is going to take my girl. Nobody.” Christian slipped the phone from my hand and made the call.

For the rest of the night, his mood was off. We left the harbor shortly after Hillman’s appearance and went up to the water tower for another bottle of wine to numb the evening away. We didn’t talk a lot, and didn’t kiss at all. It felt so familiar to me.

Before I went to sleep that night, I found the purple stone in my pocket and put it on my nightstand. The light from my digital clock made the rock glisten, and I kept my eyes on it until they shut on their own.

/////

I spent the weekend wondering how far Hillman would go. A piece of paper hadn’t stopped him. Being arrested for violating the restraining order wouldn’t keep him for long, and I would need something to help me feel safe.

“Here it is,” said my mom, handing me a black canister of pepper spray.

My dad had other things in mind.

“I used to shoot one as a boy. There’s nothing wrong with exercising your rights,” he said in a tense voice, perusing a copy of
Guns & Ammo
. He shouted out names like Luger and Glock. It didn’t make sense, except that he was just reacting to the primal need to protect his daughter.

“I’ll keep this in my purse.” I plopped the pepper spray into my bag and felt a little relief from worry.

I got even more relief later when I pimped a twelver and had the audacity to sit behind Tony’s and drink it.

Chapter 23

The project that Jesse and I worked on was so good that Mr. Stanley entered it in the Gallow Committee Art Show. He was so thrilled that he had both of us stand in front of the class holding up the darn thing. My cheeks felt hot with flames, but Jesse was as cool as a cucumber.

Apparently, if our piece won the Gallow, we’d be sent to the county art show. If that worked out, then Jesse and I would travel to some kind of regional thing. Sort of like working your way toward Miss America, without the bathing suit.

A wave of cool relief spread across my sweaty brow when we sat down. Never before had my nerves acted-up while receiving kudos for my artwork.

“Easy there, Rebecca. You looked like you were going to barf all over the front row.” Jesse reached into his pocket and I gave him a look that said
I will light it on fire if you eat it
. He pulled his empty hand out and placed it on the table.

Jessee smiled and his warm eyes sparkled. “Don’t worry, I won’t push you… too much, anyway.” It felt like he was thinking about the other night and whether that could happen again.

“Thanks. I can’t deal with that right now.”

“What can you deal with, then?”

“You, obviously.”

He gave me a big grin. “I feel so special.”

“You must be, to get into the Gallow Show,” I said, thinking of the snobby elitists that ran the event, dressed to perfection and not a hair out of place.

“The name makes me feel like playing Hangman.” He paused and looked at me through his bangs. “Hey, speaking of hanging, do you wanna hang out tomorrow night?”

My stomach went from churning with worry to flipping with delight. I tried to keep a straight face.

“Sure. Do you have something in mind?”

“There’s an acoustic trio that plays at the bookstore on Tuesdays.” He strummed an air guitar and mouthed a song. The image of running wild and silly through the tall aisles of books, drinking lattes, and listening to music sounded great.

“Nobody’s ever asked me to the bookstore before.”

“I’d like to think nobody like
me
has ever asked
you
anywhere before.” He was dead-serious, his eyes changing into something so deep that I wanted to swim in them.

Jesse was walking me out, cracking more jokes about hanging, when Christian approached me. As if it wasn’t enough that Christian knew who Jesse was, but to see me walk out with the guy, laughing, made him seethe.

Christian wrapped his arm around my shoulders and shot Jesse a
fucking get lost
look before he steered me away.

“Your art buddy seems a little too friendly, Beck.” He swept me along at a rampant pace. I looked behind us and saw Jesse several steps behind. His eyes met mine with a look of concern. I gave him the a-okay behind my back.

I tried bringing the conversation around.
“Our project is going into the Gallow Show!” He stared straight ahead, his mind refusing to break from its anger.

Christian had never seen what I worked on with Jesse, and he didn’t seem too concerned about seeing it now. “But that’s done, right?”

“Yeah. Now we’ve got to represent it in the show. And if we win that, we’ll travel to the county show and---”

“I don’t want you traveling anywhere with
him
.”

I stopped and gave him a hard look.
“Christian, it’s an art contest, for God sakes. That’s all!” I looked behind me. Jesse was gone.

“Beck, I know guys. That one’s interested.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “I don’t think so. And even if he was, that doesn’t mean I’m interested in him, okay?” Oh, how I loved that line. It excited me because it wasn’t true.

“I still don’t like it.” He shook his head and looked at his watch. “Do you wanna go to my house tonight?”

That meant time alone with him and the liquor cabinet. It might also mean a little broom closet action.

“Yeah. Pick me up at eight.” I pressed a long, melting kiss to his lips that held the promise of what was to come.

I
met
Jenna in the parking lot to wait for our ride home. She didn’t speak to me.

“What’s wrong?”

She crossed her arms and looked away. “
I don’t want to talk about it.”

Fair enough.

I stood with my hand in my pocket, tumbling Jesse’s stone through my fingers. That kind of time-filler only worked for so long.

“Are you pissed about something?”

“Kind of.”

“Well? Is it me or someone else?”

She finally looked at me. “Oh, it’s you!”

“Now what, Jenna?” I’d heard it all before. She didn’t like me drinking. She didn’t like the crowd I hung with. And she hated that Christian was back.

“I don’t see you trying at all to deal with things. I’m tired of watching you go down the toilet!”

It sounded like she’d been thinking about it morning, noon, and night. “God, when did you decide this?”

“It’s been a long time. Do know what the hardest part about all this is, Beck?”

“No, I don’t. What?”

“It’s that I
care
about you, and you don’t even care about yourself.”

With perfect timing, my mom pulled up and we entered the car with little else to say. My mom looked at me in the rear view mirror and asked fluffy questions about our day. I talked about the Gallow Show, and Jenna chattered about trying out for the school musical.

When we dropped her off, Jenna said goodbye to my mom and shot straight up her driveway.

“Goodbye, I guess,” I said under my breath.

I slipped into the front seat and buckled my belt.

“Is there something wrong between you two?” asked my mom.

“Sure seems like it.”

“You didn’t even talk to each other. That
never
happens.”

“I guess it happens now. Better get used to it.” My neck was hot as I thought about Jenna making my problems her own. I cared very much about myself, thank you. More than that, I cared about others a
nd that’s what really counted
, right?

Even as a child, making people happy was my number one goal. I was out to collect smiles and win the hearts of everyone. The rare occasions when someone didn’t respond positively were dark moments. I’d obsess about what I’d done wrong, and at 15, I still did.

Never, though, did I put people pleasing ahead of caring about myself. Well, almost never. At least I think so. With so much going on, I rarely kept track of who was doing what for whom. If that was what pissed Jenna off, then it was her problem.

/////

I was used to Christian’s house as a quiet place for our rendezvous. Tonight all the lights were on, with the television barking out Wheel of Fortune.

Dr. Rusch sat in the den, shuffling through paperwork in front of the TV. The smell of cooked meat wafted through the air. Christian didn’t raise an eyebrow that his parents were home.

I immediately worried about whether I’d get my booze fix or not. If I was, when would that be? I wanted it before dinner, because food slowed things down. But what if that was the only time I could cop a buzz? And God forbid, what if Christian didn’t have a jug of reserve in his room?

Christian walked me into the kitchen. “I thought you’d like to do something a little different,” he said.

His mom held a giant roasting pan bet
ween her padded hands, an apron like Betty Crocker covering her stomach.

“Rebecca! It’s so nice to have you over to dinner! I hope you like pot roast.” She held up the meat.

“She makes a great roast.” Christian eyed the dripping red flesh.

“… when I do make one. First time this year.” She went to the stove and stirred something, and then began chopping carrots at the sink.

Christian stood in front of the open fridge, eyeing the stash. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure.” Just like when I first visited his house, he got out two glasses. This time, he filled them with 7-Up. I gave a half-smile and gingerly sipped at the disappointing beverage.

“Let’s say hi to my D
ad.” Christian took my hand and we went to the den.

Dr. Rusch looked up, slid his glasses to the top of his head, and threw me a loving grin.

“Rebecca! My favorite artist! It’s great to have you over. Did you see what we’re having?” He rubbed his
chest-
belly.

“Yeah. It looks great!” My heart raced at the thought of putting sinewy f
lesh into my stomach before I’
d
had
anything proper to drink. If only I had something to nip on.

“Mom, how long till dinner?”

“Ten minutes.”

Christian looked at me with a knowing eye.

“Do you want to go outside? The sky’s really clear tonight.”

“Okay.”

He was right about the sky. All the stars seemed extra twinkly, and a light wind made the trees chatter like a million
maracas. We went past the pool and
ar
ound the side of the house.
Christian stepped into the bushes. He stood up and waved me over.

“I have something for you.” He handed me a bottle of clear liquid.

“Vodka?”

“Yep. They won’t be able to smell it.”

I would have my cake and eat it too!. The vodka, although plain, did not disappoint. After what must have been two or three shots-worth, I passed the bottle back to Christian, who put back that much and more.

“Here’s some gum.” He handed me a stick.

“I thought it doesn’t smell.”

“Just in case.” He had his b
ases covered. Christian returned
the bottle to its hiding place and we went back inside. The undeniable warm glow of relief spread through my body and instantly enhanced my mood.

As much as I wanted to like pot roast, I had a hard time eating it.
Beef
was the meat before it became jerky, and that alone made me gag. I took itty-bitty bites and hid most of it under my mashe
d potatoes, the way anorexics did
. There was salad and bread, and I used that to fill my stomach.

Dr. and Mrs. Rusch drank red wine with their dinner. She had a bit more than two glasses. I was keeping tabs. Between the two of them, they’d had five glasses, which accounted for a whole bottle. Christian seemed oblivious, shoveling food into his mouth.

“Christian, would you open another bottle?” Dr. Rusch pushed his glass toward his son.

“Merlot or cab?”

“Cabernet. Little Red Dress, you know the one with…”

“… the red dress on the label. I’ll get it.” Christian disappeared and I wanted to go, too. I knew where the bottle would be, what the opener looked like. And I didn’t want to sit alone with his parents.