The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity (29 page)

Grinning, Lance shakes his head and says to himself, “Buncha old farts is what you are.”

Dad laughs, “All those greens’ll make you the one doing the farting.”

Mr. McKnight laughs too.

And like that, I know they’re going to get along.

If only Charity was here, this moment would be perfect.

++++8++++

CHASTITY

The four of us spend the rest of the day looking everywhere and trying everything. The police haven’t seen her. School hasn’t started yet, so we can’t ask the staff or teachers or the kids if they’ve seen her either. I try calling all of her friends again and nobody knows anything.

Charity just disappeared.

Poof. Gone.

For dinner, we order takeout Thai and eat in Lance’s living room, sitting on the ratty couch and folding chairs with our food on moving boxes.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Dad asks. “You guys gonna be able to help again?”

“I can,” Mr. McKnight says.

“I have some important meetings tomorrow,” Lance says.

“You mean the—” I stop myself. He means more investor meetings. I know from talking to Lance that his dad doesn’t know the full details of Lance’s DJ business. He knows Lance is a DJ, and somewhat successful, but he doesn’t know the full extent and I don’t want to say too much. I’m not sure why. But something tells me there’s a reason Lance took his dad out of Las Vegas and brought him here.

“Yeah, that,” Lance says.

“Did you need me to come with?” I offer.

“If you can spare the time.”

Dad asks, “Why all the mystery? Chaz, you never did tell me what Lance does.”

“Um…” I trail off. At least he’s not accusing Lance of selling drugs like Mom would. “Lance? Care to answer that?”

Lance nods. “I’m a music producer. I’ve got some big investment meetings this week. Trying to raise some capital for my next video shoot. There’s a timing to these things. If I don’t raise money now, it’ll get harder to raise it next month. Harder and harder after that.”

Dad looks impressed. “Gotta strike while the iron’s hot, right?”

“Exactly.”

“I get it. But the same thing applies to Charity. Anything could’ve happened to her. I don’t want to assume the worst, but we need to prepare for anything. I need to set up a base of operations where I can make calls and stay organized. Chaz, what’s the closest hotel around here?”

“Oh, I’d have to check.”

“You can stay and work here, Mr. Shields,” Lance says.

“Call me John.”

“John. My house is your house.”

“Shouldn’t we be asking your father that?” Dad asks.

Mr. McKnight cocks his head toward Lance, “It’s his place. He pays for it.”

Dad raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “You can set up here. Spread out however you want. I can bring in some work tables if you need them, and I’ll pick up an extra air mattress for you today. Unless you’re cool with the couch?”

“You don’t need to do that. I can stay at a hotel.”

Lance presses, “But then it’ll be back and forth between here and there. It makes more sense if you’re here with us.”

“Yeah, Dad,” I say. “Plus Mom’ll be right next door.”

Dad grimaces, “Splendid. But you know what? I think I’ll take Lance up on his offer.”

“Cool,” Lance says.

The doorbell rings and everybody jumps.

I’m sure we’re all hoping it’s Charity.

Lance springs up and opens the door, “Hey, Faith.”

Mom. Urgh.

“Please call me Mrs. Shields.”

Dad rolls his eyes.

She sure knows how to ruin a party, not that we were having fun. But now we’ll be having less fun. She’ll make sure of it. She walks into the living room, followed by Lance, who stands behind her almost like a security guard waiting to restrain her if she gets out of hand.

“Hello, Faith,” Dad says.

“Hello, John,” Mom snips, trying not to roll her eyes.

“Any luck?”

“No. And you?”

Dad shakes his head. “I was thinking we should coordinate our efforts. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“Is that what you think?” Mom snipes.

Oh, geez. What is she, twelve?

“Please, Faith. Let’s not start. We need to find our daughter. Not fight about it.”

“I agree,” she smiles fakely. “Do you care to let us in on your master plan?”

“Mom! You’re not helping,” I groan.

“Your father seems to have this all figured out, so let’s let him tell us what to do. Isn’t that what you like to do? John? Order people around?”

Does she even hear herself? She’s such a hypocrite it makes me sick. I want to tell Mom to leave. She’s creating drama, not helping.

Dad stares at her. “Faith, can you try to calm down? I know you’re worried about Charity. I am too.”

“She’s on the street, John! Or did you forget that already?”

I hate her. No wonder Dad left. She makes it impossible to have any sympathy for her.

“I understand that, Faith. That’s why I dropped everything to fly out from Chicago. On top of that, I was up all night searching the internet for suggestions on next steps, so pardon me if I’m not handling things
exactly
the way you want. Now if you’ll listen for a minute, I can tell you what I have in mind.”

To my surprise, Mom shuts up and Dad refers to his pages and pages of notes on his yellow legal pad and explains to everyone his basic plan to organize, make fliers, create search grids so we cover the maximum territory, call runaway shelters, Child Protective Services, everything you could possibly think of. He also names off a bunch of non-profits that help families find missing kids and tells us we need to start making calls to all of them to get help. While he talks, Lance and Mr. McKnight both offer ideas that Dad likes and he jots them down on his legal pad.

When he finishes, Mom sneers venomously, “Aren’t you three just as thick as thieves. I guess you don’t need my help. You’ve worked out every last little detail without me.”

Dad hangs his head between his knees where he’s sitting on one of the folding chairs and shakes his head, muttering to himself.

“Are you praying, John? Because now would be a good time to start.”

Dad lifts his head, exhausted like he just fought a war. “I’m not praying, Faith. Believe me.”

“Then what
were
you doing?”

I turn to Mom. “Do you always have to be the center of attention? Is that it? Dad’s ideas are better than yours so you’re mad and you have to start attacking him and talking about church? Grow up, Mom. This is about finding Charity, not about you or church or anything else.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“No, Mom. It’s not.”

“Hmph. Maybe if the three of you started praying, God would listen and bring Charity home,” she says self-righteously. “I can’t do all the praying on my own.”

Lance starts talking, mostly to himself. “There’s a thousand missing kids God never brings home, Faith. What about them? Doesn’t God care about them?”

Mom’s eyes fire. “That is the devil talking! You take that back!”

Lance stares at her. “It’s the truth, Faith.”

Mom’s face knots. “I don’t need to listen to your blasphemy! I’m leaving!” She turns and strides toward the front door.

Nobody rushes to stop her.

She takes her sweet time opening the door, like she can’t figure it out even though it’s the mirror image of hers next door. “Oh, this lock…” she grunts.

I scowl.

My phone rings, playing a Katy Perry
Dark Horse
ringtone.

Charity.

“Let me talk to her!” Mom shouts, grabbing for the phone before I can answer.

“Back off, Mom!” I wave her away and rush down the hall to Lance’s bedroom, where I close the door. I answer the call, “Charity! Please tell me you’re all right.”

“What up, Wazzy.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t tell Mom. Let her worry.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m… at a friend’s. For now.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah,” she groans. “Don’t worry about me. I promise, I’m fine.”

“Chair, people are freaking out. Dad flew in. He wants to start a nation wide manhunt for you. He’s worried you’re hurt or kidnapped. You really need to talk to him.”

She sighs, “Maybe I should. But I’m not coming home.”

Before I know what’s happening, Mom opens the bedroom door and sneaks up behind me and grabs the phone from my hand. “Charity! Are you all right? Please, baby! Tell me you’re all right.”

I wrestle with her. “Give me the phone, Mom!”

She yanks it away and twists around.

Dad and Lance crowd into the room, followed by Mr. McKnight.

Mom runs on top of the mattress, kicking up the sheets and cowering against the wall like she’s being attacked. “Charity! Where are you? Tell me so Momma can come get you. Charity? Are you there? Charity! Please, baby!” She starts to sob. “Please tell me where you are. Don’t hang up! Charity!!!!” She screams and clutches the phone to her chest, curled around it like the phone itself is Charity.

I can’t decide if it’s the saddest sight I’ve ever seen or the most pathetic.

Chapter 22

CHARITY

The metal door of the tool shed slides open suddenly, scaring the crap out of me.

Steve holds a flashlight under his chin making him look all Halloween. “Bwah ha ha ha haaaa.”

“Don’t. You’re freaking me out.”

He lowers the flashlight and squeezes into the shed and closes the door. “Sorry.” He points the light in the corner and it makes a dim glow inside the small space.

“What took you so long? I’m starving.”

He sits on the dirt floor beside the pile of blankets I’m lying on and crosses his legs. “My parents talked and talked after dinner tonight. Sean was really hungry and he ate everything. So no leftovers. I had to wait until my parents went upstairs to make you a PB&J.” He unzips his hoodie, reaches inside, and pulls out the sandwich which is folded in a paper towel. Then he pulls out a can of Mountain Dew. “We don’t have anything diet. Mom says the fake sugar is bad for you.”

“That’ll work.” I unfold the paper towel and gnosh on the sandwich. “Ew. This isn’t grape jelly.” I shouldn’t be complaining, but it tastes super weird.

“It’s orange marmalade. It’s all we have.”

“What’s marmalade again?”

“It’s jam. But with oranges.” He shrugs. “I like it.”

“I guess I’ll learn.” I take a careful bite and remind myself I like orange juice. Blech. Running away isn’t a picnic. At picnics they have normal PB&J.

“I should probably go. I think my mom might be figuring out something is up.”

“She probly thinks you come out to the shed to jerk off.”

He smirks. “Ugh, I hope not.”

“JK. Anyway, thanks for the sandwich.”

“No prob.” He stands and unzips his Affliction hoodie and hands it to me. “Here. You might need this. It’s supposed to be colder tonight.”

“Thanks.” I put it on over mine and zip it up.

“Sorry I don’t have a sleeping bag for you.”

“It’s cool.”

He steps outside and slides the door closed. Then he opens it enough for me to see his face in the moonlight. “You can come inside, you know. I promise my parents are cool.”

“Yeah, but they’ll call my mom.”

“Probably.”

We stare at each other for a second. Steve is really sweet. Without him, I probably would’ve gone home by now. Sleeping outside sucks. I start to feel nervous with him staring at me. “What?”

“Nothing. Night.”

“Night.”

He closes the door and walks away. I can barely hear his footsteps on the grass and he makes zero noise going back into the house. Where it’s warm.

Unlike here.

I pull the blankets up to my ears and shiver. The plastic painting tarp beneath the blankets crinkles loudly when I curl up. We figured out the tarp when I woke up this morning on top of damp blankets. Freezing. Steve found the tarp in his garage. At least today was hot enough to dry the blankets.

With any luck, I’ll be warm tonight.

The shed is completely dark with the door closed. I know there’s spiders in here with the lawn equipment and the garden tools, but they didn’t bite me last night, so hopefully they won’t tonight.

I hope there’s no mice.

They’re cute until they give you rabies.

I close my eyes and try to sleep. The smell of gasoline and motor oil from the lawnmower is annoying.

I’ll get used to it.

It’s better than Mom.

++++8++++

CHASTITY

Several hours later, Charity texts me:

Tell everyone I’m okay. I’ll be home when I’m ready.

Dad is in Lance’s living room talking quietly with Mr. McKnight because neither of them can sleep. Mom has already gone home. I show the text to Lance, who lies next to me on his mattress.

He says, “Better show your Dad.”

I’m already in yoga pants when I rush into the room because let’s face it, sleeping naked with your boyfriend when your Dad is talking in the living room is just weird.

“Dad! Charity sent me a text.” I hold out the phone and he reads it.

His eyes light up with hope. “That’s terrific. And you said she sounded okay when she called earlier?”

“Yeah. Same old Charity.”

“I wish your mother hadn’t’ve grabbed the phone like that.”

“Me too. Should we tell her Charity texted?”

Dad snorts a morose laugh, “I don’t want to go over there. Do you?”

“No.”

“She can wait until morning.”

“So, what’s your plan, Dad? Are you going to stay until Charity comes out of hiding or whatever?”

“That’s the plan. Hopefully she comes home soon. I only have so much vacation time. Maybe you can get her to meet up with me and you tomorrow?”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll text her right now.”

Me:
Dad wants to meet up. Just him. No Mom. What do you think?

Her:
Okay. Maybe tomorrow or the day after?

Me:
I’ll tell Dad. Stay safe.

Her:
I am. Laters.

Knowing that Charity feels safe, wherever she is and whether or not she actually is, removes enough stress from the equation that I’m actually able to sleep that night for a few hours.