Текст книги "Never smile at strangers"

Автор книги: Jennifer Jaynes

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 43

HIS EYES FLEW open, and he found his naked torso slick with sweat. Sitting up in the small bed, he struggled for air. It was five o’clock in the morning. The stress had brought on the nightmare of the last moments with his mother. Sweat chilled the sides of his face, and he let out a sob before lying back down.

He looked out the small window, listening to the faint crooning of Bob Dylan. He’d set the CD on loop the night before, and now Dylan’s Lay, Lady, Lay played softly on the floor beside his bed. The sky outside was splattered in shades of gray and pink, the beginnings of dawn. Ian brushed against the window, mewing loudly. Wickedly.

In the nightmare her face had been so vivid. Her features true to that night, even down to her smeared eye makeup and the mole above her lips. Her words as sharp as they had been in life, still echoed in his head.

She had regarded him with eyes that knew he would be just as twisted as she was.

She was wearing one of her many wigs, and speaking in a voice he hadn’t heard before. He knew the night would be bad. Even worse than the others.

The door to the basement stairs was open and she balanced on her bare, calloused heels in the doorway for a bottle of liquor. Her red nightgown was too sheer, too short. “We’re going to have us a little quality time tonight, boy,” she said.

He’d been trapped, standing next to the recliner, trying to find a way back to his room. He glanced at the carpet. Allie had been gluing leaves to a sheet of pink construction paper. A bottle of paste lay on its side next to his feet. Glue was dried to the carpet.

Sashaying into the kitchen, his mother reached into the cabinet and pulled out two shot glasses and filled them with whiskey. Hugging the bottle in the space between her arm pit and her side, she walked into the living room carrying the shot glasses.

They drank in silence for the next half hour. He knew better than to say no. He just prayed he’d be able to outlast her, and that she’d pass out on the couch before being able to do much harm.

As they drank, she looked past him. “I never wanted a boy,” she admitted. “Men are manipulators. No good.” A smirk. “Look at you,” she said, venom in her voice. “Yore pathetic. You’ll always be pathetic. Ruled by women.”

His erratic heartbeat, the wind outside, his mother’s smoker cough, the liquor trickling into his belly, all blared inside his head. His fists clenched. Rage had already become one with him, and he was powerless against it.

Allie appeared in the living room, rubbing her small eyes. “What’s going on?”

His mother’s expression softened. “Your brother and me are bonding, beautiful,” she said. “Go on back to bed.”

Allie yawned. Then she stood there, unmoving. “Can’t I stay awake?”

“No. Get some rest.”

“But Mama?”

The woman’s tone hardened. “Allie,” she warned.

Allie scowled, then went back to her room.

When she was gone, his mother leaned forward and ran a rough hand down the side of his face. “So, what shall we do tonight?” she asked.

He swallowed.

“You think yore mama looks pretty in this little nightie?”

He studied the carpet, knowing that if he looked full-on at the nightgown, he’d be able to see the evil beneath it.

“I thought you would.” She took a long sip of her drink and set the glass down hard. “You know better than to let me down, don’t you, boy?”

Yes, he did. And he was terrified of doing it again. . . of giving himself the chance to. But he was more weary of being terrified. Little did she know, he’d finally learned to transform the terror into anger.

Not fifteen minutes later, he shoved his mother down the basement stairs, and when he charged down, carrying the foot of rope he’d kept hidden beneath his bed for months, he made certain she wasn’t getting up.

Chapter 44

AS HE JOURNEYED through the woods to visit the Anderson family later that evening, he thought of the girl hitchhiker he’d almost picked up a few days before. It had been a near disaster, how close he came to inviting her into the truck, possibly doing what he had to Tiffany.

He floored the gas pedal as she tried to open the door. It had been amusing to watch her through the dust the truck kicked up. She flipped him the bird, her hand no doubt stinging from the truck’s sudden lurch.

Now he was at the opening of the woods, but the Anderson’s windows were dark and neither automobile was parked in the driveway. Cold fingers of disappointment tugged at his heart, threatening to strangle it. The familiar stir of despair crept in.

But then he had an idea. One that both excited and frightened him.

Minutes later, he felt so alive, tiptoeing through the murkiness of Kelsey’s room with his flashlight trained on the carpeted floor. Clothes were strewn all over the place—tops, jeans, shoes, a dirty dinner plate and a sci-fi paperback. He looked at her bed, but had no interest in laying on it again.

He entered the family’s hallway, keeping the flashlight trained on the floor, and wandered into another bedroom. Her son’s. Posters of rock bands covered the walls. School books, a laptop computer. A CD rack, twisted bed sheets. He wondered if they were anything alike, but doubted it. The boy would go places, and he was wondering if he’d ever really get to see Nevada.

Walking into his angel’s room, he breathed in the soothing scent of lavender, and let the flashlight shine across her king-sized bed. His mind racing, he walked into the master bathroom. Cosmetics and lotions were neatly arranged on a shelf above the toilet. He picked up a few, imagining her holding them. Squirting a perfume on the back of his arm, he sneezed as quietly as he could manage.

Her large walk-in closet was painfully organized, seventeen pairs of shoes lined up in a perfect row. He touched her clothes and after much consideration, gently removed one silky dress from a hanger.

He went to her bureau and opened the first drawer. Her panty drawer. The underwear was chaotic, an array of whites, blues, blacks and pinks. He gazed at them for a quick moment, before closing the drawer. Then he saw something that really interested him. A gold bracelet. He stuffed it in his jeans.

Being in her room both excited him and calmed his nerves in a way that only one other thing did. He drew air into his lungs and allowed himself a few moments of complete ecstasy.

What kind of person would he have become with a mother like her, he wondered.

He left the master bedroom and moved through the front of the house where the living room and kitchen were. There were so many shadows but everything was still, calm.

Wandering into the living room, he paused by the huge windows. Then it happened. The inevitable. A loud noise erupted from one of the bedrooms.

Rock and roll music.

He flipped off the flashlight and crouched down. Then instinctively, he backed into a corner. There was another noise, something right next to him. He dropped the flashlight and dress, and, his hands trembling, felt along the floor for them. Something wet was on the carpet. And there was a. . . a glass. He’d tipped a glass over. That had been the noise. The music still blared in the back of the house. He listened hard for movement, so intently his head ached.

Then, headlights bounced off a wall and he heard a car approaching the house. The engine died and a door banged shut. Then another.

He hurried across the room, to the back door. In less than five seconds, he was safely back in the woods.

Winded, he turned back, hoping to get a look at his angel. But the night was too dark.

Leaves crunched a few feet away. His heart sped up and he took cover behind an oak. His eyes darted toward where the sound had been.

That’s when he saw her. First her outline, then a few features. But he knew exactly who she was.

His angel’s daughter, Kelsey.

She was frozen in a crouch, staring at him.

But before he could decide what to do or even react, she dashed out of the brush and to the safety of her home.

Chapter 45

MILKY, EARLY MORNING light streamed through the window, illuminating a stack of essays Rachel had been poring over since early dawn.

With a cup of hot tea in hand, she re-read Erica’s essay for the third time, this time even slower than the second. She wasn’t sure what to make of the fixation Erica had with her mother. Rachel had known of Norah, Erica’s mother. But she didn’t remember Norah in the same light Erica did.

Every assignment: short story, essay, poem. . . was about Norah. The teenager was bright and she possessed exceptional determination, but her obsession with her mother made Rachel uneasy. From what she understood, the woman had abandoned her. And Erica had responded by making her mother out to be a heroine. The level of worship had to be unhealthy.

Rachel tossed the essay onto the table and walked into the living room for the first time that morning. She studied the furniture.

She and Tom had replaced their transitional set just two years before when they had inherited money from his now-deceased parents. They had also remodeled the kitchen and bought the two SUV’s. She had been proud of the changes, how classy the place had begun to look. But now everything looked cold.

She walked to the tall windows. Mid-way, she stopped. One of her dresses was lying on the floor. She picked it up and tried to remember when she last wore it. A year ago? The college’s last homecoming? Maybe. . . but why would it be on the living room floor?

With the dress under her arm, she moved through the room, picking up a half-filled glass of milk, an empty can of soda, another partially-filled glass of milk. Tommy had left his homework on the sectional. She went to pick it up and noticed a glass lying on the floor, then felt something cold and moist beneath her bare foot. She sighed.

After cleaning up the spilled soda, she walked over to the Van Gogh print that hung next to the staircase and straightened it, something she found herself doing several times a week for all the door slamming in the house.

She thought back to the figure she’d seen in the yard. Tom’s first question had been: ‘Were you drinking?’ Remembering his words infuriated her. But they were also beginning to make her question herself.

A clock alarm went off in the back of the house filling the air with the din of rock music. It was Tommy’s. Last night when they walked into the house after a trip to Wal-Mart, it had been going off, too.

A door opened and she heard footsteps. Rachel glanced at her watch. It was already seven o’clock. Tom and the kids were getting up. Tom had some days off and was going to take the kids to his sister’s for a couple of days. Lately, he’d made a point of spending time with them. Though she was relieved he was finally making an effort, she couldn’t help but notice that he scheduled special outings without considering her calendar. Or, even inviting her. But it was probably best, she thought. They needed time away from each other. Time to cool down and figure out where the relationship was headed. Having the kids with him during that time at least brought her some peace.

Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her hair and carried the dress to the laundry room. She headed back to the kitchen to make everyone breakfast.

***

AFTER HER AFTERNOON class ended, Rachel dodged Myrna and the other teachers who routinely stayed after class for afternoon coffee. She wanted to go straight home and use the time alone to finally look over the manuscript. She needed desperately to focus on something besides Tom. And she needed a drink. Maybe two. Two strong ones.

As she turned into the driveway, she saw Mac pulling the lawnmower out of the shed. Hearing the car’s engine, he waved. Surprised by the intoxicating tug she felt in her chest, Rachel climbed out of the car and walked up the little path that bordered the house. She grinned at the young man. “I have a craving for a glass of wine. Care to join me?”

Mac, wearing a Dallas Cowboy t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts stood next to the mower, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Ma’am?”

“Let’s have a glass of wine.”

“Mrs. Anderson, the grass. I really oughta—”

“Rachel, call me Rachel. And don’t worry about the grass. It’ll be here later. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”

Mac shook his head. “Nope, nowhere other than here.”

“Well, c’mon, then.”

Chapter 46

ONE GLASS OF wine turned into two, then three.

After the first glass, the two ended up moving from the kitchen table to the couch. Rachel asked Mac about his relationship with Haley, and he told her how strange she’d been acting since Tiffany disappeared, and how she’d pushed him away.

“That’s horrible,” Rachel said, her fingers going to her wrist, then remembered it was bare. Where could her bracelet be? she wondered. “Relationships are difficult enough without all of the stress she’s going through. Maybe she’ll feel differently once Tiffany’s found.”

Mac shrugged. “If she ever is.”

Rachel had the urge to talk to him about Tom. To ask him if he’d heard anything about the affair. If he’d heard their names spoken in reference to Tiffany’s disappearance. But, of course, she didn’t. It would be inappropriate. Even more so than having a few drinks alone with the young man.

Several moments later, Mac lifted his half-empty wine glass in front of his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever drank this much wine before,” he grinned, his words slurring ever so slightly. “I’m a beer guy.”

“Going to your head?”

He nodded.

She was relieved to see that he was finally relaxing around her. At first he had seemed tentative, almost cautious in her presence, something she chalked up to their age difference. But finally, he seemed at peace. He even seemed as though he was enjoying himself.

They talked until two o’clock in the morning, until they’d finished a pot of coffee and Mac felt clear-headed enough to make it home. The grass remained uncut, but it was such a small price to pay for the hours she was able to forget about her problems. She had had a nice time.

In fact, it was the best conversation she could remember having with anyone for nearly a year. She had almost forgotten what it was like to have a decent adult conversation.

Chapter 47

ON SATURDAY EVENING, Rachel and Mac sat on the couch, finishing up a bottle of Merlot. Tom and the kids weren’t due to return until the next afternoon and when Mac again came by to cut the lawn, she’d insisted they sit and talk again.

Mac had seemed mildly hesitant when Rachel again invited him in, but his hesitance quickly dissipated and the two found much to talk about between the hours of four and six o’clock.

After the last drop of wine had been poured, Rachel failed to remember her problems or fears. . . or the nagging feeling that told her that this new friendship with Mac was inappropriate. After all, Mac was of age to do anything he wanted. And he wasn’t a student.

She just focused on the way Mac looked at her and how handsome he was. She had always thought him to be especially good-looking, but only lately had she noticed how much of a man the boy had become. She thought it strange how relationship troubles could do that to a woman. Make them notice such things.

Rachel set down the empty wine bottle. “Shall I uncork another?” she asked, grabbing for her bracelet, then remembering yet again that it wasn’t there.

“You know, I probably shouldn’t be doing this, Mrs. . . uh, Rachel.”

“Why? We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just—”

“No,” he interrupted. “It’s not that. It’s because I gave Haley a lecture about not drinkin’ so much. She’s goin’ through a really hard time and is hitting the booze too hard. Even though we’re technically not together right now, I’m still really worried about her and this kinda makes me feel like a hypocrite, you know?”

Rachel wasn’t sure what to say.

“Besides, I really oughta take a shower,” he said. “I could come back after—”

“Don’t be silly,” Rachel exclaimed, patting the air. “You can’t drive in this condition. Just take a shower here. You can change into something of Tom’s.”

After a little more prodding, Mac took the shower. Then, afterward, mid-way through their second bottle of wine, they began to kiss. In her drunken state, Rachel was unsure who had kissed who first. All she knew was that it felt better than anything had in a long while.

The first kisses were clumsy and wet, but also warm and exciting. Rachel tasted wine and a hint of spearmint chewing gum on Mac’s tongue. Then, she found herself leading him into the back of the house, to her bedroom.

There, she ripped back the purple comforter, unbuttoned the pair of shorts Mac was borrowing from Tom, and pulled the zipper down. She began unbuttoning her own blouse and watched Mac as he stared at her. He seemed very nervous. Thinking it was sweet, she gently pushed him down, and pressed her body against his.

They kissed for a long while, their mouths hot and soft. The temperature inside her chest and between her legs spiraled as she kissed his neck and ran her hands through his short, thick hair.

She stroked him.

And his breathing grew louder.

Pulling Tom’s t-shirt from Mac’s back, she gazed at his wide, tanned shoulders and muscular abdomen. She ran her finger across his nipple and watched it stiffen.

These days, Tom was too quick, too removed. As though it was a chore, or if the experience was just his own. Like she wasn’t there, or at least didn’t need to be.

She thought about Mac’s ex-girlfriend and wondered if he, too, was thinking about her. How different was her body from 19-year-old Haley’s? Naked, did she seem that much older?

He rose above her and threaded his fingers through her hair. “You sure you want to do this?” he whispered.

“I’m sure,” Rachel whispered back. And she was. Why not? Tom had done it with someone outside of the marriage. Why couldn’t she? Revenge, she thought, would help mend her heart.

Mac’s touch was soothing. Why would Haley give up someone this lovely, this caring? Mac was the whole package: manly but still warm, gentle. The things Tom would never be again, hadn’t quite been in the first place.

Mac’s hands were all over her. And she was pleasantly surprised by how hard he was. She stroked him harder, faster. Wondering if his girlfriend had been sensitive to his needs, she lowered herself, her face parallel to his chest, then his stomach. . . his hips. Then, finally arriving at her destination, she made him moan even louder.

***

THE SECOND TIME was different, less tender. Rachel could tell he was much less nervous and began to wonder if he’d been holding out the first time. Maybe he’d been thinking of her as a thirty-something year old, a novelty, and now he realized that age was just what it was, an unforgiving number.

He was better than Tom had ever been. He took more time, moved with much more precision.

Rachel now lay with her neck extended. Mac pinned her hands behind her shoulders. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, then worked his way down to her chest. He stayed there for a while, his tongue tickling her cleavage. Her nipples. The heat and desire was intense. As intense, if not more so, than their first time.

He rose to kiss her again and she wrapped her arms around his back. His skin was smoother than Tom’s, even when Tom was his age. Tighter, more supple, more tan. His breath was now warm and heavy next to her ear. His breath smelled of gum again, always smelled of gum. When had he chewed it? Why hadn’t she seen him stick it in his mouth? He started to move lower and Rachel laughed.

His mouth was suddenly by her ear again. “You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah, more than okay.” she said, having no idea why she’d laughed. She hadn’t meant to. It had something to do with the cloud the wine had made in her head. The cloud that cushioned her thoughts, dulled their razor-like talons.

Mac lowered his body, kissed her abdomen, and slowly worked his way down below. Using long, hard strokes of his tongue, he thoroughly explored her with his mouth. When she began to squirm, unable to stand it any longer, he lowered his hips against hers, and entered her.

Afterward, they slept on their sides, their legs entangled, Mac’s big arm draped over her. They slept long and hard. Rachel’s sleep, for once, was peaceful and uninterrupted. Her dreams were of rain clouds. Tender, cleansing, big billowy white clouds. And she wanted nothing more than for them to just swallow her up.

She awoke to a ray of sunlight dancing across her eyelids. Mac was snoring softly, his smooth back to her. She sat up and turned to face the window. She startled.

Someone was looking in.

It was Tom.