Closer Home (11 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

The price of room service for three people is outrageous. On principle, I object. I point out that we could eat for a week on what this one meal will cost us, but I’m too bone weary to think of another option. I don’t want to risk a restaurant, and I’m not willing to eat Chinese food or pizza for breakfast.

Along with the meal comes the morning paper, neatly folded and innocent looking. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the carafe and begin thumbing through, glancing at the headlines until one freezes me into immobility.

Heiress of Callie Redfern Empire Visits Portland Church

At least it’s not on the front page, but it’s bold and black and impossible to miss even with a casual flick through the paper. I can’t tear my eyes away from the photo, a close-up shot of Kelvin and me. Ariel is a blur in the background, face turned away from the camera, her paternity swab totally out of sight. Not a single pixel of Shadow, who ought to stick out like a sore thumb.

All of this strikes me as manifestly unjust. It’s not like it was my idea to track down Kelvin. If they want to take pictures and put them in the paper, surely it should be Ariel they’re stalking. Guilt follows hard on the heels of this thought. It’s my job to protect her, a job I’m really not performing very well or we wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“Let me see.” Ariel grabs the paper from me and proceeds to read aloud.

“‘Annelise Redding, heiress to the one-hundred-million-dollar empire of deceased superstar Callie Redfern, was seen visiting with Reverend Kelvin Marcus on Sunday. Local sources in the women’s hometown confirm that Kelvin and Annelise were high school sweethearts . . .”

I don’t hear anymore, and my appetite for breakfast vanishes with the words. Trying to figure out who the unnamed sources are would be hopeless. Hell, there’s probably a picture of Kelvin and me together in the yearbook, dressed up for prom. Every girl in my high school class will remember that I’m the one Kelvin asked. And they are probably still spiteful about it. If only they knew.

“Were you in love with him?” Ariel looks up. “Did Mom steal him, too, besides the song?”

“No.”

I haven’t thought about prom in years. Too much guilt lies in that direction, the reminder that Callie is not the only one capable of betrayal.

“Tell me,” Ariel says. “Come on, I deserve to know.”

“No comment.” I keep my voice light but escape to the shower, the only place where I can find refuge behind a locked door. I set the temperature hot enough to nearly burn my skin, focusing on the pain to keep the memories in check. But it’s too late. The wall I so carefully built has crumbled, and all the hot water in the world can’t sluice away my guilt.

My social standing in high school isn’t even on the charts. It’s not that I’m actively unpopular, just marginal. I’m into music but don’t have time for either band or choir, though Callie is in both. I rarely make it to dances or parties, and by the time senior year rolls around, I’ve never even been to a homecoming. My piano lessons are the one thing I push for, and Dad goes along with that, making sure my teacher gets paid and even footing the bill for the piano tuner once a year.

Practicing and homework eat up all my spare time. Mom is depressed more often than not, and it falls to me to see that Callie and Dad get fed and that Mom eats enough to not blow away with the wind. I’ve had a raft of odd jobs, all minimum wage and all lost when I didn’t show up because of some crisis that needed tending. By my junior year, I’d figured out I could make more with a combination of babysitting and teaching music lessons to beginners than by working at McDonald’s, anyway. So now I have a regular roster of students and precious little spare time left for social activities.

So prom isn’t even on my radar until Dale brings it up.

“You should go,” he says, elbow-deep in soapy water.

Dad says we don’t need a dishwasher; he’s got two. He means me and Callie, which is a joke that isn’t funny. Really he just has me. At sixteen, Callie no longer listens to anything I tell her. Even if she agrees to help in the kitchen, a rare occurrence, she’s worse than useless.

Dale, on the other hand, is quick and efficient. His mom says his wife will thank her someday, and he and his sister split all the housekeeping chores. Tonight, he’s helping me out so we can get to work on a social studies project we’ve teamed up on.

His suggestion makes me snort. “Right. Who am I going to go with?” I’ve turned down so many dates by this point that nobody bothers to ask anymore.

Dale is quiet for a minute, his sunbrowned hands turning a plate under running water to rinse away the soap before handing it to me to dry.

“We could go,” he says.

My stomach does a quick flip-flop as my pulse speeds up a little. Dale is my best friend, and he’s making a suggestion that threatens the safe balance of our lives.

He keeps his eyes on the pot he’s taken to scrubbing, not even glancing at me. It’s hot in the kitchen, and the humidity is through the roof with a thunderstorm brewing outside. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair damp and curling at the ends. A beard shadow darkens his jaw, and I’m suddenly surprised by how much muscle he’s got in his arms and shoulders. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed.

I’m still looking at him when he glances up at me in turn, and I flick my eyes back to the dish that I’m supposed to be drying.

“You know, as friends,” he says. “Nothing weird. Not like a date.”

I put the dry dish in the cupboard and take the dripping pot from his hands. “Probably have more fun than all the love struck,” I say, cautiously.

“Right? Remember Kate and Evan at Homecoming? So uptight they couldn’t say two words to each other.”

“Until Kate spilled that Coke down his crotch . . .”

We’re laughing now, back to our usual easy banter. We’d been at Tony’s Eatery with a couple of other non-homecoming-going kids when the luckless duo came in. And we’d all poked fun at them mercilessly for days.

I shrug. “I guess we probably ought to go to prom, right? Like it’s some rite of passage or whatever.”

“It’s totally lame. But we can go laugh at everybody.”

“Okay.”

“Really?” His eyes hold a new intensity that brings the heat to my face and makes me turn away to hide it, my heart hammering beyond reason.

When I mention prom to Dad, he totally surprises me by digging out his wallet and handing me a wad of cash.

“Go buy something pretty,” he says.

I unfold the bills and lay them flat. I’ve never had this much money to spend on myself in my entire lifetime, and I look up at him, uncertain. He’s not drunk. The level on the bottle has only just started to drop.

“Callie needs shoes,” I say, half choking on the words.

Dad waves away my objection. “You work hard. Wear something nice for Dale.”

I stare at him.

He pulls me in close and plants a kiss on the middle of my forehead. “I haven’t always done right by you. That boy’s going to make a good man. Steady.”

“Oh my God, Dad. We’re just friends.”

I feel like the earth has tilted and I can’t find my balance. When Dale and I get together to study, there’s an unease between us that has never been there before. I catch him sneaking glances at me when I’m trying to sneak glances at him. I keep telling myself that he’s just the same old Dale who used to put bugs in my hair. But how I feel about him is shifting like the glass in a kaleidoscope, and I find myself making excuses to avoid him.

And then Kelvin happens, like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky.

On Tuesday afternoon, I leave the campus for lunch with a couple of friends and we linger too long. I’m halfway to class when I realize I’ve forgotten the binder with my homework in my locker and have to go back to get it. I’m going to be late for English, and Mrs. Carlson is going to flay me. I’m digging through a pile of books when I sense somebody standing beside me.

Kelvin Marcus, star of the football team and the hottest boy in school, is leaning up against the lockers so close I could touch him. He smells of aftershave and engine grease, and his dreamboat eyes are fixed on me. The bustle in the hallway slows down as my senses sharpen and focus. My heart is thudding like a whole herd of wild horses, so loud I’m afraid he’ll hear it.

“Hey, Annelise,” he says. “What’s up?”

I can’t imagine what he’s doing here, unless he’s going to ask me for class notes. I’m one of the smart kids; he’s a notorious class skipper. He gets away with it, not because the teachers are willing to let it slide, but because all the girls bail him out and help him study.

Clutching my binder to my chest like it’s a life preserver, I click the lock shut and turn away. “I’m late for English.”

He puts out an arm, all solid muscle, and blocks me.

“Just a sec. Mrs. Carlson will wait.”

“Are you kidding? She lives to mark people absent.”

His eyes travel away from mine, down to my lips, my breasts, and then up again. It feels like he’s actually touched me with his hands. My heart has skipped from galloping to pure flutter, and there’s a hive of bees where my stomach is supposed to be.

“I’ve been watching you, Annelise.”

“You have? Why?” I stare up at him, startled, my brain running through all of my recent actions and trying to think of what I’ve done.

Kelvin leans his head down, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek when he says, for my ears alone, “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

There has to be some sort of mistake. Kelvin doesn’t pay attention to girls like me. Not that I’m hideous or anything, but the girls he dates are definitely not wearing clothes they bought at the Goodwill. I glance over my shoulder for his friends, thinking maybe somebody put him up to this on a dare, but all I see is a couple of girls staring in our direction.

“Come to prom with me,” Kelvin says.

All the fluttering and the buzzing inside me goes quiet, like it’s been sucked out by a giant vacuum cleaner. At the same time, the sounds around me become crystal clear. Voices. The clock ticking. Kelvin’s breathing.

It takes two swallows before I can find my voice.

“I’m already going.”

“Fix it.”

“What?”

“Change it. Go with me.”

“I can’t do that.” Dale has always been there for me. He would never, ever break a promise. There’s no way I can leave him in the lurch.

“Sure you can.” Kelvin winds one of my curls around his fingers.

My breath is out of control and my head feels light. Dale was just being nice, I tell myself. Doing a friendly thing. He won’t mind, really, if I go with somebody else. Probably, he’ll even understand.

The bell rings for class. I’m late. It doesn’t seem to matter.

“I won’t let you go until you say yes,” Kelvin says, his hand still playing with my hair.

Every ounce of my morality and responsibility vanishes when he smiles, lazy and confident. “Yes?”

I nod, unable to find words.

“You’re late for class.” He takes my hand and walks me down the hall. It’s a good thing I’m holding on to him, because my knees feel a little wobbly, and tripping over my own feet now, with everybody watching, would be the ultimate embarrassment.

He releases me just outside the classroom door, slowly, letting his fingers run the length of mine. Little shivers run up and down my arm, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I watch him walk the length of the hall before I open the door and go in.

Mrs. Carlson is reading something from a book. She stops and looks at me over the top of her glasses. “You are late, Annelise.”

For once, I don’t care. I open my books and bend my head, but there’s a little smile tugging at my lips as I daydream about what Callie is going to say. And then I remember Dale, and the warm happy feeling dissolves. I’m going to have to tell him. Today, for sure, before the gossip gets there first. He’ll understand, I tell myself. Surely, he’ll understand. But my body feels cold and heavy, all the excitement congealed into dread.

Dale is waiting for me after school with the offer of a ride home and the chance to check out his new wheels. New to him, anyway. He’s worked long hours to buy this car. A job he hates at the Golden Arches during the winter. Odd jobs for local farmers in the summer. It’s just an aging Subaru, but he’s polished it until it shines anywhere there’s still paint. Normally, I’d be excited for him and for me. Dale having wheels is almost as good as having some of my own.

“Start her up,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat. “Let’s hear that engine roar.”

Obligingly, he starts the engine. It doesn’t roar, exactly, but it runs along like an engine should. Or at least I think so. I don’t know anything about cars. Dale does. He’s probably spent hours under the hood already, adjusting and tinkering.

“I like the seat covers.”

“Goodwill special.” He grins. “Figured with prom coming up and all, I’d splurge. Don’t want to get your dress dirty.”

He shifts into first and starts navigating the after-school parking lot chaos. I glance over at him while his eyes are safely on his driving and then look away, twisting one of my backpack straps in my fingers. His hand on the shifter knob, nearly brushing my thigh, is square and strong. The cuticles, stained black with engine grease, support my belief that he’s been working on the car. His right thumbnail is a different story, black and blue and a little bit purple.