Fancy White Trash (16 page)

I'm suddenly worried about him, going to this other country where things are so different, so horrible. Where a child can break her arm and lose a brother and nobody but Jackson cares. “Can't someone else look for him, like the police or something? It's not like you're the only person in the world who can help her.”

His voice gets very soft. “There just aren't enough people, Abs. Not enough money. Not enough supplies. What I was doing there, it was
important.
”

That's when I know he's going back, and probably sooner rather than later. He's following Rule #5, Get Out of Town, but he seems to not know the part about going somewhere romantic, like Hawaii—and, oh yeah, taking me with him.

“I hope you find her brother,” is what I say.

Then it's quiet for a long time. His arm gradually loosens, and I think he's almost asleep when he says, “I wish I hadn't promised not to bug you about that kiss.”

I roll so we are front to front. “Get over it.”

But I don't get up and I don't leave. I tell myself Hannah's fine, tucked in my bed with Kait and Stephanie in the same room with her. No reason I can't stay for just a few more minutes, Jackson's arm draped over me, his chest rising and falling the same as mine. We fall asleep, breaths mingling, hearts beating their own distinct rhythms.

Considering I've always shared a room with Kait, and that Cody and I have had many a sleepover together, it shouldn't faze me to wake up next to Jackson. Sometime during the night, he'd rolled onto his back and the only way we are physically connected is that my calf is thrown over his knee. Even though I am still in my yoga pants, it somehow seems too intimate.

Jackson hadn't closed his blinds, and the morning light is bright enough that I think someone at my house might've noticed I'm missing. Or maybe Kait's just glad she doesn't have to worry about me walking in on her and Gustavo. Besides, it isn't the first time I've slept over at Cody's. So what's with the nervous fluttery feeling? The inability to move that stupid leg away from his knee?

“Oh, man,” I say. “It's morning!”

“Don't worry,” Jackson says, eyes still closed.

“Jailbait? Ring a bell?”

He cracks on eye open to glare at me. “Stop saying that.” “It's true.”

“I don't want to fight about this. Nothing happened anyway. ” He overexaggerates a sigh. “Sadly. Tragically.”

Looking up at him, I see the outline of stubble on his chin. I reach up and cup his jaw with my palm. Surprisingly soft. How much I want to kiss him grabs hold of me and won't let go. In the back of my head, though, I hear Shelby saying,
Have you noticed how much Stephanie looks like Jackson? It's remarkable, really.

“Jackson?” I whisper.

“Yeah?” His lips are kissing-close.

“Are you sure you're not Stephanie's father?”

“God, Abby.” He grabs my wrist and shoves my hand away from his face. “I told you things last night I've never said to
anyone
. And I thought you got it. Got
me
. But all you care about is something that happened six months before you and I ever got together? I've told you it's not me; Kait's told you it's not me.”

We're still close, even though we're not touching. My leg migrated back to my side during his talk. He's right. I know he's right. But . . .

“I just can't be with my niece's dad. You know how my family is. I can't be that girl. Like
them
.” My stomach has gone from fluttery to tight. My throat is too thick to say any more. I've told him my biggest fear. He has to understand at least that much, right?

Jackson pushes himself into a sitting position and looms over me. “I'm tired of begging, Abby. I've told you over and over again what happened. Believe me or don't. I can't undo it, although I wish I could, and I can't be someone else for you.”

“That's not what I'm saying. . . .”

“Just get out of here.” He swings his legs over and shoves his feet into the worn flip-flops by the side of the bed. “I don't know what I was thinking last night.”

I'm stung, but I struggle not to show it. That was supposed to be my line, you know, after the kiss
. I wasn't thinking. This was all a big mistake. It can never happen again.

I pick my shoes up off the floor and slip them onto my feet. His bedroom faces the same direction as Cody's and has the same style window. Years of practice have me slipping out the window without a sound.

The Walk of Shame. Sneaking into your own home in the same clothes you wore the night before. Only nothing happened, but who in my family is going to believe a crazy story like that?

Chapter
14

No one ever bothers to lock our sliding-glass door. It glides open without a sound. I think my stealthy entrance is a success until I look up. My whole family, babies included, is staring at me.

There are a lot of families around here that would be at church at ten on a Sunday morning, but not mine. Kait, Stephanie, and Shelby, who apparently cut her weekend away short, sit on the sagging floral couch. Mom and the Guitar Player stand in the archway that leads to the kitchen. And most surprising, my dad's here, too, next to Shelby with Hannah on his lap. I attempt to tame my wild morning hair by trapping a piece behind my ear.

“Good morning!” I say brightly, wondering if they're all here because they thought I'd gone missing. “Lovely day for a walk, isn't it?”

“Abby! Thank God you're home!” Shelby breaks the silence in her usually flamboyant way, launching herself from the couch at me full speed. She swallows me up in a hug that leaves little room for breathing. I can't believe they are this worried about me. “I made Dean bring me back as soon as Dad called my cell this morning. You have to talk some sense into
him
.”

Shelby points an accusing finger at the Guitar Player. I should've known the tears weren't for me.

“What's going on?” I ask, noticing for the first time how bad my dad looks. His eyes are bloodshot, and it appears that he's slept in his clothes. I see the faded plaid blanket and matching pillow on the couch. Make that slept in his clothes on our couch.

“Dad?”

“It's only for a few nights,” he says. I begin to get the picture.

“But it's like,
man
. . .” The Guitar Player is clearly straining his brain in an effort to get a coherent sentence out. “You're divorced. You don't live here.”

“I'm family,” Dad says. “You have to put me up.”

The Guitar Player wags his head and the light glints off the fake diamond studs, three in a row, in his ear. “Divorced, man. That means you can't be hanging around here, all in Mona's business.”

Shelby bounces Hannah on her lap. “He's my dad and I say he can stay.”

“Daddy stay, Daddy stay,” Hannah chants in rhythm to the bounce.

Mom looks dazed, hands at her waist, standing in a direct beam of sun from the window. It's not a flattering light. There are tiny creases around her eyes, and without the full complement of makeup, her lips are dried and pale. The old sweats with the hole in the knee don't do anything to help the picture.

I sit next to Dad. “What happened? Shevon kicked you out?”

He swallows loudly and nods. “Just because I came home a bit tipsy, she said I have to sleep somewhere else. Like it's so easy to find a place to go at two in the morning. Then she said don't come back, she's changing the locks.”

“But it's your house, right? You bought it.” I give him an encouraging pat on the knee. “You can go back anytime you want. If Shevon wants to leave
you
, then she should be the one to
leave
. You with me?”

He's looking a little blank. “She said she's taking me to the cleaners. She's gonna get my house and my motorcycle and probably the fillings from my teeth if she can.”

Motorcycle? I glance questioningly at Shelby. She shrugs like she doesn't know, either.

The Guitar Player stomps his booted foot. “He's not staying here and that's final.”

I whip my head around to look at Mom. He may think they made up after the incident in the driveway, but long years with my mother have taught me that she can hold a grudge. Boy, can she hold a grudge. Her eyes get that sparkle that means someone's going down. Poor Guitar Player. He doesn't even see it coming.

“This is
my
house, and I will say who can and cannot live here.” She whirls about and huffs off to the kitchen. Dishes clatter in the sink. She always cleans when she's angry. Too bad she's usually so easygoing.

Kait muffles a sob, hiking the baby sling up so she can bury her face in between Stephanie's head and shoulders. Her cries wake up Stephanie, and she joins in. I wonder if Kait has postpartum depression and then decide, yes, of course she does. She had her stepfather's baby. Who wouldn't get depressed? Brandi on
Passion's Promise
got postpartum after the birth of her baby, because Jake, the father, was married to someone else. But then Jake realized he was still in love with Brandi, and that cured her. I don't think Kait's problem can be so easily solved.

Someone's phone rings. Dad checks the clip on his belt but finds it empty. Kait shuffles through the diaper bag at her feet and produces her phone from one of the pockets with baby ducks marching across it in red raincoats.

“Gustavo! Thank God! Please, I'm begging you, come and get me. I can't live in this madhouse anymore!” She lurches to her feet and carries Stephanie, who is still crying, and the bag back to our room.

I can't say I disagree with her. “Really, Dad, do you think staying here is the best thing for everyone?”

“He's being selfish,” the Guitar Player says. “This is what he always does. Comes crying back to Mona.
Oh, baby, please forgive me
. Well, she's not taking you back this time.”

For the record, the Guitar Player is not entirely off base. This is exactly how Mom and Dad got back together after their first divorce.

Dad closes his eyes and then opens them again, clearly hoping this is all some kind of bad dream. “It's only a few nights. Until I find a new place.”

“Get out!” The Guitar Player points to the door, very macho-like.

From the kitchen, Mom screeches, “He stays!”

Dad smirks. Not an attractive expression for him.

“You're not sleeping on my couch.” The Guitar Player takes a threatening step forward. The couch is the only piece of furniture he brought with him when he moved in. Since our sofa was old when I was born, we were glad to see it go.

“It's not your decision.” Dad stands, flinging the blanket behind him with a quick flick of his wrist. Dad and the Guitar Player are about the same height, and wear identical expressions of hate on their faces. I take a step back toward the sliding door, afraid of what I might be about to witness.

The doorbell rings and that's enough of a distraction to break the tension in the room. I hear Kait squeal, “Gustavo!”

He must've been nearby to arrive so quickly, although it's hard to imagine what could bring him out here besides Kait. Hiking, or maybe the Fry's by him ran out of his favorite brand of facial cleanser. After a few long, tense moments, Kait pulls Gustavo into the living room. “Mom, everybody, we have an announcement!”

Mom comes into the room, wiping her hands with a somewhat used dishtowel. “Yes?”

“Gustavo and I are moving in together!”

Shelby leaps to her feet, dislodging Hannah and making her cry. “No way. Not another one. Nine people cannot live here! It's impossible.” She takes Hannah by the hand and whisks her away.

“Kait,” I say, trying to be the voice of reason in this logic-impaired family, “isn't it kind of soon?”

Kait bounces Stephanie in the sling. “Are you kidding me? It's almost too late! Dr. Patty says that babies need the steadying influence of a father figure.” She screws up her face like she's thinking real hard. “Otherwise, the child can develop attachment issues later in life,” she apparently quotes.

I wouldn't call our father a steadying influence, which could explain a lot of things about me and my sisters. Maybe Kait's onto something with this book she's reading. Still, when I look at Gustavo of the skinny ponytail and giant zit on his chin, father figure are not the first two words that jump to mind.

“That's, um . . . great, Kait. But Shelby's right. It's a bit crowded around here lately.” I gesture at Dad's discarded blanket as evidence.

She claps her hands together, as happy now as she was sad only a few minutes before. “You don't understand! He asked me to move in with him. At his place! Isn't it wonderful?”

Wonderful
is not the adjective I would've used, but maybe I'm being harsh. In terms of the Rules, Kait's not doing so bad. Gustavo's not new, but he's a new kind of guy for her. Not heartbreakingly gorgeous, but not too bad, either, if he'd cut off that tail. As for the No Baggage rule, he seems too nice to have racked up psycho exes. And while they're not Getting Out of Town, he's at least taking her
across
town. All in all, I decide, not a bad start.

“Congratulations!” I'm the first one to say it, then everyone else chimes in. Shelby even offers to help Kait pack. Apparently, Kait can't get away fast enough because minutes later, they are down the hall throwing baby things into trash bags to take out to Gustavo's car.

Gustavo stands in our living room, huge smile on his face, Stephanie held high against his chest. If this is his lucky day, I hate to think what the rest of his life has been like.