Happenstance: Part Two (Happenstance #2) (7 page)

Sam winked and rushed to the back door that led to the garage. “Gotta go, honey!”

“Have a good day!” Julianne called.

I joined her in the kitchen. “I’m heading out.”

“No breakfast?” she asked, trying not to let the disappointment show. A beautiful omelet was folded perfectly on a white floral plate. A fork on a cloth napkin and a half glass of orange juice sat nearby.

“You’re so…Everything is always so perfect. This whole house could be photographed for a magazine.”

Julianne beamed. “Thank you. It’s to pass the time, really. I get restless,” she said, putting her palms on the edge of the counter. She looked around. “And a little bored, if you want to know the truth.”

“Have you thought more about going back to work?”

She nodded. “Sam and I discussed it. We think it would be best if I stayed home a little longer. Especially over the summer when you’re home more.”

“I work a lot in the summer,” I said with chagrin.

“About that,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “How would you feel about cutting your hours? That would give you more time at home…and with Weston. And more time to enjoy your senior year and your summer before college. No pressure. Just a thought.”

“I work so much to save up for college.”

“Erin, sweetie, we’re paying for your college. Whatever you’ve saved up is yours to spend however you wish.”

“Um…that’s so generous. But you and Sam have already done so much. You’ve given me a place to stay and that amazing car outside. I couldn’t accept anything else from you. And I have a scholarship.”

She smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her words took me aback. I couldn’t remember anyone saying that to me before.

“You’ve worked so hard, and you’re such a good person despite your circumstances.” She teared up, but quickly wiped her eyes. “Your money is yours. Whatever your scholarship doesn’t cover, we’ve got handled. I know it probably seems like we’ve done a lot, but that’s just because it’s all at once. If you’d been here the whole time, it would have been a more gradual process. If it’s overwhelming, I apologize.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have to apologize, Julianne. For anything. All you’ve done is been wonderful. Both of you.”

Julianne’s expression turned soft, and she reached across the island to clasp my hand in hers.

“You’re our daughter,” she said softly. “Let us take care of you. Let us make things a little easier than they’ve been for you. It helps us too.”

My mouth pulled to the side. “Maybe I can talk to Patty about hiring someone for weekends and cutting down my hours for the summer.”

Julianne beamed, patting my hand before returning to the stove. “I’m excited. We can go to the city or something and eat dinner, or shopping, or to the museum.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. “Sounds like fun.” I sat down and took four or five quick bites of the omelet, drank the juice, wiped my mouth, and picked up my backpack.

“See you tonight,” I said.

“Okay, sweetie,” she said, taking my plate.

I walked down the hallway, toward the back door this time. Sam had left the single-car garage door open, knowing I would be leaving soon. I shook my head. The thought of having a car—much less a BMW—to drive to school was unbelievable, but there it was, shiny, gorgeous, and waiting for me to sit inside.

I backed out slowly and carefully made my way to Weston’s house around the corner. I parked in the street, but when I got out, I realized I had parked too far from the curb. I started to get back in to amend my poor parking.

Weston jogged out with his backpack in his hand, smiling. “Don’t worry about it, babe.”

He was looking particularly appealing in a pair of nice jeans held up with a thick, brown leather belt. His light-turquoise polo shirt made him look even more tanned, and his wrists were cuffed with a watch on his left hand, a couple of braided leather bracelets on his right. He had the lean, toned body of a baseball player, and his hair was messed strategically with the slightest bit of gel. His eyes still looked a little sleepy, but the bright green globes gleamed brightly as they always did.

I didn’t know if I would ever get over someone who looked like him calling me babe. I’d always thought those sickeningly sweet nicknames were ridiculous, but when Weston said it to me, warmth spread from my cheeks to my toes, and I only wanted him to do it again. Something about the way he said it so casually made me feel like there would be no end to our beginning. No worry about us in sight.

Peter and Veronica came outside, both with surprised but happy expressions.

“That’s quite a car you’ve got there!” Peter said.

I shrugged and shook my head. “I know. They are too good to me.”

“Nonsense,” Veronica said. She put her arm around me and squeezed. “You need a car, silly girl.”

Weston opened the passenger door. “All right, you’ve seen the car. We have to get to school.”

His parents waved to us as I nervously pulled away. Weston chatted about baseball practice and our test in health, not seeming the least bit worried about my driving skills. I had driven his truck a few times, but this felt very different.

I pulled into the parking lot, and the students walking to class stopped and stared. Blackwell was such a tiny school, everyone knew who drove what.

“They’re staring,” I said with dread.

“They’re going to.”

“They’re going to say I’m taking advantage of Sam and Julianne.”

“I’ll set them straight.”

I parked and pressed the button to turn off the ignition. Shannon LaBlue from art class didn’t hesitate to walk up to me.

“Is that yours?” she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual.

I looked to Weston and then spoke. “Yes.”

“Her parents just bought it for her,” Weston said. “Cool, huh?”

That answer didn’t occur to me, but I loved the way it sounded:
my parents
. Sam and Julianne were mine.

“A BMW, Easter? That’s incredible!”

I nodded, unable to say thanks. For whatever reason, saying thank you felt awkward. More people came over to get a closer look. I pressed the lock button on my remote, and then Weston led me into the building by the hand.

By the time I’d reached bio, the entire school had already heard about the car. Sara and a few of the other kids in class asked me about it the moment I sat down. Brady eyed me but didn’t say anything.

When I got to Mr. Barrows’s class, I stopped in the doorway to see that instead of Mr. Barrows, Julianne was standing behind his desk, shuffling papers around, looking nervous. When our eyes met, her face twisted to an apologetic half smile, half frown.

“It was last-minute. I’m sorry if this embarrasses you.”

Other students shouldered past me to their seats. I walked over to her and hugged her. She paused for a moment, shocked at my unusual display of affection.

“Thank you again for the car,” I whispered. “Everyone thinks it’s amazing.”

Julianne hugged me back. “I tried to get out of subbing,” she said softly into my ear.

I pulled away. “It’s kind of cool to see you in the middle of the day,” I said with a smile, and then continued to my desk. When I sat, Julianne’s expression was undeterminable. She was lost in thought, but then a grin touched her lips, and she continued greeting the students still straggling into class.

DRIVING TO THE MURAL WITH SEVERAL REGRETS IN TOW
, I pulled into the old pizza place next to Weston’s Chevy. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a shallow shadow along the stretch of concrete where the other students were standing with paintbrushes in hand. Mrs. Cup glanced over her shoulder, noting my arrival with a small nod.

“What took you so long?” Weston asked. “You should have been right behind me.”

“I got caught at a red light. And I drive slowly.”

“A snail could have beat you here.”

“I’m not ashamed,” I said, walking toward the brick wall.

I dipped my paintbrush in a small tub of green paint and began filling in places where the old paint was chipped. Weston did the same with a different color.

“What are you doing after work?” he asked.

“I…think I need to have a talk with Julianne.”

“Oh? That sounds a little serious.”

“It is. I hope not. Maybe.”

“What about?”

“Something I did.”

He hesitated, making a few strokes with his paintbrush. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I…It’s bad.”

“Did you wreck the car?”

“No.”

“Did you steal from her?”

I craned my neck at him. “What?”

He turned and shrugged, seeming shocked at himself. “I don’t know why I said that. My mind is racing, wondering what serious thing you need to talk to her about. I don’t think you’d steal from her. Or anyone.”

I nodded, satisfied, but the smug expression faded. “It’s almost as bad.”

“Jesus, Erin, just tell me.”

“I…went into Alder’s room.”

His eyebrows shot up. I looked at the cement under my shoes and puffed out a breath of air.

“I saw her prom dress. It’s beautiful.”

He nodded. “White. She told me about it.”

“She has dozens of journals in a tub in the back of her closet.”

“You read them?” he asked, suddenly worried.

I nodded, my cheeks catching fire.

He began painting again, but didn’t respond.

I waited, and when the silence threatened my sanity, I turned to him. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That it’s wrong.”

“What did they say?” he asked. “When was the last entry?” He kept his eyes on the wall, but his questions were tinged with concern.

“I didn’t read much. Just a couple of entries. I feel bad enough reading them. I’d feel worse if I told you what she wrote.”

“Anything about me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. They were vague.”

“I don’t have to tell you that it’s wrong, Erin. It’s all over your face. Just…don’t. Don’t read them.”

He was right. Arguing was useless. But from my peripheral, I saw him fidgeting, and that made me curious.

“She has some really old ones. Maybe she wrote about why she and Sonny stop talking to me.”

“They stopped talking to you because they were bitches,” he snapped. “Even in grade school.”

“Did Alder ever talk to you about it?”

He dropped his brush. He tried to jump back, but green paint splattered his jeans and shoes.

“Dammit!” he growled, holding his hands up.

“Get a wet rag,” Mrs. Cup said, rushing over. She tried to help, but the paint was only smearing.

“Can I go home and try to get this out?”

Mrs. Cup looked at her watch. “We only have twenty more minutes. Go ahead. Don’t speed.”

Weston nodded and then hugged me and touched his lips to my cheek, letting his mouth linger against my skin for a bit.

“Don’t read anymore, Erin. She’s gone. None of it matters anymore.”

He walked quickly to his truck and started the engine. He pulled into the street, but after a few seconds, I could hear his engine rev.

A frustrated groan emanated from Mrs. Cup’s throat. “Boys.”

After another productive day at the mural, Mrs. Cup let us leave five minutes early. I drove straight to the Dairy Queen, parking next to Frankie’s Taurus.

The door on the BMW had barely swept shut when I heard Frankie’s screeching.

“What in the fricking frack is that?” she asked, pointing to my car.

I walked toward her with a sheepish smile. “My car.”

“Your car?
Your
car? Sam and Julianne bought you a BMW? Don’t answer that. The answer is obvious, but mother bear, Erin!” she said, following me into the back entrance.

I slipped my apron over my head and tied the back. “I know. Believe me, I know. So…can I talk to you a minute?”

All excitement left Frankie’s face, and she eyed me for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Julianne wants me to…She’s asked me to ask Patty to, uh…work less hours.”

Frankie watched me for a moment. “Are you quitting?”

“No,” I said emphatically and drawn out. “She said something about me enjoying my senior year and summer. She wants me to ask Patty for weekends off and to cut back my summer hours.”

“You’re okay with this?”

I shrugged.

“I mean,” she said, shrugging too, “of course you are. What teenager wouldn’t want more free time? Yeah. I mean, I’ll let Patty know you want to talk to her, but I get it.”

“You look mad.”

She waved me away. “Hell no. Not at all.”

“I know Patty might have to hire someone new. I’ll stay until they get trained.”

“I’ll do it. It’s no biggie.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Am not.”

A little girl with chocolate already all over her face came to the window. When Frankie didn’t acknowledge her, she knocked on it.

Frankie glanced at her and put her hand on the glass to block the sight of her. “Beat it, Milky Way, we’re talking.”

“Frankie!” I said, frowning. I opened my window and took her order. Her mother was waiting in a minivan, eyeing my car.