Just Another Hero (7 page)

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 10

THE SOUND OF CRUMPLING METAL AND
crunching glass exploded in Arielle's ears as she pitched forward into the dashboard. Soup and salad flew everywhere.

“What happened?” she cried out.

“Somebody just hit us! Are you all right, Arielle?” her mother shrieked.

Arielle sat up straight, wiped soup from her forehead, and blinked rapidly, trying to calm down. After a moment she said shakily, “Yeah, I'm okay—I think.”

Bits of salad hung from her mother's hair. She started to cry. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“Mom! Are you hurt? What's wrong?” Arielle was really frightened now.

“I'm fine. I'm fine. Nothing bleeding. Just…just…that really scared me.”

Just then an elderly woman, who looked even more upset than Arielle felt, knocked on the window. “I'm so
sorry!” the woman shouted. “I'm so, so sorry!”

Arielle's mom, still looking dazed, opened her car door. “What happened?” she asked.

“I meant to hit the brakes, and I hit the gas. Oh my Lord! Is anybody hurt?”

“No, we're okay.” Arielle's mom got out of the car slowly. “All in one piece—just a little shaken. But I think you've messed up my new car, ma'am.”

“My daughter told me I was getting too old to drive, sugar, but I wouldn't listen. Oh, Lord, look at this mess!”

Arielle heard her mother squeal—a combination of a scream, a screech, and a cry of desperation. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no!”

Arielle scrambled out of the car and gasped. The trunk was scrunched up like a used Kleenex.

“Chad is going to kill me!” her mother whispered, her face a grimace.

“It wasn't your fault, Mom,” Arielle said, rubbing her mother's arm. “There are a bunch of witnesses here in the parking lot who will back you up.”

“It's not a matter of whose fault it is,” her mother tried to explain. “The car's a disaster. He's going to have a coronary!”

“I got insurance, honey,” the old woman said, offering a card from her purse. “I'm old, but I ain't stupid!”

Arielle took the card as her mother couldn't seem to stop staring, with her mouth agape, at the crumpled back end of the Mercedes.

“Did you get hurt, ma'am?” Arielle asked the lady. She looked to be about eighty years old, with papery-looking
skin and glossy gray hair. Her back was slightly hunched, but her eyes were bright.

“No, honey. I'm fine. But thanks for askin'. I'm Phyllis Simsbury. What's your name?”

“Arielle. Arielle Gresham.”

“That's a pretty name, hon. Is your mama all right?”

“She's not hurt, ma'am. It's just that she just got the car for Christmas and it's kind of a shock to see it messed up. My stepfather is gonna be pissed.”

“I'm so sorry, sugar. I'd give anything to change the situation.” The old woman's eyes got teary. “It was such a pretty car, and now…Well, my daughter is gonna give me the blues because of this.” She pulled a scarf over her head. “It's a little chilly today.”

Arielle felt sorry for the woman. Her mother just kept running her fingers over the ridges of buckled metal.

“Let me write down your insurance information, Mrs. Simsbury, and I'll give you ours, okay?”

They walked over to her Ford, which had only a small dent in its bumper. “I got this car back in the eighties. They don't make 'em tough like they used to,” the old woman said, nodding her head toward the crumpled Mercedes.

“Do we need to call the police?” asked Arielle.

“No, honey. The parking lot here is private property. Just make a police report later.”

“Okay. It sounds like you've done this before,” Arielle said with a gentle smile.

The old woman sighed. “Yeah. A few months ago. Maybe my daughter is right; I should think about givin' up my license.”

“I'd hate to see you get hurt, Mrs. Simsbury,” Arielle told the woman sympathetically. “Maybe when you get home you can toss your daughter the keys.”

“Maybe I will. I'll really miss driving, though. I been doing my own thing for almost sixty years.” She touched the car lovingly.

“I understand, ma'am.”

Mrs. Simsbury glanced over at Arielle's mother. “I didn't mess up your car too bad, did I? It's drivable, right?” she asked.

“I'm pretty sure it is,” Arielle said as she copied the numbers from the two insurance cards. “But we'll have to take it to the shop right away. My stepfather is pretty picky about his cars.”

“I thought you said it was your mama's car, honey.”

“Well, it is, basically. I mean, she drives it every day….” Arielle stopped. “It's complicated,” she said finally.

“Your stepdaddy sounds like my first husband,” Mrs. Simsbury replied with a laugh. “Had to send that one to the ‘Been there, done that' pile!” She cackled at her own joke.

Arielle laughed and told her, “Don't I wish!” She helped the old woman back into her car. “You drive carefully now, Mrs. Simsbury. I'll make sure my mother files a police report and contacts the insurance companies.”

“They'll probably cancel me for sure this time around,” Mrs. Simsbury admitted. “It's a bear getting' old, honey. Have fun while you're young and pretty!”

“I will. I promise.” Arielle made sure the old woman had her seat belt on, and then watched her turn out of the
driveway of the Wendy's parking lot, jumping the curb and making a deep wedge in the mud next to the street. She waved at Arielle and disappeared into the traffic.

“I hope she makes it home safely,” Arielle said, walking back to her mother.

“She seems so sweet,” replied her mother. “But what are we going to do about the car?”

Arielle took a deep breath. “I guess we have to go home and face Chad.”

“Oh, I just can't face him yet. He's going to go ballistic.” Her mother held her hand to her brow. Her hand trembled.

“Mom, he's gonna find out eventually.”

Her mother ignored her. “I know what I'm going to do! I'm going to drop you off, then go and do the police report, call the insurance, and take it to a repair shop. Immediately. So at least I can tell Chad it's being taken care of.”

“Do you think that will help?” asked Arielle.

“A little.” She sighed deeply. “Probably not enough.”

“What do you think he'll do?” Arielle wondered.

“Remember the stain on the carpet?”

“Yeah.”

“Much worse. Much worse.”

They got back into the car then, which fortunately started with no trouble. But as they drove silently out of the parking lot, Arielle could hear an ominous rubbing sound coming from the back of the car that had not been there before.

When they got close to home, her mother did not pull into the driveway but stopped a few houses before theirs. “I don't want him to look out the window and see this
yet,” she said. “Tell Chad I've got that YWCA board meeting. I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?” She looked really nervous.

“Are you okay, Mom? You look like you're about to throw up.”

Her mother gave her a quick, fake smile. “I'm fine, sweetie. I can handle this.”

Arielle shook her head, got out of the car, and watched her mother speed off.

I'm gonna need a shrink until I'm old like Mrs. Simsbury,
Arielle thought,
to unsort the mess that's my life. It's no wonder I'm so screwed up.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 10

ARIELLE DRAGGED HER FEET UP THE FRONT
steps of Chad's two-story brick house. His shiny black Porsche sat parked in the driveway. Nice car. Nice house. Nice neighborhood. So what.

Chad was sitting in the living room when she opened the door.

She hesitated, then called out as brightly as she could, “Hi, Chad.” She hoped he'd let her go right to her room.

“Hello, Arielle,” he said in that voice that made investors trust him with millions of their dollars. “How was school?”

“Okay. Same as usual.” She forced herself to smile, as if everything really was okay. But she suddenly felt like she had to pee really bad.

“That's a lovely outfit you're wearing,” he said. “You look good in yellow.”

“Uh, thanks,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other.

“What's that you've spilled on it?” he asked, looking more carefully.

“Broccoli soup. Me and Mom stopped at Wendy's on the way home.”

“And you decided to wear your soup instead of eat it, I see.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” Arielle just wanted to placate him.

“Where's your mother? I didn't hear the car in the drive.” Arielle noticed he said “the car,” not “her car.”

“She had a meeting at the Y. She said she'd be home in a couple of hours.” Arielle hoped his interrogation was over, and she moved toward the stairs.

“Not just yet, Arielle. I'm wondering where you bought the outfit you're wearing.”

“Uh, T.J. Maxx, I think.”

“And when did you buy it?”

“A few days ago.”

“I find that very interesting,” said Chad. “Because I know you have no money.”

“You don't know everything,” Arielle said sullenly.

“I see you have new shoes as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where are the receipts for all of this?”

“I think they're in my purse.” Her hands started shaking.

He eyed her closely. “How much did the outfit and shoes cost?”

“They were on sale,” Arielle said evasively.

Chad paused, as if he were waiting to reel in a wriggling fish. “Arielle, you had no allowance last week. How
did you pay for the clothing and shoes? Did you steal them?”

Arielle stared at him in disbelief. “Did I—did I—
what
?” she sputtered. “Are you accusing me of—Who the hell do—”

“Watch your mouth, young lady!”

“Well, you watch yours! I didn't steal any clothes!”

“Then give me the receipts.”

“I'll show you!” She dug down in her purse, muttering curses under her breath. But she couldn't find them! She thought back to when she'd dumped out her purse looking for the iPhone the other day. She kept searching, growing more frantic by the second, but both of them was gone. They must have fallen on the cafeteria floor.

“The receipts, Arielle,” Chad ordered, ice in his voice.

“I can't find them!” she had to admit. “But I paid for everything I have on! I swear I did.”

“With what money?”

Arielle hesitated.

“With what money?” he asked again.

“I charged it,” she whispered finally.

“You what?” he thundered.

“Since I shop there so much, they gave me an instant credit card,” she hurried to explain.

“In whose name is the card?” asked Chad. “You're a minor.”

“Mine,” she said. She backed a step away from him.

“And whose credit history did they use to allow the privilege of charging at their store?” His voice cut like razors.

“Uh, yours.” Arielle lowered her gaze.

“And at whose home will the bill arrive?”

“Yours.”

“How do you plan to pay when the bill comes?”

“I'll pay it when I get my allowance again.”

“You mean if you get your allowance back.”

“What?” Arielle yelped.

“I can't have irresponsible women spending my money recklessly—do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Arielle felt her confidence ebbing quickly.

“First of all, that charge account will be canceled. You haven't got the sense of a goose. You can't possibly handle credit and finances.”

“But I—”

He continued as if she had not spoken. “Secondly, you will pay me back the amount charged for those clothes, plus the interest. I will pay it, clear my credit, and deduct the amount from your allowance after the expense for the carpet. It should only add a week or so to your payback plan. You'll survive.”

“Can I go now?” Arielle asked. She didn't think she could share one more breath of air with Chadwick Kensington O'Neil.

“No. I'm not finished. It seems a punishment is in order,” Chad said quietly.

“For what?”

“You've stolen my good name and good credit. You've deceived me. You failed to keep a record of your own purchases. Haven't I taught you
anything
?” He sighed with disgust.

Arielle looked up. “What are you going to do?” she whispered.

“You must learn order and responsibility, Arielle. I'm trying to teach your mother the same thing.”

“What else can you do to me?” she asked.

“I'm suspending the use of your iPhone for two weeks. Hand it over!” He held out his hand.

“But you gave it to me for my birthday!” Arielle desperately tried to think of a way to get out of this.

“I am aware of that. It was mine to give and mine to take back. Now give me the cell phone.”

“Please, not my iPhone,” Arielle pleaded. “I really like it, Chad.” She wrung her hands; her palms felt moist and clammy.

“That's why I'm taking it. Give it to me.”

“Please?” Arielle fought back tears.

“It's only for two weeks. By then you'll have learned your lesson. Now give it here!” He snapped his fingers.

Arielle gritted her teeth. “I can't,” she said, bursting into sobs.

“And why not?”

“It…it…it got stolen two days ago.”

“Stolen?” he roared. “What do you mean, it got
stolen
?” He stood up, nostrils flaring.

Arielle stepped backward again, cringing. “Some kid from school went into my backpack and took it. When I went to look for it at lunch, it was gone.”

“How could you be so careless!” he shouted. “I was right! You're an irresponsible ninny!”

“How was I supposed to know?” Arielle yelled back.

“You were supposed to keep up with your property! If you had valued it, you would have kept an eye on it.”

“I
loved
it, Chad. You know that,” she pleaded. “I never even left it on my desk at school. I hid it at the bottom of my bag.”

“Obviously not safely enough! And you had no business taking it to school anyway! Isn't there a rule against cell phones at that school?”

Arielle closed her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Rules are in place for a reason, young lady! But you seem to think rules don't apply to you. You are in for a rude awakening when you realize the world does not revolve around Arielle Gresham!” Chad's face was red with anger.

“Yes, sir.”

“You can bet I will never buy you
anything
else as long as I live!”

“I understand. I'm so sorry.” She wiped her tears with the sleeve of the yellow sweater.

“Did you call the police?” Chad asked.

“No, but I reported it to the principal. There wasn't a whole lot she could do,” Arielle told him. “I'll pay you back, Chad. I promise.”

“Yes, you will. Every cent I spent on that thing, you are going to reimburse me for—with interest.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And your allowance? Forget about it. If you need spending money, you can work for it. I should have known better.” He glanced at a picture of her mother on the mantel above the fireplace.

“Yes, sir. Can I go now? I
really
have to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, frowning still.

She scurried upstairs, sat on the toilet, and cried and cried and cried.