Just Flirt (30 page)

But today is all about Operation Blaine. “He’s still with his instructor,” I say, watching him through the binoculars. “Who is wearing the most hideous yellow striped pants ever. Yuck, does playing golf require a lack of good taste?”

“I hate golf,” Dee says.

Got that right. I sweep the binoculars back to the pro shop, where a father and two little boys are walking out. “Okay, Natalie is at the front of the line now. Hey, the guy behind the counter is kind of cute in a shaggy way. He’s getting her a bucket of balls.”

“Let me see,” Dee says, taking the binoculars. “Oh, he is cute! With that hair, he kind of looks like Orlando Bloom in
Pirates of the Caribbean.
There is something so deliciously sexy about movie stars with long, dirty hair, but I’m more into the high-and-tight look, like Channing Tatum. Did you see him in—”

Dee stops when she notices Roxanne staring at her.

“What?”

“Hmm, Jake looks like Channing Tatum,” Roxanne teases while reaching for the binoculars. She holds them to her eyes. “And Natalie’s leaving the shop. She’s walking to the driving range now. Has she ever swung a club, Dee?”

“Only the putt-putt kind,” she says. “And Jake does
not
look like Channing Tatum.”

If they are talking about the Jake Bollinger who danced with Dee at the campground, then she must be in serious denial mode because yes, he does. But instead of calling her on it, I take a sip of my cherry Slurpee—I am
so
not in the mood for diet soda—and squint at where Natalie is setting up four stalls down from Blaine. “What’s happening now, does he see her?”

Roxanne nods, the binoculars bobbing up and down as she says, “Oh, yeah, he notices her. So does his instructor, the perv. Wait … Orlando Bloom just walked out of the pro shop—he’s taking something to Natalie … She must have forgotten her change … And now he’s talking to her. Oh, man, is this going to screw up our plan?”

I shake my head. “No, it will help. Blaine will be more intrigued if there’s competition involved.”

Sure enough, once Orlando leaves and Blaine’s lesson is done, Roxanne reports how he pulls off his gloves and then hauls his expensive golf bag to the stall next to Natalie’s. He leans against the dividing partition, watching as she drives a ball one hundred fifty yards. Huh. Not too shabby.

“Okay, he’s giving her some pointers,” Roxanne says. “You should be proud of her, Dee, she just did a kick-butt imaginary lint pick! But oops—she flipped her hair and got it stuck to her lipstick … and she dropped her club … and she knocked over her golf balls.”

Come on, Natalie, keep it together!

Roxanne shifts in her seat. “Okay, it’s all good. They’re laughing. But man, why didn’t we think to get the Cutsons’ spy gear? We could be listening in.”

Dee turns to face us, curling her legs underneath her as she says, “Oh, that’s easy. He’ll probably talk about his stellar golfing accomplishments before moving on to the stimulating subject of his favorite movies, including, but not limited to, anything starring Chuck Norris, Jason Statham, and—of course—Clint Eastwood.”

Now it’s my turn to shift toward her. “Ugh, do you know how many times he’s forced me to watch
Heartbreak Ridge
?”

“Oh my gosh, I know!” Dee slaps her knee. “I mean, it’s a good movie and all, but I
hate
the scene where the soldiers go to that college campus where all the students are being held hostage in a classroom by terrorists except for—”

“Except for that one busty blonde,” I continue. “Who is for
some reason
taking a
shower
only to—oopsie—drop her towel when a soldier bursts in the bathroom giving the quintessential boob shot. Really? Showering during a terrorist attack? But Blaine never saw the fallacy of that scene.”

“Duh, of course he didn’t,” Dee says, wagging her finger. “Not him.”

Roxanne lowers the binoculars and pulls at the strap with a worried look on her face. “Okay, I hate to ask, but why did you both date him if he’s so horrible?”

Dee’s amusement fades to grief. She turns to the window, running her finger along the Subaru’s door handle before saying, “Well, I was pretty messed up after my father died, I guess, and for a while … Blaine filled that empty void, you know?”

Yes, I do know.

I have that very same void. But Dee’s father died? I didn’t know that—or maybe I did hear about it but didn’t care enough to pay attention. It makes me think of all my father’s recent phone calls that I’ve been ignoring, and the letter he sent me. Maybe I should read it. Give him a chance to apologize. And, for the first time, I’m realizing something else.

Just how much Dee and I have in common.

“Wait! Blaine’s leaving,” Roxanne says, leaning so far forward that she is nearly in my seat. “That can’t be good news, can it?”

But it is good news. Because while Blaine is loading his golf clubs in his Mercedes, Natalie calls Dee’s cell and reports that he didn’t recognize her when she introduced herself as
Priscilla
, of all names, and that she did, indeed, secure an invitation to his house to watch—wait for it, wait for it—
Heartbreak Ridge.

Oh, and Orlando slipped her his number.

26
Dee

I can’t avoid it any longer, even though just thinking about Rex Reynolds makes my chest ache.

Mom’s in the kitchen when I get back, fixing an early dinner of cheater chili—canned kidney, black, and pinto beans, and diced tomatoes sautéed in onions and topped with sour cream. On the table, fresh wildflowers are arranged in the ceramic vase, the one I now know Rex sent her. The other girls and I are supposed to be leaving for Blaine’s soon, but if tonight is the night for resolutions, then maybe I should start with her.

“Hey, Mom, you got a second?”

She stirs the chili and says, “Sure, something on your mind?”

Oh, boy, you have no idea.

“Yeah … I know it was Rex who sent you those flowers.”

This announcement causes Mom to flinch, dropping the spatula and sending bits of onion and beans all over the floor. She grabs a tea towel and starts to clean up the mess with quick, spastic movements. “How did you—Oh, Dee, I’m sorry, let me explain—”

“Mom, stop, it’s okay.” I kneel to help her. “I’m not upset nor would I have any right to be. I just want you to be happy, just like Dad would have. So whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Mom freezes, her fingers poised over a wayward kidney bean as though she expects me to protest—or
wants
me to protest. She abandons the bean and slumps down on the floor, leaning against the stove. I sit beside her as she says, “Dee, I thought I was ready to date. And Rex really is a nice man, but…” Mom sniffs, red blotches dotting her cheeks. “It was so easy with your dad. I never had to think, you know? I could be myself around him. I could …
fart
and he wouldn’t care, but with Rex … How can you go back to casual dating after you’ve spent half of your life as a devoted wife? It’s like going backward, and maybe … maybe I just don’t have the energy to start over, sweetie.”

“No, Mom.” I lean into her and loop my arm around her bent knee. “It’s going
forward
, not backward. And honestly, you never farted in front of Dad at the beginning, did you? At least I hope you didn’t.”

A slow smile spreads on her face. “No, of course not, but who am I kidding, what would Rex want with a stressed-out widow with a multimillion-dollar lawsuit against her? No. Forget it. I wouldn’t know how to act on a date, anyway.”

“
What?
First off, Mom, the case is
not
going to trial if I have anything to do with it. And second, you have me as your own personal coach! My first bit of advice,” I say, pointing to her chili, “is to stay away from the beans if you’d rather not have gas.”

*   *   *

Before we leave, the Cutsons, wearing magician’s capes and curly mustaches drawn above their upper lips, run up to the Subaru that Sabrina borrowed. Lyle doesn’t skip a beat when he sees Natalie and me crouching on the rear floorboard so Mom and Ivy won’t catch us with Sabrina and realize we haven’t already left for a sale at Kohl’s. Lyle simply hands me all of his spy gear through the open window: binoculars, mini-recorders, goggles—what for, I have no idea—and a notepad. “You sure you don’t need us to come along?” he asks, staring down at me with eyes round like brown acorns.

“Yeah, what if you need backup?” Tanner says, resting his chin on the window ledge and glancing at Sabrina and Roxanne in the front seat.

I take in their eager, dirty faces. The little creeps only want to be included, so it wouldn’t hurt to give them their own assignment. “Hmm, I’ll tell you what, boys. My grandmother, Madeline, has been acting very suspicious. Why don’t you spy on her and report back to me later, okay?”

“Okay!” the twins yell before running off.

As Sabrina starts the car, the significance of being with Roxanne and
Sabrina Owens
—the girl I’ve hated for so long—hits me. And we had
fun
today, despite everything, but what will happen when school starts again? Will everyone but Natalie and me go back to being enemies? I hope the answer will be no.

*   *   *

So far, so good.

We drop Natalie and my bike that was stowed in the trunk off at Riverside Estates’ entrance before parking behind the Swains’ dumpster. As Natalie rides to Blaine’s, Roxanne stays in the car while Sabrina and I creep to a curb near Larson’s house that is shielded from view by a row of unruly barberry shrubs. We sit, pretending to talk on our cells so any snooping neighbors will see us as normal teenagers—not two girls about to commit a misdemeanor. Or is breaking and entering a felony?

“Are you sure Blaine won’t recognize your neighbor’s car?” I whisper.

“Relax. He wouldn’t, so stay focused. Okay, Natalie is at the front stoop, she’s ringing the doorbell.”

We hear Blaine answer with a slick “Well, hello, there!” I peek around the bush and see Natalie pretending to admire Larson’s elaborate hickory door before stepping inside.

Be cool, Nat, be cool.

Minutes pass in slow agony as we wait for her cue.

Then, finally, my phone vibrates once. I nudge Sabrina. “Okay, Natalie has Blaine out of sight in the kitchen.”

We half creep/half casually walk to the front steps and stop at the door long enough for Sabrina to ask, “Do you think he set the alarm?”

“No, he never did whenever I visited. You?”

“No, but if it goes off, we bolt. Got it?”

Sabrina grabs the doorknob. She takes a deep breath and cracks the door open. We wait for the alarm. Nothing, thank God, so we tiptoe into the foyer, clinging SWAT-team style to the wall. Sabrina pulls a flashlight from her pocket and opens the basement door as we hear Natalie laughing at a lame joke of Blaine’s. As we sneak down the steps, memories flood my thoughts—all the movies I let him pick, the food I let him choose, all the times he tried to pressure me into doing something I wasn’t ready to do.

Yeah, I really was a Miss Almond Pudding.

No. Get a grip, Dee.

Sabrina goes straight to Blaine’s desk and hands me the flashlight. I try to slow my breathing as she starts to open the drawers, one by one. “Keep the light steady, okay?” Sabrina whispers, while flipping through a pile of wrinkled papers and old essays. “Come on, come on, where’s that report card?”

At the top of the stairs, the basement door creaks open. Blaine’s voice echoes down the steps. “So, Priscilla, you want to see the downstairs?”

Oh my Lord.
They aren’t supposed to come down here. Natalie is supposed to get him outside somehow. Every hair on my body rises in panic. Sabrina jumps, slamming her thigh against the drawer and biting her lip to keep from calling out.

“Absolutely,” Natalie purrs, even though—hello—we’d be totally busted. “But didn’t you say you had an
amazing
view of the river from the deck? I’d love to see that first.”

You go, Nat, whip out the Superflirt
.

I let out my breath when the door closes. Sabrina attacks another drawer with extra frenzy until she finds what she came for. “Aha! Here it is, his old report card. It’s from a school in Philadelphia.”

I yank at her shirt. “Okay, then let’s hurry!”

We creep back upstairs. Our plan was to use the report card to find out what part of Pennsylvania they came from, and then snoop in Larson’s office for some kind of evidence that he’s up to no good. But after we slip inside the room, I lean against the closed door as Sabrina dashes to his clutter-free desk. “This feels wrong,” I say. “We shouldn’t be in here.”

Sabrina stops digging through a drawer long enough to say, “Dee, we would never be in here had he not decided to mess with our mothers, so start searching.”

Good point.

But snooping through his file cabinet freaks me out, especially when a horn blast comes from outside. I run to the window that faces the Swains’ driveway. “Oh, man, Roxanne is waving for some reason. Should we leave?”

“No, just keep looking!” Sabrina whispers, opening another drawer and finding a green vinyl bag, the same kind Mom uses for bank deposits. She unzips it and pulls out a deposit slip with several checks attached with a paper clip.

There’s more honking as Sabrina reads one of the checks. She gasps. “Dee … it’s for ten thousand dollars from Kathleen Myers, the woman you saw Larson with!”

Ten thousand dollars?

Sabrina hands me the check. “Quick—the copier. Turn it on.”

I run over to the copier, but before I can flip the switch, I hear what sounds like the garage door opening.

No. It can’t be Larson.

Moments later we hear the mudroom door open. Footsteps echo in the foyer, footsteps that are too heavy to be Blaine’s. It
is
Larson,
that’s
why Roxanne honked! “Hide!” I hiss, grabbing Sabrina’s arm and pulling her behind the leather sofa.

The door swings open.