Layers Deep (3 page)

Why did Cross
appear to be this normal guy who was actually into me? Did I have
the same effect on him as he had on me?

“I don’t
usually mix business with pleasure, but you should know that this
position is... unique.”

“Meaning you’d
want the ‘hooker’ profession to be treated seriously.”

“Very
seriously. Beyond anything you’d expect, which means playing out
the role like you’re in the running for an Oscar.”

I stepped
closer until his tangy breath mingled with mine, and I brushed
against his front feeling his enticing curve against my belly. His
eyes clouded as both his hands held my hips steady. When he
inhaled, his sculpted chest touched my breasts and I pressed in,
asking, “How am I doing so far?”

“Not bad, but
you’re forgetting this isn’t an interview.”

Of course it
wasn’t. This was all me; me and the tequila. My body ached in all
the right places, ready to be touched and caressed by his manicured
hands. But he wouldn’t hire me if I pushed it too far.

Keep focused,
Allie!

“I can
guarantee you I haven’t forgotten. Now, are you going to drive me
home or not?”

His brows
narrowed as he motioned me into the car. Had I said something
wrong? Was he expecting me to jump in his bed tonight? No, that
wasn’t his style. He wouldn’t touch me when I was drunk. But I knew
I would have Cross sliding between my legs sooner than he
thought—before he hired me.

I can’t!

Sure you
can
, the devil grinned, wringing his hands.
Consider it a
done deal.

Shivers ran
through my body and I made a mental note to count how many shots
I’d had next time.

If I didn’t
detach my feelings, I’d be lost to Cross’s charms. What woman
wouldn’t be? And that, I couldn’t allow.

Through the
silent drive home, my vision blurred. The spinning in my head
drowned out the past, present, and future. Aware of the car’s clean
interior, my only goals were to hold the contents of my earlier
supper in my stomach and to keep the world from spinning. Cross had
never asked me for an address, which didn’t surprise me. An apology
loomed on the tip of my tongue for acting over-confidant and
drinking too much, but I couldn’t get the words out. Everything
would spill if I opened my mouth.

He parked in
front of my apartment and paced around the car to open the door
before I had the wits in me to step out. I cursed at the tequila in
my mind again.

“Good night,
Allie.” Tristan leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. The gesture
was too affectionate for an employer. But then again, he wasn’t my
employer just yet. How I wished I were sober! I wanted to charm him
and show him the woman I was underneath the layer of protective
alcohol.

My breath
stilled as he touched the small of my back, motioning me toward the
steps. “I hope to see you soon.”

Soon is not
quick enough,
I thought.

“Good night,
Mr. Cross.” I stepped inside, and he closed the door behind me.
With a deep breath I leaned my back against it. The first drops of
rain fell, hitting the roof like golf balls.

I stood there
for a few minutes, but it seemed hours had passed. My hand touched
my cheek where Cross’s kiss lingered, as I wondered how in the
world I would manage to work for Tristan Cross without getting too
close, risking my career – or worse, jeopardizing my mother’s
safety.

It had been
two days since Cross drove me home, and I couldn’t have been more
thankful I had a week’s worth of vacation to get my shit together.
Laura had taken an extra shift at work, so she’d only stop by to
sleep and change into fresh clothes. My two days of hangover-curing
left me locked up in my apartment. By Monday morning I was sick of
drinking my mother’s tomato juice concoction and rolled out of bed
to open the drapes. The high noon sun shone through. I regretted
wasting a weekend, but the tequila had washed away the pain. It
drowned the past that guided my life, and for a moment at least, I
could pretend to be normal and happy and lost to Cross’s
hypnotizing dimple.

Breakfast
tasted better than I had thought it would, and strength slowly
returned to my limbs. With the laptop on the kitchen table, I
googled Tristan Cross. The few photos I found were clearly
publicity shots of Cross in business suits—uncomfortable and out of
his element. Part of me wanted to run downtown across the George
Washington Bridge and beg him to hire me on the spot. He probably
would, but that wasn’t my style. I had some work to do before I
applied, on my own terms.

I grabbed
another Eggo and a green pro-biotic shake. The waffle was a ritual
from childhood. Without syrup or peanut butter it tasted bland, but
it reminded me of what had to be done. Every morning, the stupid
Eggo refocused my goals. Its smell rekindled memories of that day
thirteen years ago when
he
destroyed our little family.

* * *

My mother was
washing the dishes by the sink, humming under her breath. I felt
guilty for not helping her clean up the kitchen, but she’d insisted
I not be late for school. She always made the waffles from scratch,
which meant a bigger clean up. As much as I didn’t want her late
for her morning mass, I couldn’t resist watching her when she
thought I’d left. I had left, but came back for a book I’d
forgotten. I leaned against the doorframe enjoying the peace my
mother found. Her hips swayed as she moved across the kitchen, her
seven-month bump sticking straight out. I didn’t interrupt her. I
didn’t want her worried I’d be late for school, because I knew if I
ran fast enough I’d make it. Still, she’d worry if I said anything,
so I just watched her in a rare moment of happiness. My mother
didn’t need an additional burden. Not now. She put on a brave face
for me every day, but I could see the pain in her eyes and the
ever-growing lines underneath. They weren’t wrinkles; they were
paths of worry, fine lines that grew as she struggled to raise one
daughter on her own and carry another one to term.

A
shadow passed by the kitchen window and I held my breath. My
stomach gurgled and goose bumps covered my arms. I didn’t know
anything about instinct yet, but I wish I had. The knock on the
back door echoed with insistency. My mom dried her hands on the
apron, narrowed her brows, and paced to the garden
opening.

“
Hello, Dave. What brings you by this morning?”

Millie, our chocolate Lab, barked outside.

Mr.
Wright was the town’s chief of police. Everyone knew him as the
prominent man, able to quiet hundreds of people at once with his
deep voice in City Hall. Respected by all, he helped my mother sell
Dad’s tools from the garage. We’d sold a lot of stuff the past few
months. The money would come in handy when my sister was born.
Still, I didn’t like him. Mr. Wright was mean to the kids in town.
He’d yell when we walked across a front lawn instead of using the
sidewalk. His breath always stunk of homemade cigarettes. And his
house was always the scariest for Halloween. Besides, I’d always
thought this man had something in for my mom, but he wouldn’t dare
make a move while my dad was alive. The way he looked at her when
my father wasn’t watching couldn’t be a coincidence – like he
wanted to grab her and run away. I didn’t understand it at the
time, but I remembered the expression all too clearly.

My
father and Mr. Wright had been best friends since high school, and
that’s why we trusted him. This morning, though, a weary shade
covered his face. His neck tensed as he tightened his fists, arms
hanging at the sides of his hips. Something was wrong, I could
tell, and so I flattened my back against the wall in the hallway. I
promised myself to make sure he left. I didn’t like him with my
mother there all alone. Not today, not any day.

He
closed the door behind him, and the click of the lock sent shivers
up my spine. I lowered myself to the floor, lying down, and barely
peeked from underneath where they wouldn’t expect me looking, in
case they turned. He rolled up his sleeves tauntingly slowly, and
then stepped up to my mother and leaned in to kiss her on the
cheek—not an uncommon gesture in town. She backed away, but the
kitchen island blocked her behind. And it wasn’t the type of
greeting kiss, once on each cheek, that everyone was used to. His
lips widened and his hands took the side of her waist as he laid
the lingering smooch. I imagined the sticky saliva left behind on
my mother’s skin. Gross!

“
I’m
expecting company, Dave.” Her tone held a hint of a warning, and I
slowly stood up and took a step back as if I were her, needing
distance from this man.

“
Who?” he asked.

“
Barb’s joining me for breakfast,” she lied. I knew my mother
was in a hurry to make it to the morning mass. I didn’t understand
why she felt the need to explain herself at the time; not until I
was a bit older, at least. Her diversion didn’t seem to faze
Wright.

I
opened the storage door under the staircase with care, slower than
ever before, making sure no sound escaped, and I hid there. The
cracks between the wooden boards were large enough to reveal half
the kitchen. My mother and Wright were still out of view, but I
could hear everything. And I wish I hadn’t, because the screams and
pleading of my mother’s voice would haunt me for the rest of my
life.

“
See, Peg, I just saw Barb go into church for a morning mass.
It’ll be an hour before she comes out of there. You know Father
Fray and his long sermons, don’t you?”

“
Perhaps you should visit him once in a while and listen,
Dave. You’ll think better than to scare pregnant
widows.”

My
mom was trying to touch a nerve, but when I heard her gasp, I knew
he’d stepped closer to her. Her warning didn’t work.

“
You
don’t have to be afraid, Peg. We’ve known each other for a long
time. It must be lonely for you since Ray passed.”

“
Don’t touch me!”

The
skin-to-skin slap made me jump up. I hoped it was my mother showing
Wright she meant business, instead of him putting her in her place,
the way I’d heard he had with other women. The fear and conviction
in her voice tightened my stomach. I should have stepped out at
that moment, something I’d feel guilty about for the rest of my
life, but I was only ten, and fear told me to stay hidden under the
staircase. I told myself years later he could have killed us both
if I’d stepped out.

“
Such a pretty face. It hurts me to see you sad, Peg. No one
could have predicted Ray would die in a hunting
accident.”

I
could swear I’d heard him smirk. Years later I’d question whether
my father’s death out in the woods had truly been an accident, and
I’d research the evidence to prove it wasn’t.

My
mother sniffled and my heart stilled. Was she crying because Wright
had mentioned my father, or because he’d gotten too close to
her?

“
You
know it should have been us at that prom, Peg. It would have been
me standing at the altar with you if Ray hadn’t filled in for my
date. I cursed him for my broken leg for years, and now I’ll curse
him in death.”

Everything inside me shook. How dare he talk about Daddy this
way!

I
remembered my father telling me the story of how my parents had
gone on their first date to the prom. Fate had brought them
together when Dad’s date fell ill and Mom’s date broke his leg
jumping off a wagon. It was meant to be!

“
And
it should have been my child you’re carrying, not his.”

My
throat tingled as I held back my tears and shook my head. I’d never
heard Mr. Wright say these words before. How could he have been so
mad about Daddy? They were best friends. Weren’t they? Daddy always
did everything the chief asked him to. He worked late nights and
took on the most dangerous jobs assigned to him, even if it meant
missing tucking me into bed and kissing me goodnight.

“
Leave, Dave, before we both do something we
regret.”

I
heard my mother pull out a knife from the holder on the kitchen
counter. The metal blade slid sharp against its iron casing. I
backed into a corner of the dark storage, and my entire body
trembled in a crouch. I should have helped her, and instead I was
trapped in a rhythm of constant shakes.

A
swoosh and a punch later, the blade flew down, clashing onto the
tile floor. In that one second I hoped she’d stabbed him. Hell, I
hoped she’d killed him.

Millie began barking again, and it wasn’t a happy kind of
bark.

“
You
think a knife will help you, Peg?” Wright’s voice held more
determination than before. The click of a gun loading sounded as he
got his pistol ready. I imagined him pointing it at my mom. I guess
the knife was as useful as a solar-powered flashlight.

“
Turn around and lift your fucking dress if you want to live,”
he ordered.

After that, I covered my ears. The screaming, the loud
thrashing of bodies, and my mom’s constant pleading not to push so
hard against the stomach for the sake of her baby were audible no
matter how hard I pressed my palms to my ears.

I
sobbed quietly, wanting the sounds to go away. As much as I tried
to dismiss them, they kept coming through, sounds I’d remember
forever. Muffled cries and sobs I would draw on to take my revenge
when the time was right. With my eyes shut, my body ceased to work.
I think my bladder let go at some point as well. The snot under my
nose collected and dripped in streaks to the floor, but I wouldn’t
wipe it in fear of what I’d hear when I pulled my hands
away.