Never Smile at Strangers (18 page)

HALEY WAS SURPRISED to see a blonde-headed woman sitting in Erica’s living room on Thursday evening when they walked into the house.

The room was sparsely furnished. Aside from a butter-colored leather couch and a coffee table, the only other fixtures in the room were a stuffed buck’s head in the corner and an empty fish tank on a tattered wooden stand.

“Why, there,” the woman exclaimed, looking up from a paperback. Her face broke into a warm smile. “You brought home a friend!”

Erica ignored her and led Haley down a hallway.

Haley smiled uncomfortably at the woman and followed Erica.

“Who was that woman?” Haley asked, once in Erica’s room.

“No one important,” Erica mumbled, setting her backpack on the floor. She unzipped it and pulled out two wine bottles and a Styrofoam box that contained a fried oyster po-boy and a heap of crinkly fries the two had taken from their shift at Luke’s.

Haley looked around the small bedroom. It was about the size of Becky’s and there was a small window covered by a dingy, bisque-colored window shade. Brown shag carpet covered the floor and an ancient computer sat atop a walnut desk.

“You have a lot of books,” Haley said, staring at a wall-long bookshelf.

“Yeah,” Erica said. “I read everything I can get my hands on. My mom did, too. Most of those are actually hers.”

The other wall was covered with newspaper clippings. “What are those?”

“
New York Times
bestseller lists,” Erica said.

“Wow. . . that must be a year’s worth.”

“Five. Five years.”

Haley sniffed and made a face. “The house smells like. . .”

“Paint?”

Haley nodded. “Yeah, paint fumes.”

“The bimbo can’t quit painting. I think she’s getting bored of my father or something.” Erica lit a cigarette. She took a long drag, then examined it before handing it to Haley. “She’s turning my mother’s greenhouse out back into an aerobics room. Can you believe it?”

***

AN HOUR LATER, Haley stumbled into the hallway, looking for the bathroom. She’d been laughing hard at something Erica had said, something she couldn’t even remember. Something that might not have even been funny.

In the bathroom, a book for learning how to cook Mediterranean food lay closed with a pen stuck in its middle and two overstuffed cosmetics bags were propped against the toilet.

She felt woozy. She and Erica had finished off a bottle and a half of the wine and had shared countless cigarettes as they’d talked. And now she was paying for it. Everything was beginning to spin and she was starting to feel a little sick.

As she stumbled out of the bathroom, she saw the pretty blonde woman leaning against a hallway wall.

“She hates me, don’t she?” the lady asked, her face very kind-looking.

Haley blinked and reached out to hold onto a wall. “Uh. . . I don’t. . . I don’t know,” she said as evenly as she could.

The woman smiled sadly. “I try to be her friend, but I guess there’s only so much someone can do to make another person like them. And it probably don’t help that I’m dating her father. Especially with her mother skipping town and all when she was so small. Probably don’t help either that she loves her mother like nothing else in the world.”

“Probably not,” Haley agreed, and leaned harder into the wall. “I’m. . . Haley, by the way,” she said. “I’m. . . a little drunk.”

The woman laughed heartily. “Pamela,” she said, and extended a soft hand.

“You girls hungry? I have a roast and some dirty rice in the fridge I can heat up.”

“No thanks. We. . . just ate.”

“Oh, okay,” she smiled. “Well, if you change your mind. . .”

“Thanks.”

She looked down at Haley’s toes. “Anytime you’re wantin’ a pedicure, I’d be happy to give you one.”

The two stood in silence for a little while, smiling dumbly at each other.

“Well, I better get back.”

“You do that. Nice meeting you, honey.
Real
nice.”

Haley tottered into Erica’s bedroom where it was dark except for three lit candles and a small book light that was attached to one of Erica’s books. Erica turned to look at her and the book light moved too, throwing a long shadow across the room. A floor fan was oscillating at the foot of the bed and the room felt pleasantly cool.

Haley dove beneath the sheets.

“Were you talking to her?” Erica asked, and flipped on a lamp.

“Yeah. She seems. . . nice.”

“Well, I wouldn’t talk to her too much if I were you. You could catch stupid.”

Haley laughed and wrapped the comforter around her tighter. She reached over and grabbed a cold crinkly fry from the Styrofoam box, then rolled over to face Erica. She stared at the girl’s tiny features for a little while before speaking. “Do you ever wonder if it’s possible that everyone in your life is a stranger?” she asked. She sat up. “I mean, like, you don’t really know people although you
think
you do?”

Erica fidgeted for another cigarette. She lit it and sucked in.

Haley went on. “I know, it probably sounds stupid or confusing. . . or both. It’s just, I wonder if it’s ever really safe to love someone. . . or even get close to them. Because these days it just doesn’t seem to me like people even really know each other. . . or what they’re capable of. Like my mom. I never would have thought she’d be capable of abandoning us. Nearly going crazy like she’s done. And Mac. I never thought he was capable of. . . lying to me. Or cheating. . .”

Erica exhaled and licked her lips. “My mother always said that love is an entanglement. If you get too tangled—you lose yourself. It’s just a distraction. A way of escaping into someone else because you think that’ll be what finally makes you happy. Like a drug.” She studied her cigarette. “Besides, we’re not meant to be happy. Not really. It’s just a concept someone made up to make us miserable.”

Haley mulled over her friends words.

“And to answer your question, I guess you can’t ever know someone unless they want you to. And even then, they probably don’t want you to know everything. Everyone has their secrets.”

Haley felt woozy.

“So, what’s going on with Mac?” Erica asked. “I hope it was okay to say what I said. I just thought you should know.”

Haley felt even woozier.

“We haven’t talked since you told me. But I’m glad you said something. It’s something I needed to know.”

The two sat in silence, listening to the crickets outside. After awhile, Erica broke the silence.

“Here, I think you should read this,” she said, handing her notebook to Haley.

Haley took it and struggled to read what was on the page. But it was difficult. The words were all bouncing around, playing mean games with her eyes. After a few minutes, she managed to catch them all. It was a character description of sorts. And the character it described seemed like someone who she, herself, would like to be.

“Who’s this about?”

“You.”

“Me? Are you serious?”

Erica shrugged and there was a flush in her cheeks. “I don’t know. Just felt like writing it, I guess.”

Haley’s brows knitted together and she looked at the page again. “But this doesn’t sound like me at all.”

“Trust me. It’s you.”

“But how can you think that I’m responsible?”

“You are. You’re just going through some shit. But this won’t be you for long.”

“But how do you know? Before this summer we didn’t even talk.”

“You don’t need to talk to someone to know them. All you need to do is watch. See how they carry themselves. See how they treat others.”

Erica kept talking and Haley fought to keep her mind in focus. She knew her friend was saying something deep and she tried to grasp all she could, but. . . there was too much alcohol in her. A cloud had descended and everything suddenly seemed impossibly distant.

After awhile, Erica stopped what she was saying. “You don’t look too good, Haley. You’re green.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t look so great,” Erica said more slowly this time, her voice even more distant than before, as though she were underwater. She leaned closer, looking concerned. “You should get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Haley tried to ask Erica what she had just said, but she was sinking into a dark, balmy pool.

She noticed Erica staring at her. She tried to ask her why but her mouth wasn’t obeying. Neither were her eyes. Every time she managed to open then, they’d slam shut again. And after much futile effort, finally, they remained shut.

HALEY CLUNG TO the darkness behind her eyelids, the remnants of a comforting dream still heavy in her mind. She was dreaming about Austin. They were standing on her porch and he was leaning over to kiss her. Feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time washed over her. The weak-in-your-knees, tingly excited feelings she’d witnessed vicariously through movie love scenes or through Tiffany and her string of boys. She’d had similar feelings for Mac—just not as intense—and it had been wonderful, but that had been long ago. And now Mac was gone.

“Haley?”

Someone was calling her name. Without opening her eyes, she felt around. Her hand closed in on her pillow. Yes, she was at her own house. Tiffany. . . no, Erica, had driven her home.

She knew that if she opened her eyes, she’d lose the moment, so she willed herself to return to the dream, to continue feeling the pleasant physical dizziness that had enveloped her. Her body began to relax again and Austin’s face returned. He thought she was pretty, not plain. He really liked her. She sank deep, deep, deeper.

Now she was at Luke’s. Her mother was walking around in a uniform, smiling and serving coffee. Her hair was done up and she looked happy. Austin and Mac were talking to her father at the bar. Her father threw his head back and laughed. That laugh. She hadn’t heard it for almost a year. It was one of those comforting parts of him she had forgotten.

Erica walked up to the two of them. “My mother snuck out in the middle of the night,” she said. “She wasn’t meant to grow old with a used car salesman.”

Tiffany was standing next to her: “I can’t stay with the same boy forever. I want to leave this backward town. I want. . . I want. . . Haley, do you miss me?”

The voice was louder this time. Becky’s. “Haley! Wake up. Erica’s here!”

Haley tried one last time to hold on to the dream, but the kaleidoscope quickly melted away as someone shuffled loudly into the room. Haley opened one eye.

Becky was standing next to the bed staring at her. Erica stood in the doorway, looking concerned.

“You okay?” Erica asked. “Guess we overdid it, huh?”

“I thought you had a shift today?” Haley whispered. She felt as though someone really strong was squashing her head. Her mouth tasted atrocious.

“Um, I did,” Erica said. “It’s already five o’clock.”

***

TWO HOURS LATER, the sky was a deep shade of blue, the color of dusk. Haley gazed out at the bayou, a cup of tea in her hands. She reached into her pocket, then dropped an aspirin on her tongue which still tasted last night’s cigarettes.

The Smith’s next door were firing up their grill, something her father loved to do when he was alive. Mrs. Smith spotted her on the porch and waved from her position in front of the grill. Haley waved back, then closed her eyes. Her head was pounding. She would never smoke again, she told herself. Or drink. At least not that much. She was starting to black out when she drank. Not remember things. Erica was right. She was losing herself. She’d always been responsible and it was something she took pride in. Mac had been right, too. Numbing the pain wasn’t going to make it go away. It was only prolonging things. And they’d already been prolonged long enough.

She set the teacup on the table next to her and started to rock. She needed to make some changes in her life, whether her mother got better or not. Major ones. And she couldn’t just wait for others to do so.

Hearing shouts, Haley’s eyes popped open. Becky and Seacrest were running across Mrs. Smith’s yard. Mr. Smith, who had taken up residence in front of the grill, was now glaring at the two girls as they bolted through.

Becky was yelling Haley’s name. It seemed so out of character for the two to be running when they usually just sat around trying to look cool for each other.

Two yards away, Becky started to say something, but couldn’t seem to get it out. Seacrest was running equally as fast, just behind Becky, her dark hair whipping around her shoulders.

The girls reached the carport. “Did you hear?” Becky asked, standing in front of Haley, out of breath.

“Hear what?” Haley asked.

“Oh, Jesus, you didn’t,” Becky said.

Seacrest stopped and blew air from her lungs. Her cheeks were beet red.

When she heard her sister finally spit out the words, tears welled up from behind her eyes.

“That boy, Charles. . .” Becky repeated, as if stunned by her own words. “. . . killed himself.”

THE MORNING OF Charles’s funeral was drizzly and gray. As Haley and Erica plodded toward the dusty green canopy that towered over the casket where Charles now lay, Becky and Seacrest silently trailed them.

The air was muggy and the oak that draped over their section of the cemetery seemed to drink up the little sunlight God had given them for Charles’s burial.

Sweat beaded across Haley’s forehead and her mind raced. She thought of his last visit. He’d been so concerned about his mother.

He had also told her that he needed for Haley to believe in him. She said she had, but had she really? More importantly, had he believed her?

She felt sick at the realization that Charles was about to be lowered into the ground. She envisioned his poor mother finding him in the backyard, hanging, lifeless, from a pecan tree. What a horrible way to go. . . and to be discovered.

She stroked the pendant around her neck. Maybe she’d had a hand in this. If only she’d tried harder to understand what he had been trying to tell her. To believe that he had nothing to do with Tiffany’s disappearance. Because he hadn’t, had he?

Haley sighed, still not completely sure.

She and Erica stood in silence while four tall black guys lifted the casket from the hearse and walked toward Charles’ final resting place. Haley thought of her father lying just a few feet away. Thought of Charles lying too still inside his own box.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance.

Charles’s mother and little brother made their way to the gravesite, hand in hand. The crowd was small, but Haley wondered why most of the people who had shown were even there. Three black women and the four men, no doubt family members, stood next to Mrs. Johnson and Joshua. One, an elderly woman, was whispering to all of them. After she finished, she hugged each, one at a time.

Several feet behind them stood Father Joyce, an elderly man who had been ill ever since Haley could remember. Then there was Sheriff Hebert, Kim Theriot, and a handful of townspeople—some she recognized from Luke’s and a few she didn’t. They looked on curiously. Opportunists, she thought, glaring at them. Most of the townspeople were there because of their curiosity for what happened to Tiffany, not because of their feelings for Charles. They were there for the wrong reasons and she was sure that Mrs. Johnson knew it. Haley wanted to scream at them. To tell them to leave his family alone.

Someone appeared at the mouth of the woods. Detective Guitreaux. He wore a black suit and a pair of sunglasses with mirrored lenses. He made his way toward the small crowd, a stoic expression heavy on his features.

Haley walked closer to the family. She wanted to give her regards to Charles’s mother. She hadn’t been able to at the church. But when the little boy started talking, she stopped in her tracks.

“Where’s Charlie going, Mama?” the little boy asked in a high-pitched voice.

The woman lifted her head. “In the ground, Joshua.”

The little boy’s jaw dropped. “Why?”

“I explained it to you, baby.”

Joshua’s little face screwed up. “When’s he coming back to live with us?”

Mrs. Johnson took his small hand, and the two stepped closer the coffin. “He isn’t, honey.”

“But won’t he be scared?”

When she didn’t answer, he ground the heel of one of his palms into his eyes and softly sobbed.

Haley stepped back to allow them privacy and remembered the scene at her own father’s funeral, and how her mother had thrown herself against the casket.

“No, David!” she’d screamed. “No! Please, don’t leave us, David!” She turned to her horrified daughters. “This isn’t happening, girls,” she cried. “Your daddy’s okay. There’s been a mistake.” She had wept as they carried her away. “I should have told him to stay in the car,” she cried. “I should have warned him sooner!”

Haley blinked and fat teardrops coursed down her cheeks.

There was a familiar voice behind her. “Haley.”

She turned, puzzled to see Mac.

“There was a four-car accident on I-10 I got called in for. I’m sorry to have missed the service.”

Mac looked as though he felt awkward and very tired. His eyes were droopy and red-rimmed like they always got when he didn’t get enough sleep.

Mac nodded to Erica, who Haley had forgotten was even standing next to her.

“Hi,” Erica said. Then she wandered off toward the detective.

Haley’s instinct was to reach out to Mac and hug him. It was
Mac
for goodness sake. The man she’d slept with for over a year. But she couldn’t. And probably never would again. It was strange how much a relationship could change in the course of such a short time. How much two could grow apart.

“Hey Mac,” a soft voice behind them said. Becky.

Mac gave her a hug. “You doin’ okay, kid?”

Becky nodded. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you lately.”

Mac looked at Haley.

Sensing the tension, Becky took a couple steps backward. “Well, it’s nice seeing you. See you later. . . I guess.” She turned and left.

Sweat had formed at the nape of Haley’s neck and in the crook at the backs of her knees. “He came over just the other night,” she said. “He was so upset.”

Mac’s face darkened and he nodded. “It’s a damn shame,” he said. “For someone to cut their life so short. He must have been miserable.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you okay these days?”

Haley nodded.

“Well then, I should go pay my condolences. See you ‘round. You take care of yourself. Say hello to your mama for me.”

***

THE NEXT MORNING, Haley drove to Trespass Gardens and dropped off a basket of orchids and homemade pecan pralines. She recognized the old woman who stood on the other side of the screen door from the funeral.

“Hi, I’m Haley. I was a friend of your grandson’s,” Haley said meekly, unsure of whether Charles had ever mentioned her to his family. “Just wanted to bring these over for his mother.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” the woman said, and unlatched the door. She held it open with her hip. “We’ve gotten more pretty flowers today than we have space, I’m afraid.”

Haley handed her the tray and bouquet, then reached into her back pocket. “I wrote my name and number down. Can you give this to Mrs. Johnson and tell her that if she needs anything, anything at all, that she can call me?”

“Sure baby, I’ll do that,” the woman said. “Want to step in for some coffee? Louise is taking a little cat nap right now, but you can come in and wait for her if you’d like.”

The late morning sun blared down on Haley’s shoulders and the top of her head. She wiped the sweat from her temple and shook her head. “No thank you.”

“Charlie wasn’t no killer,” the woman said softly. “He was a good boy. You know that, right?”

Before she could answer, the woman patted the air with her hand and smiled warmly. “Why of course you do. You and Charlie were friends.”