Tight Knit (2 page)

Georgina moves to sit beside me and takes my hand in hers like only a grandmother can. The shaking slows.

“We have to start planning the Christmas Charity Drive, dear. Florence always plans it, but if she can’t see her way to do it this year, I know for absolute certainty no one else will. 

I stare at her.

“She’ll be back next week,” I say, unconvincingly, as I remember the way Nan averted her eyes when she told me it was ‘just a bug’.  

“Yes, yes,” Georgina pats my hand, “But if she can’t do it, Talia, we are the only ones. You and me.” 

Any control I may have gained over the shaking is gone. My hand vibrates inside Goergina’s.  

“But…” I can’t get past that look in Georgina’s eyes. It’s like Nan’s was. Like she knows more than she’s telling me.

“But this event is the most important event of the year to your Nan. I think we owe it to her to help make it the best yet.” 

The annual Cozy Christmas Charity Drive is the Tight Knit Society’s only event. The Drive is the city’s biggest art and craft sale. It’s huge. Nan always blows everyone else out of the water with her booth designs and sales records. 

I grip the hem of my sweater. I feel the thoughts start to creep in from the edges of my mind. A surge of energy forces me to shift in my seat. I chew on my index finger. 

If I plan the show it means I’ll have to work with the Director, who happens to be Greta Finnley, Deacon’s grandma. I can’t commit to that. Mostly because I’m not sure I’m committed to Deacon. No. That would be a nightmare. What if Deacon and I broke up? 

There has to be someone else.

“But what about Anna?” I protest. 

My heart speeds up. I do not want to do this. 

 “She works full time and has a family to take care of. Her boy has Autism. You know that, Talia.” 

“Right, sorry. How about Marybeth?” I smile right after I say it, unable to hold in a laugh. It settles the nerves crackling under my skin for just a second.

“Do you want Marybeth to help plan the Drive?”

“No, no you’re right. But school starts this week and I’ll be busy.” 

“With what, dear? Are you in drama? Playing on the varsity basketball team? A mathlete?” She chuckles to herself as I shake my head to every one. She knows I’m the biggest social outcast at school. She knows I make myself invisible by choice. My hand drops from my mouth, and I pull at the hem of my sweater with more force now. I can’t do this. I’d have to talk to people. I’d have a panic attack a day. The Drive would be a disaster. 

“I can help with anything that needs to be done inside your school hours.” Georgina continues, “and my Lannie can help with any set up or lifting.” 

Georgina seems proud of herself. 

Thanks. Thanks for setting off a panic attack.

I nervously adjust the hat on my head and pull headphones out of my bag, wrapping them around my neck. Music drowns out the thoughts. There are definitely too many thoughts right now.

I fidget and want to slide the headphones over my ears and just pretend I'm not having this conversation. As if I can plan an event this huge if I can’t even handle talking about it.

“I’ll think about it.” I already thought about it. No.

“But Talia...” 

“I need to talk to Nan first.” 

Georgina opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by the jingling of the door. A guy around my age ducks slightly as he walks through the door and scans the room. I only have to see his profile to recognize him. 

His dark eyes take in everything with an intensity that forces me to shift uncomfortably in my seat. It’s as if he’s memorizing every inch of the store. His thick eyebrows are pulled down low. He looks angry. 

He always looks angry. 

Everyone around here knows Lachlan McCreedy. He is the most dangerous guy at school and his life is as legendary as it is secretive. 

His black curls hang haphazardly like he hasn’t brushed them once in his life and he nods his head to move the strands from his pale, angular face.

What really makes Lachlan recognizable are the tattoos spiralling down his right arm from his T-shirt to his wristband and continuing onto the back of his hand. From this distance they’re nothing but a burst of colour and shape. I’ve always wanted to know what they were, but never had the nerve to get close enough to see.

I’m wondering why he would ever be in this place when his glare finds us. His eyes briefly pass over me, lingering for only a second, and then his face softens when he looks at Georgina.

Lachlan… lan… Lannie…

Lachlan
can’t
be Georgina’s grandson.

CHAPTER TWO

Lachlan

Gram is never late. When I drive her, which is almost never, she’s always waiting on the sidewalk but today the sidewalk in front of the small row of shops is empty. 

At first I am annoyed, but as the minutes pass I start to get worried. No one goes into or out of the shop for about 15 minutes. The worry turns into irritated concern. I cut the engine to Gram’s old four-door sedan and get out, slamming the door a little harder than I need to. 

I push through the front door of the Wool Shop. It smells of old ladies and dust. I scan the store, which is pretty much empty until I see her. 

Gram’s sitting on a couch in the middle of the store next to a girl who looks like she wants to disappear into the chair she’s in. The girl is watching me with big dark blue eyes. Her chocolate coloured bangs cut straight across her forehead covering her raised eyebrows. She has that wide doe-eyed fear that tells me she recognizes me, but I have no idea who she is. Not the type of girl I’d remember.

I look at Gram. She has a huge smile on her face. The one that makes her eyes dance with life. It’s my favorite one. Not that I ever tell her.

“Gram,” I swing my arms out then shove them into the pockets of my jeans. “I’ve been waiting. Where the hell–” 

Gram stands up, letting go of the girl’s small hand. She narrows her eyes and my mouth snaps shut.

“Lannie! You watch your mouth, son.” Gram is tiny and frail but I know better than to mess with her when she has that look. I make it over to her in three steps. 

“Sorry, Gram.” I slide my arm around her shoulder and toss my best smile down at her. It works pretty much every time. I open my mouth to tell her I was worried, but remember the girl. I know it’s completely messed up but I don’t want to say it in front of her. I also don’t need this girl knowing I’m going to be late for the last meeting with my probation officer. I pull lightly on Gram’s shoulders to try to guide her to the door but she has her feet planted and that’s that. I know Gram better than to keep trying.

“I wanted you to meet someone. This is Talia Gregory.” Gram looks from me to Talia and back again. She has that big grin on again but this time it’s laced with a smugness that says there is more to this introduction than I think. I groan quietly and shift my weight. Her insistence that I drive her today totally makes sense now. 

She’s been planning this all day.

Great. I’m being set up by my grandmother with a girl in a knitting club who doesn’t look a day over sixteen. Gram knows nothing about my taste in women. Or maybe she does…

“Hey,” I say coolly and Talia’s head lowers, shifting her gaze into her lap. The back of her hair is tucked into a wool hat. A pretty fucking awesome hat.

“Nice hat. I’ve been looking for one like that. Where’d you get it?” I try to ignore the fact that Gram is looking back and forth between us like a cat watching a ping-pong game.

Talia looks up. Her eyes are the darkest blue. I didn’t even know that eye colour existed. 

“I made it.” Her voice is soft but high pitched. I’m not sure if that’s how she always sounds or if she is just scared of me. 

Most people are just scared of me, so I’ll go with the general consensus. 

“How much would you charge to make another one?” I kind of want that hat. I’ve looked everywhere for one. But all the ones I’ve found are trendy and lame. 

Gram reaches over and tugs the hat off Talia’s head causing waves of hair to spill messily over her shoulders. Talia’s shocked but she doesn’t make a move for it. Her cheeks flush a light pink. 

Is she shaking?

She totally looks like a deer. Completely pure and innocent. I’m wondering what that innocence would feel like, which shocks me. I don’t think I’ve ever been innocent. Not like her. Not truly. Until this moment I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it either. 

Gram shoves the hat into my hands pulling me from my thoughts. A smell similar to Grams vanilla almond cookies fills the air around me.

“Here, you can have this one.” 

“Gram!” I try to give the hat back to Talia but Gram intercepts it.

“It’s okay. You can have it,” Talia practically whispers.

I try to protest but Gram cuts me off.

“I’ll pay her for the hat. She’s making a hundred more for the Christmas charity drive anyways, right, Talia?”

Talia looks from Gram to me and nods her head slowly. Her cheeks go from pink to red and she stands up with a jerky movement. She is a lot shorter than me. Her hands are shaking. This chick is seriously tense. 

“I should go.” 

“Do you need a ride, dear?” Grams eyes sparkle and I feel sorry for Talia. I am never embarrassed by Gram, but right now, I’m bordering on it.

“No,” she says sharply, her face going three shades redder, “I mean, I have my bike and I have to meet my, uh, boyfriend.” 

She keeps her head down as she heaves her multi-coloured bag over her shoulder and fits her old-school headphones over her ears. I can tell she wants to get out of there as fast as possible. And, so do I. 

~

 “So, are you going to explain yourself?” I ask when we’re in the car. Gram stares blankly and I raise my eyebrow.

“Explain what, son?” She shrugs and I can’t help but smirk.

“You know damn well what, Gram.” 

“Watch your mouth.” 

“I’m almost 18, and damn isn’t even a swear.” 

“It is in my house.” 

“Stop changing the subject.” I smile wider and shift the car into drive. 

“What were we talking about?” Gram always fakes dementia when she wants to get away with something.

“You can’t just force me onto girls you know, Gram. This isn’t the 1800’s. That girl looked terrified. And, you practically stole her hat.” I rub my thumb over the wool as I speak. The dark fibres are soft and still warm. A faint scent of vanilla hangs in the air. 

“I did no such thing.” Her voice goes up and she clutches at her sweater dramatically. 

I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, okay Gram.” 

“I’ll pay her for the hat. I said that already. Now Lannie, I’ll drop you off at your meeting, I need to pick up some things from the store. Call me when you’re done.” 

I laugh and toss the hat over my shoulder into the back seat. 

No one can compete with the stubbornness of old ladies. 

~

Officer Rawlins has a small, warm office. It’s inviting and has pictures of calming scenery and waterfalls and shit. Doesn’t change the fact that I hate coming here. I hate the clacking sound of his keyboard as he takes notes. I hate how he looks at me with that genuine concern. Like he actually wants to help me. 

He’s wearing that ‘concern’ now. His thick greying eyebrows push together and his dark eyes set in a hard stare. I don’t like when people try and look inside me like this. Wrinkles run across Rawlins forehead, but there’s a small smile hidden behind his greying beard. 

His hand gestures to the chair opposite him. I sit, lean back and throw my arm over the back of the chair next to me. 

“Hello, Lachlan. How are you today? Excited that this is our last meeting, no doubt.” He chuckles. 

I thought Probation Officers were supposed to he hard asses. Jerks. Power hungry douchebags who couldn’t hack it in real cop school. But Rawlins is soft spoken, rational and real. He isn’t a push over but he’s never made me feel like punching him either, like my previous PO. It puts me on edge. 

I run my hand over my tattooed arm, my fingers bumping over all the scars. Let’s just say I’m not used to guys like him. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I answer, and he starts clacking away on his keyboard. I crack my knuckles. I don’t know why but I want nothing more than to smash that keyboard. I liked it better when he wrote it down on paper, and I learned to read upside down to see what he was saying about me. 

Rawlins mumbles some stuff as he types and asks me questions in between. He doesn’t waste time with niceties. I like that about him.

“You were arrested at the age of 15 on one count of drug trafficking, resisting arrest and underage drinking, is that correct?” 

My heart is slamming against my ribs and my knuckles are white. I hadn’t noticed that I had balled them into fists.

Why is he bringing this up again? How I ended up in this chair once a month is the last thing I want to talk about. 

Why can’t we just say see ya later, and get it done with?

“Yes.” I spit through clenched teeth.

“And this was just three weeks after your mother’s arrest?” 

I nod. I don’t want to talk about her either. 

“You were… MIA, shall we say, for those three weeks?”

“What does this have to do with anything? Just like to relive the good times on our last meeting?” I mutter. But I wasn’t MIA, I was on a three-week bender where I smoked, drank, ate, snorted and screwed everything I could. I’m not proud of it. Rawlins knows that. 

Rawlins looks over his computer and I’m sure he’s smiling even though I can’t see the bottom of his face.

“I’m closing your file, Lachlan. You should be happy. But first we have to make sure nothing’s changed. Paperwork and government. You know how these things go.” 

I stretch my arms up then rest them on my head. I lean further down into the chair. 

Rawlins knows me well enough to read me and when I stay silent, he continues. 

“Just before your 16
^th
birthday, you were sentenced to four months in a federal juvenile detention center, six months community service and two years probation, completing your incarceration and community service on time and in good standing?”