Glimpse: Book One of the Glimpse Quartet, page 10
Her eyes narrow, her head tilting ever so slightly as she starts another question.
“I was actually thinking,” I interrupt her before she can get it out, “that we should call a truce.” With Vaughn sniffing around, no one is safe. But as he has chosen her for his latest obsession, I have no choice but to get involved.
“A truce.”
“Well, since we have the paper to write and everything…I wouldn’t want a grudge to ruin your grade.” And there is still the matter of my guilt to consider after I was so awful to her. Not that I had much choice at the time.
Her gaze softens, if only by a minute degree, while she considers. “Hating you is a lot of work,” she agrees.
“You don’t want to get frown lines.”
“No.” She chuckles, taking a bite of the pizza in front of her. “We can’t have that.”
I can’t help my smile. If she’s willing to betray her grudge to eat, I have an opening. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be fun.”
All humor drops from her face, replaced by a deep foreboding. “You’ve never had to do a group project with me.”
There was the Biology assignment, but I doubt she would appreciate that memory. “I imagine you’ll be as insufferable as ever. But I can handle it.” The more time I spend with her, the less she is at risk from him.
“Give me your phone.” I hold out my hand, and she surrenders it willingly.
“Why?” she asks only after it’s in my hands.
Tapping on the contacts, I begin typing, knowing there is no going back from this. “I’m giving you my number. For the paper,” I add when her eyes widen.
“Right. Good idea.”
Silence settles around us while she finishes her meal, staring out the window between a few secret glances at me that I pretend not to notice.
Outside, the clouds hang low and heavy, obscuring the stars and leaving room for only a few scattered beams of moonlight. The lonely streetlamp in the parking lot flickers every few seconds, warning of its fading light. There is a metaphor in there somewhere, but I cannot be bothered to think of it.
I would be content to bask in the quiet restaurant with her all night, but the longer I leave Vaughn to his own devices, the worse his plan will get. I need information, and I need it soon.
Her face falls when I offer to drive her home, which I suspect has more to do with her mother than it does with me.
“You remember the way?” she asks when I pull up to the trailer, her attention pulled from the view.
It took me exactly one lap to memorize the entire layout of the town, but she doesn’t need to know that. “It’s a small town.”
“Well, um…thanks. You know, for tonight.” Her hand hovers over the door latch.
“What are you waiting for?”
She clears her throat and looks at me, working to keep her expression as blank as possible. “Normally this is the part where you say something mean.”
I breathe out a small laugh, my tongue running over the space between my lower lip and my teeth. “Have a good night, Blair.” Squeezing her hand before she steps out of the car, I offer her the only token of comfort I can give. I will do my best to keep Vaughn at bay. But there is nothing I can do against the punishment that awaits her inside.
The fury of my own powerlessness threatens to choke me as I watch the door swing shut behind her.
Chapter Fifteen
Blair
On Friday night I walk home from work exhausted. The wind howls past me as I march, chilling my fingertips and reddening my cheeks. Stuffing my hands under my armpits to warm them, I keep my head down against the draft.
I can sense the house is empty before I check my mother’s room to confirm my suspicions. I suppose midnight is a little early for her to be home during a weekend bender. Grabbing an apple from the kitchen, I head into the bathroom and take a shower so hot the water burns my skin.
The tension refuses to be boiled away, and eventually I give in to my body’s request and do an hour of yoga before crawling into bed with a sketchpad and pencils.
Closing my eyes, I picture the beach in California where my dad used to take us. I can almost feel the breeze on my face, hear the gulls wailing in the distance. The sun in my memory warms my skin, illuminating my dad’s face. But the light is too brilliant, and his face is obscured. I try to see around the glaring beam, but no matter how many times I try to adjust my perspective, I cannot bring his face into view.
I know what he looks like; I have seen the pictures my mom hides in her drawers. I have memorized the exact shape and tone of his long, curly blond hair. Still, I cannot make him come to life in my memories. His body I can construct without difficulty, his freckled hands coming into view with ease. But his face gets lost in translation somewhere between my brain and my hand.
I grip my pencil tighter in frustration, opening my eyes to see the blank page in front of me. Forging ahead, I draw the scene I imagined, shaping my six-year-old self, my mother standing beside me in the sand.
His is the last figure I attempt, shading in his white t-shirt and 90s board shorts. I can remember their print perfectly: ugly geometric shapes in varying shades of purple, green, and blue. His hair as well is easy to draw—wild and wavy, always blowing in the wind.
I have rushed the rest of the drawing to get to this part. To his face. My fingers ache against the pencil, willing my brain to remember if I concentrate hard enough. Closing my eyes once more, I take a deep breath and force my mind’s eye to focus on his face, but the sunlight blinds me. I try harder, staring into the stark light until my eyes burn, but then shadow creeps in and the entire scene goes dark.
“Dammit!” I open my eyes and chuck the pencil to the ground, throwing the sketchbook aside. I have tried this exercise a hundred times, and a hundred times I have failed. Anger pumps through my veins, tensing my muscles and undoing any good that came from the yoga. Tiny red lines appear in my forearm as I dig my nails into the skin.
The shrill sound of my phone makes me jump, a vaguely familiar number appearing beneath the clock, which reads two-thirteen.
“Hello?” My voice is angrier than I am, the drawing staring at me with relentless eyes from my discarded sketchbook.
“Blair?” Instinct sends me out of my chair. I know that voice, although I cannot place it.
“Yes?”
“It’s Jared. From the bar.”
My heart sinks deep into my chest, curling my shoulders over with it. Two years ago when I left my number at the counter, I prayed he would never have to use it again. “What’s up?”
“Your mom, she’s uh…”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s…” He hesitates again, and I can picture the scene in the bar without his help. “She’s fine. But she’s causing a disturbance.”
Crap. I should have gone looking for her before she had a chance to screw up again.
“I didn’t want to call the police, but—”
I shake my head and pace to the window as the blood rushes to my face. “No! Please don’t call the police.”
“I won’t,” he assures me, “but I’ll need you to come get her.” His gruff voice is filled with annoyance, though I catch a tone of pity at the end.
“I’ll be right there.” I slip on the first pair of shoes I can find, not caring that they are slippers, and head for the door. “Please, no cops.” Two years ago, she was charged with criminal mischief. I had to work double shifts all summer to keep us in the house. But in the middle of the school year, I have no choice but to get there as soon as possible and hope Jared will keep his promise.
I’m halfway down the drive when I realize I’ll need more than my own two feet to get her home and I doubt we can both fit on the rusted-out bike next to the porch. Groaning, I pull out my phone and call Gia, crossing my fingers.
My hope fades the longer the phone rings, until I reach her answering machine—twice. I have to think of something; I can’t risk Jared throwing in the towel.
Scrolling down the pathetic contact list in my phone, I rack my brain for anyone else I can call.
“Why don’t you have any friends?” I yell at the phone, ten seconds from sprinting to the bar when I scroll past Liam’s name, and my fingers stop. Biting my lip, I weigh the pros and cons. With bated breath, I tap “call,” squeezing my eyes shut and praying he doesn’t answer.
“Blair.” He answers on the second ring.
“Does our truce include favors?” I squeak before I lose my nerve.
“What do you need?”
At least it’s not an immediate no. “A ride.”
“Are you okay?” The concern in his voice takes me off guard, followed by the sound of shuffling feet.
“I’m fine.” Lies. “But I need to pick up my mom.” I bite my lip, letting regret wash over me. I can’t believe I called him. I should hang up and tell him to forget it.
“I’m on my way.” His engine turns over, humming softly on the other end of the speaker.
“Thank you,” I breathe just before the line goes dead.
It takes him less than ten minutes to arrive. When he pulls in front of the house, I leap off the porch and climb in the passenger seat before he can come to a full stop.
“I will never stop owing you for this.” I can’t look at him. As if the library wasn’t enough humiliation. Now he’s really in for a show.
“Don’t mention it.” It sounds more like a command than a brush off. “Where are we going?”
“Black Sand Brewery. I’ll give you directions.”
He whips the car around and I remember my seatbelt when my back hits the cloth seat with surprising force. My heart races the clock while I direct him where to turn, willing the car to move faster even though he’s driving at twice the legal limit. Please don’t let her get arrested .
He is all business, his eyes intent and his face calm. We reach the bar in record time—I should have clocked it for posterity—and I can’t help but wonder what it looks like to someone like Liam. I doubt he’s ever been somewhere so disgusting.
Black Sand is in the dingiest part of town, nestled between an untrustworthy tattoo parlor and an abandoned shop with graffiti all over the windows. I have to step over piles of garbage and broken tree branches to get to the door, where the neon sign hangs garish in the moonlight, flashing on and off like a beacon for the lonely and depressed.
Inside, I scan the place for my mother. But she’s hard to miss. Jared has his hands up in surrender at the bar where she’s accosted him, and from the look on his face he is all out of patience.
“Melissa. Calm down.” He eyes the glass in her hand.
“You shut the hell up!” She hurls the glass at him and misses, shattering the large mirror behind him as well as several bottles on the shelf below.
“Mom!” I run to her and grab her arm, but she shakes me off.
“Wipe that smug look off your face,” she slurs at Jared.
Tears burn my cheeks and I blink them away, reaching for her again. “Stop!” I manage to grab hold of her wrist. Behind me, the bell on the door sounds. I know without looking that Liam has come in after me. Could he hear the screaming all the way outside? “ Please . Let’s go,” I beg.
“Blair?” At last she turns to face me. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking you home. Come on.” I pull again and this time she follows, tripping over her own feet on the way.
“See you later, assholes,” she yells over her shoulder on the way out. Liam takes her other arm, and we help her navigate the parking lot. We are steps away from his car when she doubles over and retches the entire contents of her stomach.
Liam is nimble; he manages to jump out of the way and pull her hair back in the same motion, keeping it out of her face while she convulses.
Now would be a great time for me to melt into the asphalt, but I’ve never been that lucky. I cover my face with my hands, wiping away the threat of new tears. She can’t keep from listing to the side when she stands. Liam steadies her, guiding her to the back seat where she can lay down.
“Can you hold on a second? I have to talk to Jared.”
He nods, leaning against the passenger door without a word. I square my shoulders and blink at least a dozen times on my way inside, determined not to fall apart until I’m safely alone. But when I open my mouth to talk to Jared, who is at present sweeping up glass, my eyes betray me. I can hardly see through the moisture.
“I’m so sorry.” I hope he can understand me. He abandons the dustpan and lets out a heavy breath as he turns to look at me. We are alone—my mother must have chased away his other patrons.
“Looks pretty bad this time.” He leans on the counter, and I nod.
“She got laid off.”
“I’m sorry, hon.”
It takes a full minute to collect myself enough to respond, but when I speak again my voice is steadier. “What’s the damage?”
“Oh, I’d say five or six.”
“Hundred?” I try not to flinch, but I can’t help the slight twitch in my shoulders before I clear my throat. “It’ll take me a while, but I’ll pay you back. If there’s any way you could not press charges, I…” His large brown eyes fill with pity. At over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and big features, he has an intimidating build. His nose is crooked where it’s been broken more than once, and there's a faint scar running through both his lips.
If I didn’t know him better, I’d be more afraid of his facade. But the first time I met him, he was dropping my mother off at home because he was worried she wouldn’t find her way alone.
“Listen, Blair—” he starts.
“I’ll pull extra shifts at Reno’s. And I can even help out around here if you want—I’ll clean the bathrooms or something.” The words tumble out too fast for me to think them through.
He pats my shoulder and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No,” I shake my head, “I want to—”
“Get home safe, and we’ll call it even.”
I’m going to suffocate. Right here and now. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You’re graduating this year, right?” He raises his brow. I nod, balling my fists. “Well. Consider it a graduation present. You’re welcome.” A tight smile stretches the scar on his lips. I close my eyes, swallowing back my pride.
“Thank you.” I touch his hand, knowing I will never be able to repay the debt. He clears his throat and continues attending to the mess.
“Get out of here.” He nods toward the door.
Outside, Liam is waiting right where I left him, looking unperturbed with his hands in his pockets. When he sees me, he strolls around to his side of the car.
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, looking over my shoulder when I sit down. My mother is out cold and snoring loudly. Embarrassment stains my cheeks red.
The silence on the drive home is thicker without the adrenaline and excessive speeding to distract me. The road passes slowly outside my window and I press my lips together to keep from breaking the quiet just for the sake of sound when we both know there is nothing to say.
“I’ll go unlock the door.” I leave him at the car when we arrive, dragging my feet all the way to the porch while I consider the possibility of her sleeping off the relapse. Maybe it will pass if she stays unconscious long enough.
As soon as I turn on the lights in the front room, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Someone has been in my house.
The chair in the living room lies on its side amidst broken glass from the pictures on the table. The lamp flickers against the carpet, throwing intermittent shadows across the room in a dreadful, irregular pattern.
The warning in my gut is impossible to ignore, but I can’t get my feet to move until I take in all the damage. All of the kitchen cabinets are open, their contents spilled on the counters. My heartbeat fills my ears and the room begins to spin.
Without thinking, I lurch toward my bedroom. If the cash jar is gone, I might as well run into the burglar anyway. Maybe they can put me out of my misery.
Ignoring the horror that is my room, I rush to my closet and yank out the boxes and clothes covering the secret cubby in the back that I built after she blew everything on booze. My panic subsides when I find the jar in the cubby, untouched.
Either the intruder was in a serious hurry, or they were not very thorough. The glass is cool and comforting against my chest. Today, alcoholism has saved us.
“Blair?” Liam’s voice breaks through the sound of my heartbeat. He stands in the doorway, looking flustered when he sees the state of my room. Now that I know we ’re not completely screwed, I let myself examine the loose papers and clothes strewn all over my floor, along with my bedding.
At last my gaze falls on Liam, standing wide-eyed in the doorway. How did he know to come inside? I don’t recall making any noise.
“Someone broke in.” I am stuck on the floor with the jar in my hands.
“I can see that,” he nods. “Why don’t we step outside?”
I stare at his outstretched hand uncomprehendingly, studying the lines in his skin. My mind whispers something about shock, but I can’t make sense of the thought before it flits away.
“Come with me.” He inches forward with slow steps, bending down to take my hand. Shaking off the haze, I follow him outside where he leads me back to the car and beckons for me to sit. I do, leaving the door open. In my peripheral vision, I see him dial a number, but I cannot take my eyes off the house.
“Hello, I’d like to report a break-in.”
The longer I look at the house, the lower my brow sinks. Who breaks into a trailer? Liam continues to provide details and answer questions while I try to shut off my brain. After hanging up, he crouches in front of me, wafting his pleasant, woodsy cologne into my face.
“Are you alright?” He takes my hand in his, searching my eyes in a way that seems clinical.
