Forty Candles (8 page)

“Uh,” stirring her drink, she searched for answers in the clouds of creamy froth. “I mean, he’s had no serious relationships since me.”

“I hardly think that makes him gay.”

Chloe shrugged. She didn’t really think he was gay, either. The hardness of his dick when he held her, the fascination with her breasts…none of it set off the gaydar.

Harper’s hand came into her line of vision, clamping on her wrist. Glancing up, she saw concern etched on her friend’s face. “You ever consider he’s not the one who has…issues with relationships?”

Chloe snorted. “I’ve had lots of relationships.”

Gnawing her lip, Harper seemed to search for words, waving her hand as if she was going to pluck them out of the air. “You’ve had lots of men you slept with for a while, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, not like you were a big slut but…”

“So you’re calling me a little slut?”

Blowing out a breath, Harper scowled at her. “Yes, dear, I’m calling you a slut. Because I’m all judgy like that. Get real. What I’m saying is your heart didn’t seem to be in a single one of those relationships.”

“Still kind of hearing slut.” Pretending to be offended wasn’t working—Harper knew her too well—but it seemed safer than telling the truth.

My husband left me because I was broken inside when we got together, but everyone was so nice to me—the poor young widow. The poor fake.

Thinking it, wanting to say it, reminded her of the young, sweet woman who wept over Gary…she’d known, seeing her, that she’d loved Gary in a way Chloe never had. That she grieved the death of the man she loved and no one comforted her—distracted by the woman they thought they should comfort, the wife he would have left.

I can’t ever love like you do, Harper, and besides…even if I could, Jack deserves a family, a happily ever after.

I can’t be any of that. I can’t have kids and I’m not made for long-term.

Blinking back tears, Chloe lifted her own hand to signal for more coffee.

Harper sighed. “I wish you’d just tell me whatever it is that holds you back. No one can help you fix it if you don’t tell us what is wrong.”

I’m wrong.
“There’s nothing wrong. If I was like you, I wouldn’t let the fires of hell itself stop me from finding happily ever after. Not everyone is wired like that. I enjoy my freedom, enjoy not being tied down.”

Harper snorted. “Okay, well, if you ever want to talk…”

Pasting on a smile, Chloe focused on Harper’s hair since she didn’t feel right looking her in the eye. “It was a simple question, Harp. I thought Jack was hot and horny last night and he got my motor revving. Then he left. It seemed weird, is all, so I just wondered…”

“Nope,” Harper answered, relaxing back in her seat as their coffees were topped off by the waitress. “Never struck me as anything other than a woman hungry cowboy cop.”

Chloe shrugged. “Still, weird that he left.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?” Chloe chewed over possible reasons why he left all night and most of this morning. Nothing made sense, hence her broaching the shaky territory with her best pal.

“I think he’s trying to keep you off balance. If he sleeps with you, it becomes easy for you to lump him in whatever category you’ve lumped other men. By waiting, I think he’s showing you that you mean more than a turn in the sack.”

Chloe snorted. “Or, well…”

“What?”

“Maybe he’s not attracted to me?” She didn’t mean it to come out as a question and bit her lip.

“Honey, the man stares at you like you’re his oasis in the desert. He’s mooned after you since we were kids. I think he fell for you the moment you got out of that over packed U-Haul and moved in next door to him. Attraction? Yeah, that’s not the issue.”

Chloe shrugged. The idea bothered her, more than she could admit.

Maybe she was getting old, less attractive, losing her mojo.

“I think he might love you, Chloe.”

Rolling her eyes, Chloe sipped her coffee. “Yep, and I believe in Santa. If by love, you mean cares about me and always has? Sure. He loves me. I love him. But
in
love? Like happily ever after, in a Dylan and Harper sort of way? That kind of thing happens so rarely…the odds alone say that’s not what’s up here.”

“If you say so.” The secretive smile curling Harper’s lips annoyed her so much that she stood, flipping some money onto the table.

“I got breakfast. I’ll call you later.”

“Mmm-kay.” Harper tugged her cell phone free of her purse and began clicking. “Give it some thought, though. Remember when you asked me what was holding me back with Dylan? The fear of what might go wrong…
might
being the key word. What’s the worst thing that will happen if you just relax and let the Jack thing play out?”

“Lots. Not all love stories end like yours, Harper.” She headed out, but couldn’t escape the memories.

Bright and clear as if she relived it, Chloe pictured her mother, crumpled in a corner in the bathroom.

The light slanted through the window, tinted by gingham curtains and reflected off lovely walls. Their house was the kind of house that screamed American Dream—stereotypical in all the best ways and always smelling of something her mother cooked.

Curled in that corner, next to the toilet and looking as out of place as could be, her mother huddled, eyes red from crying, broken like some china doll discarded by a careless child.

Seeing Chloe staring, her mother stood, wiping snot and tears on the sleeve of her well-pressed blouse. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

Shaking her head, Chloe ran from her. Daddy would fix this. Everyone always said she was Daddy’s little girl. Down the stairs, skipping steps, she raced.

The slamming doors, the yells, they’d just stopped so he was still here. He hadn’t left yet.

The sound of the engine starting filled her with panic, with silent screams that battered her brain and ripped at her chest, begging to be set free. Letting the door connecting to the garage gape open behind her, she ran at the car, flinging herself on the hood. “Daddy!”

The engine turned off and his car door opened. “Chloe, let go of the car. Go back in the house.”

His voice, so distant, made the screams in her head louder. “Don’t leave, Daddy. Take me with you.”

Any emotion that lingered on his face vanished, leaving a cold mask. “I’ll come back for you, baby. I have to go now—”

Her mother’s hand closed on her shoulder, fingers digging too hard, like the talons of some angry bird. “She’s not going anywhere, Liam. She’s mine. Go to your whore, leave us be.”

“Screw you, Stacey.”

The words, angry words, like she’d heard through the walls, but never directly from her parent’s mouths in front of her, were like a slap.

“Daddy…” She managed to whisper it, hoping she’d misheard him.

“Oh, Liam, never again.” Dragging her backwards, her mother’s fury was just as poisonous as her father’s.

“Chloe is mine.” Her dad got back in the car, slamming the door.

“Over my dead body!” Her mother shrieked it, voice louder than the engine turning over. In a squeal of tires and a cloud of burnt rubber smell, her father was gone, leaving her with her still panting in anger mother. “Don’t you worry, Chloe. He won’t take you. This is our home and we’re staying here.”

Divorce. She knew the word, worried that the arguments would lead to it, but the reality suddenly weighed down on Chloe. She couldn’t stand it. If she just ran away…

Maybe they’d both search for her. Maybe they’d realize they loved her. Maybe she could fix this. Escaping the hold her mother had on her, she fled out the open garage door. Mom called after her, but she kept going, feet pounding the pavement, tears blinding her.

She ran, not sure where she was headed, but far away. Where they couldn’t find her until they talked, not argued. At the pond, she stopped, sides aching and breaths coming in wheezes. They weren’t supposed to go to the pond, not without a grownup, but she and Harper’d snuck here a few times. At the rattling sound of a bike with a card in the wheel, she bounded down the dock and hid in the tiny boathouse.

Feet thudded behind her and then stopped. “Chloe?”

Jack. The boy next door, the one who pulled her hair at recess and always smelled, just a little, like horse poo.

Tucking her body lower, hoping he wouldn’t come in after her, she waited, sure he’d go away. He couldn’t see her like this, couldn’t tell his parents… The thought of him telling on her made her respond, “Go away. You didn’t see me.”

The door scraped open and his footsteps came closer. “I’m not a liar and if you want me to lie, you’re going to have to do more than tell me to for no reason.”

Punching the floor, she came out of her hiding spot, brushing at her cheeks to hide her tears. “Just forget you saw me.”

He stood, jeans patched at the knees, tee shirt faded and a little short at the waist, like he’d grown and not gotten new clothes since the spurt. “You okay? Why were you crying?”

Rubbing harder at her face, she stomped one foot. “I said go away, you hear? Leave me alone.”

He wouldn’t understand. His family, she’d seen them at town picnics and school stuff. They didn’t have as much money as hers, but they had some kind of dewy glow about them. You could tell his dad didn’t go home and call his mother names. That they didn’t scream at each other and throw stuff, as if he couldn’t hear them.

She hated him, just a little, right that moment, for what he had. He couldn’t possibly understand her.

Leaning back on the doorframe, he suddenly looked older than twelve. “Try me.”

Something about the way he said it, the tone and seriousness of his voice, made her think he’d try.

“It’s your parents, isn’t it?”

He guessed it and she couldn’t quite find the lie to make him believe otherwise.

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

Moving past him, she headed to the end of the dock to dangle her feet above the water. Dragonflies dipped low, skimming the surface. A fish jumped and made a splash.

The pond remained, looking just as it had yesterday and the day before, nature apparently not changed because her father left. Maybe it didn’t change her, either. Maybe none of it mattered. She sucked in a breath and it turned to a hiccup.

“Did I ever tell you the story about the ghost that haunts this pond?”

Jack’s question had so little to do with her worries, she snapped her head up to look at him as he joined her, feet rocking above the water.

She didn’t answer him, but he didn’t seem bothered, continuing speaking as if she’d responded. “According to town legend, a long time ago, during one of the wars, I think—not that I remember which one. History isn’t my strong suit. Anyway, this soldier ran away from the battle. They call that deserting, when you walk away from the fight. He came back here to find his love, a girl probably not a lot older than us. They were dating, or whatever they called it back in the day. Before he went to war, he got her pregnant, but he enlisted and they didn’t get married. He didn’t know it but she’d killed herself because she couldn’t live with the baby and not be married. It was a bigger deal, I guess, back then. So, he came home and found out she’d died and since we’re a small town, people were talking about why. You know how rumors go. He came here, to the pond, where she died and jumped in even though he couldn’t swim—”

“Wait.” She put out a hand and touched his arm. His gaze, suddenly mysterious, dropped to her hand and she snapped it back quickly, heat flooding her face. “If he was older than us, how come he couldn’t swim?”

Jack’s grin was fast and a little crooked. “I’m telling you a ghost story and the part you find unbelievable is that he didn’t know how to swim?”

She shrugged, returning to looking out at the water. Her hiccups seemed to be slowing down. She could almost breathe normal again.

“Anyway, so he killed himself in the pond. I guess she died here, too, but I’m not sure how. But it’s him who haunts the pond, walking night after night in a circle around the water. They say he marches, ever waiting for his ladylove who he left behind but didn’t forget.”

“That story is stupid, Jack. And if he’s been here since one of the wars, hasn’t he figured out that she’s not? And why isn’t she, if she died here, too?”

“I don’t have all the answers, Chloe. I just know that, sometimes, a man will wait forever for his love.”

Even as a kid, she knew those words meant something to Jack. Then again, Jack didn’t understand that sometimes love ended. That sometimes it didn’t matter.

And she realized, right then and there, that if her parents couldn’t love her enough to stay, to be with her…

Chances were good no one else ever could either.

Jack wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist before pushing the shovel into the horse shit and hefting a hay-filled lump of it into the wheelbarrow. The guy who was interested in buying one of his Arabians planned on being here in about an hour. He hated to let horses go, hated the goodbye, but it was all part of the cycle. Animals were born. They lived out their days. Some lived, some died, some were sold, and some were unforgettable.

This particular mare had a rough go of it, foaling in the dead of winter, struggling through more challenges than she should have faced and keeping her sweet nature through it all. Jim, the guy interested in buying her, had a couple of other horses and teenage girls.

Sally, the mare, would like the girls. Seemed most girls went through a horse phase, and Jim’s kids all rode competitive trail, meaning they understood the animals and would lavish Sally in love and probably braid her mane…