Giving In: The Sandy Cove Series (Book 1) (12 page)

“Where’s Elton Joel? He dump you to go to an after party with Lady GaGa?” She jumps at the sound of my voice, dropping her purse in the process. I hear the contents fall onto the deck, her change spilling and bouncing on the wood, and I see something roll towards me. I stop it with my foot. It’s a small can, so I bend down and grab it from underneath my toes.

It’s mace.

“Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing out here?” I look at her then back to the can.

She carries mace. I’m not surprised. She’s a smart girl.

I set my laptop down on the lounge chair and get up to give the can back to her.

“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you back so soon?”

She doesn’t answer. But she begins to pick up the things that spilled from her purse from the deck floor and stuffs it all back in.

“Um, hello? Can you answer me?”

“I wanted to come home, that’s all. My God, why do you care anyway. You made me look like an ass in front of that guy tonight.”

“Well, no actually, Elton Joel made himself look like an ass tonight. Why aren’t you with him and before you even answer that, why did you take a cab home by yourself?” She struggles with the key to the glass door and appears frustrated.

“Damn it, just get in there.” Harlow’s talking to the door, twisting and turning the key in the lock, and she yanks on the handle.

I grab the keys with my free hand and pass her the can of mini mace. She looks at it, then her eyes raise up to mine. I unlock the door, slide it open and usher my hand towards it for her to go in. She does without looking at me, but I hear a faint ‘thanks’ come from her.

She walks in and throws her purse and the can of mace on the dining table. My question still hasn’t been answered as to why she’s back without her friends. She goes to the fridge to get out a bottle of water, with her back to me she opens it, tosses the cap in the sink, and takes a long drink.

“You can go now.” She tells me in a cold tone. It angers me because I did nothing wrong. I was trying to help her. That guy was an asshole.

“You know I was only looking out for you. The guy just wanted in your pants, and if I didn’t interrupt the two of you, that’s where he would have gone. I know guys like him.” I want to say ‘cause I am one, but I think she knows that already. Then the thought comes to my brain, and I remember what Willow said earlier.

Maybe she did want what he was going to give her. Maybe he did the deed. Do I waste more time trying to defend myself if it already happened?

Yes. Yes, I do.

“I’m trying here, Turnip, but you don’t seem to care that I am.” I stand there, arms folded across my chest, waiting for a God damn reply. “Well?” I say after about a minute of complete and utter uncomfortable silence.

She turns, looking at me with an expression I haven’t seen before. One of maybe agreement? A slight smirk on her face, then it softens.

“Well, you were right.” She finally looks up at me, a touch of sadness in her eyes as she does.

“About what part?” I ask.

She strolls over to the couch and plops down on it, sighing.

“You are right. Albeit I hate that you are. He tried on the dance floor, I told him to stop; he did. Then I excused myself to go to the ladies room. When I came back out, he grabbed my elbow, tried to lead me to the back hallway beyond the restrooms, and stuck his hands in places I didn’t want them to be.” She tells me this very matter-of-fact, not changing the level of her voice. There’s no anger in her tone, just telling me like I’d imagine she would if she were talking to the girls. I’m guessing it’s the alcohol, but her speech isn’t slurred, and her eyes are clear.

I’m mad at this situation, and I’m going to do my best to keep my cool. I clench my teeth, and I shut my eyes tightly.

“You mean to tell me he forced himself on you? He tried, again, to do what he tried to do on the dance floor? Did you use that can of mace on the mother fucker?”

Silence again. She looks every which way but at me.

“Turnip, I asked you a question. I know I’m not your best friend, but still, I got this big brother type vibe going on with you I think, so I kind of want to know so I can either bash his face in, or I can bash his face in.”

She smiles when I say that.

“I didn’t use the mace.”

I bunch up my face in confusion.

“Then what did you use?”

A devilish grin turns up on her face, she pulls at her bottom lip with her teeth, and drinks from her water bottle.

“Turnip?” I say with my voice raised an octave, then a lower one. “What did you use?”

She finishes her sip, flashes me an unbelievable smile, and says, “My knee.”

I laugh. I mean I really laugh because for as tiny as she is, I’m not surprised by it. Not the least bit shocked at her confession. When I laugh, she laughs, tears coming out of her eyes. A good, old-fashioned belly laugh, and it’s really adorable. The suit of armor she usually wears is off, and she’s open with me, joking, laughing, being herself.

Maybe.

I make my way to the sofa and park myself next to her. She twirls her hair, and I’ve noticed she does this when she’s tired.

She turns towards me and sits crisscrossed on the sofa.

“So what were you doing out on the deck, and by the way, what are you doing home?”

She looks tired, but seems to be in the mood to talk, so she’s asking, I don’t have a problem telling her. We are still doing the baby step thing here.

“I was tired. Didn’t want to hang out anymore.” I keep my answer simple, not wanting her to know she pissed me off with Elton Joel earlier. She had a bad night, so why tell her because I think it would have only caused us to argue about it, whether I was right or not. But I was.

She doesn’t believe me. Her face tells me so.

I snicker at her. “Seriously, I worked a lot this week, plus I had some work to do.”

“Work?” She asks.

“Yes. I’m taking an online class to keep up with the latest past and present case laws and any recent changes to them.”

“Case laws?”

“Yes. It’s all kinds of legal shit for when I have to be present at a hearing. It’s for future reference. When I get a full-time position, I’ll be somewhat up to date on things.”

She gets up and goes to the refrigerator, grabs a new bottle of water for herself, well at least I think it was for her until she makes her way back to the sofa and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” The gesture was nice, so I take it from her.

“So with this class, what else does it entail?”

“You really want to know?” She nods. She really wants to know.

“Well, I have to stay updated on probable cause, reasonable suspicion and vehicle investigations.” She begins to laugh.

“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”

She wrinkles up her nose and her freckles spread out onto her cheeks when she does. She continues to twirl a strand of her strawberry blonde hair.

“Nothing, except the tables are turned right here and right now.”

I’m not understanding what she means. She rolls her eyes and continues to speak.

“You and I. Tables turned, because I have no idea what you just said. Big words, you used big words that I have no idea their meaning. It’s usually the other way around.”

She means cop talk. Funny, isn’t it? She’s right. Sometimes when we are all sitting around, talking, and she uses a big one, I pretend I’m checking a text, but I use my smart phone to Google the word she’s referring to.

“Sorry, it’s to keep updated on new laws. So what about you? Have you heard anything else yet about any teaching positions that opened up?”

She lets out a frustrated breath and eases back on the sofa.

“Not yet. I just don’t want to go back and have to get a job that I don’t want to do. I know that sounds bratty, but I just want to teach. It’s my dream and all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

When she tells me that, she gets a dreamy look in her eyes. Like if a chick talks about a hot movie star, or a new bag she wants, or some shit like that, not about teaching, but it’s cool.

We are talking like old friends. She’s telling me about how her brother is a junior in college, is also going to be a teacher and how he’s coming to visit next weekend for a few days. How her sister is still driving her crazy with her wedding plans, and how her grandmother, the rich one, is paying for most of it. She tells me she disapproves of her and her brother’s career choices that she wished they had gone into law and worked within the family firm. Her dad never wanted to be a lawyer, but was sort of forced into it. He made a good living from it, but does very adventurous things with his spare time. Sky diving, zip lines. He climbed Everest once, and almost died. He’s very into his family. He taught his kids the value of a dollar, never spoiling them, but taking them on extravagant trips to Europe. And a few years ago they went to Australia, so they could explore a new continent, and a new culture. She tells me how he wanted his children to stay grounded, grow up with privileges, but with the values of Harlow’s mom, who came from nothing.

Harlow’s been everywhere. I’ve been places, but the places I’ve been to ended in death and destruction. Never for pleasure, or relaxation.

The five of them, plus her sister’s fiancé, always volunteer at a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving, donating and cooking all the food. Her grandmother hates it, but it’s something they look forward to every year.

I’ve never heard of a rich family doing something like that. When she talks about her parents, she lights up. They are the sun and the moon to her. She’s extremely close with her brother, has little in common with her sister, but they get along well.

“So tell me about your family? I’m going on and on about mine, and I feel bad I haven’t even asked you about yours.”

“Well not much to tell. Mom’s great. She’s a homemaker. She’s beautiful, kind, loving. We are close, and dad, well he’s a real jokester.”

These are lies.

All lies.

I tell them because she’ll never find out the truth anyway, so to keep the conversation light, I lie.

“Yea, my dad loves having a catch in the yard with my brother and me. He works really hard. He’s a VP at a printing company, has been for thirty years. I’m going to be an uncle in a few months. I’m not into kids, but I’m happy for my brother and his wife, Bella.”

Her face lights up when I tell her about being an uncle, then it turns into something else for a moment. Girls get that look in their eyes when you say baby, but the light that was just there, went out.

“That’s um… that’s great for them. This will be their first?”

“Yes. My brother told me they tried for a few years without success.”

She gets up from the couch abruptly and goes to the cabinet which stores DVDs and games. She rifles through it while speaking to me.

“Well, some people aren’t as lucky as the ones who don’t even plan on pregnancies. It’s a shame, really. It comes so easy for some. I’m glad they are getting their little miracle.”

Her voice is distant. It seems to not even be her speaking. Like another person said those words. Sometimes I don’t get this chick.

“Bella is great. When we were younger I had a crush on her, but my brother snagged her from me.”

She looks at me, like she’s heard this somewhere before.

“I remember.”

Did I tell her that? I can’t remember.

“You do?” She comes to sit by me again and holds a DVD in her hand.

“I do. That night last summer when we um, when we…”

“Did it?” I say with a grin. She smacks my arm.

“Yea, whatever. I told you, you were, a um, a…”

I know what she wants to say, I’ll finish it for her.

“Good kisser.”

I’m aggravating her.

Score and I’ve earned a blush from her.

“Yes, yes, yes. Ok. Fine. A good kisser, and you said you practiced on a girl who is now your sister in law.”

She remembered that? But she was drunk. Totally wasted. At least she seemed to be.

“How did you remember that? It was so long ago, but I did tell you, now that you mention it.”

She doesn’t want to say, which is fine. She looks uncomfortable, so I won’t press the issue. She changes the subject quickly.

“Um, I’m not really tired, and I was going to watch a movie. You want to watch it with me?”

She wants me to hang around? I think she may be bipolar. One minute she’s kicking me in the balls, the next minute, she wants to know my life story. I’m not really tired anymore either, so what the hell, I’ll just keep working on being a grown up.

“Sure. What do you have there to watch?”

She holds the DVD close to her chest, closes her eyes, and lets out a breath, a dramatic one.

“My favorite, A Song In My Heart. I knew Mrs. Taylor, Willow’s mom still had to have it here. I turned her on to it.”

“Sounds like a chick movie to me. I want blood and guts. Can’t you find Rambo or something like that in there?” I point over to the cabinet.

“Ugh, Neanderthal. Why’d I even ask.” She shakes her head at me, basically aggravated at my reaction to her choice in movies.

“What I say wrong?” I grab the box from her, look at the cover, read the synopsis on the back, and toss it on the table.

“That is fucked up. It’s sad. She’s a singer with this awesome career, and she gets hurt in a plane crash and practically gets her legs cut off. She’s a cripple. Why would you want to watch something like that?”

She stands up, puts her hands on her tiny, little hips, and taps that foot of hers.

“Well then why would you want to watch something like Rambo? Didn’t you get enough of that stuff when you were in the Marines?”

She’s got a point.

Damn it.

She continues talking. “I was raised on the classics, my mother was a…”

I interrupt her. “Huge fan of old movies, and movie stars, hence the name Harlow, because you were named after Jeanne Harlow. Your sister Greta, was named after Garbo, and your brother after Joan Crawford, which I still don’t get.”

She looks startled. She stops tapping her foot, and looks at me like I have a parasitic twin growing out of my neck.

“How do you remember that?”