Spiral (14 page)

“Ah!” she cries. The slush surrounds her feet, slipping into the sides of her shoes. “It’s cold! Help!”

“Shh! You’re gonna wake everyone up!” I hiss. “Carl, wait!”

But he’s already gone, climbing back into his smoky limo and shouting at the driver something about stopping at the Regency. The car door slams closed behind him.

“Jack, move!”

“Okay, okay, be quiet!” I guide her out of the snow and back onto the walk, toward a drier patch. She is clumsy and noisy, the worst combination. Every step she takes is a wobble or a slip, and she screeches then giggles each time.

“You have got to get better shoes,” I mutter as she tips toward the front porch, her stilettos making scraping sounds along the sidewalk. She is dragging her feet, and the heels get stuck on almost every crack or bump in the walk. Inevitably, she trips, and it’s a two-hand job just to keep her moving up the walkway to the front door. I try to be careful about where I put my hands, afraid to touch her or grab her in a way that’s going to get me labeled as a molester.

“Jaaaack,” she groans, slumping against me as I try to dig my keys out of my pocket. “I still don’t like you,” she grumbles. I’m tempted to step aside so that she can fall.

“Yeah, well, you’re not my favorite person right now either,” I huff.

“Jerk.” I grimace, but I don’t need to move for her to fall; suddenly, she’s sliding down the length of my leg to the welcome mat.

“Cherie? Cherie!” I whisper as she hits the ground.

“I just wanna sit here for a minute,” she mumbles incoherently.

“Huh? Cherie, you can’t sit there. Cherie?” I nudge her with my foot, then reach down and grab her arm. She jerks it out of my hold and lets her head droop forward heavily. “Cherie, it’s cold on the ground. Get up.” I feel like I’m dealing with Britney.

“Leemee alone, Jack,” she whines. “I’m just gonna sit here a lil’ while.”

“Cherie, it’s cold. You gotta come inside,” I say in my gentlest tone. I’m getting frustrated though, and I’m cold, too. I’m standing out here on the porch like an idiot trying to talk sense into someone who openly hates me. What is wrong with me?

“Cherie?” She doesn’t respond. “Cherie, did you pass out? Cherie?”

She gives me the slightest shake of her head and the back of her head bops up as she takes a deep breath. “I’ll come in inna minute.”

I curse under my breath. What the hell am I going to do now? I drag my keys out from my pocket and unlock the door, nudging it open with my foot. Then, I squat down and sweep one arm under her knees and the other behind her back.

“Hold on,” I murmur futilely, and I lift her dead weight with all the strength I have. She is limp in my arms, but she’s surprisingly easy to carry, and I catch myself feeling almost thankful that she’s been wasting away for the last few weeks.

I sidestep into the house, fitting her neatly through the doorway. I push the door closed behind us and step lightly through the house, navigating down the hall in the dark. I look to the couch, knowing I could just drop her there and let her face the consequences in the morning. Jim should find her like this and know what she really does with her Hollywood entourage. My conscience nags me to not be so cruel, and I begin maneuvering around the breakfast table in the kitchen as I make my way to her quarters in the basement. She looks like a corpse, stone-faced with her head tipped back.

I flick the light switch upward, and a yellow glow floods the basement. The stairs prove to be trickier as I can’t really tell if my foot is on each step before moving down. It’s a narrow area, too, and she just barely fits between the bannister and the adjacent wall. Her body begins to feel heavy. I panic that I’m going to miss a step and go crashing down to the floor or smash her head against the wall. I want to congratulate myself when I get on solid ground again, but then there are all of the boxes to contend with, strewn and stacked about the room like pieces in a game of chess. Her bed is barely visible in the distance, but it’s still there, well made and in one piece. Why was mine all packed up and ready to go two days ago?

‘Cause she’s a damn princess. Isn’t that why you’re carrying her around, stupid?
I grumble in my head. I careen around the boxes, her weight getting heavier as my arms grow tired. By the time I’m at her bedside, my shoulders are burning. I’m desperate to release her. I set her down as carefully as my tired muscles will allow and double over, trying to catch my breath. I stretch and twist my arms to relieve them of the ache.

Cherie is motionless, and I can only tell she is breathing by the slight rise and fall of her chest. She looks peaceful. She almost looks nice. I unfold a blanket from the end of the bed and drape it over her.

I find myself wishing I’d had the chance to get closer to her. Memories of the first few days she spent with us sweep through my mind, and I picture her, sad and fragile, gripping my arm, burying her face in my chest, relying on me. She would always hold her emotions together in a vise-like grip for the public, and then she’d crumble whenever we were alone. I hated to hear her cry, but I sort of miss her needing me like that. I miss her trusting me.

I turn her onto her side in case she gets sick in her sleep, and she curls her fingers around mine, grasping my hand. Electricity zips through my arm. When I try to pull away, she stirs, and her eyebrows come together.

“Stay,” she moans into the pillow.

“Cherie, I gotta go upstairs,” I say softly. I shake my hand a little bit to loosen her grip, but she is holding on tighter than I’m fighting to get free. “Cherie?”

“Stay with me, just a little,” she slurs. I wonder if she even knows who I am or where she is.

“Cherie, I can’t stay, I gotta go to my room. C’mon, you’ll be okay. You just gotta sleep it off.” She shakes her head quickly once, then again, and tightens her hand around one of my fingers. She plants her face beside my knuckles.

“Shh, please just stay,” she whispers, her lips brushing against my fingers as she speaks. Her warm breath caresses my skin. I get a chill that’s rocks from my hand to my spine and down to my groin.

Checkmate
. I close my eyes and obediently lower to my knees beside the bed.

I can wait a few minutes until she’s really asleep. It’s the least I can do.

B
renton and I reach the new house first, and I let him tap in the code that opens the massive wrought iron gate. He was permitted to ride the last leg of the trip with me because Mom was convinced he felt better. I don’t know if I’m completely convinced, though, since he spent half the ride sniffling and sneezing and sleeping, but I preferred anything to riding with Claudia and her annoying boy band music.

I get out of the car and look up at the big, beautiful beige home that towers over me and stare in wonder.

“C’mon, Jack!” he yells impatiently.

“Okay, okay. Relax.” I unpack the trunk, and he races forward with my set of keys to unlock the door.

When we step into the house, he whistles low and looks up at the high ceiling of the main foyer. There are two winding staircases leading to two different wings of the house on opposite sides of the entrance. We step forward hesitantly on the marble tile, like it will break under our feet.

“I take it you approve of your new home?” I laugh, but even I can’t ignore how overwhelming the mere size of our new residence is, let alone the intricacies of the carved columns and expensive furnishings. In the past month, Jim flew back and forth to get the house ready for us, and each time he returned home, he would gush about something new. Still, I had never expected it to be this massive or beautiful.

Brenton echoes my own thoughts. “This isn’t a house, Jack. It’s a palace!” Of course he’s thrilled to pieces. He’s a ten year old who lives with his favorite celebrity of all time and gets to call this mansion his home. There’s even a giant in-ground pool in the backyard. What’s not to love?

Behind us, I hear the RV rumble into the driveway, and a chorus of screams, commands, and giggles erupt from the brood inside. Chloe, Claudia, and Britney pound past us in a flurry of pink and white, the scent of suntan lotion and vanilla wafting behind them.

“Oh. My. God!” Claudia gasps.

“I call biggest room!” Chloe shouts.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Brenton growls, chasing after them as they race upstairs. I save my breath and let him go; he’ll figure out eventually that Jim came out a few weeks ago to designate and prepare rooms for all of us.

Speaking of which…

“So, where do I go?” I ask softly, remembering the three suitcases in my hands. I don’t meet my mother’s gaze.

She forces a smile. “Don’t you want to take a look around?” she says.

“There’s a big pool in the back,” Jim adds, emptying his arms of the baggage that the girls left behind.

“I saw. I’m good.” I take in as much of the main rooms of the house as I can from this spot. There is a giant kitchen and a huge island in its center. The living room has high ceilings, too, and windows that stretch from the top to the bottom of one wall. I can’t see it completely from where I’m standing, but that room has a stone fireplace and a giant TV mounted over it. I instantly picture spending football season planted in that room, unless my mom will finally let me have my own TV in my room.

“So, upstairs?” I add hopefully, “Basement…?”

My mom has
that
look; it’s a smile she’s trying to hold in but really can’t because she’s too excited. “Well, Jack, when Jim came out here for some interviews in January, he took a good look at the house and planned it out for the family. We both thought a lot about what you said when we first mentioned we were moving, and you’re right, you’ve had to deal with a lot of change really fast.”

“I can remember being your age, buddy,” Jim says, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he walks past me. “There are a lot of young people in this house, but you’re the oldest, and the oldest boy. There’s about 7 years separating you and Brenton. Heck, you’re practically a man. We have a little less than two years before you’re off to college.”

I’m getting nervous. Are they kicking me out? Do they have boarding school plans for me?

“We know you need your own space,” Mom continues. I watch Jim walk toward the kitchen.

“Follow me, Jack. We have a surprise for you.” I’m moving in slow motion. I think I know what they’re getting at, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up.

“We know you’re a good kid, Jack, and we really feel like we can trust you,” Jim is saying as he leads me to a set of doors in the kitchen. The doors are all glass. They lead to the pool, which truly is immense. I look around the backyard as Jim urges me outside.

“Man this place is fancy,” I murmur to no one in particular. It even has a pool house.

Wait…

“What’s that?”

Jim’s smile grows large and bright. “That, Jack, is a casita. It’s kind of a like an apartment, or a guest house. And we set it aside just for you.” He winks at me.

I’m in shock. “Huh?”

Mom is beaming, too. She takes my hand and pulls me toward the casita. “This will be your new room. It’s a space you can really call all your own. You have a bathroom, a small living area, and Jim spared no expense making sure you have all of the, uh, amenities, so to speak, that you would want.”

He rattles them off like a car salesman. “Sixty-inch TV, wireless sound system, leather sectional – the works,” Jim adds triumphantly. He takes a key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and sweeps his hand forward as if to encourage a king to cross a threshold. My eyes can barely take in all of the completely awesome things I see at once. I know he wants desperately to earn my favor and has been unsuccessful for the past year, but I think this move definitely catapulted him from 2 to a 7 on my rating scale.

The casita is huge – the bathroom is the size of my old bedroom. I have a giant tub
and
a shower. The TV takes up a generous portion of one wall, and he managed to hook up two of my video game consoles already. Around the room, I see small, in-wall speakers. The room is light blue, and there are windows everywhere. There’s even a wet bar, which Jim humorously stocked with sodas and Gatorades. It’s not simply a guest house. It’s an elaborate, five-star hotel suite.