Samantha darling Page 11

  Charlie hopped into the back seat, leaving me stunned.

  What the hell?

  During the drive, Betty and Charlie chatted about her having seen him at the club and I rolled my eyes until I thought they’d detach and fall right out of my head. I had definitely entered the twilight zone.

  Betty introduced Charlie to Ellen when we arrived at the house, and then offered to show him around.

  “You sure are making the rounds,” Ellen said to me out of the side of her mouth.

  “Funny.” I smirked. “He asked me to lunch and Betty invited him here.”

  “I thought you had the hots for Wes.”

  “I do, but I told you he only wants to be friends.”

  “You kids are too confusing to keep up with. Come. Learn something.” Ellen took me to the kitchen and with her instruction I whipped up a pretty damn good chicken pasta dish.

  After lunch, in which Betty had dominated the conversation, she suggested that Charlie and I go to the pool.

  “Sorry about her,” I told him once we were outside.

  “Don’t be. She’s great—different than I expected.”

  “Like me?” I asked.

  “Knowing a little about a person’s struggles, especially when you can relate, is helpful. It also keeps me from being such an asshole. I’m sorry for that. I’ve been pretty hard on you.”

  “I’m sure Betty has trunks in the pool house if you’d like to swim.” I didn’t want to delve into a deep conversation with Charlie about behaving badly since I was guilty of it myself, and wasn’t in the mood to apologize.

  “Aren’t we supposed to wait thirty minutes before swimming?”

  “I never imagined you to be such a strict rule follower.”

  Charlie smiled. “You imagine things about me? That’s interesting.”

  “No romantic turns, remember?”

  Charlie’s smile widened. “I remember. I’ve got work. I should go.” He thanked Betty and Ellen for lunch. Betty offered to take him back to his car, but he opted to walk, and I was kind of glad. I wasn’t sure how I felt about his sudden warmness toward me.

  22

  D ad and Betty had gone to the club for dinner. They’d invited me to go, and I’d almost accepted, but hadn’t felt like putting on a dress to eat a cheeseburger. I opened the fridge and looked inside. After seeing how perfectly neat the contents were I thought I’d ruin it if I touched anything, so I began rifling through the cabinets.

  “Excuse me,” a man’s voice startled me so much that I screamed.

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Jonathan said, unshaken by my reaction. “You have a visitor.” He turned away and I followed him to the front door.

  “Are you cooking?” Wes asked, his eyes slightly squinted.

  “Jonathan scared me. He’s so shadowy, I forget that he’s here.”

  “So you were going to clock him with cream of chicken soup?”

  I shrugged, realizing I was still gripping the can. “I panicked.”

  “C’mon, we’re going to roll Becca’s house.”

  “What’d she do?”

  The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk. “I’ll let Austin tell you. You can bring the soup if you want to.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said, and sat the can down on the entry table.

  Wes and I had spent the past few days together. We’d eaten lunch at places he thought I’d like, and he even gave in and took me bowling, which we’d both sucked at, but it was still fun. I learned that he was good at math, played piano and baseball as a child, and was voted best looking for senior superlatives, which was no surprise. I revealed that I was also good at math, played nothing as a child, and that my little high school didn’t need to vote to know who was superlative because the same people had been popular and certain of their place in the world since conception.

  As much fun as we had, every night he still went to meet someone else after dropping me off. We didn’t talk about it, but I knew it was happening. I was getting attached to him and it was becoming more difficult to watch him go, and imagining what he was doing with whoever he was with was even harder.

  Charlotte and Austin were in the backseat of the Range Rover.

  “Why are we rolling Becca’s house?” I asked.

  “Fuck rolling. I brought eggs!” Austin declared. “Becca’s been telling people that I have hemorrhoids.”

  “What?” I sputtered. “Hemorrhoids? What an odd insult.”

  “She said he got them from taking it up the ass,” Charlotte said, amused.

  “Yeah, so Becca Bitchface is gettin’ egged,” Austin said sharply. “If you want to put a dick in your ass, that’s cool. No hate, but that shit is not for me. I don’t even put it in a girl’s ass.”

  Charlotte patted Austin’s leg. “No one doubts your heterosexuality.”

  “No one can. I’ve banged half of the girls on the island.”

  “And their mothers,” I said, repeating what Charlotte had told me.

  “Only the hot ones,” Austin confirmed.

  “What about you, Wes? Have you banged anyone’s mother?” I asked.

  “I decline to answer.”

  “I’d say yes,” Austin said proudly. “He’s got as much game as me.”

  “Game?” Charlotte questioned. “Do people still say that?”

  “I say it, so yes, people do,” Austin snapped back.

  “Well?” I asked Wes.

  “That, Samantha darling, is no one’s business,” he answered, slowing the car in front of a large modern colonial with perfect landscaping.

  Wes tossed me a ski mask and a couple rolls of toilet paper. “We have to move fast. When your rolls are gone, get back in the car. Don’t take off your mask. They have cameras.”

  “Wait—won’t Becca recognize your car?” I asked.

  “There are about two hundred black Range Rovers on the island. I covered the license plate. We’re good.”

  Sliding the mask over my face, I felt like a criminal, and I kind of liked it.

  “Ok, go!” Wes called.

  After we bailed out of the car, I took a second to scope out the yard. I saw Austin running with his box of eggs toward a car in the driveway, and Charlotte squirting dish soap and purple food coloring into a fountain near the sidewalk. Bubbles instantly overflowed while Wes decorated the front shrubs with toilet paper.

  The house only had one large tree in the yard. It had a blue tint and resembled a Christmas tree. I held the end of the toilet paper in one hand and slung the roll toward the tree with the other. The paper tore at the perforation and the whole roll got stuck in the tree, leaving me holding a tiny strand. I couldn’t believe I was failing so miserably at something so simple. I tossed the loose paper onto a branch and picked up the other roll. That time I loosened the paper from the roll before throwing it over the tree. It was dumb, but I was so proud of myself for getting it right. I tossed the roll until it was empty and ran to the car and got in. The others followed and Wes quickly drove away. I looked back to take in what we’d done. In three minutes, the four of us had covered Becca’s yard with toilet paper, eggs, and bubbles.

  “Hope they get that paper up before the sprinklers come on in the morning,” Charlotte said gleefully.

  Since my house had been rolled before, I felt a little guilty about having done it to someone else, but I also felt a little freer than before.

  “What’d you think, Samantha darling?” Wes asked me.

  “It was a rush.”

  He turned and gave me a wink.

  “Where to now?” Charlotte asked.

  “I want tacos,” I blurted.

  Charlotte laughed. “My first thought was to get blitzed.”

  “Let’s go to my house,” Austin said. “I’ll have Leia make tacos and margaritas.”

  “Ohhh,” Charlotte cooed and pop kissed Austin. “A compromise.”

  “I have plans,” Wes said.

  “Of course you do,” Charlotte groaned.
>
  I groaned, too, under my breath.

  Wes dropped us at Austin’s and drove away to meet his flavor of the hour. I sat at the kitchen island watching, Leia, Austin’s chef, whip up chicken tacos while Austin made monster margaritas that were so strong the tequila burned my nose from across the room.

  By the time the food was ready, Charlotte and Austin were drunk and completely ignoring me. I figured it was because I wasn’t drinking with them. But thoughts of Wes and what he was doing without me kept my brain busy.

  I thanked Leia for cooking and ate like I was starving. Everything was so good, and since no one was watching, I gorged myself on fresh chips and guacamole.

  As I was finished up eating, Wes came in. The girl he was with had been at The Boothe Center when I was there. I froze, even though I’d only seen her once over three months ago. She’d spent a week at Boothe before her mother felt guilty and signed her out.

  Lori eyed me for a moment, but I hoped she wouldn’t remember me. I thought it would be best to slip out just in case.

  “I’m going home,” I told Charlotte, who hugged me and told me she loved me. She was drunk and loved everyone, I imagined. Austin also hugged me. He held on a little too long and brushed his hand over my ass as I exited the embrace.

  “You leaving?” Wes asked as I was reaching for the door.

  “Yeah. Thanks for tonight.”

  “See you tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Bye, Samantha darling!” Charlotte called. “I’ll miss yoooooooou.”

  I laughed, but stopped when Lori yelped my name.

  “Sam!” She waved her finger at me. “I thought you looked familiar. You were at Boothe. Your crazy mother killed herself.” She said it with a smile in her voice, as if she’d enjoyed announcing it to the world.

  “And you were at Boothe because the boy you liked fucked your best friend after your mother, whose nose you broke for making you leave a party, grounded you for getting shitty grades. My mother is dead. You still have yours and you treat her like trash.”

  “How I treat my mother is none of your business.”

  “What happened to mine is none of yours, but you still brought it up. Say another word about her to anyone else and I will end you,” I threatened, not sure if I could actually do it, but I would damn sure try.

  “Eat shit, psycho.”

  With anger and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I shoved Lori against the wall, then ran from the house as she yelled insults at my back.

  “Sam. Stop!” Wes called running up behind me.

  I slowed down, but didn’t stop until he grabbed my hand. He moved to stand in front of me. I looked at him with hefty tears in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she knew about your mom.”

  “You couldn’t have.”

  “She shouldn’t have told everyone.”

  “She shouldn’t have done a lot of the things she’s done. She’s a shitty person, Wes. A vapid waste of space. Why would you choose to spend time with someone like her?”

  “I don’t know her. I was just…”

  “Going to fuck her?” I’d already known his plan, but saying it out loud made my heart sink lower.

  His perfect mouth opened, but no words escaped.

  “I’ll let you get back to it then.”

  “There’s no way I’d do it now. Not after what she did to you.”

  “I’m going home.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay, Wes, but you probably don’t want to hear that. It’s so much easier on everyone if I say I’m okay, even when I’m not—if I lie instead of saying what I’m actually feeling.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me.” Wes looked at me as soberly as he could.

  “I do it every day.”

  I was certain he didn’t know what to say. That the subject had gotten too deep for him to handle. I felt bad for dropping that gem at his feet and hoped he’d get drunk enough to forget what I’d said, even though it was true.

  “Wait for me,” he pleaded. “I’m going to get rid of Lori before Charlotte kills her. Wait for me. We’ll talk.”

  “I’m fine, really. Just let it go.”

  “Sam.”

  “I’ll see you later,” I said and walked away.

  23

  W es didn’t listen, and I was glad he came over. I was also glad that Dad and Betty weren’t home because I didn’t want to be questioned to death about why he was there. Wes joined me in sitting cross-legged on the floor in the game room closet.

  “You’ve probably already figured this out, but Patricia was my mother,” I said. “I’m kind of shocked that my dad brought anything of hers here. He doesn’t like to think of her too much anymore.”

  “Do you have a picture of her?”

  “I imagine there are photo albums here. I haven’t gone through all the boxes yet. I can’t bring myself to replay too many of the good memories at a time because it hurts too much.”

  “I’m sorry again about Lori. Charlotte had run her off before I got back to Austin’s. I told them to forget what she said about your mom.”

  “I appreciate it, but you can’t forget hearing something like that.”

  “Either way, neither of them will say anything.”

  I glanced at Wes, then at the floor. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about you and Lori. It’s none of my business.”

  “You’re right. I spend too much time with vapid wastes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s easier. I don’t feel guilty about ditching them if they start to like me.”

  “I’m sure they always like you.”

  “The way I look, maybe. But I don’t let them know me.”

  I smiled a little. “Sucks being so pretty, I guess.”

  He smiled back, likely recalling the first time I’d said that to him.

  “That favor you offered a few weeks ago, I may take you up on it after all. My dad is going to list our house for sale and I’d like to visit it before I can’t anymore. I’m not ready to go yet, but would you take me when I am?”

  “Of course.”

  I stood up and thanked him.

  Wes stood, too, spotting my journal on the closet shelf. “Are you still writing?”

  “You sound like my doctor.”

  “Are you?”

  “I’ve made one entry since I’ve been here.”

  “What was it about?”

  “My mother. Almost everything in there is about her.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “No,” I answered quickly.

  “Why not? I’ve kept your secrets so far.”

  “What’s in there isn’t about secrets. It’s about feelings.”

  “Which you said you lie to me about.” Wes took the journal out of the room, sat down on the couch, and placed it on his lap. I stared at the pale green hardcover and watched as he opened the book to my first entry.

  Dr. Ming had told me to think of my journal entries as short stories about my feelings and such, and that the pieces didn’t have to be in any particular order, but she hoped I would focus on things I remembered happening with my mother, so she could see the bigger picture and discover the best approach to my treatment. When I finally began to write, I was a smartass and headed each entry with Dear Dr. Ming, and ended with The End to let her know that part of the story was over and there would be no more written about it. I watched Wes’s eyes scan the page before turning to another, then another.

  Dear Dr. Ming,

  This journal writing requirement is bullshit.

  It’s also bullshit that you think I want to kill myself.

  I don’t.

  I was having an off day.

  It happens.

  The End.

  Dear Dr. Ming,

  Since her meds were failing, my mother had been more prone to hallucinations before her death. I’d often wondered what she’d seen the night she died. How she’d felt. If
she’d even known she was about to die, or if that had been her intent.

  Everyone—Dad, the police, the long line of headshrinkers I’d seen—told me what happened wasn’t my fault, and that my mother was now at peace. I’d often wondered and sometimes said, “She’s dead. How the hell do you know?”

  The End.

  Dear Dr. Ming,

  My mother was adopted as a toddler. Her parents were close to fifty when she went to them. They had both passed away by the time I was two, so I don’t remember them. After she died, I realized there was so much I never knew about her. I like to imagine that she was popular and had her choice of boyfriends in high school. That she was on the honor roll and could have attended college anywhere she wanted. Then I remember that even if those things were true, it wouldn’t have mattered, because in the end she was so lost that she didn’t know her own name at times and sadly canceled out the joy of having lived happily before the darkness took over.

  The End.

  Dear Dr. Ming,

  Dad and I never talked much about my mother’s illness. When I was younger, I was afraid to learn what was happening to her, so I didn’t ask in-depth questions. I discovered she was schizophrenic by reading her prescription bottles when I was thirteen. I searched the word online and cried as I read about her illness. Then I prayed that she would get better and that I wouldn’t end up like her.

  The End.

  Dear Dr. Ming,

  After Mom died, Dad took me to see a shrink. In his defense, the man had no idea what else to do. The shrink tried to comfort me by saying he understood what I had gone through with her because he had worked with schizophrenic patients in the past. He was totally dumbfounded when I asked if he’d ever lived with someone who suffered from schizophrenia, because that’s a whole different ballgame. Spending an hour a week with someone is not the same as living with them. When he confirmed that he had not, I made it clear that there was no way in hell he would ever completely understand what I’d been through. He felt compelled to challenge my observation because his ego was the size of Texas, but in the end, I was right, and after 4 sessions, he told my father that he and I weren’t a good fit. He just didn’t like being confronted with the truth, and despised being wrong.