25. Chapter 25
Reaper’s in church and I’m alone. Haley’s clothes fit remarkably well. The jeans are a little tight and the button-up shirt puckers at the boobs. It doesn’t help that I’m lacking a bra, but the one in the suitcase is a training bra compared to mine. The shoes though are perfect; little black slip-ons that hug my feet like panda bears.
I’m already over my mad. I’m not one to hold grudges.
Ummm, mom says. Miguel? Tracy? Lavender? Edgar? Mariah?
Point for mom, but this is different. Reaper wouldn’t betray me. He just needs time to get his head wrapped around the idea of who I am and how a relationship with me will enrich his life. It won’t take long because I’m gonna help him along.
At first I think about hanging around the bedroom, but there’s really nothing in here to amuse myself apart from the grenade and in terms of bad ideas, that one’s the mother of them all. I crack the door and step into the hall. I have to shove my hands in the jean pockets to keep my itchy fingers from looking inside all the other rooms. What can I say? I’m a snoop.
There’s boy laughter coming from the main floor, so I follow the chuckles and see Earkid and his friend sharing a joke. They’re both nice-looking boys, the kind I used to crush on when I was in Junior High. Probably as tall as me, one with dark hair, the other sandy blond. Both need haircuts.
They’re the only ones around so I walk over to them and heave myself down between them. Even I don’t know why I do the things I do, but it’s a little funny to see them both leap to the side like I’ve parted the Red Sea.
Earkid scowls at me as he juggles his game controller, then drops it. His sidekick makes Earkid’s scowl seem like a smirk.
“What? You don’t like girls?”
“I hate them,” Sidekick says as he puts another foot of space between us.
Ooookay. “You’re a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”
“He’s got girl troubles,” Earkid explains.
“Will you shut up,” Sidekick hisses.
Earkid is unrepentant as he grins.
“What are you playing?”
“Call of Duty. You play?”
I could ingratiate myself by lying, but then they might ask me to play with them and I’d be caught out. Also, I’m not supposed to lie. God doesn’t approve. I shake my head. “Can’t afford a machine. My pops won’t buy me one and besides, I don’t have much time.”
“My dad’s rich,” Earkid brags. He’s fully engaged in the conversation with me.
“Who’s your dad?” I think I know because I’ve seen those grey eyes before. Just yesterday as a matter of fact.
“Hangman,” he confirms. “Oscar’s dad is Eight.”
Aha. “Got it. Hangman’s rich, which is the reason I have to work so hard.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Earkid says.
“Ask your daddy.”
“I bet you’re a stripper,” he replies dismissively.
“She doesn’t look like a stripper,” Sidekick says.
I turn to him. “What do you know about what strippers look like?”
“Jesus,” he mutters as he inches further from me.
Hmm. “No. I’m thinking He doesn’t know much about strippers either. He’s married to his job.”
“What are you talking about?” Earkid asks.
I point to the ceiling. “The big guy and his kid.”
They both look confused. “Huh?” Earkid says.
“Forget it.” They need a little tuning up but I’m not exactly missionary material. I think about Reaper and me earlier this morning. Depending on the context, of course.
I suppress a smile and change the subject. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Pro-D day,” Sidekick mumbles.
Sidekick’s interesting because unlike his buddy, he’s a closed book and I like a challenge. “Why’s your dad called Eight?”
“Not really any of your business, is it?” he snarls.
Whoa. Short fuse. Sore point. I let him off the hook. Don’t want to traumatize the poor kid. “My dad’s called Pops.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re Mexican,” Earkid says.
“No. I’m half Italian, which is why I call my dad pops. When I feel like being Latina, I call him papa. But he hates me calling him papa, so I only do it when I wanna mess with his head.”
“How old are you?” Earkid asks. It’s not sarcastic. More curious, like he’s assessing whether he and I could eventually become a thing in that Mrs. Robinson kind of way.
“Twenty-six,” I say. “Twenty-seven in 10 months.”
That’s apparently too old for Earkid as he picks up his controller and turns back to the screen. “You should go sit somewhere else.”
“Yeah, I should. Boys are stinky.”
I head over to the bar about the same time Haley comes in from outside, two rugrats running ahead of her. She’s engaged in conversation with a pretty blond woman who is being followed by a young girl, also blond. The women are both wearing vests with a Hell’s Jury badge. “Thank heavens you’re here,” I say to Haley. “All that male testosterone over in the corner was messing with my estrogen levels.”
Haley glances at Earkid and Sidekick, then back to me. “Clothes fit pretty good.”
I wiggle my hips and do a turn like I’m a runway model. “You have good taste. Thanks for letting me borrow them.”
The blond walks up to me, holding her hand out. “I’m Jess.”
I shake her hand. “I’m Ximina.”
“What?” The young girl asks as she gives one of the little boys a shove for sticking his head through her legs. “Get off!”
He screams with high-pitched laughter and takes off, zooming around the room like he’s an airplane. His little brother follows his lead. Both are making engine and crashing noises in between the chattering.
“Yours?” I say to Jess.
She jerks her head towards Haley as she says, “God no.”
I nod as I watch the older one deliberately jump on Earkid and Sidekick. His little brother throws himself on top of the pile-up. It’s hard to know who’s shouting at who, but there are a few unkind words exchanged. “He works in mysterious ways.” Jess and the girl look confused so I add, “God. Like you said.” It doesn’t seem to clear things up.
Haley’s eying the boys in bemusement as they untangle themselves from each other, the little boys now doing somersaults around the room. “Good news is that they wear out fast. It’s either 100-miles-an-hour or zero.”
I look at the young girl who’s looking at me curiously with flat grey eyes. “You’re Hangman’s kid.”
She nods. “I’m Brielle.”
“Max’s sister,” Jess adds.
Earkid says from across the fricking canyon, “Half-sister.”
“He’s got good ears,” I whisper to Brielle.
She tucks her hair behind her ear, misinterpreting what I meant. “I do too,” she whispers back.
Cute.
Haley walks behind the counter and I see the back of her vest. Property of King. My stomach coils up at all the possibilities. I think of it. Reaper’s old lady. How awesome would that be?
Then Jess heads towards a bar stool. Her vest says Property of Rocky. Whoa.
I pop up on the stool next to her. Maybe pop is an exaggeration, but yesterday’s exertions are starting to wear off. “How does that work? Hangman being the father of Brielle and you being Rocky’s wife?” I’m observant that way. She’s wearing a diamond studded wedding ring on her finger.
Jess and Haley burst into laughter as Brielle climbs up on the barstool next to Jess.
“Brielle isn’t my daughter.”
Brielle’s eyes are solemn as she confirms it. “I’m not her daughter.”
Earkid, who has all the sensitivity of a piranha in a goldfish bowl, says, “Her mom is probably dead.”
“She’s not dead,” Brielle replies, her face reddening.
“He’s such a nice boy,” I say to Brielle.
Earkid gets the sarcasm. “Exactly.”
Haley hands us a round of orange juices, drinking one down herself.
“Should you be drinking on the job?”
“It’s not really her job.” Again, with the Earkid.
I turn to look at him. “Come join the conversation or stop interrupting us and play with your little friend.”
There’s a general grumble from the corner, but since I don’t have the same super hearing that Earkid has, I can’t quite make out what they’re saying.
Brielle peeks around Jess. “He’s okay most of the time.”
“And those kids are yours,” I say to Haley, tilting my head towards the two little boys who are now yelling like ninjas and playing swords with the pool cues.
Haley nods as Jess and Brielle quickly say, “Yes,” like they’re denying both responsibility and association.
Brielle switches topics. “Jess is having a baby. That’s why we’re all drinking orange juice.”
The logic is slightly flawed, but I roll with it. “Congratulations. Who’s the daddy?”
Pops scowls in my head. You’re not as funny as you think, sweetheart.
I hear a mutter from Max, and Brielle seems offended on Jess’s behalf. “Rocky!”
“Oh,” I reply. “I just thought, you being Hangman’s kid and all.”
Admittedly, as a joke, it’s weak, but the lack of giggles I get is a bit destructive to my ego. Also, I seem to have offended or confused Brielle.
“What’s she doing here?” Brielle asks Jess.
“She’s with Reaper,” Haley replies.
Jess nods, clearly having already been brought up to date by Haley, but Brielle’s eyes widen. “Reaper doesn’t have girlfriends.”
She’s in denial, but on the other hand, my heart soars at the idea that Reaper hasn’t brought a girl home to meet dad. If he has a dad. I frown. I don’t know anything about him other than he’s been in prison. He practically knows everything about me. Which isn’t much to know, I realize, my self-esteem taking another nose-dive.
Bella, my mom says. Don’t be hard on yourself. You have hidden depths.
Then Pops adds, which Reaper is never going to plumb.
I’m shocked at Pop’s double-entendre, but don’t get the chance to contemplate it as Verity and another woman about her age sweep into the room.
“Hi mom,” Max says. Verity acknowledges him with a nod, before heading toward Haley’s boys.
“Put the pool cues away and go outside and play with the dogs,” she rasps while I’m absorbing the fact that Verity is either Hangman’s old lady or Earkid is confused about who his mommy is.
I suddenly have an Oh-My-God realization. Max and Brielle, who are siblings spawned by Hangman, appear to be only a couple of years apart in age. If Verity is Hangman’s old lady and Brielle is not her daughter, then Hangman did a dirty and got caught at it.
Henry and Zack look like they’re about to attack Verity, but then she scowls and even I have the urge to go outside and play with the dogs.
The boys pretend-scream with fear and race outside, and I can’t help but admire the little nightmares.
Because you were just like them when you were a child, Bella, mom says gently.
I feel a ripple of grief. I was a little monster. Until I was 10. After mom’s death, it took a while to remember who I was. I’m good now, most days.
To change the direction of my thoughts, I quickly say, “Hi Verity.” Then turn my barstool around and eye the woman next to her. She’s got five inches on me, smells like cigarette smoke, kinda thin, kinda cranky looking.
“Slag, this is Ximina,” Jess says.
“Reaper’s girlfriend,” Brielle adds helpfully. I love this kid.
“I heard,” Slag says in a voice that suggests she isn’t impressed.
“You related to Earkid too?” I ask. Normally, I’m not quite this mouthy.
You are. This time it’s Reaper’s voice in my head and I get all warm and squishy.
But not rudely mouthy, I tell him.
He hmmms.
“Who’s Earkid?” Slag asks.
“Doesn’t matter. Nice to meet you.”
She looks at me like she doesn’t return my sentiments, which I can live with. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.
“Why aren’t you playing with Henry and Zack?” Verity asks Brielle.
Brielle looks at Jess as if seeking protection.
“They harass her,” Jess says, side-eyeing Haley with a measure of guilt.
“They harass everyone,” Slag says. “She needs to toughen up.”
Haley sighs. “They’re just little boys. They like to have fun.”
Setting aside the fact that Haley is clearly deluded about the nature of her boys, I’m fascinated by the dynamics of this group of females. Brielle clearly looks to Jess as the maternal figure in her life; Verity doesn’t seem to be too unhappy about it. I kinda get that, given Hangman’s affair. I wonder how many other kids he has out there with grey eyes.
The front entrance door bangs and then a goddess enters the room. I kid you not, God, but I guess you can see for yourself.
The woman is maybe six-feet tall because she’s wearing four-inch stilettos that she didn’t buy at Target. Her perfect hair, a rich auburn, curls effortlessly down her back. Her face is the kind of face that inspires songwriters, poets, and wars. Her body has more curves that a Limuus Spiral (random math term from high school that I somehow retained). She’s wearing a tight skirt and a satiny green blouse with one too many buttons open, which doesn’t just hint at her generous cleavage, but announces it like Ed McMahon at a Johnny Carson show.
She walks toward us like a runway model, her hips swaying in rhythm to her stride.
The only thing marring her entrance is the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen following her. Its jowls are hanging down to its feet, the rest of its skin is wrinkly, and it’s massive. He looks at me. I look at him. We smile at each other.
“Hello all,” the woman says warmly.
She turns to me and holds out her hand. “I’m Evanee.”
Good God. This woman is posh. Everything about her is posh. Even her manicure. Even her name. Even her enunciation. Even probably her dog.
I take her hand. “I’m Ximina.”
“Lovely name,” she replies without missing a beat. “Anyone seen Coyote?”
Lucky bastard, I think. Whoever he is.
“He’s in church,” Verity replies like she’s chewing on nails. The hammer kind, not the finger kind.
Evanee tilts her head regally. “Trigger didn’t say there was church today.”
Oh My God! She’s got two of them!
“Guess he had his mouth full of something,” Slag says with a smirk.
Evanee smiles at her indulgently. “No. I had my mouth full, but you know how it is. Breakfast was a little vigorous this morning.”
My Catholic upbringing kicks in as my face heats up. This woman is my idol even though in my wildest dreams, I could never be her.
“Good god,” Verity mutters. “There are kids in the room.”
I have this overwhelming need to defend the goddess next to me. “Who would never have understood what she was saying until you pointed it out.”
Evanee rewards me with bright smile and for some reason I blush like a love-sick schoolgirl.
She waves her hand towards Uglymutt, who is sitting on the floor next to her, its tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Freud misses his mom and dad and now that he’s healed up, it’s time for him to go home.” She does a freaking perfect squat on her four-inch stilettos and scrubs Uglymutt’s head, scratching his ears, tickling his chin. “Who’s a perfect guard dog?” she coos at him. “Are you a perfect guard dog? Yes, you are, aren’t you?”
“Evanee’s a vet,” Brielle explains.
I absorb this news trying not to admit to myself how much I think in stereotypes.
Loud yelling from the back yard interrupts the moment, followed by a crash so big it shakes the building. Screaming, shouting and barking break out.
“Shit,” Haley says as she sprints off, Jess and Brielle on her heels.
I watch them leave, once again looking in awe at the back of Jess and Haley’s club vests, then I turn to Verity. “Why aren’t you wearing a property vest?”
Evanee tuts. Mom winces. Pops shakes his head.
What? My inquisitive nature is sometimes misinterpreted as insensitivity, but deep down I’m a sympathetic soul.
“She and Hangman are divorced,” Slag replies for Verity. I think I’ve met a kindred spirit when it comes to lack of tact.
Verity crosses her arms. “Doesn’t matter. He likes having me around.”
I smile at her. “So, you’re a masochist, then.”
Boom! Mike drop!
“Right,” Verity snaps. “Because Reaper’s a walk in the park.”
Touché.
I frown as I think of Reaper. The women- and kid-folk distracted me from my Reaper problems, but the mention of him shoves me back into the reality of my reality.
I hop down from the stool and settle over at a table so I can think without the intrusive glares of the old-timers. I’m easily distracted by people, but alone, my brain kicks in and when it does, so does my anxiety. I’m being an idiot, thinking Reaper and I are going to live happily ever after. He made it clear that he likes me, but can’t tolerate me.
Earlier, when we made love, it was a moment of weakness for him, and like I aways do, I turned it into a wedding, honeymoon, happy ever after. He’ll solve the coke problem, then after that he’ll cut me loose.
I swallow as tears well up. When we first met, I was drawn to him, but now I know it’s more than that. I can be a bulldozer when I want something, but I realize that approach won’t work with Reaper. The problem is I don’t know any other approach and the other problem is that because of that, Reaper doesn’t see me in his future.
Self-awareness sucks, but there it is.