Chapter 37 Charleigh
Charleigh
Sunlight pulses through the kitchen window. It’s late afternoon, and Charleigh is just home from racquetball, her veins fizzing with alcohol.
Alexander’s out on his land today, dove hunting; he said he was likely going to tent camp, spend the night.
Which is fine with her. She needs a break from him, from all the sex, even though she loves it, is grateful for it.
Is grateful that she’s not in a position like Kathleen, trying to use potions and whatnot to keep her husband by her side. How pathetic.
Through the window, she spies Nellie lounging on a chair in her red string bikini, flicking through Seventeen magazine. She’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, her blond hair pulled into a high ponytail.
Charleigh sighs at the sight of her, at how normal—no, happy, content her daughter actually looks.
Usually, she’d be locked in her room, chain-smoking, feet thudding the floor in angry steps.
She never lies out by the pool anymore. This is because of that boy, Charleigh thinks, whoever he is.
She’s tanning herself, spritzing her hair with Sun-In, and yes, smoking a cigarette, but doing so in a calm manner, delicately ashing in a Sprite can.
Charleigh strides outside, springs herself on Nellie.
Nellie flinches.
“You don’t have to put that out because of me. I know you smoke.”
Nellie lowers her sunglasses, rolls her eyes. But there’s also a smile playing on her lips. Thank God. “I know you know.” She takes a long pull, then drops the butt into the soda.
Charleigh walks toward her, two glasses of iced lemonade in her hands. Spiked with a little rum. An offering.
“Beverage?” she asks.
“Sure. Lemonade. Great.”
“No, this is adult lemonade.”
Nellie eyes her suspiciously. Charleigh never drinks with Nellie, but she’s on a mission to find out who Nellie’s mystery man is.
“Okaaay.” Nellie accepts the drink. “What’s in it for you?”
“Ha! You can’t just have a drink with your dear old ma?”
“Cut the shit.”
Charleigh sinks into the chair next to Nellie’s.
The pool gurgles next to them, and Charleigh, buzzed off her daiquiri, almost feels like a teenager again.
Except she never had this experience as a teen, only wished she had.
A surge of emotion washes over her as she thinks about all she’s managed to give Nellie.
She may not be a perfect mother, but just look at all this.
When she was Nellie’s age, she’d be in the barn scrubbing dairy equipment right now.
And, for once, Nellie seems okay.
Nellie sucks down half her spiked lemonade through the straw, grins at Charleigh. “Well, this is actually kinda nice.” She licks a finger, pages through the magazine. “But what’s the deal?”
“Well,” Charleigh starts, her voice quaky, “you seem…I don’t know…happy or something.” She flips her free hand through the air, as if asking a question.
Nellie peers at her over the top of the chlorine-crinkled magazine.
“You’re acting…like a girl in love.”
A laugh sprays out of Nellie. “God, Mom, you sound like you’re in a movie from the thirties or something. But yeah, I met a new boy I like.”
“And…tell me…what’s his name?”
“Oh, fuck it. Okay. His name is Luke. And he’s bad, Mom. A bad boy like I’m a bad girl. He’s so hot, too.” Nellie shivers.
Charleigh’s insides clench. A bad boy, bad like her? “What do you mean, bad?”
“Well, he’s covered in tattoos for one thing, has longish hair, drives a Camaro. I don’t know, he’s cool. From Dallas—”
“Nellie, how old is this boy?”
“Eighteen, Mom. God.”
Charleigh takes in a deep breath, resets herself. Getting info from Nellie is like trying to herd a scared cat. She must tread lightly. “But what else do you mean about him being bad? Like bad-bad? Or just…?” She keeps her voice neutral, like a middle school shrink.
“Like, he didn’t graduate from high school. He’s here for the summer trying to better himself or whatever.”
“Where does he live? What part of town?” Charleigh takes a long gulp of her drink.
“You’re not gonna like it.”
“Try me.”
“He lives out with the Swifts, and he’s learning how to woodwork under Mr. Swift.” She sucks the remainder of the lemonade through the straw.
Dread swamps Charleigh. Not that fucking family again. They are literally everywhere, closing in on her. She lets out a forceful breath.
“What?!” Nellie stabs her with her tone, jolting her back.
“The Swifts? We hate them, remember?”
“Well, like, whatever!” Nellie practically shrieks.
Keep calm, Charleigh, keep calm.
But it’s too late, Nellie’s face has already darkened.
“Don’t have a hissy fit, Mom.” She says Mom as if it’s the most disgusting word in the whole world.
“It’s not like we’re together. I’m pretty sure he’s with Blair.
But…I’m gonna work on him because he’s, like, everything I’ve ever wanted. I have to have him.”
Charleigh feels like she’s going to have a heart attack. She’s never heard Nellie gush about a boy like this. This could end so badly. It could end like…well…Thor over in Sweden. Not being able to get Nellie exactly what she wants is a source of excruciating pain for Charleigh.
“Well, what can we do?” she asks.
Nellie recoils. “Nothing. Like, don’t do anything. I got this.” Her chair scrapes against the concrete as she stands up and storms inside, slamming the door shut behind her.
Great.
Charleigh pokes at the ice in her glass with her straw, wonders how she can so quickly go from confidant to shit for brains with Nellie, faster than Alexander can go from zero to sixty in his Wagoneer.