Chapter 39 Charleigh
Charleigh
Oh, the things a mother will do for her daughter. And, if she’s honest, for herself.
Like tromping across a pasture in heels to attend some bizarro workshop. But there are all her “friends” clumped in a row, seated in front of Abigail, who’s holding court over them, barefoot in a flowing white dress with an honest-to-God daisy chain resting on top of her head like a crown.
Annoyance blasts through Charleigh. This woman thinks she’s the second coming of Christ, and Charleigh’s friends are drinking the Kool-Aid. She grips Jackson’s arm, grateful that she’s dragged him out here with her.
“So, friends, this oil,” Abigail trills, “you’ll want to use it sparingly and”—she motions in a circle over her pelvic region—“down there. Like, not on it, but just above the root chakra.”
“Chakra Khan,” Jackson whispers in Charleigh’s ear.
“Stop it, God damn it, don’t make me start laughing.”
“Oh, hi!” Abigail greets Charleigh and Jackson dramatically. “Glad you two could join us!” There’s a flash of pity in her voice that Charleigh detests, a note of I know I’ve captured all your friends’ attention, and I am so sorry.
“Please find a seat. Anywhere.”
They sink into the grass. Monica turns around to face them, shoots Charleigh a smug grin. As soon as she swivels back around, Charleigh gives her the bird. “Bitch,” she says to Jackson under her breath.
“And this oil is ylang-ylang blended with lavender and crushed rose quartz. I grind it down to a powder so fine, you won’t even feel it. But your body will. It’s one of the stones used to awaken the divine feminine within us all.”
Sweat streams down Abigail’s neck, a slow-moving river that trickles down between her full breasts.
Her blue eyes dance with mirth; she’s grossly lapping up all this attention, even though Charleigh’s never seen or heard anything more ridiculous in all her life.
She cannot stand this woman, has to unclench her fingernails, which are digging into the soles of her palms.
“I want everyone now to take a deep breath. Draw the breath in all the way down to the root chakra, hold it for a few seconds, then release.” Abigail shakes her head at the crowd, as if they’re dumb schoolchildren. “Let’s try that again. This time, close your eyes. Now breathe.”
Jackson’s eyes are dutifully shut, but Charleigh keeps her cracked open; she’s not big on following rules, especially these, here.
She peers around at all her brownnoser friends, whose eyes are closed tightly.
Their chests rise and fall with the breathing exercise, but Charleigh’s own breath is tight, taut.
She can’t help it—a chuckle bubbles out of her.
Abigail’s eyes fly open, narrow at Charleigh.
Charleigh lifts her shoulders into a shrug to express, What’s the big deal?
From behind Abigail, the sound of a saw buzzes to life. Irritation flashes across her plain, makeup-free face. The instant the buzzing dies down, Abigail barks over her shoulder: “Ethan! Can you cut that out until I’m finished?”
Ah. So all is not well at the Walton house, Charleigh thinks to herself. Ms. Abigail needs to use some more of her own love potions.
In the background, Ethan steps from his shed, tanned skin shiny with sweat, buttons on his shirt undone, exposing his delectable chest. A saw dangles from one hand like it’s merely a play toy, and he raises his free hand at the crowd. “Sorry, ladies!” he says, his flirty smile across his face.
Charleigh notices Abigail’s jaw tensing, untensing, even though she’s pretend smiling at him.
All eyes fly open now, drinking in the delicious sight that is Ethan Swift.
Even Charleigh—who is beyond irritated by this strange family—feels a stirring of passion in her gut while she gapes at him. Imagines what he can do with those strong arms, the different positions…
Her dirty train of thought is interrupted by Jackson, who clears his throat, gives her a stare that says, Busted.
“Whatever,” she whispers in his ear, “this family is effed up, but that man is fine.”
“You’re telling me,” Jackson whispers back.
“See, there’s somethin’ in it for you, after all. Eye candy.”
“Speaking of which, I’m gonna go talk to the good man, check out his wares. I can’t sit here for one second longer and hear about labia.”
“Jackson Ford!” she calls out, clutches for his forearm, but he’s gone. Standing and striding away.
“Later,” he says to her, winking.
Well, shit.
“Now I want everyone to rise! Join hands!”
No fucking way.
Charleigh stands, but doesn’t join in on the kumbaya.
“I want us all to feel the feminine divine moving between us, sparking, lighting up. God said that we were made from a rib from Adam, and while that is true, we, after the holy father, are the givers of life. Life comes from our wombs. Our sacred wombs!” Abigail thumps her chest like a baboon.
Fuck this. Charleigh stomps off in search of Luke.
As she creeps around the crowd, Abigail daggers her with her icicle-blue eyes.
Standing in the back of the woodworking shop is a rangy teen. Luke, Charleigh surmises. Arms spiderwebbed with tattoos, jet-black hair tickling his shoulders. He’s wearing an INXS T-shirt, and everything about him spells trouble.
Charleigh sees why Nellie declared him to be her soulmate.
Underneath the bad boy veneer, he’s shockingly handsome, with chestnut eyes that smolder and a worldly air about him that makes him seem like he’s in his early thirties.
She scoots past Ethan, who, thankfully, is chatting up Jackson.
“Hey there!” she trills at Luke.
He mops his bangs out of his face, flashes her a gleaming smile.
“Charleigh Andersen. And you are?”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Luke. Napolitano. Stayin’ with the Swifts this summer. I’m from Dallas.”
“Oh, how nice. Luke?” She goes in for the kill. “I think I’ve heard my daughter mention you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’m Nellie’s mom.”
And that’s when she catches it. The slightest ripple across his face, the tell that he might actually like Nellie. His tan skin blooms scarlet, and he swallows hard before he speaks again. “Oh, yeah! Nellie’s really somethin’. Hung out with her a few times.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet of you to say that!”
“Well, it’s true. She’s cool, ya know? Not like most girls…”
“Well, thing is,” Charleigh says, then dips her head toward his and lowers her voice so much that she’s certain Ethan and Jackson can’t hear her, “I know it seems like she has a boyfriend.”
Confusions ripples across Luke’s face. This is obviously not the turn he expected the conversation to take. Shit, why did she think she could talk to a teenage boy? Why is she even talking to him in the first place? Meddling.
“Uh-huh—” he mumbles, fumbling with his hands.
“Well, forget about all that.” Charleigh bats her perfectly manicured hand in front of her as if she’s sweeping away a mess. “What I’m trying to say is that you seem like a nice boy—”
Luke shoots her a look that says, Yeah, right, lady.
“And so, I dunno, maybe you could take her out sometime?”
He raises his eyebrows at her.
“Like on a date—”
He sinks his hands into his pockets, studies the sawdusted floor. “I didn’t mean to give the wrong impression. Nellie’s cool and all, but…and, she may or may not have a boyfriend, but…” He practically whispers this next part. “I have a girlfriend.”
“Ahhh!” Charleigh says too loudly. “I see!”
Nellie will die if she ever finds out I had this conversation.
“Can you do me a favor?”
Luke nods.
“Can you never say a word about what I just said? I’m just a big old idiot. You see, most people don’t like my daughter.” By God, she’s making this so much worse. “And so, when I come across someone who actually does, I dunno—”
Luke’s looking at her as if she needs to be committed. Also, and this is much worse, as if he’s wary of her. “This’ll stay between us, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She twists around to leave but stops. Spins back around. “Your girlfriend local?”
He scoffs, twists his hands inside his pockets. “Yep.”
She’s crossed the line again. “Well, that’s so wonderful!” Is it that little bitch Blair? she wants to ask.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Andersen!” Ethan’s honeyed voice glides over to her ears.
Grateful for the intrusion, she plods away from Luke.
“Howdy, Ethan.”
He gives her that crooked smile like he did the other day when she was out here, a smile that seems to say, I can tell how you look with your clothes off, and I like what I see.
“You reconsidered?” He cocks his head to one side.
“Excuse me?”
“Having me design you something. Build you a piece—”
His smell—woodsy, zesty—fills Charleigh’s nostrils. Despite how much she hates this family, good Lord, he is sexy. Sexual. Dripping with it. Maybe Abigail’s potions are the only reason he hasn’t strayed from her, because she’s so god-awful by comparison.
“Jackson here,” he says, clapping Jackson on the back, “can vouch for how good I am.”
Why does everything he say sound filthy? Sexually charged?
Jackson’s neck glows red; he shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he looks up at Charleigh sheepishly. “His pieces are quite exquisite.”
Why is Jackson putting her in this position?
“Sorry, but you know I only like antiques,” she says with as much apology in her voice as she can muster. “I’m sure your work is nice, Mr. Swift, but—”
“It’s only gonna get nicer with Luke here. C’mere, son.” He gestures to Luke. “Saw y’all talking, but proper introductions are in order. Luke, this here’s Jackson, finest interior designer in town. And this is Mrs. Andersen, queen of Longview.”
“Ha! Hardly—”
“Seems like royalty to me!” Ethan beams at her. Damn, he’s good. Smooth. “Luke here is like a son to me. Good kid. Gonna be a damn fine carpenter and woodworker.” He claps Luke on the shoulder.
“Pleasure to meet you, Luke,” Jackson offers. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“And yeah, we met a sec ago,” Charleigh says awkwardly. “But hi again.” She wants to bite her tongue off.
Luke dips his head, smiles.
“We really gotta get going,” Charleigh says. “I dragged poor Jackson out here to see what all the fuss was about.” She sounds like such a catty bitch. “And it’s incredible, what all she’s doin’. But it’s really not my bag.”
She yanks Jackson by the arm, pulls him into her. Squeezes his bicep, her signal for him to help her out of this mess. “So great to see you again!” he says to Ethan. “And to meet you, Luke! And I’ll think about what you said—”
“I’d appreciate it,” Ethan replies, and did he just wink at Jackson?
With Jackson’s toned arm in her fist, Charleigh tugs him away.