Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
My heart didn’t stop its double-time beat until I had dinner on the table, which was minutes before Mom walked in the door.
“It smells good in here.” She hung up her jacket and joined me. “What are we having?”
“Salad topped with half a sliced grilled chicken breast.”
She sat, and I put the plates down so we could eat.
“I’m sorry you had to walk tonight. Any problems?”
“Not at all. I got a ride from Sam.”
“Sam?”
“The hot neighbor.”
She set her fork down, and I inwardly cringed. I’d hoped the salad would put me on her good side.
“He’s in your grade?”
“No. He homeschooled and graduated already.”
“I told you to stay away from him.”
“And I did. Two full feet separated us in his truck.”
“This isn’t a joke, Clarity.”
“No, it’s not. It’s also not a big deal. I accepted a ride home, Mom. I didn’t join a gang or get a tattoo.” I forked a piece of chicken into my mouth.
“A tattoo would have been better. You’re grounded.”
I choked and sputtered.
“Really, Mom? Grounded? You said to meet people. You said to make friends. Go and do things. But the first thing I do outside of school, which is a simple ride home, gets me grounded?”
She held out her hand, anger lighting her eyes.
“Give me your reader.”
A line had just been drawn in the sand.
Mom putting her foot down on anything other than my food choices was so rare that I was more surprised than angry, not enough to be okay with the unfairness of her reaction, though.
“Fine, take the only joy in my pathetically boring world.” I retrieved my reader from my bag and set it on the table. “But this breaks house rules: no curfews, shared responsibility, and mutual honesty for mutual respect. If you aren’t going to follow them, don’t expect me to.”
I would have liked to storm off, but I’d starve by bedtime. So, in a huff, I sat down again to finish my salad.
“Home and school and nothing else,” Mom said, unfazed by my warning. “And I’ll need the library books from your room.”
Mentally rolling my eyes at the absurdity of her reaction, I finished my salad, set the books outside my door while she did the dishes, then shut myself in my room for the long, boring evening.
However, boring never happened.
My mind returned to Sam. He’d remembered my name and had stopped to offer me a ride. He hadn’t laughed at me or walked away. He’d even asked questions. About me. What I liked. No one had done that before.
And no one had ever asked if they could see me again.
I wasn’t used to boys noticing me. Not like that.
Rolling to my side, I stared at the wall and told myself not to make something out of nothing. It didn’t help.
Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.
Burying my face in my pillow, I let out a tortured groan. Why were crushes so emotionally hard?
Although I knew it would upset Mom, I hoped I would see Sam again the next day.
I woke with a yawn and a stretch, then bolted upright when I saw the time. It was past eight. I was late.
Mom knocked on my door. “Want to go to the pumpkin farm with me?”
I froze, confused. “Isn’t it Tuesday? Did I sleep through my alarm?”
She opened my door and leaned against the frame to talk to me.
“Yes, it’s Tuesday, and I turned your alarm off.”
“Why? What about school? Did you get fired?”
“No. At least, I hope not. A water pipe broke at work. Since the universe gave me a morning off, I thought I would share the good fortune.”
“What’s the objective?” I asked, suspicious.
“To buy a baking pumpkin for a recipe.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it. But for pie?” I asked hopefully.
“Meatloaf.”
And now I knew the objective. Pulling me from school and offering meatloaf for dinner was a bribe. For what? No idea, and I knew not to ask before she was ready to say or I was ready to listen.
Still, getting out of school was a win I’d take. I hopped out of bed.
“Can we get one for carving, too?” I asked, grabbing my clothes.
“You can spend your money however you’d like.”
She knew my weakness. My meager funds were reserved for my two joys in life: sweet treats and books.
After a quick shower and change, I got into the car with her and glanced at the neighbor’s house. Sam’s truck was still in the driveway.
“I’ve been thinking,” Mom said, backing out. “It’s been years since you’ve seen your grandma. She’s turning sixty-three this weekend. How do you feel about a weekend road trip?”
“You want us to go to Dad’s Mom’s house? This weekend?” My ears had to be glitching. I couldn’t have heard that right.
“Just you, actually. There’s a bus leaving Friday afternoon that would get you there by 3 AM Saturday. She’s willing to pick you up.”
Did Mom think I was dumb?
“And stay for how long?” I asked, watching her.
“Depends on whether you’re still interested in homeschooling.”
“In the spirit of mutual respect, this conversation is done,” I said calmly.
My vent to Sam about mental health issues ran through my mind on repeat as I told myself Mom was fine. She was just struggling with the sudden change of neighbors after a very scary dog attack.
But deep down, I worried it was more. The way she’d looked when she’d insisted the bite was from a werewolf—afraid, but otherwise rational—made me wonder if her paranoia hadn’t been there long before the attack and the neighbors.
She wouldn’t be the only adult afraid of werewolves.
What happened almost two decades ago messed up a lot of people.
We didn’t speak the entire way to the pumpkin farm’s seasonal parking field.
Between the rows of cars, a tractor pulled a wagon for those who wanted a ride to the distant pumpkin field.
I never took the wagon out. Only on the way back, when I had pumpkins.
If I took the wagon out, I would miss walking through the farm stands filled with sweet treats and drinks when my hands were still free to pay.
Still annoyed with Mom, I walked ahead and reached the stalls first.
A bag of caramel corn caught my eye.
“Don’t tell your mum.”
My steps slowed as I heard the light accent.
The auburn-haired man from the SUV stood at the next stall, waiting for a fresh caramel apple. For a second, I wondered if setting Mom up on a date might distract her from her current craziness.
The man took the apple from the vendor and turned toward a boy of seven or eight. Same hair. Same eyes. The kid beamed when the man handed him the caramel apple.
Having a kid wasn’t a problem. A wife would be one, though.
Even if there wasn’t a wife, was it fair to saddle a happy kid with a step-mother who—
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked with a hint of panic.
Realizing I’d been staring, I shifted my attention to the caramel corn I wanted.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t think it’s nothing.” She watched me price-check the large bag and put it back. “Are you keeping something from me?”
“You mean like going behind your back to send you away?”
I handed the woman exact change for a small bag and started off again toward the pumpkin fields with my treat. Mom kept up this time.
“Clarity.”
The warning in that word meant she was serious.
So was I.
“If I’m keeping something from you, that would only be fair, wouldn’t it? I mean, we did agree to treat each other with mutual respect, right?”
Mom actually looked hurt by what I said, and I felt guilty, which annoyed me because I wasn’t the one who’d broken the rules.
“We agreed not to keep things from each other,” she said.
“You’re right. And when I was honest, I was punished. Didn’t we agree not to limit freedom or choices without a reasonable explanation?”
She stopped walking. I kept going.
We didn’t argue. She’d taught me to talk to her when I disagreed with something.
The rule was to listen to each other respectfully and, when there was no clear direction based on reason, to compromise.
Since the dog incident, she’d lost her ability to reason.
And crazy didn’t compromise; it freaked out and tried to buy a bus ticket to another state.
I found the perfect pumpkin after wandering the field for thirty minutes. It was huge and too heavy, though. With a pout, I patted it and moved to wait for the wagon.
The tractor pulling it rumbled to a stop beside the patch, and the newest group of people started to unload.
A familiar brown gaze caught and held mine as the last passenger made no move to get off.
“No pumpkin?” he asked over the side, as the waiting passengers started to board.
“I decided to catch and release so it can grow bigger for next year.”
“Mommy, do pumpkins get bigger every year?” one of the kids getting on the wagon asked.
“No, sweetie. She was teasing.”
“But fish grow bigger when we catch and release them, right?”
“Yep.”
I flashed the mom an apologetic smile and got on.
Sam patted the bale next to him. With zero hesitation, I planted my butt next to him.
His gaze held mine, and I didn’t realize I was staring again until the wagon started moving.
“So, are wagon rides your new running wild?” I asked.
“Depends. Are they yours?”
Was he a serial flirt? Did he have a thing for awkward book nerds? Or was I so desperate for connection that I was reading into simple curiosity?
“Is it normal to have no school on a Tuesday?” he asked when I didn’t answer.
“No. Mom had a morning off and wanted to spend it with me.”
“Why isn’t she with you?”
Valid observation.
“We had a disagreement. She wants to ship me off to live with my grandma in another state. I opposed the idea. She’s probably waiting for me by the food stalls, though.”
“Why does she want you to leave?”
“She’s going through some things. But it’ll be fine. She’ll calm down after a while.”
Hopefully, I added silently.
“If you need anything, even if it’s just a quiet place to sit or someone to vent to, I’m usually around. You don’t have to deal with all of it on your own.”
I started to laugh away his concern, but he didn’t smile. My pulse skipped.
“Are you always this nice to girls the third time you meet them?”
“It’s the fifth time. But no. Not usually.”
My heart skipped a beat. What did he mean by that? And was he actually keeping track of our encounters?