2. Melanie
melanie
“I’m not baking anything,” Rosie McDougal declares, glaring darkly at the group of mothers lingering at the bottom of the steps leading into the school.
They’re handing out pink, embossed flyers to anyone dumb enough to get too close, their hair pulled back into perky ponytails, sneakers a pristine white, and not a single drop of sweat marring their “luxury” athleisure wear.
“Last year,” Rosie continues, “I made those raisin oat cookies. A kid broke his tooth!” Her expression is comically horrified at the memory. “He told anyone who listened that it was my fault.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, looking anywhere but at her. “Well…”
She swings around to scowl at me, her sandy brown hair flying around her face. “That tooth was coming out either way, and it had nothing to do with me or my cookies.” She pulls in a lungful of air, visibly striving for calm. “I’m still not baking anything.”
I eye her with amusement. I don’t think anyone has asked her to—especially after the cookie incident.
“Do you think Marcy will give me a pass?” I muse, nodding to the blonde-haired woman in the middle of the pack, an air of in charge wafting from her.
“There’s gotta be benefits to her screwing my husband.
Maybe I can cite emotional trauma after finding her used panties in the console of his car. ”
Rosie gags dramatically. “God. For a hot second, I managed to scrub that from my brain. She had to have done that on purpose.” She looks back at the gaggle of women, her nose wrinkling.
“I don’t understand how everyone thinks she still walks on water, especially after Davis moved in with her.
She’s a piece of work, and so is that little monster of hers. ”
There are plenty of parents loitering as we wait for the final school bell. I do a quick area check, making sure none are close enough to overhear Rosie’s words. “Clarissa can’t help who her parents are. And Landon isn’t so bad.”
She huffs, the corners of her mouth pinched. “I know, and she’s just a kid. But…”
I still, a warning skating down my spine. “Has something else happened? Oakley didn’t say anything.” Her daughter, Nell, and Oakley have been best friends since their first day of school together—the same day Rosie and I met.
She picks at the edge of her nails. “Clarissa tipped an entire container of yogurt into Nell’s backpack the other day.
Nell was so afraid to tell me that she waited until the bag turned into a walking, talking stink bomb.
” Her anger fades as fast as it comes, leaving only the resignation of a mother wishing for better for her kid.
“I asked for a meeting with the principal. Blackwater”—we both grimace at the name—“said I have no proof, and Nell’s word isn’t enough.
All her books are ruined, Mel.” Her shoulders fall, her expression helpless.
“Including a library book. She won’t even think of going back to the library.
She says the librarians will blame and banish her, even though I already paid for it to be replaced. ”
I reach out and touch her arm, sympathy welling in my chest. The bell cuts through the air before I can say anything, and kids immediately start flowing out of the school, heads up and swiveling like meerkats as they search for their people.
It doesn’t take long for me to spot Oakley, tall and dressed in his favorite shirt with a pixelated green monster on it.
His dark, wavy hair is an inch too long, close to flopping in his eyes, but the kid refuses to let me cut it.
His eyes land on me, and he grins, bounding toward us. “Hey, Mom. Hi, Rosie,” he greets happily. “Baseball tryouts are next week. Mr. Petersen told me to tell you not to forget.”
Rosie makes a noise of amusement as I lift an eyebrow. “He said that, did he?” The doubt in my tone is thick, but Oakley is unrepentant, his grin widening even further until a dimple winks at me from his left cheek.
“Maybe not just like that,” he admits with a shrug. I reach out, tugging him into my side for a quick cuddle before he shoves me away with a groan. “Mom! Come on. We had a deal.” His voice drops into a whispered hiss. “No hugs out front of school.”
I shrug carelessly. “I birth you, I hug you…whenever I want.” He glares at me as Nell skips up to us, her new bag, covered in rainbows and unicorns, hanging off one shoulder.
“Hey, baby,” Rosie greets, pulling her daughter into a tight hug that she tolerates. I give Oakley a pointed look, which he studiously ignores, pretending to rifle through his pockets. “Good day?”
Nell bobs her head. “Yeah.”
When it’s clear that’s all she’s going to say, I point at them dramatically. “Why does Rosie get cuddles and I don’t? I knew I should have told the doctor to take the boy baby back and give me a girl.”
Oakley doesn’t bother to answer, just pinning me with a long-suffering look. I scrub a hand through his hair, even as he tries to duck away, making me laugh.
Rosie watches us with a soft smile, Nell under arm, giggling at our antics. “I better get this one home. Coffee this week, Mel?” She leans closer, eyes dancing. “I want to hear more about this neighbor of yours.”
I told her about my run-in with Cale yesterday.
I squint at her now, silently promising revenge.
It’s too late. Oakley’s head pops up, his eyes excited.
“Cale? You’re talking about that neighbor, right?
He’s the coolest. Did you know he used to be a soldier?
” He looks at Nell, telling her importantly, “That means he got to shoot people. Real-life style.”
Before he can demonstrate with finger guns, I hook an arm around his neck.
“On that note,” I announce, ignoring his struggles to get away. “We’re out of here too. Apparently, Oak and I need to have another chat about why shooting people, real-life style or not, isn’t something to aspire to.”
“Mom—”
“And maybe it’s time for a break from shooting games. Hm?”
Rosie laughs at his groan, but urges Nell away, the young girl skipping happily at her side.
Oakley turns and heads for our car, carelessly throwing his bag into the back seat and following it in.
I settle behind the wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror so I can see him as I turn the engine on and pull out of the parking space.
“Did you have a good day?”
“Yep!” He’s looking out the window, and I jump when he slams his palm against the glass, shouting to get a kid’s attention as we pass.
I wince, saying dryly, “Maybe lower the window, bug. Did Nell have a good day today?”
His friend disappears from view, and Oakley sits back, his blue-gray eyes locked on me in the mirror. “D’you mean did someone tip yogurt on her today?” he grumbles moodily. “Because no.”
Not a promising start. “You know about that, huh?”
“Mom, the whole school knows about it.” His eyes are solemn, the corners of his mouth tugging down.
“Okay, what about today?” I prod again. “Was today good, or did someone bother her?”
I glance in the mirror as I stop at an intersection, catching the way he twists his lips to the side. “Why are people mean to Nell?”
I sigh heavily, not answering for a long moment, wondering what to say.
It’s not something he’s ever asked before.
I’ve always tried to give Oakley as much honesty as I can without stealing the veil of innocence that only a child can have.
He’s a smart kid, though, and ever since Davis packed up and shipped out, Oakley’s view of the world has changed.
It was only a matter of time before he connected the dots, especially when he is forced to spend time with Marcy and Clarissa on Davis’s weekends.
“Mom,” he says impatiently. “Why are those girls mean to Nell?”
I sigh heavily. “It’s not Nell,” I admit. “Rosie…She had Nell when she was really young. Some adults…They don’t like that, I guess.”
He frowns. “But she’s a good mom.”
My heart jerks in my chest because my kid is perceptive. He sees through to the truth of the matter and has never just accepted what other people say as fact. That’s a big part of why he still doesn’t accept his own father’s excuses for leaving—apart from the fact that Davis is a shitty liar.
“Yeah,” I say evenly. “She is, bug.”
“Are the other moms telling their kids to be mean to Nell?”
This conversation is similar to walking a tightrope—one misstep away from a complete disaster. “No. I just think that maybe those girls might be hearing things they shouldn’t. Adult conversations. And what they’re hearing may be affecting how they treat Nell.”
He considers my words seriously. “You mean like when you and Dad were arguing? Right before he left?”
The jerking movement in my chest turns into a sharp pain. “Yeah, bug. Like that.” The words are choked out through the air stuck in my throat. I duck down so he can’t catch sight of my wrecked expression.
“Oh.” He’s still thinking really hard, but I’m ready for this conversation to be finished. “Well, they suck.”
A snort escapes me at his declaration. He’s not wrong.
Rosie’s tale is a sad one, and the women in Sterling Creek seem to be more worried about talking behind her back, judging her apparent lack of morals as a teenager, when they all knew that isn’t the truth at all.
This is a small town. Everyone and their dog knows what happened to Rosie.
If they admitted that, though, they would have to admit how easily it could have been them.
Instead, Rosie—and Nell, by extension—are easy targets for their vicious, wagging tongues.
I’m saved from further conversation when I pull into our driveway, hating that my attention drifts to the large truck sitting in the driveway of the house next door. Cale’s truck hasn’t moved today, so I’m guessing he’s taking some time off after his week out of town.
Oakley’s out of the car and running for the house before I’ve even cut the engine, yelling over his shoulder, “What’s for dinner? I’m staaarving.”