Chapter 8
If only because it matches his signature red flannel.
We rumble down the road with blankets, pillows, and dinner, all courtesy of Saffron, who doted on us after she told us we could stay there until the spring—free of charge.
It all seemed very suspicious, and I, of course, left her a few hundred on the reception desk because I know nothing is ever truly free.
She may offer us the rooms for free, and I well and truly appreciate that, but she keeps feeding us, and that means she’s running to the grocer a few times a week.
It doesn’t matter that she said it gives her purpose, which might eat at me for a little while.
There was also a strange light in her eyes that I wasn’t quite ready to delve into.
“Do you really think Saffron will allow me to work off my room and board by giving ghost tours?” Lark questions. Oh, and there’s also that.
The sneaky older woman shrugged at me, then told Lark she was old enough for a job, and she’d teach her the town lore and let her take over the ghost tours because, and I quote, “It’ll help an old lady out.”
What could I possibly say to that?
“More than likely. She seemed far too jovial about it as well.”
“She did, didn’t she?” my inquisitive little bird replies. “She’s up to something.”
I hum in agreement. “Do you want to watch through the front, or enjoy the experience of the movie in the truck bed?” I ask, though I’m already cold and the thought of sitting in the bed makes me shiver.
“I want to say the truck, but logic says to stay in here because of the heater and all.”
“I want to experience the drive-in in that natural state as well.” I pull onto a road, driving aimlessly because neither of us know exactly where we are going. We pass a row of perfect little cottage-like homes.
“It’s like the cottage in that fairy tale.” Lark leans forward, her eyes wide with innocence.
“The one where the witch lures in those unsuspecting children just to eat them?” She isn’t wrong. They are older, but not as old as the town, and beautiful with mixed stone, white picket fences, and chimneys billowing plumes of smoke that reach for the clouds.
“That got dark.”
“That’s the one you were talking about, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Defeated, she sits back.
“Oh, come on! I’m sure there isn’t a single witch that lives here.
” I’m not convinced, those cottages look suspicious.
I barrel on down the next road, seeing a mountain rise in the distance, while more and more trees dot the landscape.
Ahead, a sign blares “70s drive-in” with a big arrow, telling me my aimless driving led me right where I needed to be.
Oh, and there’s a moose on the sign.
The stone crunches under the tires as we pull up to a booth with a tall, lanky man leaning out with thick black spectacles on his face.
“Ah, the Finnley girls.” He leans down to peer at us. “That’s five dollars. Do you want popcorn?”
“Extra butter please.”
“Ten dollars.”
“Five for popcorn?”
“I like to round up to the fives.”
“Mom, just pay the man,” Lark whispers in embarrassment, though the cost of the drive-in makes no sense.
“Is a soda five dollars?”
“Yep,” he answers in a crisp, clipped tone.
No wonder Saffron packed us a bunch of food and drinks. I hand over the ten, denying the soda and accepting the popcorn, and he waves us on.
A rock wall drifts up before us, leading to a mountain peak off in the distance. This must be the start of those trails I keep hearing about. But it’s the movie screen attached to the side of the mountain that draws the eye.
“What an intriguing use of a rock wall,” I murmur, pulling into an empty space.
“It is peculiar.”
“And it’s even too.”
“I was expecting a movie projected on actual rock.” Lark leans forward, cocking her head so her red curls spill over her shoulders.
“Not going to lie—so was I.” Glancing at the clock, I note we are five minutes early and there aren’t a lot of cars. The movie theaters back home were always jam-packed.
Just then, my door opens. Arlo stands there in his red flannel, smiling at us.
“Mom said she packed me dinner,” he teases. “Move over.”
“Like, to the center?”
“Where else are you going to go?”
I should have parked so we could sit in the truck bed. I eye the back and then the mound of pillows and blankets at Lark’s feet.
I don’t want to tell him no. His mom has been so hospitable, but this is a confined space. I’m not sure I can be this close to his spicy scent. He’s far too damaging to my self-control.
“Mom.” Lark hands me a Tupperware container with Arlo’s name on it.
“Oh, that sneaky woman.” I hand the food over to a grinning Arlo, who leans against the doorframe.
“Bed or cab, you decide. I’m not going anywhere,” he teases with a knowing smile before scowling at me.
“What?” He just went from zero to a hundred in under a second.
“Where’s your coat?”
“Where’s yours?” I counter, noticing he’s only wearing his red flannel and that black knit beanie.
“Move over.” He sets his food on the dash, pushing me to the center of the truck. “The movie’s starting.”
“Did you pay to get in here?” I notice a bunch of kids stumbling off a trail, not because they’ve been drinking, but because it’s dark and rocky. “They didn’t pay either.”
“No one pays Reggie.” He slams the door shut, locking the three of us in together, where his spicy scent does its best to suffocate me. I like it far too much.
“I paid him ten bucks. Five to get in here and five for this popcorn.”
“Didn’t Mom send you with food?” he questions just as Lark hands out containers of said food. “Then why’d you buy anything else? Reggie will just try to charge you five dollars for everything.”
“I thought it was a rip-off.” Sneaky man.
“Here.” Arlo leans over me. Once more, his scent travels right up my nostrils to that part of my brain that screams how attracted I am to this human.
I can just picture the caveman in my brain now, hauling clubs and demanding I knock this one out and drag him to my cave. This one belongs to us, they’d grunt. Of course it’s not plural. It’s just me and my multiple personalities up in here.
“There, you have to put the right station on.” He leans back, peeling off the plastic fork that Saffron taped to the top of the container.
With a grunt, he digs into the mashed potatoes and roast beef as though he is a wildebeest who just caught his prey.
I must make a sound, because he blinks up at me with those baby blues.
“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.
“I know your mama taught you better.”
“The n what?” He swallows, leaning against the door with a squinty face.
I wave my hands all around him, but point to his beard that caught a thick layer of gravy. “That.”
He flips down the visor, nods at his reflection, and goes back to being a human vacuum as he watches the youngest McAllister realize he is home alone.
“Mom never leaves me home alone,” Lark states around a mouthful of food, earning Arlo’s attention.
This conversation won’t end in my favor, I just know it.
“Really? Aren’t you like twenty now?” Arlo returns to slurping up gravy through his beard.
“Twelve, I’ll turn thirteen next month.” She sighs, rolling her shoulders back before she peers over at Arlo as though she can see through me. “Mom told me that teenagers have to earn that right.”
Arlo gives me a panicked look, and for some reason, it pleases me greatly.
But he’s sly, I’ll give him that. “Oh, a Christmas baby!”
“Christmas Eve,” Lark corrects, tilting her head. She’s no fool, she knows he’s deflecting. “Then I’ll gain the privilege of staying home alone.”
Truth is, I have absolutely no valid reason to not let her stay home alone. She’s honestly more responsible than me most days. I just haven’t figured out how to let that cord go. She’s my baby, probably the only baby I will ever have.
My Christmas miracle.
“You don’t look old enough to have a teenager,” Arlo says softly as Lark goes back to watching the movie.
True to Lark fashion, though, she quips right back, even though I didn’t think she was listening. “She isn’t.”
A blush settles on Arlo’s face. “I’m out of practice.”
“You are so good at it.” I act affronted, but I’m not, not at all.
“Mom, there are a bunch of kids over there. Do you think they are welcoming?” Lark looks over at me, her hand already on the door handle.
My mouth dries up. This is it, the moment that I know I should let her go off and make friends outside of school, but all I see is that little girl with curly-haired pigtails and a pale, freckled face who saw me as her entire world. Now she wants to go make friends.
Logically, I know I should let her go, but the attachment is real, and it hurts.
“Yeah,” Arlo cuts in, briefly touching my shoulder. “Torrie is over there. Her mom owns the local pizzeria. She’s a little crazy and talks a mile a minute, but I think you’ll like her.”
“Really?” Lark bounces in her seat, staring at the group of kids hanging out on the busted swing set.
“Be back by the time the movie’s over.” There, I said it. My voice didn’t crack or wobble, and I’m still in one solid piece.
Lark charges out of the truck, completely forgetting to shut the door in the process and nearly tripping over her own feet as she darts to the small park.
Scooting over, I shut the truck door, keeping the frigid cold out. My eyes stay locked on her slender form. I can just make out her voice as another little girl with thick frames and dark hair jerks her head her way. A spike of adrenaline threads through my veins until the little girl smiles.
“She’s good,” Arlo assures me, and I can’t determine if he’s overstepping or teaching.
Lark’s words drift back to me. Let them teach you.
Knowing my little bird is far smarter than I am, I fiddle with the blanket a moment before I snatch up my leftovers and the canister of hot chocolate.
“She is.” I force the words out past the lump in my throat. “She’s never asked to play with other kids before.”
“Really?” His surprise laces his tone.