Whispers Under a Southern Sky Page 9
“Are you purposely trying to distract me?” His voice was so dry and hoarse he hardly recognized it.
She withdrew her touch. He felt the loss all the way to his toes, damn it.
“No, Sam.” She shook her head. “I was trying to distract myself. I have a lot of unhappy memories from that time in my life.” She crossed her legs and shifted away from him, all her body language communicating that she wouldn’t be coming on to him again. “Excuse me for thinking I could indulge in one of the pleasant ones.”
He wanted to ask her about that. Had so many follow-up questions he didn’t know where to begin. But before he could even form words, his son’s cry blistered his ears.
“Aiden’s awake.” He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally shifting gears before he headed to the nursery.
But Amy shot right off the couch. “I’ll get him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WE’RE GOING TO be late for school.”
Bailey ignored Megan’s warning, her hand hovering between the hazelnut and pumpkin spice coffee carafes at the convenience store across the street from Crestwood High School. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead while a few other customers picked out doughnuts or ordered hot breakfast sandwiches to go.
They were running behind schedule this morning because Bailey had been fighting with her father. Over breakfast, she’d mentioned that she wanted to speak to her mother—to visit or arrange a call from the jail. Her father had lost his mind that she would even suggest it.
And while Bailey understood he was devastated that his wife had had an affair—and with an alleged sexual predator, of all people—the woman didn’t stop being Bailey’s mother. They had things to discuss. Or argue about. Or maybe she just wanted to yell at her mom for being so selfish. So stupid.
So hurtful.
“I’m a senior. I’ve earned the right to be tardy for a day.” Bailey put her cup under the pour spout of the hazelnut and filled it with steaming-hot java. “Besides, we have a test in calculus. I will literally fall asleep over the first problem without this.”
“You’re right.” Megan grabbed a cup for herself and tucked it under the carafe marked “Hot Water,” then dug through a basket to choose a flavored tea. “I’d better get something, too.”
While they were bringing the cups to the checkout, Bailey noticed two girls by the candy display staring and whispering behind their hands. Nothing unusual about that. She’d been the subject of everyone’s gossip since her mother went to jail. Or since her mother had been caught having an affair with the social-studies teacher’s husband.
“Get a life,” Megan snapped at them as they walked past the girls and out of the store.
But then, Megan had dealt with that kind of crap for months after J.D. broke up with her and spread rumors about her. As a star athlete at Crestwood and the son of the richest guy in town—except for the mayor—J.D. had a lot of clout around school.
Now it was Bailey’s turn to be on the outs with everyone. She slumped into the driver’s seat of the car so hard a few drops of coffee splashed on the dark floral skirt she’d paired with a grunge-inspired flannel shirt.
“You okay?” Megan asked her as she smoothed a hand over her own neat denim skirt and tights that she wore with some kind of video-gamer T.
Bailey edged the Volvo out onto the street for the quick trip into the student parking lot.
“Fine. It wasn’t that hot.”
“I don’t mean the coffee.”
“I know.” She sipped her drink and welcomed the jolt of caffeine into her exhausted body. “I don’t care what they say.” Much. Although it did suck to be the topic of gossip all the time.
“Some girls get off on drama. It’s their oxygen. They’ll die a painful, suffocating death if they’re not constantly immersed in a soap opera.” Megan sipped her tea through the plastic top of her cup and pointed to a vacant parking space.
“I know. And seriously, they don’t bug me as much as that fight with my dad.” She’d already told Megan the basics since she’d picked her up that morning. “Can he really cut me off from Mom if I want to talk to her?”
“I’m not sure.” Megan didn’t say much as they crossed the parking lot, and it occurred to Bailey she probably shouldn’t have brought it up since Bailey’s mom had to be high on Meg’s list of despised people.
And, of course, who could blame her?
She sipped her coffee, berating herself for being a crappy friend, and hurried toward the side gates leading into the campus. There was still a chance they could beat the first bell.
But why were so many kids still outside? The lawn and outdoor hallways were crowded with kids in Crestwood’s B-wing.
“What’s going on?” she heard Megan ask a girl from the school band on the fringes of the mob.
“Look who’s back in school.” The blonde hefted her violin case higher in her arms, simultaneously raising her phone to take a photo of the drama. Then, before Bailey could figure out what she was doing, the girl gave a shrill whistle and raised her voice. “Hey, guys! Bailey McCord is here.”
The crowd quieted. Other students lifted their phones in unison, as if the whole world wanted a photo.
What the hell?
But then the group parted suddenly, opening up to make a path for her and Megan.
“Oh God,” Megan whispered, sliding an arm around Bailey’s shoulders.
Because in the center of the students stood J. D. Covington.
Her ex-boyfriend.
Her abuser.
Out of jail and walking around her high school like he belonged here.
Bailey’s coffee fell out of her hand as Megan pulled her away. Numb and scared, she followed her friend blindly. It didn’t matter where they went as long as it was far away from here. She didn’t care about the drama or the fact that her reaction had just been captured on cell-phone video by at least a hundred kids and would go viral before lunch. She felt a passing hysterical moment of gratitude that she hadn’t at least peed her pants, and she giggled.
“Whatever is so funny, you’d better share it now because I want to throw up.” Megan sounded terrified.
Only now did Bailey realize her friend’s hand was shaking where she held hers. She squeezed it tight.
“I’m thanking God I didn’t piss myself when a thousand camera phones were trained on me.”
“I guess that’s about as much of a bright side as we could expect, isn’t it?” Megan opened a door as the bell rang.
Only they weren’t in class. Her friend had brought them to the guidance office.
“What are we going to do?” She looked around the waiting room, where a handful of other kids signed in to see their counselors, class schedules in hand. If only her problem was as simple as changing math teachers.
“Call home. Call the cops. Find out how to get a restraining order against that piece of crap if the police aren’t going to keep him in jail.”
“Language, ladies.” One of the younger counselors walked in the door carrying a leather binder and a yoga mat.
“Seriously?” Megan rounded on Mrs. Trestle. “I just ran into the guy who tried to kidnap me three weeks ago. He’s out of jail and walking around school. That is not okay, and I will not watch my language if you can’t protect me from him.”
“He’s here?” The counselor peered past Megan to the office secretary behind the front desk like she needed confirmation of the fact.
Apparently “he” did not require a name.
“I just got in.” The secretary shrugged while she cradled a phone on her shoulder and typed something at the same time. “I haven’t heard anything yet.”
“Okay.” Mrs. Trestle nodded toward her office at the end of the hall. “Come with me, and we’ll get this sorted out. I don’t want y
ou walking around this school if he’s here.” The woman put a protective arm around Megan’s shoulders and led her away, yoga mat still tucked securely under her other arm.
Because, of course, everyone knew that J.D. and his father had tried to kidnap Megan and her music teacher. Whereas Bailey was simply J.D.’s ex-girlfriend.
No one had any idea that she had every reason to be terrified of J.D., too.
“Bailey, are you coming?” Megan turned before entering the smaller office.
“I’m going to call my dad first.” She needed a minute to catch her breath. To stop shaking.
To figure out her next move.
“Honey, you can use your phone in the testing center right around the corner. You know where I mean?” The office secretary looked up from her desktop screen and pointed the way until Bailey nodded.
Rounding the corner, she pushed open the door to the small testing area. The lights were on in the back of the room but not the front, as if no one had come in yet today.
Not that it mattered to her.
Still, maybe that was why she didn’t notice the boy seated at the first testing corral until he stood suddenly.
“Dawson.” She recognized him from the Hastings’ house right away, even though his face remained in shadow.
She’d spent half her babysitting shift mooning at him out the window of Aiden’s nursery.
“Bailey.” He moved to pick up a pile of papers on the desk of the corral where he’d been sitting. “I can work on this out front if you need to be in here.”
“No. You don’t have to go.” She rushed the words out, realizing that she was simultaneously sidestepping to block his path. Could she be any more obvious? “That is... I’m only texting my dad.” She held up her phone for proof.
Adding to her dork quotient exponentially.
Nice.
“And I’m only filling out paperwork to start school here.” He waved the papers before sliding them back on the desk. “Not in any special hurry.”
She stared at him dumbly for a long moment, taking in his T with cutoff sleeves that would never pass the dress-code rules but that showed off better muscles than J.D. would ever dream of having. The girls of Crestwood were going to go nuts for him.
“Can’t blame you for that.” She fidgeted with her phone case, picking around the edge of the purple cover, hardly believing she’d ended up in a room alone with him on a morning that had started out about as badly as any day possibly could. “I wouldn’t go to school here either if I had a choice.”
Outside in the waiting area of the guidance office, she could hear some teachers laughing and joking.
Did anyone care that a boy who had harassed and threatened Megan was back in class today?
“That bad?” He leaned over to slide a second chair out and flipped it to face her, the metal feet scraping the cracked terrazzo. Wordlessly, he offered it to her before lowering himself into his former seat.
“Worse.” She eyed the chair, knowing it had to be meant for her but scarcely remembering how to react to a boy being nice. “Unless you like high drama and lots of cliques.”
Dropping her backpack on the floor, she sank into the cold metal that put her just a few inches away from him. Well, their knees were that close since the chairs were angled. But the rest of her still sat two feet away from him.
Had he done that on purpose? Her heart skipped a few beats.
“That’s every school.” He slouched lower, his long legs sprawled so that one knee loomed even closer to her.
He smelled good, like shampoo or soap, maybe. This close, she could see a fresh cut just under his chin, a tiny red slash that might have been a shaving mishap.
Overhead, an old institutional clock hummed away the minutes.
“Where did you go before this?” Was it okay to ask that? She didn’t know how long he’d been in the foster system, so maybe he’d just left his real home. Or maybe he’d gotten transferred from one foster family to another.
Either way, it couldn’t have been easy. But it was too late to take the question back without another awkward moment.
“Memphis. Three schools in two years. And they’re all alike.” He shifted toward her to tick off items on his fingers, the angle making the thin gold chain around his neck glimmer dully. “Same athlete pricks. Same entitled rich kids. Virtually identical cliques.”
“Really?” She couldn’t imagine any student body being as mean-spirited as this one. She tried not to envy him the opportunity to try out other places, knowing his life couldn’t have been easy.
Then again, she wondered if his mother was in jail the way hers was. That had to even the score a little.
“Definitely.” Straightening in his chair, he peered over at her. “Who’s your clique, Bailey?”
Something about the way he said it sounded like a challenge. As if he already assumed she would be in one of his predictable groups? She saw no point in denying where she stood in the social pecking order. He’d find out soon enough once he enrolled.
“Currently, I’ve been abandoned by all my former friends except for Megan—the girl you met who babysits with me. So I guess I don’t have a clique these days.” She avoided his eyes, wishing they could have gone on talking for a while before this subject came up.
“Been there.” He nodded, his expression remaining neutral. If he thought she was a giant loser, he didn’t show it. “But you know what? Better to have one real friend than ten bogus ones.”
Out in the hallway, a woman’s shrill voice rose to a shout.
“I know my son’s rights! You can’t deny J.D. access to his education. He is as entitled to be here as those girls—”
“Oh God.” Bailey stood, her reprieve from her real life effectively over. She did not want to face J.D.’s mother. And what if J.D. himself were out there in the front office? “I need to get out of here.”
“Why?” Dawson stood, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”
He looked ready to bolt, too. Together? The notion calmed her a little.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, still feeling jittery and scared. Why had she let herself get separated from Megan? “I mean, there’s a lady out front who will be really—and I mean really—unhappy with me. You can stay. I just... I have to go.”
Hurrying over to the door of the testing center, she gripped her backpack under one arm and peered toward the front office. It was around a corner, though, so her view was blocked.
She strained to hear the lowered voices speaking nearby.
“...there is no restraining order in effect,” J.D.’s mother, the social-studies teacher, was telling someone.
“But perhaps the young ladies didn’t expect him to be out of jail...” That sounded like the vice principal, Mr. Cornish.
“He was never in jail!” Mrs. Covington insisted. “He’s just a boy who got caught up in his father’s mistakes—”
She was shushed again, and the rest of the conversation became more garbled, as if they’d stepped deeper into one of the offices off the reception area.
Bailey’s stomach knotted.
“You want a ride home?” Dawson’s soft voice in her ear was an oddly pleasant sensation in the midst of a firestorm of scary shit.
Bailey wanted to cling to it with both hands.
She really didn’t want to be here. She needed to speak to her father about what to do now that J.D. was back in school. And even though her car was out in the student parking lot, she was already shaking in her shoes at the idea of walking through the front office to leave. Her old Volvo would be wrapped around a tree if she tried driving herself anywhere.
So no matter that she knew it was selfish to rope this boy into her problems, she nodded.
“Ready when you are.”
* * *
Amy had sprinted into the darkened nursery, grateful to escape an awkward conversation and her failed flirting attempts with Sam. But she’d gone from the frying pan into the fire because now she held a warm, wiggling bundle that was every bit as precious as she’d once imagined a newborn would be.
Only in her imaginings, it had been her child she’d held in her arms. She’d spent months dreaming about her baby, envisioning herself as a mother, and knowing somehow that the journey to being a parent would heal the broken pieces inside her.
“He likes you,” Sam observed over her shoulder as she held him.
She hadn’t even heard him enter the warm yellow nursery decorated with brightly colored dinosaurs. It smelled like baby powder and infant laundry detergent, with a basket of half-folded tiny clothes near the crib. She had to close her eyes to shut out the vision of Aiden’s sweet expression, the moment so beautiful and painful at the same time after what she’d been through.
“It’s probably my rocking technique that he likes,” she said finally, her voice husky from the mix of emotions tugging on her heart. She’d spent too many hours staring into the hospital nursery after her miscarriage, watching the nurses care for the newborns. Hastily she swiped at a tear that welled in her eye.
She told herself to hand the baby over. To walk out of the nursery and away from Aiden before the boy stole another bit of her heart. Instead, she kept rocking and patting the infant’s warm back where she’d wrapped him in a thin cotton blanket.
“Maybe he misses his mother.” Sam’s voice took on a hard note, and she turned to find him scowling. “She called me this morning to ask for more time—”
He stopped himself as if he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to talk about it. Amy, for her part, was all too glad to talk about something besides all the dark feelings inside her. Loss. Regret. Longing for the kind of life she wouldn’t have now.