Come On Closer (23 page)

“One of those paid services online. Didn't take long,” Amber said with a shrug.

Larkin felt her blood beginning to boil all over again. “You couldn't afford rent, but you paid a service to find me. And I'm assuming you paid for airfare. And a taxi.”

“Selling the car covered it,” Journey said. “It was either use the cash for one more month in Purvis and then deal with the same situation, or get ourselves out here. We just need to get our feet back under us, Larkin. It won't be forever.”

Her mouth opened then closed. She felt as though she'd awoken in the middle of her worst nightmare.

“Saw you have a business,” Journey said, and Larkin knew the calculating look in those eyes so well. Her blood went cold. “You always did like to bake. Maybe Amber and I could help you there. Just for a while. Cute little town, by the way. Too cold, but cute. Thought you'd have a nicer place than this by now. Couldn't find a man to keep you? You used to be able to. I was you, I'd get my hooks in one with money and just put my feet up.”

“I don't . . . I did this on my own,” she protested. But there was no fire in her voice. It sounded horrifically like a whine to her ears, in fact. All she wanted to do was run back through the door and take off down the street.

“Why would you?” Amber asked, and there was the same old ugly jealousy that had prevented them from
ever being close. “You never did want to use what you had.
I
would. There's no shame in it.”

“Honey, you don't look like Larkin.” Journey regarded Larkin with shrewd eyes, ignoring the way Amber's brows drew together. “We'll be gone before you know it. We just need to find jobs somewhere, get set up. There's nothing back in Purvis. You know that. Maybe we should have blown town way back when you did. Guess you saw something we didn't.”

She'd seen plenty of things they didn't. Some of which they might have noticed had they bothered taking a hard look in the mirror occasionally. But it hardly mattered now. They knew she wouldn't just toss them into the street, despite everything. And she knew it, too. Which was why she felt like locking herself in the bathroom and crying.

She looked around at their clutter and sighed, bracing herself as well as she could for whatever came next. And she thought wistfully of her dance in the kitchen with Shane earlier. Might be a while before she felt like dancing again. And as for what he'd think of all this . . . right now, she didn't even want to know.

This wasn't the Larkin she wanted him to see.

“You'll have to share the spare bedroom,” she said. “It's all I have. And there are going to be rules while you're here.”

“Of course there will, honey,” Journey said, long legs propelling her off the couch to envelop Larkin in an embrace that smelled of smoke, Obsession perfume, and an ocean of memories that threatened to drown her. “I know we had our problems, but this'll be good for all of us. You'll see. It'll be just like old times: me and my girls, back together again.”

Larkin rested her head on her mother's shoulder, flooded with the same terrible mixture of love and anguish that Journey always provoked in her. She closed her eyes and wished those old times far, far away. Anywhere but there.

H
e knew something was wrong when she begged off on cheese fries.

Fortunately, he had no problem butting in where he wasn't wanted. Especially when he was worried.

Shane arrived at Larkin's door around seven, when he knew she'd be home. It surprised him to see the lights on and her van gone, but he still thought knocking on the door was worth a shot. He grabbed the container of cheese fries he'd picked up on the way over and got out, keeping an eye out for anything that seemed strange. Her text had been short, if apologetic, and his answering call to her had gone to voice mail. He wanted to think that if anything had been catastrophically wrong she would have done more than text, but still, he worried. The only thing he was sure of was that this was about her family. She might want to keep those problems buried, but it was time they
started dealing with things together, as a couple. He'd be damned if he stayed away just because she was having trouble with . . . well, something.

That was what he was here to find out.

He knocked, and an unfamiliar voice sang, “Coming!” Music played in the background, some top-forty pop he hadn't realized Larkin liked. Then the door opened, and he was confronted with someone he'd never seen before.

“Well hel-
lo
,” she said with a saucy smile, looking him up and down without a hint of embarrassment. “Who are you?”

She was bone skinny, wearing a Ramones muscle shirt and tight jeans. Her bright red hair was cut in a shaggy bob that framed her face, and her brown eyes were outlined in black. She was attractive, if too thin, and despite the complete difference in style, he knew right away that this was Larkin's sister. There was something about her eyes that was very similar, and the set of her mouth. But Larkin had never checked him out quite so brazenly, no matter how much he might have wanted her to.

“I'm Shane,” he said. “Is Larkin around?”

“She went out for groceries. Should be back soon. You want to come in?” she asked. “We're just hanging out. I made cookies.” She smiled. His next breath brought him the faint scent of chocolate and burning.

“Uh. Sure,” he said. He stepped inside to find things turned fairly well upside down. Clothes were strewn all over the living room. The TV was turned to some reality show with the volume down, and there was a pile of . . . well, he didn't even know what that was in
the corner. The music was coming from the kitchen, also the source of the charred cookie smell. That was definitely a scent he'd never expected to smell in this house. Well, not unless he tried to bake here.

“Mom,” the woman called back into the kitchen. “Larkin was full of it.” She glanced at him. “You've gotta meet
Shane
.”

Husky laughter. “Well, bring him out!”

He followed the redhead into the kitchen, where another woman relaxed at the table munching on a cookie and drinking out of a martini glass. He caught the faint scent of cigarette smoke.

“Hey, there,” the woman said, her hazel eyes lighting up. “Well, look at you.” She grinned at Larkin's sister. “What do you think? Doctor? Lawyer?” She turned her attention back to him. “Well? Are you going to enlighten us?”

Shane looked back and forth between them, the punk chick and the aging barfly, and understood why Larkin was somewhere that wasn't in this house. He just wished she'd come to him.

“I'm a lawyer. Who are you people?”

“Ooh, ‘you people,'” the older woman said and then rolled her eyes. “Lawyer. Figures. She's like a damn beacon for money. We're Larkin's family, honey. That's her sister Amber, and I'm her mother. Journey.”

“Okay,” he said. The bag of fries hung limply at his side. He wasn't even sure there was anywhere in the kitchen to put it, considering what a state it was in. The cupboards were open, they'd made some kind of mess while making martinis, and several bowls were on the counter, presumably containing whatever was left of
the cookie dough that had produced the several sheets of overdone cookies on the stovetop. “Are you two . . . visiting?”

“Visiting. Yeah,” Amber said, walking lightly to the table and sitting down. She lifted the martini glass that had been waiting for her and took a sip. “Mom and I decided to relocate, so Larkin is putting us up until we figure things out.”

“Okay,” he said again.

“You are a good-looking one,” Journey said, assessing him frankly in much the same way Amber had. “She always did have taste, even if she couldn't hang on to anybody for that long. Flighty. Maybe that's gotten better. I wouldn't know. She was an unhappy kid.”

He felt like he'd stepped into some alternate universe that only vaguely resembled Larkin's house.
This is her mom. Be nice. Even if she isn't.

It took every ounce of self-control he had to slap a smile on his face. “So,” he said. “When did you two get in?”

“We flew into Boston around lunchtime. How do you people stand these winters? It's so cold! I don't even have clothes for this,” Amber said, wrinkling her nose. She looked away and muttered, “I miss home,” in a voice so soft that Journey didn't seem to hear it. Larkin's sister had to be within a couple of years of her, age-wise, but in that moment she looked much younger.

“The winters are cold here, but today was actually pretty nice,” Shane said, trying to make conversation. “The weather's starting to shift a little. You can feel it. Still time for another snowstorm, though.”

“Ugh,” Amber and Journey said in unison, both
looking at him as though even mentioning the possibility made further snow his fault.

“What'd you bring?” Amber asked, indicating the bag. “Food?”

“I just . . . brought Larkin something.” The cheese fries were his thing with Larkin, and he wasn't feeling inclined to share. “Hey, you know, if you two are looking for a place, I know a guy who has some rentals in Salem. Maybe I should call—”

“Nope,” Journey said, cutting him off. “Not even there yet. We need to find jobs way before we tackle that one. If you've got a line on any of those, I'm all ears. Better yet, if you can talk my daughter into finding a spot for her sister in that fancy little bakery she runs, do that. She's doing her usual.
My baking is just for me
.” She made her voice higher to do an impression of Larkin that sounded nothing like her. Journey rolled her eyes. “She hasn't changed much. She always thought she was too good for Purvis because she could operate an oven.”

“She is special,” Shane said, his intention to be nice fading rapidly. He didn't like these people. Somehow, Larkin had come from them, and he had no idea how.

“Of course she is,” Journey replied, and the smile that played around the corners of her very red lips was more than a little patronizing. “You aren't the first one to think so, and you won't be the last. Oh, there she is!”

Larkin walked into the kitchen, her arms full of groceries. Her eyes moved around her dirty kitchen, and Shane wanted nothing so much as to hug her. She looked shell-shocked. Her ponytail was coming out, and her coat hung open to reveal a simple tie-dyed shirt with loose, ragged jeans that hung perfectly on
her hips. The vague resemblance between her and the women in her kitchen was still there, but in the flesh, Shane found it less visible.

She had nothing in common with these people, but they were her family. He'd always worried about turning into his father. Larkin was clearly in no danger of becoming her mother, but seeing this made him wonder if some part of her hadn't feared the same thing.

“Your boyfriend came over,” Amber said, lifting her martini glass. “We've been entertaining him.”

“We made drinks, honey!” Journey said. “Put down the bags and take a load off. You can put that away later.”

“No,” Larkin said quietly. “No I can't.” She looked around again, scented the air. “Mom. If you smoke in here, I'm throwing out your cigarettes. We talked about this. It's my house; these are my rules.”

“I smoked out back,” Journey insisted. “Not my fault if the smell comes in. I don't even think the air moves here. It's as bad as the damn desert, but colder.”

“I need you two to clean up the kitchen,” Larkin said.

“We will,” Amber said. “We made cookies for you!”

“Great. I need you two to clean up the kitchen.”

“We
will
,” Amber repeated. “Just sit down. Your boyfriend is here.”

“I can see that.” Larkin's eyes passed over him so quickly he might as well have been a ghost. “Shell-shocked” didn't even begin to cover it, he realized. That was when her voice rose. “Now you two listen to me. This is a small house. It's my house. And if you're going to stay in it, the house needs to continue to look just the way it did before you came. So before you help me
put these groceries away,
I need you. To pick up. The kitchen!
”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Amber got to her feet, shoving the chair back so hard it toppled over. Her eyes were full of tears. “Why do you always have to be such a bitch? I knew you'd be like this! We were trying to be nice! Well, you know what? Pick up your own damn kitchen, you fucking snob!”

She ran from the room, and an instant later there was the sound of a door slamming. Larkin closed her eyes, remaining perfectly still in the middle of the room.

Journey rose with a disgusted sigh. “It would be nice if you could have waited one day to get your sister going. I'm going for a smoke.” She stalked out the back door into the yard, letting the door swing shut behind her. Larkin looked around again, the only sound that of Amber's lusty sobs coming from the direction of the bedrooms.

Shane approached her slowly. When he put a hand on her shoulder, she flinched, then looked up at him with eyes that were red from exhaustion. He felt plenty of guilt about that. He was the reason she hadn't slept much last night. But he couldn't have anticipated this . . . and neither, it seemed, had she.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“They asked you what you do for a living, right?” she asked. “They always do that.”

“Yeah. Larkin, seriously, what do you need me to do? You should have called me. This is a mess.”

“I know it's a mess. It's
my
mess. You don't need to worry about it.”

“Larkin, I'm going to worry about it.”

“They're just . . .” She trailed off, set the bags on the floor, and then straightened to rub a hand over her face. “They lost the house. They have no money. What am I supposed to do?”

“There are shelters.”

She glared up at him. “I can't stick my mother in a shelter.”

Shane looked toward the back door. “I really don't know about that.”

She closed her eyes. “No, you wouldn't. Look, Shane . . .”

The words stung. “Wait a second, what's that supposed to mean?” he asked. “I don't think this is good for you, Larkin. Your house is trashed, and they're—”

“Yeah, I know exactly what they are,” Larkin interjected. “So just be thankful you'll never have to pick between letting your parents be homeless or move in with you. Okay?”

There was an edge to her voice he recognized from the last time they'd fought. He didn't want that tonight, and he didn't think she needed it. At least, she didn't need a fight with him to further wreck what had obviously been a historically bad afternoon and evening. She was just angry. He recognized it better this time, and he didn't blame her.

“Don't take this out on me,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I'm not the enemy here. Let me know what I can do to help.”

“Nothing,” she said hollowly. “It's always been like this.”

“It doesn't have to be,” he said. Her eyebrows lifted.

“Really? Didn't we have this conversation in reverse before? You didn't want to talk about it.”

“I listened. I . . .”
Not like you have any proof of that right now, Shane. Better not go there.
“I listened,” he said again.

“Well, great,” she said. “But that doesn't change anything.”

She looked so defeated. He hadn't thought it was possible for sunny, independent Larkin to be defeated by anything. Then again, he'd never seen anything quite like her family before. The change in her had been so rapid it frightened him.

“Let me help you get them out, at least.” Shane tried again. “I know some people. We can find them a place that isn't here.”

“With what money?” she asked, and when she saw the answer on his face, her expression darkened. “No.”

“I have investments. I'm not poor, Larkin. You know that.”

“I'm not poor, either, and I can handle this. I don't want your money. You know
that
. This is just what they're hoping for. That I'll have some sugar daddy who can pay them to go away.” He'd never thought of himself that way before, and had to catch himself before he laughed. She caught the smirk, though, and wasn't amused.

“It's not funny.”

“No. Well, a little. I'm not old enough to be your sugar daddy,” he said. “They did seem pretty interested in my being a lawyer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course they were. It's important for them to know my income, you know.
And what other sources I might have if for some strange reason I start to run out of money. This is the kind of stuff that was always way more important than, say, taking care of the children, or giving a damn about what they wanted to be when they grew up. With my mother it's always been
What can I get?
She's trained my sister pretty well, too.”

He wanted to soothe her, and he had no idea how. “When they leave—,” he started, but she cut him off.