Every Little Dream (Second Chances) (8 page)

“Sure.”

We head back, recounting the events and who upped whom. By the time we reach the Inn, we’re both tired and our stomachs hurt from laughing, and it didn’t stop with that date either.

The rest of the week between my shifts at the Inn, he brings the excitement. We end up hitting the arcade again and I beat him at the car race, much to his surprise. We bowl. We walk. We play mini-golf. Everything he thinks is exciting to me.

But at the end of our last date, or kind of date, it’s hard to explain what we are. We’re Chad and Katie. He’s bringing excitement. I’m helping him stay out of trouble for his new job. But really behind the scenes is the deception. The half-truths. The fact that his father didn’t have to pay me to spend time with Chad. I’m not doing anything different than if I didn’t have a stash of money in my closet. I almost forget about the money. Almost.

I sit on the floor of my room and lean against the bed. My fingers go to my lips and I remember kissing Chad. He’s only ever kissed me when I was in the role of the bad girl. Ever since we shook hands and agreed we could mutually benefit from this relationship, the fizzle is gone for him or that’s what it feels like. Sure we’ve had fun. A lot of fun. But where’s the spark? I feel it. But our dates don’t leave any room for a subtle kiss. I’ll give it a few more dates, but at some point it might be me that needs to bring the excitement.

Hope he’s ready for that.

Chad

Afternoon seemed like the absolute wrong time to break into someone’s house. I’m hoping dear old Dad did enough research to know that the family won’t be waiting for me inside, sitting around sipping tea and snacking on tiny sandwiches.

The mansion looms ahead, big enough to hold all the homeless in the surrounding areas. I imagine there are more servants than there are people who live there. I grip the iron gates, my first obstacle, but Dad’s men did the preliminary work and there’s a spot on the far west end that has been loose for a while. Funny thing that the contractor hired to fix it has been laid up, ill with a bum ankle.
 

I walk the perimeter of the gate, running my hands along each bar, hunting for the way in. I find it quickly. The black iron bar twists off and I slip through.
 

Little did I think my father would ever hand me the tools to become a criminal. The day before, I’d received a thick packet filled with blueprints, a dart gun to put the dogs to sleep, and tools to jimmy the first floor window. He confirmed that the alarm system would be deactivated.

Evidence gathered this way is illegal. I know that. He knows that. Dad wants to know of this guy’s guilt or innocence so he doesn’t waste manpower following rabbit trails. That’s where I come in. I’m expendable. I’m the “intern.” If I get caught? Who cares. I can’t let that happen. I refuse to be the sacrifice while his hands stay clean.
 

The huge lawn spreads out before me, the grass cut so short, so perfect, I question if it’s real or not. All I can think of are the baseball fields Dad took me to years ago. The smell of crisp spring air and the hours we spent playing catch, even though I do remember a lot of phone calls. He’s changed. I’ve changed.
 

The heavy perfume of blooming flowers weighs in the air and brings me back to this moment. My heart beats faster as I wait for the dogs to sniff me out and attack. My hand grips the dart gun, my finger on the trigger.

I stroll across the lawn like I belong here. Like I’m a worker. Like I’m not breaking into their house to gather information. Each step feels like forever but I finally make the side of the house and force open the window. Somehow this feels too easy.

The clean smell of a spit-polish perfect house wafts out the window. I slide through. I shouldn’t care about breaking and entering. But I do. I think of Katie. I think of her excitement, her innocence. How she encouraged me to do my best work for my dad. If she only knew. Imagining the disappointment cross her face makes this mission that much worse.

Following the blueprints that I memorized last night, I steal up the stairs and find preppy boy’s room at the end of the hall on the right. As promised, the house seems empty.

His name is Henry Kingston IV. Seems like a pretentious asshole, if you ask me. His bedroom is clean, like a college boy doesn’t even live here on weekends. Frames, filled with a high school diploma and fancy awards line the walls. A blown up poster size photo of him is above the bed. Must be Henry. There’s a cold gleam in his eye and cockiness in his smug half-smile. His blond hair is cut short and longer hair in the front swiped off to the side. The room is a fucking tribute to this guy. I can’t help but wonder why a guy like that is terrorizing the town in his Camaro. He must have better things to do with his time, unless he is into something illegal.

I run a gloved finger across the nightstand table. A radio/alarm clock, a pad of paper with nothing written on it and a fountain pen lies on top. I slide open the drawer to find an address book with a slip of paper sticking out the top. I open the book and memorize the address: 56 Ocean View Drive. Could be nothing. Just a girlfriend’s house. Or where the next party will be.
 

I’ll check it out another time.

The closet door opens easily with a nudge of my sneaker. I run my hand through the collared shirts and suits. I check the pockets. Nothing. I delve further into the closet but find nothing. His room is pretty clean.
 

I pull out of the closet with a realization. This life, Henry’s life, could’ve been mine. The house. The money. The clothes. If I’d stayed at home and allowed my father to groom me into a carbon copy of himself, this would be my life. Does Henry wish he could break out and fly? Does he feel trapped? I feel sympathy for this guy.
 

I take pictures of the rest of the room. I look in every possible spot, but there are no loose floorboards or secret wall safes that hold drugs. The movies make this kind of thing look easy.

The shrill ring of the phone breaks into my thoughts. Crap. I’ve stayed way too long. But the guy left his phone here? I can’t miss this opportunity.
 

The front door slams downstairs. Footsteps sound on the stairs.

While someone leaves voice mail I check the view from this upstairs window. It’s quite a drop but I think I can make it. A sweat breaks out. Quickly, unable to resist the temptation and the desire to get the evidence and move onto something a little less criminal, I try to play back the messages but can’t get past his password.

The sound of footsteps moves up the stairs. I slide open the window but someone stops outside the door. Earning a rug burn, I drop and shimmy under the bed.
 

He enters and his weight on the bed pushes it closer to my face. With a few annoying huffs, he makes phone calls and leaves messages but they’re basic, nothing criminal. He could be like any other rich guy.

I hold my breath, scared to breathe, scared to get caught and fail this early in the game. I try and listen through the haze of fear creeping in, but his words jumble together. Did I shut the closet door? Did I shut the drawer?

“Yeah, same day and time.” He stops talking. “Fuck.”
 

My heart clenches.
 

“Someone’s been through my stuff. My sister’s such a bitch…No, don’t worry. She’s clueless…Yes, I’ll take care of it.” He swears and leaves the room.

My breath leaves in a whoosh. When did I turn into such a wuss? I wait a few more minutes, then crawl out. I don’t take the time to wipe off the dust but climb out the window and drop.
 

I land hard and try to roll but my ankle twists. Shit. Not like I’ve been trained in how to drop from second floor windows. Without caring about who sees me, I stumble across the lawn. I’m almost to the end, when I hear the dogs. Their barks are loud and ferocious. Somehow I don’t think they’ll warm up to me.

I’d rather anyone not know I was there, so I turn on the speed, despite the pain shooting through my ankle. The iron fence is in sight, the slight gap for me to slide through. The barking increases and I turn at the last second. Aim and shoot. The dog whines and then collapses. Shit. The thing really works. I escape.

That evening I bring Katie to a carnival a couple towns over. That’s clean, honest fun, definitely something I need right now, after this afternoon. She might’ve been right when she said I needed her as much as she needed me. When we’re apart, I can’t wait to see her, and forget about Dad and the suffocating feeling pressing on my chest every time I carry out his orders. With Katie, I escape.

The carnies call out from the games rigged for everyone to lose: throwing darts at balloons, the basketball shoot, and my favorite, hitting a target with a water pistol. The squeak and groan of rides is constant. The smell of fried dough and cotton candy reminds me of the other day.
 

I smirk. “Want some fried dough?”

In a calm, cool way, she says, “I don’t think you want to go there because I still need my revenge.” She flashes me a wicked grin.

“Well, just saying, powdered sugar is the next fashion trend.” I scoot out of the way before she can slug me one.

Katie slips her hand in mine. Her skin against mine feels like it belongs there. I try not to imagine the skin under her pink T-shirt. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and all I want to do is pull it out and run my fingers through it. I want to do more than that, but I’ve been able to show an incredible amount of restraint with her. I refuse to corrupt her even though she’s looking for the kind of excitement that comes with someone like me.

“Ready for some danger?” I ask.

Riding the Zipper is exciting and dangerous, and that’s what she wants. She thinks because I have tattoos and a leather jacket that I’m the excitement. I’m hoping she’ll realize I’m boring too and eventually break off whatever it is we have. After knowing that Kingston, the guy I’m watching, is the same one who gave Katie a hard time, I can’t let her get sucked into my life. But she persists. And I admit. She’s my weakness. The one bright spot in my day. With her I’m flying. I feel alive. I feel excited.
 

“You know. I grew up out west. Carnivals are pretty common.” She smiles but is questioning my choice.

“Yes, but you’ve never experienced it with me. That raises the excitement bar by at least ten points.”
 

“We’ll see.” She takes in the thickening crowds, the blinking, twirling lights and the whirring and hissing of the rides. “Do you like carnivals?”

I shrug. “They’re okay.”
 

“So you brought me here thinking I’d find this exciting?”

“Pretty much. Is that wrong?”
 

She pulls me over to a bench near the Tilt-a-Whirl, and we sit. She doesn’t say anything for a while and my thoughts drift to earlier and my first intentional criminal act. It wasn’t a thrill. It wasn’t exciting. I remember the sound of Kingston’s voice and his perfect room, which is just an image. Below the image is some serious shit going on that I’m supposed to figure out.

“Chad, what’s wrong?” Her voice is light and gentle, like a breeze washing off the remaining fear from the day.

I force a smile. “What do you mean?”

“Just now, you were somewhere else. Your eyes lost their shine for a second.” She touches my forehead. “And you get one little line, right here, when you’re worried.”

Damn. How’d she get to know me so well? “Do you ever feel trapped in your own life?”
 

She tilts her head, her eyes piercing mine. Her face softens. She whispers, “All the time.”
 

The laughter, the sights and sounds of the carnival fade away. It’s me and her. I can’t tear my eyes away from hers. I get lost in the caring in her eyes, the honesty written on her face, in every look, expression and smile.

“I had dreams once upon a time.”

She touches my cheek. “I’m guessing your dad squashed those plans.”

“How’d you know?” I say, not trying to hide the sarcasm.

She snuggles into me. “Good thing I found you.”
 

I soak in her words and relish them. I can’t remember the last time a girl told me that. Or anyone for that matter. “Alright. Enough procrastination. Ready for the thrill of your life?”
 

She perks up and sits straight in her seat. Her voice lowers and she can’t hide the note of fear. “The Zipper?”
 

I nod. “That’s right.”
 

She scans the rides around us. “What about the Caterpillar? Or the antique cars?”

“What?” I burst out laughing. “The cars? Are you trying to get out of the ride of your life?”
 

“Not at all. But bumper cars are rather thrilling.”

I grab her hand and pull her into a hug. I press my lips to her ear. “No getting out of it. You asked for excitement. I’ll give you some.” I bend down and throw her over my shoulder again just to hear her squeal. “Let’s go.”

She beats against my back, screeching. After a few steps, I put her down. “No backing out?”

She crosses her heart and bats her eyes. “Promise.”
 

“Hmm. Somehow I don’t quite believe you.”

“Fine.” She grabs my hands and leads me through the families, kids, and teenagers. I stumble along, still hiding my injured ankle.

“Okay, slow down a little.”

She glances back and, of course, notices the pain I try to my best to hide.

Her eyes travel down my body until they lock in on my foot. “What happened?” She points to my ankle. “You’re favoring your right foot.”

“Nothing. Just wrestling with Jimmy this morning.”

“Hmm.” Doubt flickers, then she says, “You need to be careful. You don’t want to mess up the internship, right?”
 

“Definitely not.” Then the light fades and she turns toward the line for the Zipper.

Something changed. Did she see through my lies? Does she sense that? I try and distract her. “You know people have died on this ride?”

“Or they puke and it goes over everyone.”