How (Not) to Fall in Love (6 page)

I stole one more glance at him, hoping not to forget any details. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” I said.

He nodded. “I hope so.” He pushed through the door of the Second Hand Story, pausing briefly to glance over his shoulder. His lips quirked in a mysterious smile that made me half want to run away, and half want to chase him like a pathetic fan girl.

Instead I walked as quickly as I could to my truck, still trying to preserve a little dignity by not breaking into a full-on sprint.

Spending time on Broadway made me feel like the universe had cracked open a new door for me. I could see a tiny bit of light on the other side.

Did I dare open the door all the way?

Chapter Nine

October 2

A
s I sat in study hall, my last period of the day, Mom’s text intruded on my black thoughts.
“I have a great idea. R u there?”

“No,”
I typed.
“I’ve been abducted by aliens. They have Dad, too.”

She ignored my black humor.
“Meet me after school. Bring your camera.”

Mom hadn’t exactly been full of great ideas lately. I dreaded hearing the next one.

“???”
I texted back.

She sent me an address. Sigh. Was she still thinking about me taking pictures of houses for a real estate website?

“C u later,”
I replied.

Mom texted back a row of smiley faces. Lately we did better communicating via texts and notepads than in person, because when we were together in the evenings, she turned into someone else when she drank.

After school I waited until the parking lot was almost empty before I revved up the beast. It was my latest strategy to avoid stares and mocking laughter, especially since Sal had slapped on a “Save a horse, ride a cowboy” bumper sticker.

“It’s true,” she’d said when I busted her. “You need a cowboy, or any boy toy. Something to take your mind off all the stress.”

“Not exactly my first priority,” I’d replied, trying to block out the image of Lucas’s face that popped to mind.

I found the house and parked my rusty truck behind a row of shiny, perfect cars: Mom’s Volvo, Fake-Bake Pam’s Mercedes, and a couple of BMWs. The place was immense, even bigger than our house, and that was saying something. Mom must have been watching for me or maybe the belching Reaper announced my arrival. She flung open the massive front door before I could ring the doorbell.

“Darcy, come in. You have your camera, right?”

I nodded and stepped into the enormous entrance hall. Suits of armor? Flags with coats of arms? Seriously? How pretentious could you get?

Laughter bounced off the stone floor, as did the clicking of high heels. Fake-Bake Pam and some other lady walked toward us with bright red lipstick smiles stretching their face-lifted cheeks.

Mom put an arm around me. “Darcy, this is Pam Hendricks. You know her daughter Chloe.”

Fake-Bake Pam narrowed her eyes and gave me one of those wimpy girl handshakes that felt like a dead fish. I hated that. My dad always taught me that a woman’s handshake should be as firm as a man’s. Liz had a strong handshake, warm but firm. I gave Pam’s hand an extra squeeze as I thought of the hell Chloe had put me through at school.

“Darcy,” she said, wincing at my grip. “It’s so cute of your mom to give you this little job.”

Job? What job? I glanced at Mom, whose expression silently begged me to act like I knew what was going on.

Pam turned to the woman next to her, who apparently went to the same tanning salon she did. “Darcy, this is Dee Armstrong,” said Pam. “She’s an interior designer helping me get the house ready to be listed. You probably know her son Ryan from school.”

My heart thudded straight down to my feet. I nodded and stuck my hand out to shake hers. Manners could override shock, evidently. Good to know.

“Lovely, darling, lovely to meet you.”

At least her hand didn’t feel like a dead fish.

“So,” Mom said, “Darcy and I will get started on the photos and get out of your way.”

I frowned at her. Get out of their way? We weren’t taking up any more space than the freaking suits of armor.

Mom tightened her arm around my shoulder and steered me out of King Arthur’s court.

“What the—” I began, but she put a finger to her lips. We walked silently down a hallway and emerged into an enormous kitchen. I looked around, my mouth open in shock.

“Three stoves? Two refrigerators? Two dishwashers? For real?”

Mom crinkled her nose and shrugged. “They like to entertain.”

“For the army?”

Mom laughed. “Maybe for a few generals. Not the whole army.”

I crossed my arms. “So tell me about this job I’m supposed to know about.”

Mom took a breath. “Well, I was thinking… Remember when we talked at the cabin? You taking photos for the real estate website?”

I’d hoped she’d forgotten.

“It’s a perfect match. You can earn some extra cash. Spend a little time with me. Pam will pay you five dollars per photo.”

I stared. Five bucks a photo? I could do better than that setting up my own photo booth at a preschool. But it wasn’t the money so much as the neon “charity case” sign that seemed to be blinking over our heads.

“She doesn’t need me to take photos, Mom. I’m sure she already has someone to do that, someone who specializes in that type of photography. I’m not some junior realtor wannabe.”

Mom bit her lip and turned to look out the fifteen-foot windows. She was quiet for a long time. I stared at the black and white tiled floor. God, I could be such a bitch.

Her eyes were glassy when she looked at me again. “Damn it, Darcy. I’m doing the best I can. You can’t blame me for Dad leaving.” Her words stung like a spray of shattered glass.

I yanked my camera from the bag slung across my shoulder. “Where should I start?”

“Start here. I’m going to find Pam and Dee. After you finish the kitchen, we need photos of the entry hall, the great room, and wine cellar. Just poke around. You’ll find them.”

She was gone before I could form an apology. I supposed if I couldn’t say I was sorry, at least I could take the photos. I looked around the room and started snapping. Zoomed in on one of the stoves. Panned out wide to show all three. Knelt down to shoot the window from my knees. The sun shone in like a sign from God.

After the kitchen was photographed more times than a movie star, I went in search of the great room. I tiptoed through the butler’s pantry, stopping when I heard voices.

“Isn’t she pathetic?” I recognized Pam’s voice.

“Oh, I don’t know, Pam. That’s a bit harsh.” That was Dee, mom of Ryan.

“She’s not half bad as a potential realtor,” Pam said. “But there is no way she’ll be able to earn enough to stay in their house. Or deal with all the debt. I heard from a
very
reliable source that Ty’s company is in real trouble.” She laughed. “And that odd little daughter. She could be halfway attractive if she put some effort into it, though she definitely didn’t get her parents’ looks, poor thing. But she just slinks around, not even making eye contact with anyone.”

“Ryan told me about the day her car got repossessed,” Dee said. “Poor girl. From the school parking lot, can you imagine? I feel sorry for them. They’ve had their world turned upside down, Pam.”

I hardly dared to breathe. Sweat freckled my arms and neck. God, Pam was a bitch. Just like her daughter.

Pam’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “Ty must have already paid this year’s tuition or else I’m sure Marilyn would have had to put Darcy in public school. I don’t know how long she can keep up this charade.” Pam pronounced the word: “
sha rahd
” like a Brit. I wanted to kick her in the teeth.

“Well, thank goodness for Darcy that she doesn’t have to switch schools right now, with everything else going on,” Dee said.

“True,” Pam said. “I’m sure it’s a comfort to have friends like my Chloe.”

My hands shook. I gripped the camera as if it could transport me to another world. I couldn’t listen anymore. I shoved the camera into my bag and texted Mom, my hands trembling.
“Gotta go. C u @ home.”
I retraced my steps back to the stupid King Arthur entry hall and slipped out the front door.

My truck had never looked so good. I jumped in and threw it into reverse, squashing a row of innocent fall mums as I backed down the driveway.

Before I knew it, I was on the highway headed for the cabin. Eventually the truck bounced down the rutted road that led to Camp Covington. As I turned off the engine, I noticed the
for sale
sign tied to the deck railing. Wow. Mom worked fast. I squeezed my eyes shut, resting my head against the steering wheel. Inhale. Exhale.

My phone pinged with a text.
“R u ok? Where r u?”
Mom
.
I sighed. I’d ignored my phone the entire drive but that hadn’t stopped her from blowing up my phone with texts and voicemails.

I jumped out of the truck and headed down the trail to our Stonehenge. The aspen trees were a symphony of yellow and orange leaves shimmering in the fall breeze, surrounding our small henge. I stood at the edge of the circle for a long time, just breathing. I took a picture of the henge with my cell.

Then I reared back and kicked the tallest stone. It was like knocking over the first domino in a long chain. It only took a few seconds for our henge to collapse in on itself. As I stared at the destroyed henge, it was my turn to collapse, sinking next to the fallen stones, sobs overtaking my body.

I
t was dark when I arrived at Tin Lizzy’s because I’d sat crying in front of the destroyed henge for a long time. Eventually I’d stumbled down the trail to my truck and texted Mom to tell her I was okay, but I’d be home late.

I parked the truck across the street and slid out of the cab to the sidewalk, where the cozy glow from the coffee shop drew me inside.

Jazz music hummed under the gurgle of the espresso machine. Charlie and Liz both played KJAZ, the local public jazz station, in their stores. The place had been empty during my afternoon visit, but now three girls about my age huddled around a board game, laughing and hugging coffee mugs to their chests. An older couple sat on a sagging couch next to a bookshelf, reading quietly and sharing a single mug of something hot and spicy-smelling. A circle of women sat around a table covered with baskets of yarn, knitting needles clacking. It was nothing like the frenetic Starbucks attached to Barnes & Noble.

I loved it.

A flutter rose in my stomach. Was I crazy to be here? Could I possibly work here and not totally mess it up? I could never work for Fake-Bake Pam, because it hurt too much knowing what she thought of my mom, and me. And working close to my uncle, in Liz’s cozy shop, was a job I wanted, not one being forced on me.

I heard Liz’s tinkling laugh before she emerged through a curtained area behind the barista counter with a cell phone pressed to her ear. She scanned the store quickly and her eyes lit up when she saw me. She murmured a quick good-bye into her phone.

“Darcy! I’m so happy to see you.” A few of the customers glanced our way, and then turned back to their activities. “Did you come back for that croissant?”

The open warmth of her smile felt like a hug. I took a deep breath and approached the counter. “Actually, I decided to apply for the job.”

She nodded as she dried a coffee cup with a dish towel. “I’ve had a couple of people apply,” she said, “but I’m still taking applications.”

I had competition? Uh-oh.

She tilted her head and examined me thoroughly. I blushed under her appraising gaze. “Let’s talk. But first you need something to warm you up. What’s your favorite drink? And remember, none of those foo-foo Starbucks concoctions.” She grinned.

“Uh…okay.” I hesitated. “Tea,” I said weakly. “Something with cinnamon, if you have it.”

“Of course I have cinnamon tea.” She handed me an enormous mug of steaming water and gestured to three brass racks overflowing with tea boxes. “Take your pick. Sugar and cream are on the counter against the far wall.”

I stirred sugar into my tea and then followed Liz behind the barista bar, then through shimmering gold curtains to a hidden part of her shop. “Come sit down,” she commanded.

Instead, I stopped with a gasp on the threshold. We had entered Fairyland.

Strings of firefly lights lit the tiny room. Two deep chairs nestled in a corner, a small table between them, overflowing with books and magazines. The scent of incense and the sound of jazz came from somewhere. The walls, painted deep lavender, were covered with vintage French ads and 1980s celebrity posters. The juxtaposition made me smile.

“It’s perfect,” I whispered.

“Thank you,” Liz said. She sat in one of the cozy chairs and gestured for me to take the other. I did, and glimpsed a small closed-circuit monitor mounted unobtrusively in a corner, showing the café and its patrons.

Liz followed my gaze. “Lucas hooked it up for me. Every time a customer walks in the door, there’s a bright blue glow on the screen, then it goes back to normal. I prefer that to that horrible Halloween noise when you open Charlie’s door.”

I laughed. “I can see why. This is great. If I were you, I’d never want to leave.”

“Most days I feel the same way,” Liz agreed. “It’s taken me a long way to get the life I wanted. But I finally made it.” She sipped from her pink cat mug and locked eyes with me. “Your dad might even say I reaped my harvest.”

I flinched. I’d managed to forget about Dad since I’d arrived here. Liz bringing him up felt wrong.

She didn’t miss my reaction. “Your dad’s ideas have helped many people, Darcy. I can’t speak to what he’s doing right now, but there was a dark time in my life when his words were a guiding light. I wouldn’t have this shop if it weren’t for him.”

I stared at her, shocked.

“Oh, I never met him personally. Your uncle Charlie gave me a set of his CDs several years ago. At first I thought Charlie was trying to get me to join a cult.” She laughed and tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “But because I was falling madly in love with Charlie, I agreed to listen to a CD before I’d pass judgment.”

Charlie gave Liz the Harvest CDs? Did Charlie believe my dad’s stuff, too? I thought of all the times I’d heard Dad rag on Charlie’s lifestyle, of how I grew up not knowing my uncle at all. My internal stress ball threatened to explode.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Damn it, I didn’t want to feel angry again. Coming to Liz’s was like finding an oasis in the desert. I didn’t want it muddled up with my dad, and I didn’t want even more reasons to be mad at him. I took a deep breath.

Liz squeezed my knee and I opened my eyes. “Let’s not talk about that,” she said. “We have more important things to discuss, like if you want to do a trial run tonight. We need to see if you can handle my Italian baby out there. Bella is temperamental, beautiful, and a real handful. But she makes the most amazing espressos in town.”