Playing with Fire (6 page)

Chad flipped open his geometry textbook. He stared at the figures and tried to ignore the sounds of his shouting parents downstairs. They were going at it…again. It seemed like all they did was fight.

As he turned the page and tried to focus, a folded piece of pink paper slipped into his lap. Unfolding it, Chad got a whiff of Kelly's perfume and smiled. She smelled almost as good as she looked.

Chad,

Hope you're having a great night. I miss you!

xoxoxoxo,

Kelly

P.S. Wear your red collared shirt tomorrow. It's so cute on you.

Chad's heart raced. He wondered if his red shirt—a gift from Alison, actually—was clean. He hated the word
cute
, but somehow when Kelly used it he didn't mind. Chad refolded the paper, tossed it onto his desk, and wondered when Kelly had slipped it into his book. Between classes? In the car? There hadn't been much time on the ride home, since Kelly had spent most of it arguing with her aunt. And then Chad had asked to be dropped off at the mall because he “forgot” something. What he forgot was that if Kelly got an eyeful of where he actually lived she'd drop him off permanently. What had he been thinking? He couldn't get a ride home from Christine. Ever.

Chad shuddered, considering the fallout he'd narrowly avoided. He had to be careful not to let his guard down. Kelly was not like Alison. She would ditch him in a second if she found out he wasn't rich. Not that Alison knew Chad's secret, either.

A loud knock interrupted Chad's thoughts and made him jump. A slightly darker, just as curly head appeared in the door frame. Then all of Dustin slouched in—unshaven, as usual, and looking kind of wired. “Hey, little bro',” he said, scanning the top of Chad's dresser. Chad sniffed. Dustin was looking for money. And he'd come to the wrong place.

“Hey, Dustin,” Chad replied without getting up. “What's up?”

“I was wondering if I could borrow a little cash,” Dustin said, his eyes darting across every flat surface he could find. Chad had stopped leaving money lying around his room ages ago—Dustin had a habit of “finding” it and making it disappear. He was always getting mixed up in moneymaking schemes that were always a little suspect and always total failures.

Chad shook his head. “I'm broke,” he fibbed. It was true enough—or would be soon. Dating Kelly Reeves could drain a millionaire's bank account—let alone Chad's meager savings from his summer job. His allowance had all but dried up since his little brother, Will, had started at an expensive school for autistic kids. The
school was supposed to take the pressure off his parents, but it had made money extra tight and, judging from the screaming match still going on downstairs, the pressure was
on
.

“Come on.” Dustin fidgeted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need forty bucks. I've been playing pool with the guys. I just know I'm going to win next time. Then I can pay off—”

Chad looked up at his brother's pleading eyes. Gambling was not new to his repertoire. But he always ended up losing more than he made. Why didn't he learn? Chad had managed to get a scholarship to a good school and was making it. Didn't Dustin want the same thing?

“Sorry—ask Mom and Dad,” Chad said, feeling a little guilty. They were brothers, after all. They were stuck in their disaster of a family together. But he needed every penny to keep things on track with Kelly. And he needed Kelly to keep things on track at school.

Dustin glared at his brother and stepped up to his dresser for a better look. “All right. Ten bucks.”

“I don't have it,” Chad said, starting to get annoyed. What part of “no” didn't his brother
understand? He got to his feet as a new chorus of parental fighting echoed through the open door. Somewhere downstairs Will was hearing all of this.

“I'm gonna check on Will,” Chad said, moving toward the door and forcing Dustin to make his way there as well. If he left Dustin in his room, he'd probably ransack the place looking for loose change.

Out in the hall, Chad pulled his door closed. Dustin shuffled back to his own room and when he had closed himself inside, Chad went downstairs.

He knew right where to find Will. He opened the cleaning closet and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Sitting on the floor, folded up next to the vacuum cleaner with his arms wrapped around his knees, Will was rocking. He rocked back and forth and sang very quietly to himself. Chad figured he sang to block out the noise. But it obviously didn't work, because the poor kid could recite every bitter word their parents said to each other. You never knew when it would happen. Like last night at dinner when Dustin asked Will to pass the peas.

“Do I have to do everything around here?” Will had snarled in perfect imitation of their mom. If it weren't so sad, it would have been funny.

“Hey, buddy.” Chad squatted down and tousled Will's soft, brown hair. Now that he was eleven he was not that much shorter than Chad. But he was still a little kid on the inside. “You okay?” Chad asked.

Will looked like he was nodding, but it could have just been the rocking. His body never stopped moving.

“You remember why Mom and Dad fight?” Chad asked.

“They're working it out,” Will recited. “Working it out.”

“That's right.” Chad fished for a tissue in his pocket but didn't come up with it fast enough. Will wiped his nose on Chad's sleeve.

“You up for a hot dog?” Chad asked, speaking softly and raising his eyebrows. Dinner was probably not going to happen anytime soon and, when it did, it wasn't going to be pretty. Better to get Will out of the house so he'd have a
chance to sleep tonight. The fighting gave him nightmares.

“With relish?” Will finally stopped rocking. His hand found its way into Chad's.

“And extra sauerkraut.” Chad smiled. There was a place just three blocks away. They had been going there so often lately it was like a home away from home. A little oasis of peace and sustenance—if you considered a processed meat stick sustenance. Anyway, it was what they needed.

Chad checked his wallet—enough for two dogs, two sodas, and a shared fries. This little venture was going to clean him out and burn his study time. After hot dogs Will always wanted Chad to stay with him until he was asleep. Chad would read to him and usually fall asleep himself. It was their routine. With a sigh, Chad realized he would have to call his go-to guy for the answers to his homework again. Sure, it was cheating. And he'd owe his best friend yet another favor. But what choice did he have? He had to take care of Will. He had to keep his grades up. He had to keep it all together.

Thank God for Tom
, Chad thought. He could totally trust him, which was essential. If the school ever found out just how much “help” Chad needed, he could kiss his scholarship—and Kelly, and basically his whole life—good-bye.

After quickly writing a note on the dry-erase board on the fridge, Chad started out of the kitchen. His parents had moved the fight to the basement and he did not want to interrupt. For a second, Chad wondered if they knew their underground yelling carried up through the heating vents to every room of the house. They were not sparing anyone; they were broadcasting. He thought about telling them, then thought again. He led Will toward the front door. They had to get out before Will started rocking again.

The two brothers were still holding hands when they reached the sidewalk, and Will pulled Chad to a stop. He looked Chad square in the face—something he didn't do much. “Will they be done fighting when we get back?” he asked.

Chad swallowed. He hated lying to Will. Will didn't get lies. People thought autistic kids were stupid, but they weren't. They knew lots more than people gave them credit for. They weren't dumb; they were sort of…pure. They did not get embarrassed. They loved unconditionally. They did not lie, and they did not understand people who did.

A long time ago Chad had pledged never to lie to Will. Never to hurt him. Hard as it was, he could not start now. “Maybe,” was all he could say.

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh
. Alison repeated the phrase over and over in her head as the not-just-one-or-two but
three
sets of locking gates and heavy doors opened and then shut again behind her. Each time she heard a lock slide back into place with the cold click of metal on metal she cringed. She'd thought she could handle this. Now she was not so sure.

Beside Alison, one of her mother's attorneys was unflinching, yacking into her cell as if the jail hall was her private phone booth. She barely noticed Alison was with her. Alison was secretly grateful her father had an “urgent meeting” that
kept him from coming along—even if the meeting probably did take place at a bar.

Emerging into the waiting room, Alison was surprised to see that the jail visiting area looked a lot like the ones on TV. It made it seem familiar. There were chairs lined up facing one another on either side of a center console. It looked like a long desk separated down the middle and on either side by thick glass. Phones hung in the bulletproof cubicles.

She's not going to be wearing makeup,
Alison thought suddenly. That would be weird. She could not remember the last time she had seen her mother without makeup. Helen would probably give anything for a lipstick. The thought made Alison relax just a little.

A large guard at the door on the prisoners' side announced a new prisoner by number. He unlocked the door and a small, auburn-haired woman walked through. This was not your typical Helen Rose entrance. But she held her head high and smiled when she saw Alison…or maybe when she saw her lawyer.

Alison was glad that the lawyer was going to
talk first. It gave her a chance to get ready. Standing in the back of the room, she studied her mom. The orange jumpsuit was not doing anything for her. She looked oddly younger and smaller without makeup or heels. And yet she looked older, too.

A lump rose in Alison's throat. This was all wrong. Her mother did not belong here. She belonged on a lawn sipping a citrus cooler, on a yacht wearing an enormous sun hat, on the cell phone ordering people around, at home driving Alison crazy. The lump in her throat grew, threatening to choke off her air completely—but not because her mother was suffering injustice. Because, Alison realized, she did not want her mom to get out and come home. At least not anytime soon.

The meeting was over quickly. The lawyer stood and waved Alison over. Alison crossed the room in what felt like slow motion. She could see her mom taking in every detail of Alison's appearance. Alison had worked hard to get them right. French manicure (home job since Alison had no cash). Low heels. Gloss with just a hint of color.
Why am I trying to impress a jailbird?
Alison asked herself. It made her lift her chin a little higher.

“Hi,” Alison spoke softly into the phone.

“Hi,” Helen replied.

If this were a movie, it would be the part where the reunited mother and daughter pressed their hands together on the glass and let the tears flow. Luckily it was not a movie. All eyes were dry.

“Alison, I know this has been a hard time for you.” Helen looked almost concerned as she said it. Alison was caught off guard. Did her mother know about Kelly and Chad? “But I need your help,” she finished.

No. This was something else. Something bigger. Alison was silent as her mother leaned closer to the glass. She was serious. Helen Rose was about to ask Alison to do more than play the happy daughter.

“Your Grandmother Diamond set me up,” Helen said matter-of-factly. “She is responsible for all of this.”

Even though Kelly had said the same thing, Alison hadn't believed it until now. It seemed too much, even for her family. Why would
Tamara Diamond want her daughter to be in prison? Wasn't it enough to cut Helen off from the family and take her out of the will? Why would Tamara want to humiliate and destroy her, too?

“Listen to me, Alison. I need your help.” Her mother's voice was suddenly much sharper. Alison's eyes must have looked glazed.

She was listening all right. But inside her head the gears were turning. She had never seen her mother so vulnerable. The translucent skin under her eyes was puffy. Alison wondered if she cried at night. If the other prisoners were nice to her. If they were afraid of her or if she was afraid of them.

“The tables have turned. This is war. I need to know you are on my side.” Helen's image in the glass blended with Alison's own reflection. Neither of them showed any emotion. “Tamara is playing with fire, and this time she is the one who is going to get burned.” Helen sounded certain. Alison was not so sure.

She stuck her free hand in the pocket of her jacket and felt the tiny glass figurine she had taken the other day at Zoey's. She wasn't sure why she
had taken it. She hadn't stolen anything in a long time. She used to do it a lot, especially when her mom was on her case. It was comforting—some small thing that she alone could control. Maybe that was why she had done it the other day, when everything was spinning wildly away from her. Seeing her mom's arraignment on TV in front of Tom and Zoey had pushed her over some new edge. Ever since her mom's arrest, she'd felt like she was falling, and each time she thought she was about to hit the bottom it would move to some deeper, darker place and the fall would go on. Inside her pocket, Alison snapped the delicate figure in two.

“Why, Mom?” Alison asked. “Why would Grandmother Diamond do that?” She was not sure what to believe. There were so many lies going back so far she was not sure she could sort them out, or if she even needed to. She had been so dumb. Kelly's ruthlessness should not have come as such a shock. Manipulation and betrayal were what she was born to do. Alison had been crazy to think her cousin would stand by her.

Now it was all becoming clear. The
Diamonds stood by no one, especially not one another. Until now, Alison had managed to stay just outside the cruel games and conniving ways. Well, maybe not always, but she had managed to stay upright while her mother and grandmother slid her back and forth across the game board like a pawn. Now, suddenly, the stakes were higher.

“It's complicated, Alison. All you need to know is that I'm counting on you to help. You're my daughter,” Helen went on stating facts. It was what she did when she was afraid. You couldn't argue with facts. Alison simply stared, rubbing her thumb along the jagged edge of the elephant trunk in her pocket. As she gazed upon the image of her face reflected in the glass, with her mother's face ghostlike behind it, she felt something shift. For the first time Alison was more than a pawn. She was a player. Whether she was right about Grandmother Diamond or not, her mother needed her. And the next move was Alison's.