The Set Up (7 page)

I nod. “Yep.”

“You know what, I think this picture needs to go on the wall in the garage right next to that old piece of shit.”

“Luke!” my mother scolds.

He shrugs and picks the miniature Matchbox car off the shelf near the phone. It’s his vision of what that old piece of shit should look like. Pulling a pocketknife out, he scratches something on the bottom of it and then tosses it to me.

I turn it over. My name is engraved on it. My eyes dart to his.

His grin is wide. “And I also think that starting tomorrow when I get home from work, you and me are going to start rebuilding that piece of shit so it’s ready when you turn sixteen.”

I feel on top of the world.

Later that night, I’m fast asleep when I awake to the sound of my mother screaming. As I get out of bed, I can see Charlie’s light on. In fact, all the lights are on in the house next door. My mother is screaming louder and louder. I run into her room and see the phone lying on the floor. “What’s the matter, Mom?”

She’s shaking and tears are running down her cheeks. “Come here, Jasper, I have something to tell you.”

I’m scared. I don’t like the way she sounds, but I obey and go to her anyway. She pulls me into her arms.

She never hugs me.

“What is it?” I ask, beyond worried.

She cries harder. “Dad won’t be coming home.”

I look at her. “Why, Mom?”

She shakes her head. “There’s been a terrible explosion at the plant and your father was in it.”

I shut the memory down as fast as I can. Okay, so what happened here is still hard to bear. I need to man up and move on.

Fuck my father’s empty promises and fuck that piece of shit car that my mother sold the moment things got bad, even though I begged her not to. Mindlessly, I rub my pocket for the Matchbox car I carry as my good luck charm, the one he gave me, the only way I ever got close to seeing his car to completion.

It’s not there. It must have fallen out of my pocket last night.

I don’t fucking care.

I wasn’t lying when I said today is the dawning of a new era. Old shit be damned.

Hopping back into my car, I shove my aviators on my face. My wheels spin on the still wet ground and I know I’ve just coated my car in mud.

Fuck.

When I pull out of the gate, I find myself making a quick left instead of a right and before I know what I’m doing: I’m heading toward Eastpointe.

Eastpointe is where I spent the first eight years of my life. In that small brick house with a detached garage in a safe neighborhood with a playground at the end of the street. It was a happy time.

As I wind down the nearly abandoned road behind the plant, I pass the only remaining remnant of what used to be located at this address on 8 Mile Road. A graffiti-covered sign that reads
LANEWORTH AUTOMOTIVE PARTS PLANT.

Laneworth Automotive Parts Plant had been a former General Motors factory that shut down in the early 1980s. When Adam Lane and Tom Worth bought the property, they quickly built up a business that the local automotive plants didn’t want to live without.

Their business was booming. They were producing quick replacement parts for recalled items. Their plant had a flexible design, and they could switch out dies and change up assembly lines quickly. It was brilliant. My father thought the company would be worth millions one day, and invested every spare dime he had into the employee stock purchase plan. He wasn’t the only one. Many other employees did as well. Sadly, no one ever saw a dime of that money.

To this day, I’m not sold on the fact that there was nothing left. Memories ablaze once again, I find myself uncharacteristically flying down the road, remembering the aftermath of the explosion.

It’s been almost four months since the explosion.

I’ve been alone for most of it.

My mother is always lying down and Charlie hasn’t been home since the explosion. The Lane family seems to have vanished. I tried a few times to sneak over there, but no one ever came to the window. I miss Charlie. Charlie is afraid of the dark and afraid of being left home alone, so I have spent a lot of time in the Lanes’ house. We’d grown closer and closer over the past year because Mrs. Lane had started to leave Charlie alone in the middle of the night while Mr. Lane was at work. I’m certain it was to be with Mr. Lane’s best friend, although I’d never tell Charlie so.

In all honesty, I don’t know much about Adam Lane and less about his best friend/business partner, Tom Worth. What I do know is that ever since Tom’s wife died, he seemed to spend a lot of time at his best friend’s house when his best friend wasn’t home and that he has a young daughter named Tory. Oh, and I forgot the creepiest part—he has one blue and one green eye.

My mother is expecting an attorney from the city who is handling the Laneworth business to visit today and inform her about when she will get the insurance money. I know she’s worried about money but won’t tell me. She dressed up for the first time since my father’s funeral in expectation of this person’s arrival at noon today.

It’s two minutes before twelve.

Someone is knocking on our door.

My mother rushes to open it.

There’s a man standing outside in a suit and he looks grim. “Mrs. Storm,” he starts.

“Yes, you must be Roy Carrington.”

“That is correct. Thank you for seeing me.”

She smiles. “Of course, I’ve been waiting for your visit. I hope everything is finally settled and the insurance money is ready to be paid out.”

“Yes, about that, we need to talk,” he says glumly.

Her hand goes to her chest and she looks over at me. “Jasper, please go to your room.”

I narrow my eyes but then do as she says, or at least try. I start for my room, but then stop at the top of the stairs and listen.

The man speaks. “It seems the factory’s insurance policy had lapsed and none of the deceased workers’ family members will be receiving any kind of compensation.”

“How can that be?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am.”

“But we had no other insurance.”

“I understand that, and I’m sorry.”

“Laneworth has to have something available for all of those who—” She stops.

“I wish I could say that were the case, but there is nothing else.”

“What about the money Luke invested in the company?”

“Records indicate the plant was operating at a loss. Bills hadn’t been paid and there was very little intake of money over the past year. Therefore, there’s no payout to be had.”

“That can’t be. Luke said they were doing great.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, your husband was a supervisor. I doubt he’d be informed about the company’s finances from Tom Worth.”

“Well, ask Tom then.”

He clears his throat. “We’re unable to locate him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s disappeared.”

“Disappeared? You mean took the money and ran!”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, there was nothing left to take. I think he’s dealing with the devastation in his own way.”

“What about Adam? He knows about the money.”

“I’m sorry to inform you that it seems Adam Lane doesn’t understand what happened. He handled operations and Tom handled administration.”

“He’s lying!” she screams.

My fists ball at my sides.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

“I assure you that is not the case. We’ve been in contact with him. Examined the books. There is nothing there and he, too, is at a loss.”

“So we get nothing?”

“That is correct, ma’am. There are no funds to distribute on behalf of Laneworth.”

My mother breaks down and the man leaves her in tears.

I close my eyes and try not to think about Charlie. My best friend ripped from my life when I really need my friend. Or Mr. Lane, who can’t even show his face. Or the fact that I hate them both. Hate them for leaving.

Minutes pass. More than minutes. Maybe an hour or two before my mother stops crying. I stay where I am and don’t move.

“Come down here, Jasper,” my mother calls.

I do.

“Listen, honey, things have changed a little. We’re not going to get that money I thought we were going to get.”

“What does all that mean, what that man said? Did someone steal Dad’s money?”

She sucks in a breath. “You were listening?”

I nod.

She pulls me to her. “No, no one stole Dad’s money.”

“So how are we going to live without money?” I ask.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Mom, I’m worried.”

She squeezes me tight. “Don’t be. Think of it as an adventure.”

My mother’s famous last words.

Fuck it.

What the hell am I doing?

I don’t need to go there.

I take a fast right and turn around and head for I-94. The last thing I need to do is see that house. I’m flying down Route 102 when my attention slides to the speedometer. I’m approaching 70 and it’s exhilarating.

Faster. I want to go faster.

But then that damn psychosomatic bullshit kicks in and I automatically start to let off the gas.

A black blur up ahead catches my attention, and I jam on my brakes when I see it’s a car pulled over on the side of the road with a woman looking under the hood.

Still going 60, slamming on my brakes isn’t the best choice. My car starts to skid, and luckily no one is behind me. Thank fuck, I’m able to control it and bring it to a stop quickly.

Knowing I must have frightened the woman, I whip my sunglasses off and rush out of my car.

Her head is still down, as if she never even heard me coming.

Shaking my head, I can now clearly see that she didn’t—the earphones in her ears are the telltale sign.

I stay where I am, across the road from her, and lean against my car. I’m impressed that she knows how to move around under the hood and I curiously watch her remove the transmission fluid dipstick, wipe it dry with a towel, reinsert it, and then remove it again.

My gaze narrows.

In profile her features are soft. Curls hang long and her hair is something a man could get lost in. She’s tall and slender, not curvy or voluptuous. Not my type at all. For some reason though I’m entranced by the way she moves. The grace behind it. It’s almost unexplainable, but there’s a fluidity about it. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans, a tank top, and ankle boots that are covered in mud. I look down at my own mud-covered shoes.

There must be something in the air.

With her face scrunched in concentration, it’s only when she squints to look at the level that I cross the street to ease her concern and tell her the fluid level is fine. I can see it from here.

My shadow dances over the engine, and the movement causes her to jump. Now I’m pretty certain I scared the shit out of her because she screams as she yanks the earphones from her ears.

Wide, startled eyes stare at me.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Looking uncertain, she moves even farther away from me.

Blinking rapidly, she stares but keeps moving.

My eyes follow her until she’s settled.

Facing due east now, I’m blinded by the sun. “I saw you were broken down and wondered if you needed help.”

“Jasper,” she whispers.

She knows me?

Using my hand as a visor, I study her. Mounds of dirty-blond curls fall way past her shoulders. She attempts to pull them to one side and the somehow familiar movement ignites a distant memory. A young girl with those very same unruly curls who tried to tame them by pulling them to the side flashes before my eyes. A girl who followed me around and did whatever I told her to do. A girl who didn’t like to play with dolls or other girls. A girl who only liked to play with me. “Charlie?”

She stands utterly still.

Knowing I can’t be right, I take a step closer.

Look at her for a moment, two, three.

As if hypnotized, I’m staring at her.

And then I know.

It’s her.

It has to be.

After a moment, I break the connection and allow my gaze to travel down her body. A dick move, but I can’t help it.

Before I get too far, my memories assault me. It’s me and her—the two of us playing Matchbox cars. The two of us playing in my backyard. Running. Jumping. Having fun. “Charlie?” I repeat, and my eyes find hers again.

She’s smiling and nodding.

The way she looks at me does something to my insides.

Suddenly, a nervous laugh escapes her. “No one calls me that anymore.”

Stupefied, I’m utterly speechless.

“It’s Charlotte,” she whispers.

Like I could have forgotten?

Her voice is sweet, like I remember.

Innocent even.

She was a tomboy who liked to play with me. A cute little girl with an upturned nose and rosy cheeks whose fair skin got sunburned way too easily. A little girl who didn’t have a mean bone in her body. And that little girl with eyes like the sky was my best friend.

Trying to blink the stupor away, all I can do is stare, because
fuck
—she isn’t a little girl anymore.

She’s incredibly beautiful in the most wholesome way. Untamed blond curls with faint streaks of dark gold running through them, freckles lightly speckling her nose, and the most incredible pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen. At eight, I never saw her for the beauty she must have been. She was just my best friend. But now, I can’t help but notice just how attractive she is.

My gaze flickers to her lips—full and pink.

Then lower.

Until I make myself stop.

Her hair blows in the wind and when she goes to push it from her face, streaks of dark fluid blemish her forehead.