What She Wanted (3 page)

I snapped my mouth shut. “I was just…”

Frustratingly, he waited for me to finish the impossible sentence.

“Staring?”

“No.”

He pursed his lips. “Really? Because it seemed like staring.”

A grin wiggled my lips. He got to be gorgeous and adorable. I got to be ridiculous. That seemed on par with my life.

Dean’s face went serious. “Are you nodding in agreement? You were staring?”

“You were staring.” I deftly turned the allegation around, playground style, and checked for witnesses to my personality disorder.

He dragged a gloved hand across his marvelous chest. “I was. I haven’t seen you in forever. How long’s it been? Like three years?”

Eleven months, roughly, but I wasn’t counting, and he probably hadn’t seen me last summer while I ogled him through the safety of my camera’s lens. He didn’t know I anticipated his arrival each summer or that I’d grown up watching him and his friends play ball in the field between our homes. That kind of crazy behavior could get a girl arrested. Besides, he was mostly perfect and I was, well…me. “About that long, yeah. How’s college?”

“Great.” He beamed. “I’m working for Beacon Landscaping this summer. What are you up to? Still taking pictures, I see.”

“Yep.”

“Take any good ones today?” He jammed his shovel into the mulch and moved to my side as if we were old friends and not lifelong neighbors who never spoke. “May I?”

He took the camera from my hands and flipped through the pictures while I gathered my brains. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

“These are really good. Are you going to school for this?”

I blinked. Was he being polite, or did he really like my shots?
Holy hell. Dean Wells is sweating on my camera. More importantly, can I get a shot of this with my phone before he notices?
“What?”

“Film school. You can get a degree in photography. Kent State actually has a really good film program.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Is that where you’re going?”

“No.”

“Where are you going? You graduated this year, right?”

“Yeah.” How did he know that? How did he know my name? Sure, his mom checked on Mark and me sometimes, but Dean was never anywhere around. Even when he’d lived in town, he was gone with friends or playing ball. “You’re different than I expected.”

“Really? How?”

“You talk a lot more than I thought.” I did a long blink.
Don’t insult the sexy beast, dummy
. “Not that it’s bad. I mean, it’s just you’re very…chatty.”

He laughed. “I was going for neighborly, but you’re right. I’m being nosy.” He leaned into my personal space. “I guess pretty girls make me nervous.”

“Uhm.”

A man in cargo shorts and a polo shirt stared at us from beside a large truck and trailer. “Wells! Time to bring it in. Storm’s coming. Flirt later.”

Dean rolled his eyes before returning my camera. He swung one hand overhead and nodded at the man. “Yes, sir!” He went back to his shovel and yanked it free while I remembered how to breathe. “I guess we’re packing it up. Maybe you and I can hang out sometime? I’m home all summer.”

I checked the darkening sky for evidence I’d fallen into an alternate universe. The shaft of orange and amber light was gone. “I’ve got to go.”

I turned on my heels and left the scene at a clip. I’d get sunset pictures of the lake tomorrow. I needed to text Heidi. I stuffed the camera back inside its bag and hurried along the sidewalk toward home. I hovered my thumbs over the screen of my cell phone. My mind reeled with where to begin.
Dean freaking Wells thinks I am pretty
. Maybe I should start there.

The phone rang and I nearly wet my pants. “Hello?”

“Hey. This is Arnold Switzer.” A deep, angry voice rattled through the line. “You renting this apartment or not? ’Cause I got other takers if you ain’t ready to move on this deal.”

“I am,” I squeaked. I’d found the apartment rental notice on Craigslist last month and made an online deposit without signing anything. I couldn’t legally sign the lease until next week, but the landlord didn’t know that. Honestly, he hadn’t seemed to care once I’d made the deposit. “I want the apartment, but I need a few more days. Only a few, I promise.”

“No can do, lady. You’ve been jerking me around on this too long. I’m going to rent it to the next guy who asks.”

“No!” I covered the phone with my hand and steadied myself before addressing him more confidently. “You can’t. I put money down. I made a deposit.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have a contract.”

Maybe he wasn’t stupid, just manipulative.

“Maybe if I had a little more incentive,” he continued.

I shoved a hand into the pocket where my entire pay was folded in the fabric of my shorts. I’d cashed the check after breakfast and planned to make the money last until my birthday. “Can we talk about this in person?” I pulled the tie from my hair and ran my fingers through the tangles, hoping I looked old enough to rent his apartment without handing over any more cash. “Are you at Ray’s now?”

“Yeah. I’m here.” He disconnected.

Rain sprinkled the road as I crossed Sycamore Street toward Ray’s Bar and Grill. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed through the sky. The raindrops grew larger, coming faster, until streams formed along the road’s edge and down my legs. I swiped water from my brow and jogged toward my destination with purpose. He couldn’t rent that apartment to someone else. It was the only one in town I had a chance at affording without seven roommates and a meth lab.

I cleared rain from my eyes and tugged the red-vinyl-padded door open. Ray’s was the town eyesore everyone groaned about. Church ladies like Mrs. Wells had petitioned to close it and failed more than once. She had put a stop to the wet T-shirt contests, though. I’d thanked her on behalf of womankind, and she made me a meatloaf. With or without the wet T-shirts, Ray’s was a staple. An ugly, unfortunate staple.

I blinked to adjust my eyes to the dark interior and tried not to choke on the decades of cigarette smoke oozing from the walls, floorboards, and probably both aging men hunched at the bar. The stools were red vinyl like the door and puking out yellowed stuffing. I’d never dreamed I’d set foot inside Ray’s skeevy bar, and here I was desperate to live upstairs.

The mountain man behind the counter finally noticed me. He tossed a filthy rag over one shoulder and sucked his teeth. “You the one about the apartment?” His greasy wife beater and apron had seen better days, like the rest of the place.

I wondered, stupidly, how he knew, but figured he didn’t get a lot of teenage girl traffic. If he did, I was certain I didn’t want to know why.

“Hey. Do you speak?” He slid his icky gaze to my camera bag. “You’re not selling nothing, are you? Cause whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying.”

The other men turned toward me. Their oil-stained faces and navy pants told me they worked at the plant with Mark. “How old are you?” the closest guy wanted to know. His beard was speckled with gray and remnants of his dinner. “You got a boyfriend?”

I hadn’t moved beyond the threshold, and suddenly I wanted to flee, go back to Mark’s, and forget this awful place existed.

The notion I’d finally found something more tragic than myself lifted my spirits, until I realized what a horrid person I was for thinking it.

I focused on the man behind the bar and steeled my nerves. “Are you Arnold?” Sure, I wanted to run now, but once I got home and saw Mark’s disappointed face, I’d wish I would have worked this out. Besides, I wouldn’t have to live here long. Maybe Heidi was right. Maybe I could get into school somewhere this fall. After almost ten years alone with Mark, I could make it through one summer in a sketchy apartment over Ray’s. “I’m here about the apartment.”

The barkeep rumbled around the bar and sized me up. “That’s me. What’d you say your name was?”

“Katy Reese.”

“That’s right.” He nodded and shuffled closer. “You’re Mark Reese’s kid.”

“No, sir.” Fear clenched my throat. Would Mark care if he knew I was here? “I’m his granddaughter.”

“Naw. He had a daughter. He used to come in here all the time after his wife died. Mark’s too young to have a grandkid your age, ain’t he?”

“Yes.” The word singed my tongue like acid.

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No.” I stood straighter. “I can give you more money toward the security deposit, but I need you to hold the apartment for me.” I fished in my pocket for cash. So much for working this out another way. “I gave you fifty dollars online and I have another hundred here.”

The patrons murmured.

The man before me didn’t hesitate. He wrapped grubby sausage fingers around my wages and yanked them to his gut. “How’d you get this kind of money? You into something shady?” He raised an unkempt eyebrow.

I had a feeling everything was negotiable in this place, as long as there was money involved. “No.” I stepped back and bumped into the door. “I work. I’m a photographer.” I moved a protective palm over the camera bag at my hip.

He counted the money, satisfied, and no longer interested in me. “All right.”

A faint stir of sirens stood the hairs on my neck at attention. It was as if they were coming for me, steadily growing in decibel as the meaty man before me weighed my fate.

“So, you’ll hold the apartment for me?” I’d carried the completed lease agreement in my bag for weeks. All I needed was a birthday. “I’ll have the signed lease, the rest of your deposit, and the first month’s rent for you in ten days. Promise me you’ll hold it until then.”

“There ain’t no guarantees in life, sugar, but you’ve got ten days.” He shoved my money into his apron pocket and marked an X on the calendar behind the bar. I waited, but he didn’t look my way again. Apparently, I was dismissed.

I opened the door feeling gross and slightly violated. The rain had stopped and the horizon burned with flames from an enormous setting sun. My heart pumped with misplaced adrenaline and gratitude I’d made it outside without incident.

Emergency vehicles raged past me and shrank, screaming into the distance. I pressed a hand to my chest and cursed.

A beat-up old pickup truck honked fifty times and sped across the street in the wrong direction. It stopped along the curb ahead of me and the door popped open.

Dean jumped onto the sidewalk. “Come on, Katy. Get in. We’ve got to go.”

What kind of day was this?

I slowed, weighing possible reasons for his behavior. Hidden cameras came to mind.

“Come on. Let’s go.” He ran around and opened the passenger door. “Something happened to your grandad. My mom’s there now, but you’ve got to hurry or the ambulance will take off without you.”

Ambulance
. I scanned the direction where the emergency vehicles had gone moments before. I lived in that direction.

He grabbed my hand and towed me toward his truck.

His words were all wrong. Mark was in his shed, avoiding me, like every night. He was fifty-five. That was young for an old guy. He was fine. I saw him after work. Two hours ago. “I don’t understand.”

Dean nearly shoved me onto the bench seat of his pickup and slammed the door behind me.

“Was there a fire?” I’d definitely seen a firetruck.

He gunned the truck to life and barked oversize tires against the pavement.

“Put your seat belt on. I’m not trying to win a driver’s safety badge right now.”

I obeyed woodenly. I’d just been at home. Hadn’t I? “I don’t understand.” I’d already said that, but nothing else came to mind and he hadn’t answered me about the fire.

“Mom’s with him now. She said he was arguing with some guy and had a heart attack or something.”

A heart attack
.

Tears blurred my vision. Heart attacks were deadly, right? I swallowed ice cubes of pure dread. “What guy?”

Dean took the corner onto my street at twice the speed limit. “I don’t know. Joshua something.”

I wrapped shaking arms around my frozen core. Joshua was my father’s name.

Carousels of red and blue lights streaked across our darkened front door. Emergency personnel traipsed through our lawn in no particular hurry. Maybe everything was okay. Maybe this was a misunderstanding. Those things happened. Right? I surveyed the scene for signs of the man who had been arguing with Mark.

Dean circled his truck to my side. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”

I didn’t share his optimism. In fact, it had been my experience that things were rarely okay.

A skinny man in jeans, a white T-shirt, and an unbuttoned flannel sat on our front porch steps. He flicked a lighter to life and hung a cigarette from his bottom lip.

My heart and feet stuttered to a stop.

Dean placed a warm hand on my back. “My mom’s in there with him. We can go to her and she’ll fill you in.”

I shook my head, unable to speak or move. A violent gust of wind whipped hair into my eyes. Tears formed and broke over my cheek.

“Katy?” Dean stepped in front of me, obstructing my view of the man I never wanted to see again. “Are you okay? Do you want to sit? You might be having a panic attack.”

I swallowed and forced my voice to cooperate. “Do you see the man on my porch?”

He looked over one shoulder. “Shaggy hair. Smoking?”

“Yeah.” My breaths came in quick, painful bursts. “I think that’s my dad.” Humiliation scorched my cheeks. Who said things like that? Who didn’t know for sure what their dad looked like?

Answer: me. The cast out. The tossed aside and forgotten.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, no longer trusting my composure to last.

I’d met Joshua once. He’d shown up at Grandma’s funeral. It had been the worst day of my life until he arrived with a smile and a teddy bear. For one brief moment, I thought he’d come to fix my world. I would be okay because my dad had come for me.

Mark had tossed him on the curb and cursed him out in front of the entire town.

Pain from the memory nearly buckled my knees.

People said he was drunk, but I hadn’t cared, and I’d cried harder as he drove away.