Читать книгу Dances Under The Harvest Moon - Joanne Rock - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMEGAN BRYER TOOK a deep breath and reminded herself of all the good reasons for taking extra work like this catering job on the weekends.
She needed the money. She couldn’t afford the kind of college she dreamed about without some cash of her own to put toward it. And a good college would take her far away from Heartache and all the annoying people at her high school.
She hurried past the canopy where her classmates from Crestwood High were playing video games on a giant projection screen. They looked comfortable sprawled out on a ring of pillows.
“Nice shoes, Megan,” one of the girls in the circle called as she texted on her phone.
Laughter all around.
Megan ignored them, refusing to look over. Her black off-brand tennis shoes were fairly standard for waitressing, although hers did have a hole in the big toe. When worn with black socks, it hardly seemed noticeable.
“Would you call that a sneaker or a sandal?” another girl whispered just loudly enough to make sure Megan could hear.
More laughter.
Okay, maybe the big toe hole was kinda visible. But who would comment on it besides a drippy teenager with nothing better to do than make fun of people and spend their rich parents’ money?
Megan hurried to pick up the tub of ice that had been set at one end of the tent, anxious to be out of there. She would not look at the twisted knot of spoiled bitchy girls lounging on the oversize pillows. But when the boys started cheering over a high score on their latest mission, Megan couldn’t help a quick peek at the score.
Child’s play.
She had a character in the same game about fifty levels higher than those guys. Perversely, she’d played with some of them online and they’d never known her from the screen name she used: Bruiser12—her badass alter ego.
Her moment of pleasure ended abruptly as her gaze landed on the throng of girls. Five glossy heads with hair straightened into look-alike sheets, their expensive skirts spilling onto one another since they sat so close together. Bailey McCord was there. Of course. Her former friend.
Their eyes met for a nanosecond before Bailey frowned and looked back down at her phone screen.
Hypocrite.
Irritated, Megan lifted the ice tub too fast. Half the contents spilled on the grass in a crash-thud, making everyone turn and stare. The boys broke out in a sarcastic cheer.
“Nice one!”
“Real smooth!”
A girl’s voice slid underneath the boys’ shouts. “Could she be any more hopeless?”
Of course, Megan berated herself with a lot worse than that. Ignoring the mess, she trudged out of the tent with the tub, her face burning.
“Hey, Meg!” a friendly voice shouted from behind her.
She almost didn’t turn around, half afraid of being suckered into another insult, but then a flash of recognition hit. She knew that musical soprano tone.
Slowing her step, she willed her heart rate to slow. Attempted to wipe the pissy expression from her face. Then she turned.
“Hi, Ms. Finley.”
Her music teacher hurried across the lawn, red curls bouncing on her shoulders. She always dressed with a fashion sense that landed somewhere between preppy and demure—weird, since she used to own Last Chance Vintage with her sister. The store had the coolest stuff in town, but Ms. Finley didn’t look as if she shopped there. She had a Southern-lady polish, from her pedicure to her refined pearl jewelry and barely-there makeup. Today, she wore a sheer yellow dress layered over a simple lemon-colored sheath.
On the plus side, Ms. Finley actually had a brain and a huge love of music, both qualities Megan doubted many of her graduating class possessed. Ms. Finley loved Bach, knew all the alternative bands and could launch into a soaring melody from some random piece of medieval liturgical music when the mood struck her. As guitar teachers went, she was extremely cool. In their next lesson, they were supposed to talk about taking guitar solos to the next level. But now Ms. Finley was skipping town.
Leaving Megan alone in a school system that had turned on her for reasons she didn’t understand. She couldn’t imagine facing her days without the outlet of her music. Without her one friend remaining—even if she was a teacher.
“Let me help you with that,” her music instructor offered, grabbing one side of the heavy tub still partially full of ice.
“That’s okay.” Megan didn’t want to spill it again, but she also didn’t want to get in trouble with her boss for letting a client do her job. “Please.” She tugged the metal bowl back. Gently. “If I want work again next weekend, I’d better do what they ask me to.”
“Oh.” Ms. Finley frowned, but let go, pink fingernails sliding away. “Okay. Can I walk with you for a minute? I can tell your boss I was giving you special wedding instructions or something.”
“That’s okay.” Megan slowed her pace since Ms. Finley wore high heels. “I need to bring this to the truck.”
The caterer’s mobile cooking unit sat off to one side of the massive lawn beside a box trailer full of tables and equipment. Megan headed toward it with Ms. Finley.
“I wanted to see if everything is okay?” her teacher asked, voice full of concern. “You mentioned taking the job for extra money and I worried—I don’t know. Are things all right at home?”
“Fine.” The last thing she needed was for Ms. Finley to talk to her dad. He worried enough about Megan. “Everything is fine,” she lied. “I’m just thinking more about college now with senior year under way. I’m trying to put everything I can into the fund to help out.”
That much was true. Her father could barely afford the household budget on his college-teaching salary. He taught online at a school that wouldn’t give faculty members a discount for their kids to attend, but according to her dad, it was the best he could do in an overcrowded job market.
So the money created one issue. The fact that she’d become a target for trouble at school was another problem she wasn’t about to share. And the person who’d taken to harassing her online brought her problems to a whole other creepy level.
“That’s good of you, Megan.” Ms. Finley smiled, her perfectly lined lips saying all the right grown-up things. “College is a great goal.” She walked in silence for a moment, frowning.
“But?” Arriving at the catering truck, Megan dumped the ice in the spot allotted for excess water runoff then shoved the tub into the trailer.
“But a guitar is always a great goal, too.” Ms. Finley stared back at her, perfectly serious.
Wiping her damp hands on her dark apron, Megan laughed. God, it had been a while since she could remember laughing about anything. Today, roaming around the green lawn of a beautiful old farmhouse might actually be kind of fun if she wasn’t hated by everyone under eighteen at this particular party.
“I agree.” How to put this? She bit her lip, hating to confess the rest of the news about her music. “But actually, even if you weren’t leaving town, I’d been planning to talk to you about canceling my lessons to save up for school. So I’m not only going to have to wait on the new guitar, but I won’t bother looking for a new teacher.” When she’d found out her single-parent father had canceled his health insurance two years ago for Megan’s lessons, she’d flipped out.
What if he got sick or had an accident or something?
Ms. Finley sighed. “You know, it’s natural to have a certain ebb and flow of interest when you take up an instrument, Megan. Especially when there are so many other things going on in a teenager’s life—”
“No.” She shook her head. Unwilling to let Ms. Finley think she’d just grown bored with playing. “I promise, it’s nothing like that. I still practice every day. I need to play every day or else—”
Distracted by one of the other servers hurrying past with a tray, she stopped short of confessing how crazy she felt when she didn’t have a creative outlet. Guitar seemed a lot more productive than killing mutant zombies in the video game.
“I’m the same way,” Ms. Finley surprised her by saying. “If I don’t get my time in—even if it’s just singing my heart out in the shower—I feel too bottled up inside. I don’t know what I’d do without my music.”
“Exactly.” Relieved she wasn’t the only one, Megan ignored the cell phone vibrating in her apron pocket. Her father knew her work schedule and who else called her these days? Ever since she broke up with J.D. and he’d started dating Bailey, she’d become social poison at Crestwood.
Which was so freaking unfair. Bailey was the one who had broken girl code by dating her friend’s ex. Why was Megan the one blacklisted? Probably because J. D. Covington was one of the most popular kids in school. And what J.D. wanted, he got. If that meant everyone had to like his girlfriend, that’s what people did.
“Well, I understand about the lessons. But if you have time and you’re practicing anyway, maybe we could keep our old lesson times right up until I leave town.” Ms. Finley shaded her pale skin from the direct sun as she squinted up at Megan. “My car is in the shop, so I’m not sure how soon I’ll be heading out. But it sounds like I’ll still be around tomorrow if you want to meet.”
“But I can’t pay—”
“I need to practice, too. It’ll be a way for us both to stay sharp. I don’t want to go into my audition flat because I haven’t been rehearsing.”
She knew Ms. Finley planned to audition for American Voice, but somehow Megan doubted her teacher needed to rehearse with a twelfth grader to hone her musical skills.
“Um. Sure. Okay. I should probably get back to work, though.” Megan’s phone buzzed again, making her antsy. Plus, her boss had already cornered one of the other servers to chew him out about something.
Megan didn’t want to be next.
“Of course.” Ms. Finley smiled. “We can take it on a day-by-day basis. I’ll text you in the morning to confirm tomorrow’s time, okay?”
“Sounds good.” Megan walked backward toward the party and her job. “And I really appreciate it.”
She might have been voted the senior class’s Most Antisocial in one of the school paper’s “humorous” categories, but she knew enough to thank a talented musician for offering to spend extra time with her.
“It’ll be good for us both.” Ms. Finley waved and then headed back to the main house.
Megan had no intention of going back under that canopy where all her classmates were hanging out, so she darted toward a row of overgrown honeysuckle bushes and tugged her phone out to see who’d been calling.
Or—as it happened—texting.
She didn’t recognize the number, but she’d gotten three messages in the last ten minutes, all from the same account.
You are such a slut. Have you checked your Facebook page?
The first message was nothing she hadn’t heard before. She guessed J.D. had started that particular rumor when she hadn’t proven as eager to please as his new girlfriend.
Then again, Megan knew better than to trust anything J.D., said so she didn’t necessarily believe the rumors going around about him and Bailey, either. As for the Facebook page, that’s where she’d received rude private messages. She had deleted her account, so there was nothing left to check.
She scrolled down to the next message.
Don’t you have anything better to do on a weekend than ruin everyone else’s good time?
Her eyes flicked to the canopy where five girls still draped themselves over throw pillows, their phones in hand. Had one of them sent the texts? It must be someone at the wedding breakfast. Someone who had seen her spill the ice.
A shiver crawled up her spine despite the heat. Was this message from someone at the party? Or from the person who’d harassed her online earlier this summer?
Or...both?
Her mouth went dry.
Finally, she read the third message—all from the same local phone number that didn’t show up as one of her contacts.
You should do us all a favor and die.
A stupid joke, right? Her heart pounded harder, slugging her chest in a slow, fierce beat. She knew the text didn’t matter, and it was just a dumb thing to say written by an equally dumb person. Still, Megan’s finger shook as she pressed the buttons that would clear the messages from her phone.
Delete.
Delete.
Confirm delete.
Gone.
She took a breath again once the messages vanished from her device, but she knew the harassment wouldn’t stop. Playing her music wouldn’t make the hurt go away from all the lies J.D. had spread. And working every minute outside of school didn’t take away the fact that she spent almost forty hours a week inside Crestwood High with a hundred classmates who hated her.
Spring—and college—couldn’t come fast enough.
* * *
“IT’S AMAZING WHAT you can observe at a party just by watching body language.” Heather’s mother’s voice rose from a tall wingback pulled next to the window in the upstairs den.
“There you are!” Heather strode deeper into the room, her eyes still adjusting to the dimmer house lighting after being outside in the sun. “I wanted to see if you needed anything before I head home.”
She’d been out of sorts since talking to Zach and more so after her conversation with Megan. Zach’s suggestion she take the mayor’s seat was just...craziness. Even if a teeny part of her was flattered that he thought her competent for the job. Even if a tinier part of her was disappointed that he wanted her in town more for political reasons than personal.
Turning her attention from fractured thoughts, she knelt beside her mom’s chair and looped an arm around her shoulders.
“I need my house back,” Diana Finley snapped. “But I don’t suppose you can manage that any time soon.”
She forced a laugh and tried to take the words lightly. Her niece, Ally, always got along so well with her moody grandmother and insisted she didn’t mean any harm. It didn’t help that Heather suspected her mother was perfectly serious.
“I think the bride and groom will be heading down to Cajun country before we know it, and most of the out-of-town guests will be right behind them.” Rising to her feet, Heather stared at the lawn where the catering crew packed up the round breakfast tables.
The canopy would stay up throughout the day, along with a small drinks station and a few tables for guests that lingered. Heather saw Megan hefting one of the tables along with two other workers. Did it bother Megan to work at an event that many of her friends attended for fun?
“Bah,” Diana grumbled, waving one hand impatiently, the way she might swat at a mosquito. “I’ve got about fifty goodbyes to deal with and more loads of laundry than I can catch up with in a week.”
Heather peered at her mom, almost seeing the frustrated energy rise from her the way steam might hiss from an overheated car. Or maybe it was simply because her mom shook her crossed leg, the free foot rattling back and forth as if she needed to get something off it.
“Bethany said she’d come over to do the laundry,” Heather reminded her, unwilling to feel guilty for leaving. “Although your only company was just us.”
Erin, Nina, Bethany and Heather had all spent time at the farmhouse during the prewedding festivities. They’d managed to keep the house humming with activity, though their sister Amy’s absence had been a hurt that ricocheted through the whole family. She’d made excuses for not attending their father’s funeral and Heather had kind of understood. But Erin’s wedding? It hurt her, too.
“Family makes dishes and laundry the same as strangers,” her mother pointed out. She looked out the window, distracted by the activity on the lawn. “Do you know that girl? The daughter of the college professor?”
She pointed to Megan, who seemed to be on the receiving end of a lecture from Cecily Alan, owner of a local sandwich shop and in charge of the catering. The family had decided it would be too much trouble for Mack and Nina’s new restaurant to tackle the job when they hadn’t fully set up the catering branch. Plus, they were both family members and should enjoy the wedding.
“Meg’s father is a professor?” She’d met Mr. Bryer briefly a couple of times after the family had moved to town a few years ago, but it surprised her that Megan would be concerned about college expenses if her dad already worked at a university.
All Heather knew about Dan Bryer was that he was superprotective of his daughter.
“He gives business workshops for an online program,” Diana said. “Nervous sort who keeps close tabs on the girl, but a level head on the town council, from what I hear.” Her mom’s finger thunked against the grid of small panes in the bay window. “I’m going to ask Ally about his daughter. Megan Bryer doesn’t seem to have many friends.”
“Cecily Alan doesn’t like anyone,” Heather retorted, feeling defensive and knowing her mother could be a harsh judge of character. “Megan is a nice girl and a very talented guitarist.”
Maybe she felt a kinship with another musician. Or maybe she just identified with anyone who failed to impress her mother.
“The body language from this group here...?” Diana slid her purple-polished fingernail along the windowpane across another grid to point at a group of girls inside the canopy. “Very negative whenever the other girl walks by. It’s been a soap opera down there.” She sat back in her chair. “Although that wasn’t nearly as entertaining as seeing the designs of the young mayor on you.”
All thoughts of Megan forgotten, Heather drew in a sharp breath.
“Mom, really.” She wished she’d done the laundry instead of putting herself in the path of...whatever her mother had on her mind.
“He wasn’t the only one giving you the once-over, but I’m not about to count Jeremy Covington’s surreptitious looks since he’s married.”
“Eeww. Mom. Stop.” She sincerely hoped her mother didn’t know what she was talking about. The local quarry owner had been a renegade voter on the town board for a long time, a thorn in her father’s side.
“But the mayor’s interest in you was fun to watch,” her mother continued, unruffled. “Zachary Chance is a more cautious politician than your father ever dreamed of being, and he plays it close to the vest, from what I hear about the town meetings these days. But my bird’s-eye view gave me a whole new perspective today, and Mr. Chance followed you with his gaze even when he wasn’t scheming to get you into quiet corners of the garden.” She paused, a long silence suggesting she waited for an answer to the question she hadn’t asked.
“He thinks I’d make a good mayor,” Heather found herself saying, revealing more than she meant to just so she didn’t have to discuss the possibility of a mutual attraction between her and Zach.
“He’s in such a hurry to give up his seat?” Turning in the big wingback, her mother adjusted her heavy glasses on her nose. “Or does he think he can still run things if you take over for him?”
“Am I so weak willed that you think he could?” Miffed, she stared her mother down.
“For heaven’s sake, of course not. No daughter of mine is weak willed. But the mayor is a man. Who knows what he thinks?”
Heather laughed. Maybe she ought to listen harder for her mother’s moments of levity, after all.
“Right. Well, I got the impression his job is demanding and he’d like to return to it sooner rather than later.” Her other suspicions were too vague to name—that Zach was keeping an eye on her for some reason. “He reminded me that I had the same number of write-in votes as he did when they took the emergency poll after Dad...died.”
She watched her mother closely, and waited for signs of darker emotions—darker beyond what one would expect from any widow who’d loved her husband deeply. Diana Finley hadn’t had an easy time of it in the months after his fatal heart attack. She knew her dad supported her mother emotionally, even if he checked out on the family a fair amount. But Heather hadn’t fully appreciated the depth of her mother’s reliance on him until the aftermath. It had taken months to adjust her medicines so she wouldn’t feel too numb to grieve, but to also maintain a safety valve where she didn’t fall into a deep depression.
Her mother’s doctors had done well. Heather wondered if the drug treatments for her own health issues would be half so complicated. Or physically draining on her body. As much as she dreaded the exhaustion and potential side effects of starting treatment, she prayed she made it to that doctor’s appointment in Charlotte before she had another flare-up.
“I think I wrote your name in that blank, Heather.” Her mother bit her lip in a rare moment of uncertainty. “Of course, we all thought Scott would be a good mayor, but he was in no place back then with his marriage already splintering.”
“Thank goodness he and Bethany shored that up.” Her eye went to the window again, but she didn’t see any of her family on the lawn below. A few cars were pulling away, and someone had turned the music up on the outdoor speakers, the country tune audible inside the house. Thankfully, there were only Finley-family homes on the cul-de-sac.
“Yes. Scott and Bethany are happy. Erin and Remy will be honeymooning soon. Mack and Nina have their new restaurant in town.” Diana ticked off her children on her fingers before sizing Heather up with a look. “Now we just need to get you and Amy settled back home.”
“Hmm. Don’t you mean we need to leave Amy in peace and get me a dream recording career?” Heather knew her mother had very little faith in her musical ability, but couldn’t she even pretend to be excited for her American Voice audition?
“I mean afterward, dear.” Putting her head back on the chair, her mom closed her eyes. “Of course, I want my children to accomplish their personal goals first. But sooner or later, I’d like you all close by.”
The five land lots for the five Finley siblings had been laid out since Amy’s birth, their father ensuring the land he’d grown up on remained in the family. The old farm still had plenty of unused acreage, but despite a few offers, their father had kept the property.
“After Amy couldn’t even get on a plane to come to Erin’s wedding?” Heather heard someone coming up the stairs and lowered her voice. “I’d be surprised if she ever makes Heartache her home.”
“Bah,” Mom grumbled, eyes still closed, her fingers lacing and unlacing in her lap as if she couldn’t quite find a comfortable position. “She’s a Finley. She’ll come home.”
The need to argue that point was strong, but the bride’s and groom’s voices were out in the hallway, making her think the better of it.
“Hey, sis.” Erin untwined her arm from Remy’s waist as they stepped into the den. “We’re just saying our last goodbyes.”
Remy leaned a shoulder on the door casing, his eyes hardly leaving his new wife. “I told her if we left last night, we could already be fishing off the dock this morning.”
“Which is why every woman goes on a honeymoon, I’m sure.” Heather wrapped Erin in a hug as she teased her new brother-in-law. She adored him, wishing she’d been around to see Erin fall hard in love.
But she’d been in Austin, hospitalized with a mystery ailment and scared out of her mind. What would her mother have said if she’d called with the news? That she must be lazing around because she didn’t like working?
Mom’s comment about Amy made her all the more grateful she’d kept the incident to herself.
Erin playfully tugged on Remy’s hair. “He’s just kidding me because I’m convinced I’m going to be eaten by an alligator while we’re there.” Her breakfast wardrobe seemed more in line with her normal clothes—a dreamy white poet’s blouse and a blue wraparound skirt with an iron-on transfer of a rococo painting, The Swing. “Apparently his mother’s dock is frequently visited by large reptiles.”
“If you need to leave the swamp, I hear New Orleans is only an hour away.” She was so happy for Erin, just as she’d been happy for Mack when he and Nina had gotten engaged. But sometimes seeing that kind of love hurt when it remained so very absent in her own life. She felt that pang now as she moved from Erin to give Remy a hug goodbye.
“Don’t you give her ideas, cher,” Remy warned her, wrapping her in strong arms and planting a kiss on her cheek. “She’s not getting far from me for the next two weeks.”
Erin hugged their mother and then, when Remy moved to do the same, Erin whispered in Heather’s ear.
“Thank you for staying last night.” Erin squeezed her hand. “I know you’re anxious to get to Charlotte and I’m excited for you, but it was really nice having at least one of my sisters here all weekend.”
Guilt pinched at the reminder since she’d been so close to leaving town last night. Would have, if she’d been smart enough to fill the gas tank.
“I had fun.” She walked downstairs with Erin while Remy got the last of their suitcases for the trip. “Have you heard from Sarah? Did she and Lucas make it back to school okay?”
Remy’s daughter and her boyfriend attended college in Louisiana near where Sarah grew up.
“Yes. But she’ll be back for Thanksgiving, so I want to make sure I have her room ready.” Erin grabbed two bottled waters from the fridge before they headed out the front door. “And I forgot to tell you goodbye from Zach. He left with Sam Reyes a few minutes after he talked to you and they both looked superserious.”
“Really?” She remembered the sheriff had needed to speak to Zach privately. “Must have been police business.”
“Maybe.” Erin backed toward the car, where Remy secured the last bag in the trunk. “A cow got out of Harlan’s pen again, maybe. Or our one traffic light went out. You can hear about it at the Tastee Freeze, tomorrow, I’m sure.” The local ice-cream shop with outdoor picnic tables was a good spot for gossip from spring through fall. “But as for me, I’ll be sleeping late.”
Heather hoped Erin was right and whatever Sheriff Reyes had wanted wasn’t a big deal. She’d see Zach tomorrow since she’d told him she would let him know before she left town. And as luck would have it, she’d gotten a text from TJ earlier saying her car would be ready Tuesday morning.
That meant tomorrow would be her last day in Heartache for—she hoped—a long time.
