Читать книгу Hell's Belles - Kristen Robinette - Страница 8

Haddes, Georgia

May 11, 1985

The four girls crashed the Stop-N-Bowl a few hours before its official opening, as they had virtually every Friday night for the last two years. They were now perched at a long-legged bar table, sipping colas and wondering what they’d gotten themselves into. Four white envelopes lay piled in the center of the table, the name of each girl written in her own handwriting across the outside.

Erica Donovan reached for her envelope only to have her hand slapped away by her friend Della Murphy.

“Don’t even think about it,” Della warned.

Despite her blond starlet looks, Della was the undisputed matriarch of the group. Though the girls were all eighteen, she had a worldliness and maturity that made her the natural leader of the pack.

At last night’s sleepover at Mattie Harold’s house they’d each agreed to participate in a self-improvement exercise found in a back issue of Cosmopolitan. “Make your own fantasy time capsule…” the article had dared. They’d since come off of their cheese-curl and pizza high and were now eyeing the envelopes with regret. Private thoughts took on a life of their own when pen met paper.

“This was so stupid.” Erica tossed her straight black hair over her shoulder and pretended not to care.

Della shot her a look. “Then what did you do it for?”

The two girls were as opposite as opposites came but they had a bond that thrived in the gray area that separated their opinions. Della had managed to go from mood rings and Rod Stewart to an engagement ring and impending mortgage without flinching. Erica, on the other hand, thought Della had lost her mind and had every intention of sowing her friend’s wild seeds for her.

“Search me. The only fantasy I have is to get the hell out of Haddes…”

“You’ve mentioned that.” The comment belonged to Shay Chambers. Shay had long since grown weary of Erica’s wanderlust. She pulled her long, shorts-clad legs up to sit yoga-style on the bar stool.

The pre-opening hustle and bustle as the waiters wiped down tables and stacked glasses was as close to the bar scene as the eighteen-year-olds had ever been. And it was as close as they were likely to come at the bowling alley, since Della’s family owned the place. In fact, Jack Murphy, Della’s older brother, would soon escort the underage girls out of the bar, ending their small taste of adulthood.

“I think it’s good to write down our goals,” Shay added. “It helps to know what we want in life. Right?”

“Um…” Mattie Harold pulled the napkin from beneath her glass and wiped up the ring of condensation that had bled through. “Were we supposed to be writing down our goals? I thought we were writing down…. Well—” she lowered her voice as Jack passed behind their table “—more like our fantasies.”

Della scowled at her brother for the intrusion, oblivious to the way Mattie’s eyes followed him as he disappeared behind the bar. What she hadn’t missed was the way shy little Mattie had torn into her fantasy assignment like a groupie after Michael Jackson’s white glove. She was clearly hot for something—or someone. Della eyed Mattie’s envelope with a surge of curiosity. “Is there something you want to share a little early?”

Jack chose that moment to crank up the music. “Like a virgin….” Madonna’s voice rang clear and excruciatingly loud as if in answer to Della’s question. The foursome convulsed with laughter as Jack adjusted the volume.

“So now we need to agree on a date.” Shay straightened, refocusing on the task at hand. Her gaze fell on Mattie. “What year are we going to open the envelopes, see if we made good on our goals? How about when we turn thirty?”

Mattie sniffed away her laughter. “What if we’re not married by the time we’re thirty….” She let her sentence trail, luminous blue eyes growing seriously horrified at the prospect. She stroked the bare skin of her arms below her tank top and shivered.

Erica shot Mattie a look. “Who said everybody’s future fantasies included marriage?”

The other three stared her down, Erica’s tough-as-leather exterior transparent to her friends. “Get real,” Mattie said.

“If we’re not married by thirty, we’ll have to do something.” Shay examined the ends of her long auburn curls for splits before nervously smoothing her hair into place.

Shay’s life hadn’t been as carefree as that of her friends. She’d lost her parents in a car accident at eight years old and had long ago stopped questioning fate. If not for the tragedy, she wouldn’t have moved to Haddes to live with her aunt and uncle and would never have become part of this circle of friends. They were her family. But in three weeks they would graduate from high school and their adolescence would end. Who knew what lay ahead?

Mattie tugged Della’s hand across the table, admiring the tiny diamond that adorned it. It winked in the dim light of the bar. “At least one of us knows what’s in her future.”

Della smiled, a lovesick expression on her face. “Donald,” she whispered dreamily, then pressed the ring against her chin. “Wouldn’t it be neat if we all got married and lived in the same apartment building—right here in Haddes?”

Erica groaned. “Spare me! Besides, who says I even want to be married by thirty?” She downed the last of her cola, then crossed her legs. Adjusting the ankle strap of her spike-heeled sandals, she suddenly looked thoughtful. “Thirty-five, maybe. I gotta admit, any older would be freaky.”

“We’ll make it an even twenty years from now,” Della said, straightening as she always did at the brilliance of an idea or a piece of juicy gossip. “That means we’ll meet back here on this same day, at the same time—” she did the math, ticking off the years on her fingers, red nails flashing “—in the year 2005.” Her gaze fell to her engagement ring and she bit her lip, marring her perfect candy-apple gloss. “Jeez, that sounds like something from a science-fiction movie.”

Erica rolled her eyes at the sudden change in mood, grabbed a bar napkin and tore it into four squares. She scribbled the future meeting date, down to the half-hour, on every piece, her large handwriting dominating the small scraps of paper. Then she slid the pieces of napkin across the table to each friend with a challenging smile.

When each girl held a square, they looked up like reluctant knights of the round bar table, each making brief eye contact with another. Shay looked relieved, hanging on to her scrap of napkin like a teddy bear. Della appeared suddenly uncertain, and Erica defiant as usual. Mattie’s gaze wavered under the scrutiny of her friends, then strayed to the stack of envelopes with a look of pure longing.