Never smile at strangers

He watched her, knowing this wasn’t where Allie wanted to be. But he didn't want to be here either. As soon as she turned eighteen, he’d be gone. He’d drive to Nevada and finally get a place of his own. He’d move far, far away from this place and the constant reminders of his late mother, of the torment. He’d be a different person. He’d begin a normal life.

If that was possible.

Allie walked across the room, her chin upturned. She had been Mommy’s little angel. She was special, something he’d never been. He pressed the button on the remote harder.

“And one day, I’ll walk out this door, and I’ll be gone forever,” she said, her words slurred. “You’ll be lonely, won’t you?”

He thought about Tiffany. The fear in her eyes as she realized she was about to die. She’d wanted to leave, too. But she never had. Not in the way she imagined she would. He remembered her muffled screams, how rigid her body had grown.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

Her steely eyes bore into him and he tried not to let his nervousness show. She could never know how uncomfortable he was around her, the power she had over him. She’d use it to her advantage. Women always did.

“No, I’m not drunk. Anyway, why should you care? You barely exist.”

He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him. He just sat, staring at the television.

He was aware he’d grown more attractive over the years, losing all the horrible baby fat. The changes had ended the name calling and the laughter from the kids at school. But to his sister he remained just as hideous and insignificant as always.

She smirked. “And for your info, I know you had a girl in here the other night. I sawher purse and there’s a lipstick stain on the couch,” she said, pointing, her eyes small. “Unless you started cross-dressing and wearing shitty shades of lipstick. Oh, not that I’d be surprised.” She snorted at her own joke.

Her face turned serious again. “So, who was she?”

He picked up his beer.

Her voice softened. “Was she pretty?”

He glanced at her face and realized his sister was jealous. Their family was demented.

“Did she have big tits?”

“Yes, and they were very nice,” he mumbled.

Her eyes grew even smaller. “You screw her?”

“I did.” He began to shake.

The room went still. A long moment later, her laughter cut the silence. “Whatever. I don’t believe it.” She smoothed her skirt and marched to the front of the house. “God, am I glad I’m not you!” she hooted, then let the screen door snap shut behind her and was gone.

He studied the place she’d been standing. She’d be gone until tomorrow. He always felt safer when she was gone. He pulled on his rubber boots and walked to the back door.

Chapter 15

RACHEL ANDERSON OPENED the door to her son’s room and sighed. Clothes and magazines littered the floor and despite the house’s “tidiness” rules, a ketchup-smeared plate and two crumpled Coke cans had been left on top of his dresser.

She was having a terrible year. A few months earlier, she’d discovered that her husband, Tom, had been having an affair with one of his teenage students: Tiffany Perron. Tom, a man she would have sworn just a year ago would never stray. Tom, someone she always thought of to be a fine man, a faithful man. To say her perception of him had been flawed would be a colossal understatement.

“Tommy!” she shouted.

Since she heard the news about Tiffany, her stomach wouldn't untwist. To think she stopped by Luke's to show the girl that she was still watching her. It had become a tradition. She had visited ever since she found out about Tom's affair, hoping to keep the younger girl away from her husband. To keep her family together. What had seemed like a clever plan before suddenly sounded horribly asinine. The girl was now missing. She probably just ran off but, nonetheless, she was missing. And somehow that made what Rachel had been doing seem highly juvenile. Pathetic even.

 “Tommy!” she yelled again. “I thought you told me you cleaned your room!”

She began to collect the dirty clothes. Then thinking better of it, she dropped what she’d picked up and shuffled into the living room. Was this what her life had become? The jaded wife of a philandering husband? An insecure thirty-six year old woman going out of her way to challenge teenaged girls? A woman forced to compete with teenaged girls?

Rachel thought of the unfinished manuscript she kept buried in her closet. She once had big dreams, then she became pregnant with Kelsey. She married Tom, ten years her senior, and in her progesterone bliss she thought there’d be nothing but positive things to come. A healthy marriage, a beautiful child, a successful career as a novelist. But money was tight and she had been forced to take up teaching. Not long after, little Tommy came along. Then Tom started taking his trips. Several of them. And in the last year, the trips nearly doubled in frequency.

In the living room, eleven-year-old Tommy lay on his stomach in front of the television with a bowl of Apple Jacks. Rachel picked up the remote by her son’s side and pressed the power button. The screen went black.

Tommy twisted, the spoon still in his hand, his big eyes confused.

“You told me your room was clean, Tommy.”

“It is,” he answered, his words slow and even, like his father’s often were.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Tommy?”

“God, Mom!”

“God Mom, what?”

“Just. . . can’t you relax for once? You act like the sky is falling and guess what? It’s not.”

Rachel winced. Those were the words he’d heard his father, Tom senior, say many times. The words she despised. She had a reason not to be relaxed. It wasn’t as if she was the i

He sat up and scowled. “But you’re always getting on my case! I’m so sick of it. Is Kelsey’s room clean? Did you get on her case?”

Rachel regarded her son. He was becoming more like her husband every day. His wavy blond hair. His stubborn, defiant tone. The way he tilted his head when he watched television. The anger on his face. She took in the long, lean legs that were now sprouting more peach fuzz, the feet that had seemed to grow so large overnight.

“Tommy, we’re talking about your room,” she said, trying to keep her tone in check.

It had become difficult around the house in the last year. She was always on edge and she knew her children felt it. She wondered if they knew about the affair. The town was small, and she was sure that others knew. But who? And how many?

Was he still cheating despite his insistence that he wasn’t? Had he cheated before, or had this really been the first time? Rachel forced the wave of questions into the back of her mind. “This conversation is about your room, Tommy,” Rachel repeated. “You told me it was clean.”

“You see? You’re always on my case and not hers!” He snorted. “You know, she’s not as perfect as you think.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. Her sixteen-year-old daughter Kelsey had changed a lot lately. She’d become rebellious even, and Rachel was begi

She picked up a cushion from the floor and situated it on the couch, wondering what the best tactic would be to coax Tommy into giving her some information.

After a few seconds, she turned back to her angry son and said something she knew that a good mother wouldn’t say. “I think she’s pretty darn close to perfect, Tommy. Kelsey’s a good girl. You could stand being more like her.”