The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (28 page)

Always plotting, with no plan?
John narrowed his eyes and tried to read beyond the veil. There was something she wanted, he just had to figure it out.

“Oh, not the dumb football player after all? Good. I hoped you might be more exciting than the other Robinsons. Your dad was a black sheep, too. Maybe the seed didn’t fall too far from the tree?”

Black sheep.
John remembered bits of the story he pieced together about his dad and Amanda’s mom dating in high school. He guessed it had been quite an upset when Jamie Robinson left town after graduation and never returned. Bruised pride had traveled through at least one generation. “Of course, you know that I was adopted and I don’t derive from my father’s ‘seed.’” Everyone in the small town would be privy to that particular information.

“Don’t worry, lamb chop. We all accept you.”

“I’m not worried.”

“It’s okay to feel out of place, John.”

John clenched his fists with the effort it took to hold his tongue. Out of place was exactly the way he had always felt in Shirley. His family’s home, but not his.

Amanda didn’t miss the fists. She smiled sweetly and touched his chest. “Anyway, I hear you’re just as good a running back as your dad was.”

Pouring on the sugar, now—you’ve got to be kidding me.
Once she established herself as the champion of wits for the time being, she could relax. John felt like slapping her, but he decided to let it go. The image of Amanda sharpening her claws on his shirt, like her aged Bobcatt mother had done to Dad, was ridiculous enough to help him return the smile. “You coming out for the game next weekend?”

“Probably. My cousin Lindsay’s a cheerleader and I like to show my support. Those poor girls jumping around and shouting all night—somebody has to answer the whole, ‘We got spirit, how ‘bout you’ thing.”

John chuckled, “Such a kind soul.”

“I do what I can. Oh, our boy’s coming back.”

“Antonio, we’ll need to give a short speech in just a few minutes.” Mieke Walsh was breathless with the activity of the party, as she deposited the boy back among his friends.

“Okay, Mom,” he said agreeably, with such an angelic smile that it made Mieke’s heart melt. A slender blonde girl was happy to jump into Mieke’s spot as she moved away, and Antonio greeted the girl like a gentleman, “Hello, Lindsay. It is nice to see you.”

“Hi, Tonio.”

Mieke thought his English was improving.
Polite, but still a little stiff.
She worked on his accent with him every night.
That Lindsay doesn’t seem to mind his accent at all, that’s for sure.

As soon as she turned away, she saw another person waving to her from across the room, wanting a word. Mieke made her way over to them, her head buzzing with it all. She knew her instincts were right when she and Joe arranged the foreign exchange. Perfect to distinguish their chapter within Rotary International; and an opportunity to have Shirley County emerge as the beautiful destination it could be.
Now, the whole town is here to recognize my achievement.

Yet, she never hoped to add a son to her life in the bargain. In just a few short weeks, she had learned so much about what it really meant to be a parent and parenting gave her so many new connections.
Now, I can count myself as both a PTA member and a Bobcatt football mom.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. Are you enjoying the party?” The old couple had been pointed out to her, and by the look of their elegant, moldering vestments, Mieke guessed them to be one of the wealthier families in Shirley County. Worth a chat.

“Oh, please call me Laverne,” the old blue-hair croaked, grasping Mieke’s hand with a trembling fist. She wore a glittering ring on each finger. “Yes, what fun this is. Howard had never tried spaghetti and I always told him he’d like it. He never tries anything new.”

The portly man next to Laverne was wearing a seersucker suit and prim bowtie. He offered his hand, with a distinguished nod in Mieke’s direction, “Howie.”

“Well, he had one bite of mine and then stuck to the meat and potatoes, but it was a big moment. Right, dear?”

“Certainly, dear.”

“Of course, we rarely have a chance to get out anymore. The roads are so dangerous, you know. We only drive in for the monthly lodge function.”

Mieke’s ears pricked at that. “The Buffalo Lodge? I wasn’t aware they had…functions.”

Laverne focused on her with intelligent eyes, surprisingly bright in such a wrinkled, faded face. She laid a hand on Mieke’s shoulder and leaned in, her grip strong. “You think you understand what you see. You assume that what seems, is.”

“Me?” Mieke put her hand against her chest in surprise. Was she about to receive inside information? She had always wondered about that old lodge, but it was strictly forbidden to anyone who wasn’t a member—something she resented. “I wouldn’t dare to assume anything. I’d love to hear the truth from you, Laverne.”

The woman smiled and drifted backwards, her eyes dulling. Mieke worried that she had seemed too eager.

“You wouldn’t know it now, but the balls we used to hold there…”

“Balls?”

“But we couldn’t miss this Italian Night, with all the buzz going around, even up where we are. Well, you know the maids always talk.” Laverne became the frail, helpless senior once again. “We have yet to meet this boy we’ve heard so much about. But of course we don’t speak Italian anyway, do we dear?”

“No, dear.”

“And, I have heard about this lace that he brought.”

Mieke brightened. “Oh, it’s quite beautiful. I’ll show you.”

Antonio’s mother, Signora di Brigo, had connections to the famous old island of Burano in the Venetian Lagoon of northern Italy, where they made the most amazing, delicate lace Mieke had ever seen. Completely handmade. The Signora had sent two pieces as a token of her gratitude, both of them pinned to black velvet and framed. Mieke selected the better of the two for herself (it was on prominent display in her guesthouse), and hung the other on one of the busy, decorated walls inside Big Joe’s.

“Mrs. Campbell, is this your first time seeing this lace? Isn’t it lovely?” Marge Tillman floated over the second they stopped in front of the frame, ready to spread around her own newly acquired knowledge of Burano lace. “I just love this, look at the detail. Mrs. Di Brigo was so kind…”

As another woman joined them, crooning over the lace, Mr. Campbell excused himself for a smoke. Mieke took her leave as well, heading for the bathroom.
Empty—thank goodness. A minute to myself.

As she was washing her hands, another woman walked in whom she thought she recognized. Really just a girl, her long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and she had thick, cropped bangs. She was hard to forget in a small town like Shirley, especially in lieu of her habitual boldly patterned black and white, snuggly fitting clothing and red stilettos.

Mieke wished she could remember her name. “Hello. You’re a member of Rotary International, aren’t you?”

The young woman ran a finger under her black eyeliner to fix a smudge, and without looking away from the mirror, said, “Hello, Mieke.”

Oh.
Satisfied her own name was one people remembered, Mieke dove in, “I’m so glad more club members are attending than I saw at first. This isn’t really a meeting, but it’s not for just nosey townsfolk either, you know?”

“I do. Haven’t seen Joe. I bet you have.”

“Yes, he’s home and doing well. He’s not really up for a big event like this yet, though. He was excited to try the Italian food. I’ll take him some dinner in a little while.”

“You?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I saw Pearl here. His son, even his grandson.” She finally turned away from her reflection, her hair swinging over one shoulder, and delivered a piercing gaze.

“Well, you know. As the vice president, it’s the least I can do for…the president—bring him dinner, that is,” Mieke stammered. The woman watched her without comment. “Of course, he’ll want to hear all about the success of our foreign exchange—”

“Oh, you don’t need to explain things to me. Joe and I are good friends, too.” She flicked her ponytail back in place, one side of her red lips raised in merriment, and she was out the door.

Mieke realized she had been drying her hands obsessively with her paper towel and threw it in the trash can. She remained in the bathroom for several minutes, reapplying her own lipstick, tidying her clothes and hair, wondering if she should feel offended by such an interaction. The woman hadn’t actually said anything of substance, but why did she feel…threatened? Mocked? Deciding she was probably letting her imagination run away from her, she forced it out of her mind.
All the introductions and invitations must really be getting to me.

As soon as she re-entered the dining room, Antonio made a beeline for her. “Mom!”

That was something to warm the heart. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Can we make the speech now? I am hungry, but…” he grabbed his abdomen and made a sick face. “My stomach.”

“Are you nervous, silly? You are so funny; let’s get it over with then.” Mieke could only imagine how nervous she would be if she had to give a speech in another language. She gave his shoulders a squeeze and pushed him out into the center of the dining room, clapping her hands and calling for everyone’s attention. “This will be quick,” she whispered in Antonio’s ear and shoved his note cards into his hands.
We rehearsed together enough, he should be fine.

Mieke reminded everyone of the real reason for such a fantastic party and gave Antonio a glowing introduction. He waved hello and read from his cards—haltingly, but with a friendly smile—and then formally presented his mother’s gift of Burano lace and thanked them for their hospitality. She stayed close by while Antonio answered a few questions about the lace, his mother and his hometown in Italy. She knew he had a hard time with some of the accents in Shirley, so she translated when needed and explained what Antonio was trying to say in response. He kissed her cheek and made for the exit as soon as they were finished.

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye-bye, have fun, sweetie,” she called after him, craning her neck to watch him head towards the patio buffet. Night had already fallen outside, and strings of lights were strewn along the ceiling rafters, casting the patio in pale gloom.

Antonio gave Mieke a final wave as he stepped into the dimness. He heard a quiet cough off to his right, down the stairs leading to the dirt path below the deck. “There you are,” he said.

“Smoke?”

He trotted down the stairs without hesitation. “God, yes.”

“Well, it wouldn’t do for the town angel to be smoking around these parts.”

“No.”

“Let’s get outta here then, partner,” Charlotte Finley purred in his ear. She attached herself to his elbow and led him farther into the growing darkness. They skirted the raised platform deck, the party rolling on above their heads, and made their way down towards the river, hand in hand.

§

“Where you been?”

“Gawd, you scared me, Tyler,” Charlotte hissed. She climbed the rocky path through the trees leading up to Buffalo Square, unsteady in her high-heels. The shindig died down hours ago and the courtyard was dark, paltry street lamps giving out small puffs of gnat-ridden incandescence. “Why can’t people just leave some more porch lights on around here?”

“You went off with that foreigner, didn’t you?” her cousin sulked. He was trying to seem tough, but he sounded like the bratty child he was. “Where’d you go?”

“Listen, I don’t mind you sock-hoppin’ along when I’ve got some business to attend to. But don’t try to foxtrot, little brother.”

“I ain’t your brother, and you know it. We’s just cousins. We could even get married, if we wanted.”

“What?” Charlotte laughed, familiar with her cousin’s little crush. “You’re so cute, Ty.” She bent to give him a kiss on his cheek, but he swatted her away.

“Stop it.” He twisted away from her and stalked down the path to the river. She could hear him muttering about finding out what she’d been up to.

“Look, Buster Brown. You had better stay outta things that don’t concern you.”

“Stop baby-talking me!” he screeched, enraged.

“Stop throwing baby-tantrums, then.”

His voice was smothered by forest undergrowth as he tramped towards the river in a string of muttered obscenities.

“Or I’ll give you a spanking,” it was mean, but she couldn’t help it, “you little twerp.” She heard him scream with fury in the distance, before silence fell around her again. “Oh, come on, Tyler. How you gonna get home?”

Charlotte waited, listening for his answer or the sound of returning footsteps. She hoisted herself up onto the low courtyard wall, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. Her feet dangled, and she blew smoke into a cloud of gnats nearby, watching and waiting for Tyler to return.

chapter thirty-three

Candy watched wet clay blur into glassy smoothness as it rotated on the potter’s wheel. She poked a thumb down into the center of the flattened ball to make a doughnut, then eased the hole out wider. Two fingers under the outside pinched a lip and she pulled up a thick, spinning wall between thumb and fingers. She dug her fingernail in and pressed with her thumb. Instant patterns encircled the cylinder. So graceful. When the clay wall became too thin to support its own weight, the tower began to buckle. Candy let her hands go limp and heavy, and the little structure was crushed. “Good-bye.”

It was such a satisfying feeling. She cupped the mound of clay in both hands and braced her elbows against her knees. Her palms forced the rotating clay back into a smooth, centered ball, and she began again. She reached over into the bucket of slip sitting next to her stool and brought out a handful of water for sprinkling. Approving of the next song in her playlist, she shifted her hips to get more comfortable, and noticed her butt was starting to fall asleep.

Jeez, how long have I been throwing?
Throwing pots settled her mind. Her insides felt calm and connected to the earth, enough that she could stop thinking for a while—stop beating herself up for saying all the wrong things to Sam. Stop feeling like an exposed nerve. A live wire. It was over two weeks since she spoke to Sam and she hadn’t seen him once. The empty chasm his absence created felt dulled when she was calm, at least. The pain wasn’t quite as sharp.

Louis bent sideways into her line of vision, hanging his head almost upside down, with his features twisted into a clown face.

“Is that supposed to be funny? You’re freaking me out,” she said over the music playing in her headphones.

Louis clamped his hands over his own ears and pretended to scream, to indicate she was yelling. She decided enough was enough. She wiped her hands on the towel in her lap and shut off her music.

“Candy’s back on Earth. Are you coming to lunch, or are you going to work through it again?”

“No, I’m coming. Let me clean up.” She dumped the bulk of her clay into her bucket and used a rubber rib to scrape the plate before flipping the switch under her wheel.

“Didn’t get any good pieces, after a whole hour?” Louis asked.

“Huh?” Candy realized she hadn’t saved any of her pots, though she’d pulled several beautiful specimens. “Oh…nah. I have all the pieces I need for this week’s assignment already.”

Louis frowned. “You’re so gloomy lately, what’s up?”

Candy shrugged, collecting her tools and not bothering to answer.

“Hey, you should come to youth group this Wednesday—that’ll cheer you up. Pastor Dave even has a live band playing. Why won’t you go anymore, girlfriend?”

“Maybe…” She couldn’t think of anything less cheery than youth group.

“Your buddy Antonio played drums last week.”

Candy walked over to one of the slop sinks to wash out her tools. She felt someone watching her and glanced up to find a couple of girls sitting together at one of the drawing tables. They had been studying her, but when Candy looked over, their eyes darted away and one of them made a shushing hand gesture. She looked at Louis, her mind fully alert. “What was that about?”

His face apologized for the two girls. “You haven’t heard the rumors yet? Tell me it ain’t true—you’re supposed to be in love with me.”

“What’s not true? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Louis.”

“Someone’s spreading the word that you’re gay, darling.”

“What?” Candy almost choked on the irony of it. There she was pining away for Sam, still weak in the knees with her memories, and people were saying that she was a lesbian? She snatched up her things and dragged Louis to the door. “That’s ridiculous, who’s saying that?”

“Some catty bimbo, some catty bimbo’s friends?” He walked out into the hallway and she followed in a daze, her mind reeling.

“You know I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay,” she stopped to face Louis. She wanted him to know she was not upset about the “gay” part. Louis had come out to her at the beginning of that summer; he felt out of place about it in Shirley County and she wanted him to feel comfortable with her. She was the only person who knew, though, so she checked herself in case the little birds were listening. “You know, my Aunt Melinda is gay.”

He laughed and hugged her against him as they walked. “I know what you meant, Candy.”

“If only I didn’t care so much for stupid boys, honestly.”

“I hope I’m not included in that assessment of the male gender.”

“You know you’re not. You’re a man, not a boy.” She stopped talking when a couple of girls ducked their heads into an open locker, giggling as she and Louis walked past. “Oh please. Gimme a break.”

Louis scoffed in wholehearted agreement, then a female voice rang out behind them. “Hi, Tonio.” Candy turned around to see Antonio striding past a pretty senior girl with long, curly blonde locks. He ignored the girl, his eyes fixed on Candy.

“There you are, honey.” He gave Louis five, then took both of Candy’s hands in his and kissed first her left cheek, then her right. The blonde suddenly decided she had forgotten something, and turned a clumsy pirouette. The gigglers gaped at each other in shock and dismay.

“‘Nough of this bull-dookie. I’m starved, let’s get lunch,” Louis insisted.

Antonio held out his hand and said with remarkable fluidity, “Yeah, let’s get outta here.”

Candy accepted and the three of them made their way to the cafeteria. She glanced around for signs of Sam (fruitlessly, of course), simultaneously relishing the jealous eyes darting away in theatrical unconcern. The surprised appraisals of her apparent couple-hood with Antonio were easy to savor. Once in the cafeteria, he even pulled her chair out for her.

The Italian macho thing has its perks.
She sank into the chair, trying to stifle her smile.

He sat down, saddle-style, and scooted his chair closer to hers. Louis made a hasty retreat. She didn’t want Antonio to get the wrong idea, no matter how grateful she was of his chivalry. “Um, Antonio. Thanks for that back there, but you know I don’t…I mean, we’re not really…”

“We are just friends. I know this, Candy.”

“Oh. Well. Good.”

“Your heart belongs to another.” His face revealed no ill feelings, only kindness.

“You know?”

“I know women.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, his big brown eyes creasing at the corners. “You have the…” he gazed far away in the distance, clutching his chest with feigned desperation, “the look in your eyes.”

Candy laughed. His imitation was probably spot-on. “Distant looks? Yeah, I guess I’ve been a little melodramatic lately. Don’t know who it is, though, do you?”

He cocked his head and squinted, considering. “Not John.” She shook her head, smiling. “Though your eyes, eh…” He mimed an explosion with his hands in front of his own eyes, searching for the right word.

“Light up?”

“Yes. Light up, when John is here.”

“I love John, he always makes me happy. Well, usually…” She was still feeling the fool, after John dug up Sam’s history and threw it in her face. She was mostly mad at herself for not knowing what to say in Sam’s defense, though. John was always correct with the details, but he missed the point sometimes. “You’re not disappointed or anything?”

“By love? Never. Seriously, you know I sign the contract?”

Candy swung her knees around to face him. “I heard about that, but I thought it was a joke. Like, you promised not to have ‘relations’ with under-aged girls or something?”

Antonio’s maturity manifested in an instant. “Is no joke. Candy, I come here to learn. My studies are very important, yes?”

She thought about his work-study program in veterinary medicine the previous year, and considered the level of commitment necessary to undertake a year-long foreign language immersion program. He really did seem much older than most of her friends. “I understand. I’m sure they are.”

“But, you are beautiful girl. I cannot tell you this?”

She searched his face for a few beats. He was being genuine. “Yes, you can. Thank you.”

“You are welcome. And,” he clapped his cheeks in mock surprise, as he rose from his seat, “Maybe, I have woman on the side, eh? You never know.” Her eyebrows shot up in astonishment. He sauntered away towards the hot-lunch line, winking at the girls and making hip-level, shooting-gun gestures to the guys.

“Hey, Candy.” She was jerked out of her reverie when Erica dumped her book bag and plopped down in the seat across the table. “I am so glad it’s lunch time.”

“Rough day, already?”

Erica groaned. “It’s just that I already have so much homework, and we’ve only finished fourth period.”

“Yeah, they’re really piling it on this year.” Candy agreed, but she wasn’t in the mood to chat.

“My dad says if I don’t get a better handle on it, then he won’t let me go out on school nights anymore. Even open studios in Ender’s—hey, where were you at the last one, by the way? You never miss First Thursdays.”

“Eh.”

Candy actually had attended, lingering in the outskirts and looking for Sam. After their fight at Rachel’s that day, she skulked around the area for a while, trying to work up the courage to go back and apologize for blowing up on him. She lost the battle, but she went back for the open studios. When she didn’t see any sign of Sam outside once the party started, she figured he was purposely making himself scarce and she took off.

“I saw Sam at Rachel’s studio,” Erica said, barely audible. “Last night.”

Candy froze. Erica knew, of course she knew. She kept her eyes on her lunch bag, excavating its contents and placing sandwich, water bottle and apple before her with care. She wished Erica would say something and end the torturous silence. “You see him more than I do these days, then.” She finally shrugged, trying for nonchalance. She knew it wouldn’t work—Candy never wasted her time with stupid friends.

“I guess he was working. You know, doing Rachel’s bidding,” said Erica, testing the waters. “She keeps him busy.”

Candy rolled her eyes, chopping on her sandwich.
I bet she does.

“Well, I was done in my dad’s workshop, so we talked for a while. He said Rachel helped him get enrolled into a work-study program, and he’ll be doing that for the rest of the year.” Erica seemed to want to add, “I’m sorry,” to her revelation.

“That’s nice to know.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why he…hasn’t been around much, lately.” She trailed off awkwardly.

Candy tried to cool the blush that was surely blooming in her face. How infuriating that Erica had to tell her about the work-study—that she hadn’t already known herself. She sighed, resigned to give up her pride for the reward of more information. “So…I guess he’s doing really well with the glass apprenticeship?”

“I think he is, yeah. I heard Rachel say he really has a knack for it, and he’s willing to work hard, and put in long hours.”

“He’s always worked a lot.”

“Yeah, and Mr. Davis helped push the paperwork through, even though the school year had already started. That’s weird for him to help like that—Mr. Davis is usually such a dick. You should have seen him lecturing his daughter, Missy, right in front of everyone the other day. Poor thing, she looked so embarrassed. I’m so glad my parents don’t work at school.”

“Well. I’m glad Sam’s found something that he likes. He must be really happy?” ventured Candy. Erica had a tendency to get side-tracked.
Just a little more info, please?

“Mmmm…” Erica screwed up her face in calculation as she chewed her lunch. “I don’t know if he seemed happy, exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after everything was closing up, you know? Rachel lets my dad store his bigger instruments in her studio for the night sometimes—Dad was kinda toasted last night, and she has such a big space.” Candy knitted her brows together in frustration. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I was putting Dad’s stuff in the front room and I heard piano music coming from the back.”

A prickle ran up Candy’s spine, from a memory just at the edge of her consciousness. “Piano music?”

“Yeah. So, I kinda crept back there—”

“Why did you creep?”

“It just sounded…I don’t know, like something no one else was supposed to hear. Private, somehow.”

“Why?”

“Well, it was sort of...melancholy.” She searched the ceiling with her eyes. “Really melancholy. Chopin, I think, but I don’t know his music that well. A nocturne or something. Plus, it was pretty late and Ender’s was deserted. Even Rachel had gone home.”

“And it was Sam,” Candy said flatly, certain of it. The memory of his odd behavior when they found that grand piano at the Buffalo Lodge finally clicked into place.

“Did you know he could play?”

She raised her brows and shoulders in defeated admittance. “He never told me he couldn’t.”

“He’s very good. He played in the sort of way that a person does when they really love their instrument, and have been away from it for too long.” Erica would know an accomplished musician when she heard one.

“What did he say when he saw you?”

“Oh, he didn’t. No, I felt sure that he would not have liked me being there—like I had walked in on a personal moment. I crept back out as quiet as I could.” Erica smiled at her own deviousness, proud to deliver an important chunk of information to her friend.

“Thanks, Erica.” Oddly, Candy was unsurprised by the new piece of the Sam puzzle. She was almost comforted; Erica said the music was melancholy. Could he be missing her as much as she was missing him?

“You’ve really never heard him play?”

“Nope.” How could she have heard something for which she had never bothered to listen?

“Here come the menfolk,” Erica warned.

John and Antonio banged their cafeteria trays down, deeply involved in conversation about an imminent football game. She smiled but tuned them out, imagining how Sam would look playing Chopin.
She
knew that music and there was one that was her favorite: Ballade No. 1 in G Minor, Op 23. Was it sick to hope he was playing that one? It was the saddest song in the world.