Better Left Buried (10 page)

There was no time like the present to start.

He
turned on his blinker and took a hard right. “I thought you didn’t care where we went.”

She reached for his hand. “I changed my mind.”
His smile emphasized the dimples in his cheeks. “Left here, and park.”

Oakwood was only a few miles from the school.

“Brea, it’s a cemetery.”

“
Does that bother you?”

“Nope.
Not at all.”

She got out of the Jeep and
pretended not to notice when he shoved something into his pants pocket and covered it with his shirt.

“I’m guessing there’s a story here, right?” He held
out his hand as if waiting for her to lead him.

“Probably more than one.”
She took his hand and walked down the center aisle. “I come here at night sometimes.” She knew the rumors about her and Harmony being involved in some kind of witchcraft.

“To do what?”
He seemed more intrigued than bothered.

“
Not what people think.” She smirked. “Mostly to get away from whatever’s going on with my mother. Ever hear of gravestone rubbings?” He shook his head. “It’s where you put a piece of paper over a headstone and use charcoal to make an impression. You know, like when you were a little kid and you’d rub over a paper and penny with a crayon?”

“That, I remember.”

“Same concept.”

“Why headstones?
Why not something a little less—”

“Morbid? I don’t know. I like the look of them, I guess. I like
seeing what comes up on some of the older ones. You can’t always see the details just by looking at them.” She stopped in front of a headstone bearing the name Earl Miller. “It started with my grandfather.” His stone was black granite with an angel topper and new compared to those around it. “I used to come here and talk to him after he died. I know he can’t hear me, but doing it made me feel better. To know he was here, or at least his body was. His headstone was the first one I traced, so I didn’t have to come here as often. After a while it was enough, you know?”

He pointed to the right.
“My grandparents are somewhere over there.” “I haven’t been here since they were buried, but,” he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, “I have the cards from their funerals.” He handed her two laminated pieces of scripture with names and dates on them.

“So, you don’t think I’m crazy?”

“For missing someone? Why is that crazy? The rest of it might be morbid curiosity, but you wouldn’t be the first person to find a cemetery peaceful.”

She wrapped her arms around hi
m and laid her head against his chest, relieved.

He stroked her hair and looked down, with reverence, at her grandfather’s headstone. “He meant a lot to you, huh?”

She nodded.

“Think he’d like me?”

“I’m sure he would have.” She handed him back the cards and his expression changed. “What’s wrong?”

He put the cards away and lifted his shirt to take out
whatever he had in his pocket.

His nervousness filled her with dread.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not any good at this sort of thing, but I bought you something and this kind of seems like a perfect time to give it to you.” He held out a
Tiffany blue box with a white bow around it.

She
stepped back, uncomfortable taking it.

“Go on.
It’s not going to bite you.”

“Why did you do this?”

“Will you just open it?”

She lifted
the lid and let out an unintentional whimper.

It was beautiful.

“You like it.” He smiled proudly. “I figured you could wear it to prom.” He lifted the silver key necklace out of the box and gestured for her to turn around.

“I could,” she
said, smiling, “but I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

He kissed the back of her neck—a long, slow, lingering kiss—and
said, “You will.”

It was nearly dark by the time they pulled into Brea’s driveway. Two dark figures scurried around behind the living room drapes. The police cruiser parked on the road warned of what she was about to face.

Jaxon’s expression told of a deeper fear, that he, himself was about to incur some sort of wrath. “Your mother called the cops?”

“Worse,” Brea said. “She called my uncle.” She took her cell from her backpack and turned it on. It had been a mistake, shutting it off, but after Harmony refused to stop calling, she didn’t know what else to do. The texts rolled in—seven voicemails—and she wondered why she didn’t just message her mother in the first place.

The
only logical explanation was that it was easier to get forgiveness than permission.

The front door flung open and
her mother ran across the lawn, wearing a business suit and heels. Bits of her dyed red hair hung in tangled strings from the knot at the back of her head and her eyes were swollen. Mascara streaked her face and Brea thought she saw the hint of a shiner. More than her expression, which was a mix of rage and relief, her disheveled appearance had Brea worried.

“She’s going to kill me.” The words sounded more defeated than she’d intended. She set her hand on the door handle, swallowed the lump in her throat, and prepared for the worst.

Her uncle stood as a silhouette behind the screen door; the proverbial second wave, looking on while her mother ranted, ready to kick in when she burned herself out.

The dome light came on as Brea prepared to step into the whirlwind argument.

Jaxon grabbed her sleeve to stop her. “I can fix this.”

Deep inside, all she wanted
was for him to drive away so he didn’t witness the impending meltdown. “No. Definitely not.”

“Please. Let me try.”

Her mother ripped the door out of her hands, dragging her out of the Jeep and onto the driveway. Brea, who had seen it coming, managed to keep her feet under her, but barely.

In all Brea’s years her mother had never laid a hand on her, but her temper was legendary and more than one dish had paid the price for it.

“Mom, I can explain.”

“Explain! I missed the Planning Boar
d meeting tonight and I wasted half the day driving all over town looking for you after Principal Anderson called me in a panic.” It was as if she didn’t see Jaxon sitting there, slack jawed and wide-eyed. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince the town to even give this position to a single mother?” Brea expected the single mother card to be played much later. As confident a woman as Joan Miller was in most regards, she treated raising Brea alone as if she was the first woman on Earth to attempt such a feat. “Uncle Jim’s been worried sick. Do you know what this kind of stuff does to his ulcer? Do you even care?” Uncle Jim’s ulcer was the second trick in the arsenal. “We’ve got half the cops in Reston out looking for you. Where have you been? I’ve been calling—”

“It was my fault.” Jaxon
spoke up, quietly and in a tone laced with doubt.

“
No one asked you,” Joan snapped, back peddling the minute she realized it was Jaxon. “Oh, God.” She let go of Brea’s sleeve, which she’d wrapped around her clenched fist and had been shaking her with. “I didn’t realize—”

“It’s all right. I should have made sure she called.” Jaxon turned
on the Winslow charm full-strength.

“You didn’t tell me.” A look of approval overshadowed the irate madness.

“I should have said I was with Jaxon. I’m sorry. I thought you’d be mad that I left school. I didn’t answer my phone because I shut it off after the fight I had with Harmony.”

Her mother softened, smiling as if she’d won some kind of double prize.

There was an out.

Even if she had to
admit that Harmony was a bad person and that Jaxon was as great a guy as her mother thought he was, she’d bear the humiliation of her mother being right if it meant there was forgiveness on the other side of it.

“A fight?
Principal Anderson said you were upset. I thought the worst. And when the attendance office called me this morning, I thought you must’ve been with
her
.”

Jaxon shook his head
. “She’s been with me all day, Ms. Miller.”

“Oh, please. Call me Joan.”

Her mother had never once let a friend of hers call her by her first name.

“And this fight? Are you in trouble at school?”

“No, Mom.” Brea wanted to tell her mother that the principal would have informed her had that been the case, but she knew better. As the argument burnt itself out, she went from nervous wreck to mortified.

“Everything all right?”
Uncle Jim called out from the open front door. He was wearing his navy blue uniform and the same severe stare her mother had come out with. His dark eyes narrowed, deepening the ridges on his forehead, and unlike her mother, he seemed more upset than pleased to see Jaxon.

“It was a misunderstanding, Jim. I’m sorry. I panicked.”

Sorry?

Brea couldn’t believe she was hearing right. Joan Miller did
not
apologize.

“Then you don’t mind if I get going? There’s a situation needs taking care of.”

Joan excused him with the wave of her hand. “I can handle it from here. Please, thank everyone for me.”

Had he put out an APB?

“Will do.” Uncle Jim put on his hat and got into the cruiser. He opened the passenger’s side window and focused his hard stare on Brea. “We’re going to have a talk about this tomorrow, young lady.” He leered at Jaxon.

“Yes, sir.” She knew she wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

Ja
xon put his key in the ignition and the door chimes sounded. He looked smugly pleased that he’d done all he could. “I’d better get going, too.”

“Absolutely not.”
Joan’s stare fixed on the key necklace Brea was wearing. “I want to hear about this day of yours and this fight. You know, I’d owe you if you could get her away from that girl," she said to Jaxon, “God knows I’ve tried.” Brea rolled her eyes as her mother smoothed back her hair and gently wiped under her eyes. “I must look terrible. God, Brea, you’re going to age me fifteen years, I swear it. Jaxon, will you stay and have something to eat with us? I’m sure I can whip something up or we can order a pizza. Do you like pizza?” She was halfway back to the house, buzzing like a hummingbird.

“Whatever you have will be fine, thank you.”

Joan hurried inside with the determination of someone tasked with something important.

Jaxon
waited for her to disappear to start laughing. “She sure hates Harmony’s ass.”

“You don’t know the half of it.
” Brea held her hand to her forehead. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. We all have parents. Maybe not as neurotic as yours, but I get it.”

“Thank you, really.” Her thanks weren’t just meant for the necklace, or the day, or saving her from her mother’s wrath. They were for him helping her forget the terrible morning she’d been trying to convince herself had never happened. “You really helped me out.”

“You’re welcome.” Jaxon
pressed his lips to hers, catching her off-guard. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes to reach him, and kissed him back, lingering for a long moment in the aftermath. “But all the talk about this morning has me curious. Not that I’m not grateful Harmony pushed you right to me, but are you ever going to tell me what started the fight?”

“Not if I can help it.”
In a million years she couldn’t describe what she’d seen without sounding crazy. They walked hand-in-hand toward the house and the front porch light flickered. A cold finger traced her spine, stopping her dead in her tracks.

“What’s the matter
? You okay?” She clamped down on his hand, hard. “Ouch. Brea, what’s wrong?”

The sidelight glowed like a thousand watt sun
then puffed out.

There,
behind her front door, was the shadowy figure she had vehemently denied existed.

Harmony slammed her phone down with a frustrated growl. “Jaxon Winslow of all people! How could she have left with him?”

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know the guy.”

“You don’t have to know him to know what a piece of shit he is. He’s a spoiled-ass rich kid who thinks he’s entitled to whatever he wants. He’s going to hurt her. Mark my words. He’s going to break her heart. This whole thing is probably a goddamned joke between him and his friends.”

“Sounds like the plot of an eighties movie.
Maybe you’re overreacting.” Adam’s joking made her angrier.

“
Overreacting? The guy’s a world-class jerk. His ex has been threatening and harassing Brea. He’s probably behind the whole thing.