“You can help with the stuffing.”
I nod and fluff the pan full of stuffing with a fork, and pour it out into a serving dish. It’s the stuff in a box, nothing fancy. Besides the potatoes, there’s some baked sweet potatoes and real cranberry sauce bubbling in a smaller saucepan. In spite of myself, my mouth starts watering at the smells. The turkey looks damned good, too. The skin is a nice crackling brown.
Looking at it, I feel my stomach sink.
There was a time when I enjoyed this. This big Sunday meal was the highlight of my week. My mom could cook; she could put a trained chef to shame and make anything, even stuff like beef wellington and soufflés and everything.
As Helen stands there mashing the potatoes in grim silence, the kitchen as it is fades from my sight and is replaced with the kitchen from my mind. Bright and airy, sunlight streaming in as Mom sweats over some part of the meal.
A twinge in my gut snaps me out of it as I realize that Alexis never ate with us before I left town. Mom said yes, Dad said no, family only. I wanted her to eat dinner with us so bad, especially after she lost her father. There was room for her, but she wasn’t invited. She never asked me about it, either.
So, when I carry the big bowl of potatoes out into the dining room, it’s a bit of a shock to see her sitting there next to her sister. Lance walks in the room just as I do and our father shoots him an annoyed look as he sits down next to May and pulls up his chair.
“You’re late.”
Lance shrugs. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
He gives me a look of his own as I walk back into the kitchen and carry out the stuffing in one hand and green beans in the other. By the time I head back, Helen has finished slicing the turkey and gives me the serving platter, then follows me out with the butter in the gravy.
God it all smells good.
My stomach twists as I sit down facing Alexis and picture that pot of coffee sitting on the counter, the last time I saw my mother. I shoot my father a glance before I can stop myself and sigh when I remember how this works. Every plate and bowl will be passed from person to person.
Nobody says grace, or anything like that. My father serves himself, passes the turkey to Lance, and the dishes start going around. They come to me last and I pile up a heaping portion of everything, leaving enough so anyone can have seconds.
After years of Navy food, I don’t care where it comes from, I’ll take a home cooked meal. My father breaks the silence with the sound of a knife on his plate and everyone at the table digs in.
May attacks her plate and Alexis elbows her, to slow her down.
“Alexis, would you pass the salt?”
She gives me a sharp look, picks up the salt shaker like she plans to stab me with it, and slaps it hard on the table in front of me. I shake some out over my food, tear a dinner roll open and smear butter on it.
“This week,” my father announces as he slices his meat, “We will be holding our first major campaign event. I expect everyone to be there.”
He looks at me now, as he takes one long dragging slice through a piece of meat, spears it, and raises it impaled on the end of his fork. His gaze never slips from me.
“You’ll all be representing me. I can’t stress how important this is.”
He chews thoughtfully.
“What sort of event?” Alexis asks, softly.
“I’ll be giving a speech at the fire hall. I don’t expect to have to do much stumping.”
“You
are
running unopposed,” Lance snickers.
“You find that amusing?”
“I don’t see the point of all the pomp and circumstance,” he says. “Everyone in town knows you’re going to be mayor. Waste of time and money if you ask me.”
“You have something better to do?”
He shrugs. “I might.”
“I doubt that. If I didn’t find busywork for you with the company, you’d spend your days lazing about or fraternizing with bar sluts.”
“Thanks, dad.”
I don’t say a thing, I just eat. Alexis keeps looking at me; I try not to meet her glances.
“Sorry we can’t all be war heroes,” Lance grumbles.
I feel something touch my leg.
Alexis smirks around a bite of potatoes and looks away from me. That’s her foot, rubbing my calf.
Damn it. Is she out of her mind?
“I can’t wait,” Helen says, a hint of tension in her voice. “I’m so proud of you, darling. A man of ambition.”
Alexis frowns, and her foot pulls away.
Wait a minute, I’m not the one who said it.
Her mother must have hit a sore spot. Her shoulders hunch and she leans on the table, swirling a piece of turkey around in gravy and mashed potatoes. I nod at her.
“If you’re not going to eat that, I’ll take it.”
“Go to hell,” she says in a flat voice.
“Alexis!” Helen snaps.
My father leans back, eyes appraising.
Alexis drops her fork with a clatter on her plate and shoves it towards me.
“Here, knock yourself out. I had turkey for lunch. Can I go?”
“No,” Helen snaps.
“Yes,” my father says. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”
Shrugging, I pull the plate of food across the table and eat what Alexis left behind as she drags herself up the stairs. A few seconds later her door slams loudly enough to echo off the walls. Helen sits perfectly still, her fork trembling slightly.
“Keep your forks,” my father says, “there’s pie.”
“I’m sure she’s just in a mood,” Helen says, her voice shaking.
“She’s fine,” my father sighs. “Long day yesterday and I dragged her to a business lunch today.”
“I’m not really a pie mood,” May says softly, pushing back her empty plate. “Can I go?”
“May I,” Helen corrects. “Clear the table and bring out the pie first.”
Sighing, May rises and stacks the empty plates until she’s struggling with them, stacked against her chest. I almost stand to help her, but Lance is watching me, his eyes locked on me for some reason. I sit back and let May carry out the serving dishes.
“Set those in the fridge so I can keep the leftovers,” Helen says, idly.
May deposits two pies on the table, a cherry and a lemon chiffon, and stands by them.
“I can go, right?”
Helen scowls.
“Go,” my father says, absently. “Howard,” he uses my given name pointedly, “Pass down that lemon pie.”
I set it in front of him and stand up, and pat my stomach.
“I like to stay in fighting trim.”
“Suit yourself. Helen bakes a fine pie.”
I start towards the stairs and Lance sneers.
“Following Alexis?”
“No,” I say without missing a beat, “Heading out back.”
I manage to pass the stairs without stumbling, thump across the back deck and down the old wooden steps, and stand in the yard.
Something makes a rhythmic sound over my shoulder. Sighing, I turn and look up to see Alexis hanging out her window, scowling at me. She beckons with her hand. I nod, but sit on the back step and lean back, sighing.
I can’t just run right up there, it’s too fucking obvious. I hear the same noise, Alexis’ hand slapping on the side of the house. Sighing I stand up and walk back into the house. Helen ignores me as she scoops mashed potatoes and pours gravy into Tupperware, and the dining room is clear. I trudge up the steps, pausing to look around before I swing over and tap Alex’s door with my knuckles, lightly.
The door snaps open and she tugs me inside by the arm, closes the door softly and locks it, then lets out a breath.
She turns around and covers her mouth with her hand, a strangled little sob coming out of her mouth.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, so softly. “Hawk I can’t take it, I can’t stand him. Did you hear what he called me?”
“What?
“Sweetheart,” she hisses. “I can’t fucking stand it. If you ever call me that I will kick you in the balls, I swear.”
“I believe it.”
As she hugs herself, I rest my hands on her shoulders. She freezes, then relaxes a little.
“We shouldn’t be in here together,” she sighs.
“Who fucking cares?” I whisper.
I duck in to kiss her and she pulls back. “We have to be careful, Hawk. I want to talk to my friends about this rally thing. I think we need to follow Tom if he leaves tonight, too. See where he goes, who he’s meeting with.”
“I’ll do it. You stay here.”
“No. I have to see this through.”
“Why? Let me handle it.”
She pulls out of my hands. “It’s my fight too, Hawk. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of my family living in fear of that monster.”
Her voice softens. “He took my mom away from me. He took you away from me.”
“How long did it take before they got married? After I left.”
“You were gone in what, June? They married in October. A few months.”
I sit on her bed. “I thought they hated each other.”
Alexis sighs and sits next to me. “So did I. Not that they were around each other much.”
“Jesus,” I whisper. “Alex, what if they acted that way for our benefit?”
She looks at me, fear in her eyes. Her voice is barely a whisper. I have to strain to hear.
“Do you think he killed your mom so he could marry mine? It was only like a year after she died.”
I clench my fists and bite my lip.
“Maybe.”
“God. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. She doesn’t seem… she’s weird. Was she always like that?”
“They were only married for two months when she signed the papers to have me committed to a psych ward, Hawk. I’ve never been close with her and it was really rough after dad died. You remember.”
“Yeah.”
I remember.
The little apartment they shared was like a tomb. I was only sixteen myself, I had no idea what the hell was going on. Alex would just sit there and stare and it was like May refused to believe that her father was gone. She was what, ten at the time?
“How can we follow Tom without him noticing?” Alexis says.
I blink. “What? Oh, right. My truck?”
She gives me an annoyed look. “Hawk, we might as well follow him in a fire engine with the siren going.”
“Don’t you have a car?”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “My Honda. Wouldn’t he spot us following him? I mean we’d be leaving from the same place.”
“Not if we hang back. Maybe park it on the street?”
“I don’t know, Hawk.”
“It’ll be dark. He won’t see us. You can still stay behind if you want.”
“Not a chance in hell,” she says, folding her arms.
“Fine. Be ready to go any moment, we don’t know when he’s planning to leave.”
She nods.
This time I head out the door, rather than climb up. I peer out into the hallway and head upstairs quickly, watching to see if someone spotted me. The coast is clear, looks like. Now I just have to get ready and wait.
Alexis
Now
This is nuts, I shouldn't be doing this. I should let somebody else handle it. I should call Jennifer and tell her what's going on.
No. This is my responsibility. I have to see Tom Richardson go to prison. I have to know my sister and Hawk will be safe.
Hawk may not be afraid of his father anymore, but I am. So I pace my bedroom, walking from the door to the edge of the bed and back again, and back again, and back again. Seeing as it's July, the sun is going to go down late, and I pace for hours, stopping only to rest and pace some more. Then I hear the tapping on my window and open it and Hawk slides into my room, dressed for sneaking, which apparently means a
black
t-shirt and jeans and his freaking combat boots.
He scoots across the bed and stands up, stretches, and yawns into his hand. I pace away from him and his hands shoot out and take my arms just above the elbows. I struggle for a second but fall into him as he pulls me towards him, my back against his chest, and he slips his arms around me and rests his chin on my head.
I can feel my pulse against his arms, slowing as he holds me. He doesn't say anything, but turns his head down to breathe in my hair, taking in my scent. I rest my hands on his wrists and mold against him with a soft sigh. No matter how complicated I feel about him right now, this is too reassuring and calming to give up. It's like he's made of stone and I feel surrounded and safe.
"When do you think he'll leave?"
Hawk shrugs, his body moving against mine as he does. He lets go and turns to sit on the bed, watching through my window. I click my light off, lift the shade and sit cross-legged next to him.
"We can't go through the house. What if Lance sees us?"
"We're not going out through the door. I'll show you."
"You want me to climb down the side of the house?"
"It's not hard."
"Maybe we should go now," I sigh. "If we try after he leaves we'll lose him."
Hawk turns and stares out the window. There's something distant in his gaze, almost vacant. Beyond the glass, Paradise Falls is starting to light up for the night, a glow popping into windows as lamps turn on. In the distance, it looks like stars reaching out into the dark beyond. Outside of town, away from the buildings, it's pitch black at night, the dark so deep you can't see your hand in front of your face. Hawk taps my back with his fingers and I flinch.
"You're right. Come on. We'll hide out in the yard. Got your keys?"
"Yeah."
He lifts the window sash and climbs out, shuffles to the side, so he's peering around the edge of the window frame. He lowers his voice.
"Swing your legs out. I won't let you fall."
"What do I do?"
"Put your feet on the wall and feel. There's a strip of molding under the window that’ll hold you. Keep a tight grip on the frame."
I nod and take a deep breath, scoot across the bed and slip my legs into the open air. Realizing I'm going to go out backwards, I roll around onto my stomach and slither across the blankets until I can swing my legs down and probe along the wall. Hawk puts his hand on the small of my back and I feel the molding he's talking about, like a shelf, about half as wide as my shoes. I slip out a little further and reach back to grip the window frame, and my heart speeds up.
It starts pounding as I squeeze the old wood in my fingers and hear it creak as I stick my butt out in the air, swing my head under the sash, and stand up, holding on for dear life. Hawk nods at me and I shuffle to the side a little, carefully gripping the windowsill, and he pulls the sash down until it's about an inch above my hands.