Love You to Death (7 page)

The waitress brought me another soda, my
third. I nodded at her because my mouth was full. She smiled at me
then cast a quizzical look at Cass. She didn’t have to say
anything. I knew we looked like an odd couple.

He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved knit
shirt that matched his eyes. I had on jeans too, but they were well
worn, and the blouse I’d stolen from the Banana Republic had that
never-been-washed look, crisp and new. I figured it looked like
what it was: poorly thrown together.

I turned my plate around and started on the
cornmeal spoon bread. I saved it for last because it was my
favorite. I hummed with appreciation. Cass smiled, observing me
happily from across the table, sipping his beer.

“I’ve never seen anyone so into their food
before.” He smiled.

I shrugged my shoulders, more than a little
conscious of my table manners.

“It wasn’t an insult. Food should be
appreciated.”

“I wanted to be a chef,” I said, before I
could catch myself.

“Really?” His surprise was genuine.

I shrugged again. I didn’t want to get
personal with him. It was enough to be indebted to him for
necessities, like my sneakers and winter wear. He didn’t need to
know my hopes and dreams.

“Chef Arden,” he murmured, tilting his head
up, staring off into space. “I could see that.”

Sometimes I couldn’t believe how sweet he
could be. I found myself beginning to like him. I knew this was a
bad idea, for so many reasons, mostly because of the warning bells
still going off in the back of my head.

“What are you doing, Arden?” He leaned in,
his elbows resting on each side of his plate, his eyes serious.

“What do you mean?” I swallowed the last bite
of spoon bread and reached for my soda.

“You’re eighteen. You didn’t graduate. You
live on the streets. You can’t live like this forever.”

I raised my brow quizzically.

“Okay, so maybe you could, but do you want
to?” He said this very matter-of-fact, but the look in his eyes was
soft and sincere.

The soda burned its way down my throat,
coating the lump rising there. No, I didn’t want to live like this
forever. I just couldn’t figure out how to get out of it. I
couldn’t get a job without a place to live, and I couldn’t get a
place to live without a job. I cast my eyes downward, swirling the
melting ice around in my glass with my straw.

“I want to help you,” he said the words
slowly, letting them linger between us. “I see kids like you all
the time. The difference between them and you is your spirit.
You’re a survivor, Arden. You’re beaten, but you aren’t
broken.”

He reached across the table, covering my hand
with one of his. He stroked it with the pad of his thumb. I steeled
myself for the tears that threatened to fall. I refused to cry,
especially in front of him. Once was enough.

“I don’t need your kind of help,” I said
thickly.

He snorted quietly, still rubbing his thumb
over the back of my hand. “You think you know everything.”

My eyes snapped to his; gray storm clouds met
summer sky blue.

“I know more than you think.” I said, yanking
my hand back.

“That chip on your shoulder isn’t helping
you. You think I don’t know the dynamics of your situation?” He
kept his eyes on mine, resting his chin on his fist. I stared
mutinously at him.

“There’s that spunk. I told you, you have
spirit.” He wagged his finger at me, as if I were a naughty child.
“You need a job, but no one gives a job to someone without a
permanent address. Am I right?”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. He always knew
what I was thinking.

“See, I know more than you think, too,” he
grinned.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you so bent on helping me? What do
you want?”

He didn’t answer me right away. He looked at
his beer; the glass was covered in condensation. He traced a finger
down the side, leaving a streak through the wet.

“I like you, Arden. I see so much promise in
you.” He looked up at me from under his thickly lashed eyes. “Can’t
a person simply want to help another person?”

A spark of hope ignited inside of me. I was
so tired of always looking over my shoulder. My life was a constant
torrent of wondering about all the possible dangers lurking around
every corner. It was wearing me down.

“How would you help me?” I asked,
concentrating hard on the straw in my soda.

“I want you to move in with me,” he said
calmly.

I could feel the weight of his stare but
didn’t dare look at him. The small flicker of hope I had curled up
and died like a leaf in winter. My disappointment charged the anger
that was always simmering just underneath the surface. I took the
napkin from my lap and threw it on the table. I slid out of the
booth, and without looking back, I swiftly made my way to the door.
I heard him curse.

I pushed the door open, readying myself for
the cold night air. It hit full force, rustling through my hair
like grabby fingers, stealing through the loose gaps between the
buttons of my stolen shirt. Without thinking, I’d left my coat and
mittens behind, a big mistake on my part. Something I never do. I
always think of my coat. But I’d allowed myself to get comfortable.
I opened myself up to trust. And fell through the rabbit hole, once
again.

I pounded down the sidewalk. I wasn’t going
back to his car, but I had to cut through the parking lot to get to
the road. The tears surprised me. They trickled down my face,
collecting in cold splashes at the bottom of my neck.

Why did they all have to be the same? Why
did I let myself think he’d be different? Was it too much to ask
for a little platonic kindness?
I hated my looks. I hated the
heavy raven-black hair that always seemed to attract their
attention. I hated the pixie face, that even twenty pounds
underweight, made the men smile with a hard glint in their
eyes.

“Don’t go by sweet whispers and puppy dog
eyes. It’ll only bring you heartache. Use your head first.”
These were the words my mother had told me.

I swiped at the tears and picked up the pace.
I was a mile into my walk on Honeygo Boulevard, when the purr of a
racing motor sounded behind me. The tires crunched on loose gravel
as the car pulled onto the side of the road.

“Arden, what do you think you’re doing?” Cass
yelled from behind me, getting out of the car.

I didn’t answer him. I took off running. His
footsteps echoed behind me. It didn’t take him long. He was in
great shape. I wasn’t. His fingers clutched at my shoulders, and
then his arms were around me, trapping me.

“You’re freezing!” he shouted over my
protests. I shivered in his embrace. He steered me back to the car.
I struggled to break free of his grip.

“Stop it!” he ordered. It was useless to
fight him. I let him lead me to the car.

“Stubborn little fool,” he whispered, folding
me into the car. Once he settled into the driver’s seat, he blasted
the heat. My teeth were chattering. I put on the mittens and
covered myself with my coat. He shoved the car into first gear,
throwing gravel as he sped forward.

“That was the dumbest thing you’ve done in a
while,” he fumed. I silently agreed, but only because I’d forgotten
my coat. “After all this time you still think the worst of me?” he
continued, taking his frustration out on the gears. “What is it
going to take to make you trust me?”

I stared into my lap. I didn’t know what to
say. I had no answer for him. I didn’t know how to trust anyone
anymore.

“Silent treatment again? It’s getting pretty
old,” he complained.

“What is it you want from me? You wanna be my
boyfriend, is that it?” I asked solemnly, turning to stare out the
window into the night. I watched the scenery pass by in a shadowy
blur. He didn’t answer me right away. The silence seemed to stretch
out forever.

“Would that be so bad?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me how much you
love me?” I snorted sarcastically.

“I would if it was the truth,” he said,
slowing for a stop light. I gave him points for honesty.

“So you want me to be your sex slave? You
think because I’m homeless I must be a slut?” I instantly regretted
saying it out loud. If he hadn’t thought of it I certainly didn’t
want to give him any ideas.

The light changed, but Cass didn’t move. A
driver honked its horn behind us. Cass smiled, shaking his head,
and eased through the light.

“Is that why they call you Cherry?” he
asked.

“No,” I snapped, my face burning with the
heat of embarrassment.

“It is,” he chuckled. It was a friendly sound
but to me it was insulting. “For your information, I knew you were
a virgin. You pretty much look like a good girl, even under the
street attitude.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

I turned slightly—pretending to look out the
windshield—as I let my eyes slide left to look at him. Cass’s face
was awash in pale green light from the console. His features were
set in a serious expression. He wasn’t mocking me.

“Then explain why you want me to live with
you.”

“I can’t,” he sighed.

“That’s what I thought.” I crossed my arms
over my chest.

“No. I mean I don’t know how to explain it. I
just want to help you.”

“It’s more than that. You’ve made comments
about my looks, and I know what that look is... the one you give me
sometimes. I’m not stupid.”

“C’mon, Arden, I’m a man. I can’t appreciate
a beautiful girl?” He laughed. “Have I made any improper
advances?”

I thought about this. Actually, no, he
hadn’t. I shook my head.

“There you go. I haven’t done or said
anything inappropriate to you.”

“Then what is this all about?” I said,
looking questioningly at him. None of it made sense.

“When I was younger my cousin ran away. We
never heard from her again. Seeing you... well, it makes me wonder.
Was she like you? Is she all right? Did anyone help her?” He was
speaking in hushed tones. “I like to hope so.”

His story tugged on my heartstrings. I felt
lousy for thinking the worst of him. He really wanted to do the
right thing. I still didn’t trust him. Although, I had to admit, if
I wanted out of my bad situation, and off the streets, I had to let
someone help me. Why not him? After all, it wouldn’t be
forever.

“How would it work?” I mumbled, scared.
Reaching out for help was humbling. “I mean, I’d have my own room,
right?” With a lock.

“Yep. I was thinking it would be somewhere
between roommates and foster care.”

“Like a big brother?” I suggested.

“Exactly,” he nodded happily, “there would be
rules.”

“Aren’t there always?” I offered him a tight
smile.

“I was thinking you could move in whenever
you like. I guess I thought the sooner the better, since it’s
getting colder by the day.”

“What are the rules?” Better get that out of
the way.

“You have to get your GED. Once that’s taken
care of, I thought you might get a part-time job, maybe take some
classes. I don’t expect you to pay rent or anything until you get
yourself settled.”

I listened to him talk about community
college and all the great opportunities for me. I was going to be
able to relax a little. I’d have a bed to sleep in again. Hot
showers anytime I wanted one. No more sleeping during the day and
staying up all night. Part of me wanted to get out of the car and
do a little victory dance, but the other part of me, the one
usually in charge, was still holding back waiting for the ball to
drop.

Chapter
Seven

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave Stewie. He
had no one but me to take care of him. Lying on my side, facing a
sleeping Stewie on a cot beside mine, I watched him dream. He was
smiling and had a thin line of drool flowing over his chin onto his
pillow.

The sun was glaring in through the windows,
warm and comforting in the drafty wide-open room. It was a little
after two in the afternoon. I’d made sure Stewie got his lunch: ham
and cheese on stale white bread. Then used some baby wipes to clean
him up and tucked him in.

I couldn’t sleep. I was too busy thinking
about Cass and how mad he was when I explained to him that I
wouldn’t leave Stewie. He’d railed, and ranted, and finally turned
on his heel with a “Fine!” over his shoulder and bolted out the
door.

That was two days ago. I resigned myself to
the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I let myself
drift off, escaping my grim reality.

I woke up with someone shaking my
shoulder.

“Cherry? It’s dark out. I’m hungry,” Stewie
whispered in my ear. I rolled over, burrowing deeper under the
scratchy wool blanket.

“I’m hungry,” he whined louder.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my
eyes. Stewie stood over me, rocking back and forth on the balls of
his feet, wringing his hands together. I stood up with a groan,
stretching out the kinks in my back.

“Can we have pancakes today?” he asked,
looking concerned.

“I don’t know, we’ll have to see,” I said,
yawning. There was an all-night diner a few blocks away. One
waitress treated us a meal if we happened in on one of her
nights.

The clock mounted on the wall told me it was
almost 9:00. I tossed my pack over my shoulder and led Stewie to
the door. The street was quiet as we walked past the empty
buildings. Shops had closed up for the night, lowering the metal
gates over their windows and doors. A few residential places had
windows trimmed in light around pulled shades.

We turned the corner and crossed the street.
The diner’s neon sign flickered brightly. Stewie picked up the
pace. I smiled to myself. It didn’t take much to please him. As our
good fortune would have it, Estelle, our friendly waitress, winked
at us from behind the counter.