Chapter Sixteen
“YOU’RE A VERY good girl,” Stacey told Bay as she clipped the dog’s nails. The Doberman lay on the floor, patiently enduring what Stacey suspected was less than professional level grooming.
She’d never considered herself much of a pet person before, but Bay made it easy. The dog was attentive, smart and had excellent communication skills. She spent a couple of days a week over at Harper’s house, hanging out with her friends. Stacey wasn’t sure how that would change when the puppies were born.
“You’ll be busy with your own family,” she told the dog. “Then when I have Joule, Kit will be home with you all day and I think you’ll like that.”
Bay’s brown eyes locked on her face, as if the dog didn’t want to miss a word.
“The vet says you’re doing really well with your pregnancy,” Stacey continued. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone in the family room, then lowered her voice. “I’m expecting to learn a lot from you on the baby front. Not so much the actual giving birth part, but after. How you take care of them. I’m still not feeling any kind of connection with Joule and I don’t know when that’s supposed to happen.”
She had more to discuss with the dog, but stopped talking when she heard footsteps in the hall. Ashton walked into the family room and sat on the large sectional. He was pale and looked uneasy.
“Do you have a second?” he asked, avoiding her gaze.
“Of course. What’s wrong?”
“I heard from my mom. They let her call me, which means she’s doing better in rehab.” He laced his fingers together, then pulled them apart and jumped to his feet. He paced to the window, then turned back.
“She wants me to ask Kit for money, and then send it to her. I’m not supposed to tell him it’s going to her because he would never send her any. Not after all those other times, but she says he won’t refuse me.”
He was right, Stacey thought. Kit had been dealing with his sister’s drug problem for decades. He’d spoken to drug counselors enough to know that he couldn’t participate in her cycle of destruction. But while he wouldn’t give his sister a penny, he would definitely give Ashton whatever he needed. Hence the problem.
Stacey finished with Bay and carefully collected all the clippings on a paper towel before moving to the sectional. What was she supposed to say? She didn’t know Ashton’s mother or what he wanted to do. She felt as if there were hidden questions or concerns in what he was saying. Should she ask? Make assumptions, although that never went well. Not when it came to interpersonal situations. If only Harper were here. She would know what to say.
But Harper wasn’t here, and Stacey knew she couldn’t ask Ashton to put his feelings on hold until someone better equipped was around to help him deal.
“You know the situation with your mother isn’t your fault,” she began.
He nodded. “I know. Whatever makes her do drugs happened long before I was born.” He joined her on the sofa and angled toward her. “But it’s still hard, you know? She’s my mom.”
“Because while you can say it’s not your fault you still feel guilty?” she asked, hoping she was going in the right direction.
His mouth twisted. “Something like that.”
She touched her stomach. “I get that. I’m the one who’s pregnant but in my heart, I think of this baby as Kit’s.”
The words came out with no warning. She blinked several times, not able to believe she’d said that out loud.
Ashton gave her a slight smile. “Not surprising, Stacey. You can’t even tell your mom you’re pregnant. You should really get on that.”
“I know.” She sighed. “Okay, so we’ve established we’re both bad at this. How can I help?”
He hesitated. “Just listening helps.”
A total lie, she thought. If he was comfortable making a decision on his own, he wouldn’t have come to her. He wanted her to make the decision for him. But which one?
“All right,” she said slowly. “How about this? You can’t have the money. I’m going to tell Kit what’s going on, so he won’t give it to you and I won’t give it to you, either.”
Ashton shocked her by completely relaxing. All the worry and tension left his body and he sagged against the back of the sofa.
“Thanks, Stacey. I really appreciate that.”
She’d guessed right? She was still trying to absorb that when he upped the shock factor by adding, “I shouldn’t be surprised. You always know what to say to me.”
“I do?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “Kit was lucky to find you. I remember when we first met. He told me who you were before I came to visit. I looked you up online and read a couple of your papers.” He chuckled. “Okay, I tried to read them but couldn’t. Still, I was really interested in what you were doing. I started thinking about studying science in college, which is how I found my way to engineering.”
“I didn’t know that,” she admitted, not sure what else to say. She hadn’t thought she could influence someone in her family. Mostly everyone didn’t have a clue as to what she was doing, and if they did, they weren’t very interested. Not Kit, of course, but he was different.
Ashton leaned toward her, his hands loosely laced between his open knees. “Thanks again for letting me stay here with you. Mischief Bay is great. I like my job, and you and Kit are easy to be with.” He grinned. “And there’s Becca, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed automatically, before the truth of that statement settled in her brain. “Oh my God, you’re dating!”
“What?” He straightened. “No, we’re hanging out. Just friends.” He hesitated, then flushed. “I mean I like her and all, but we’re...”
Stacey waited.
His lips moved, but he didn’t speak. Finally, he drew in a breath and looked at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I tried to keep that from you. Habit, I guess. It’s always easier if my foster family or my mom don’t know anything about my personal life. It’s different here and sometimes I forget. Yes, Becca and I are dating.”
Stacey wanted to bolt, or scream, or both. “Does Harper know?”
“I have no idea. We haven’t been keeping it a secret or anything.”
Stacey tried to work the problem. Becca was sixteen, nearly seventeen. She would be a senior in high school next year. Having a boyfriend was completely normal, and Ashton was a conscientious, age-appropriate teenage boy.
“I’m comfortable with you dating my niece,” she said. “But I do have expectations I need you to meet.”
Ashton looked more curious than concerned. “Sure. What?”
“You need to be sexually responsible.”
He stood so abruptly, Bay got on her feet and began looking for danger. Stacey wondered if he would be the one bolting now. He glanced at the door, then sank back on the sofa. Stacey called the Doberman over and had her snuggle with her on the couch.
“We’re not having sex,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “Jeez, Stacey, I thought you were going to say to call when I said I was going to or something.”
“That, too, but the sexual component can have lasting consequences for both of you. I expect you to use a condom when you have sexual intercourse with Becca.”
“We’re not having sex,” he repeated.
“Not yet, but you’re young and healthy and hormones are very powerful. We’ve actually looked at them in my work, but they didn’t help with...” She sighed. “Not the point. As I was saying, I expect you to—”
She looked at him. “Has anyone ever talked to you about sex?”
He groaned. “I know what goes where.”
Which was the least of it. Who would have explained things to him? Not his mother. She doubted any of the foster families got close enough to have any kind of discussion with him. If he and Kit had ever discussed sex, Kit would have mentioned it to her.
“All right,” she began slowly as she organized her thoughts. “I will mention a few key points, and then we’ll be done. First, use a condom every time. If you give me the name of your preferred brand, I’ll make sure they are always available in your bathroom. If you don’t want to choose, I’ll do some research and pick for you.”
He buried his face in his hands. “Is there more?”
“Yes, there is. Don’t push. It’s more than no means no. If the girl is reluctant, then stop. Go home and masturbate. It’s not like you don’t know how. Studies have shown that sexual release can be very therapeutic.”
Ashton made a strangled sound deep in his throat, but otherwise didn’t speak.
“Girls are not whores or there for your amusement. I can’t see you participating in some gang rape, but even a girl who’s drunk and saying yes shouldn’t be considered an available partner.” She softened her tone. “Be a good guy, Ashton. Like your uncle. Always aim for the decision that makes you proud of yourself.”
She paused, wondering what else she should mention. “Are you familiar with the female clitoris and how to stimulate it so that your partner has an orgasm? Oral sex can be very helpful with this. I can direct you to a few articles if you want to—”
He stood and glared at her. “Are we done?”
“You don’t want to discuss how to please a woman sexually?”
“Not with you.”
“All right. Then I guess we’re done. You can ask your uncle any follow-up questions if that would be easier.”
“It would.”
“Then thank you for listening.”
Ashton shook his head, started to speak, threw up his hands, then stalked away. Stacey watched him go before turning back to Bay.
“I think that went very well. What do you think?”
Bay gave her a low yip of approval.
* * *
Harper carefully stirred the mixture. Kettle corn could be difficult and if she had the heat even a couple of degrees too high, then the sugar would burn and she would have to start over. Because life was nothing if not exciting.
Stacey walked into the kitchen.
“You must be excited,” her sister said.
“I am. Misty’s always been a fun client and it’s great to see her get a break like this, and on HBO.” Harper poured the kettle corn into three large serving bowls and started to hand one to her sister, only to set it down.
“Jeez, Stacey, you’re seriously starting to show. You’ve got to tell Mom.”
Her sister flushed. “I know. I was going to do it tonight, but Becca said she’s not coming.”
“She’s out with her friends. Marg just announced she’s moving into a retirement community and Bunny wants to talk her out of it.” Because her mother was always very free with her opinion.
“That sounds like our mother.” Stacey leaned against the counter. “I don’t know how to ask this, so I’m just going to say it. Do you know that Becca and Ashton are seeing each other?”
What? Of course she knew. They were right outside in her living room, waiting for the HBO special to start. They were friends, nothing more. Becca was too young to—Okay, not too young, but she wasn’t going to—
“No,” she admitted in a whisper. “Are you sure?”
“Ashton told me.”
Her daughter had a boyfriend and she hadn’t said anything to her?
Her chest tightened as her throat seemed to swell shut. She felt the telltale burning in her eyes and knew she was seconds from an emotional meltdown.
“She never said anything. Not a word. He’s been over a few times, but I thought it was like a family thing.”
“You know they’re not related, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Harper snapped, then held up a hand. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad. It’s just...” How could Becca not have said anything? A boyfriend? A first boyfriend? Had they really stopped talking that much?
She thrust two of the popcorn bowls at her sister. “Take those out. I need a second, okay?”
Stacey hesitated, then nodded.
Harper waited until she was alone to sink into one of the kitchen chairs. She told herself she would cry for one minute, and then she would get over it. Whatever was wrong with her relationship with Becca could be fixed. Look at the great birthday present her daughter had given her.
Words that should have made her happy but didn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d lost her little girl.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up and saw Lucas standing in the entrance to the kitchen. She quickly wiped her face and faked a smile. “Nothing. I’m good. Is Misty on yet?”
“No. There’s some guy who isn’t that funny.” He crossed to the table and sat down. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Silly things. Too bad Pomegranate couldn’t make it tonight.”
“Her name is Persimmon, which you know, and I’m not seeing her anymore. Harper, tell me.”
She drew in a breath. “Apparently Becca and Ashton are more than just friends and she didn’t tell me.” She held up a hand. “It’s fine. She’s nearly seventeen and it’s not like I’m her closest friend. It’s just, I thought we could share the moment, you know.”
His green eyes locked with hers. “You’re hurt.”
“Yes. Hurt and disappointed and wondering when I became a bad mother.”
“You’re not a bad mother.”
“My daughter wouldn’t agree with you.” She squared her shoulders. “Enough about me. Let’s go watch Misty kill it.”
Lucas didn’t budge. “She loves you. I hope you know that.”
“I do. And I love her, so we have that in common. I’ll be okay, I promise. I just need a little time.”
Before he could respond, Becca flew into the kitchen. “Mom, Lucas, come quick. Misty just came on stage.” She did a little dance. “Mom, she’s wearing that bracelet I braided for her. Can you believe it? It’s like a shout-out to us. Hurry!”
They stood. Lucas moved close and murmured, “Not exactly the words of a daughter who hates you.”
Harper knew he was right. Hate was too strong a word. But somewhere along the way, they’d lost the closeness she’d always taken for granted. And she couldn’t help thinking that at the end of the day, it was going to be because of something she’d done. Or worse, something she hadn’t.
* * *
“Becca, I need to speak to you for a moment.”
Not words any student wanted to hear from a teacher, Becca thought, as she nodded while collecting her notes.
Most of the other kids had already left the classroom, darting out as the bell rang. Becca had taken to lingering so no one would see her leaving by herself and realize she’d become the unwanted loner.
With Jordan’s defection, nearly everyone else had followed. Becca now ate lunch alone, walked to class alone and spoke to no one. Okay, sure, there were the odd greetings and a couple of the weird kids had smiled at her, but that was it. She remembered learning a word when she’d been little and liking it so much she’d tried to use it all the time, but it had been difficult. Now she was the very definition of pariah.
She walked to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Nemecek peered at her over her half-glasses, then shook her head.
“I expected better of you, Becca. You barely earned a C on your last test, your homework has been haphazard at best. What’s going on?”
A lot, Becca thought. European History was her least favorite class this semester. The class emphasized World War II and she’d discovered that nothing very nice had happened during that time period. All the talk of war and death and concentration camps was gross. When she was pushed for time, history homework came in last. But telling Mrs. Nemecek that she was getting As and Bs in her other classes wouldn’t be much help.
“I’m sorry,” she said instead, then hesitated, wondering if she could talk about her personal life and get some sympathy. There was her dad getting remarried and what had happened with Nathan, but she wasn’t sure her history teacher would want to know or if she would care.
Still bad grades weren’t an option. Lucas made her show him her grades online and if she was doing badly, he would stop showing up for their driving time and she desperately wanted her license. Besides, she’d always been a pretty decent student.
“Becca?” Mrs. Nemecek sounded impatient.
She opened her mouth to make up some lie, then mentally swerved at the last second and instead said, “You’re right, Mrs. Nemecek. I’ve been phoning it in. To be honest, I don’t like the subject matter. It’s all so grim and sad and people are dying. I can’t believe there were concentration camps. I mean I know there were, but who would do that? Who would kill other people just because of where they were born or what they believed? It’s wrong.”
Her teacher’s stern expression never softened. “It is wrong, but that is beside the point. Becca, I enjoy having you in class, but let me be clear. You earn your grade from me. It’s not a gift. If you don’t do the work, you will fail. If you do bad work, your grade will reflect that. Liking or not liking the subject matter is immaterial.”
Becca wanted to stomp her foot at the unfairness of that. Why did she need to learn history anyway? It was over and done and no one really cared about it. But that wasn’t information that was going to sway her teacher and she really had to get a good grade in the class.
“I want to earn extra credit,” she said quickly. “Please, give me a project. Or I’ll come up with one. Make it icky. I’ll do the work. I want to do better.”
“Better can’t be measured.” Her teacher shook her head. “I don’t know, Becca. I appreciate your honesty, but I’m still disappointed in your attitude.”
“You should be,” Becca said, thinking this was exactly like talking to her mom.
“That’s refreshing. All right, I want a fifteen-page paper on some aspect of the war between Russia and Germany. You pick the topic. I want more than facts and if I find even a single sentence copied from another source, you’ll get an F. Make me feel something, Becca. Show me you understand what was happening.”
Fifteen pages? Was she kidding? Wasn’t that about as long as a book? Most papers were three pages or five. Fifteen was totally unfair and—
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“You have until the Friday before finals. There will be no extensions.”
“I won’t need one. Thank you, Mrs. Nemecek.”
Becca grabbed her backpack and left the classroom.
School was over for the day and most of the students were already gone. No friends lingered for her and there was no one around she wanted to talk to.
Sadness threatened, but Becca pushed it away. She was going to get a good grade for sure, which meant she had to plan out the paper. Fifteen pages would take at least a couple of weeks.
She hurried home and found Jazz waiting by the front door. Her dog stared at her expectantly. Becca skidded to a stop as she realized that she needed to make time for Jazz. She’d promised to take care of the dog and that meant more than feeding her and letting Dwayne take her for a daily walk.
“I know,” Becca said, dropping to her knees and hugging the dog. “We need to go outside and play. You’ve just been hanging out, huh? Let me put my stuff away and we’ll figure out something.”
Then she had to do homework and start researching her paper. Plus, she had to spend a little more time with her car’s owner’s manual because she had another driving session with Lucas.
She’d barely put her backpack down when her mom walked into her room.
“Hi, sweetie. When did you get home from school?”
“Just now.”
“Have you thought any about the videos? I want to be able to get back to Valerie with a delivery date.”
Becca felt herself tensing. “I don’t know, Mom. Let me figure out what I’m going to do when. I have finals coming up and a big paper for European History. There’s a lot.”
Her mother’s smile faded. “Is it too much? Do you want me to find someone else to do the videos?”
“No.” The single word came out more sharply than Becca intended. She tried again. “I mean, of course not. I want to do them. Things are really complicated right now. Give me a day, okay?”
“If you’re sure. I don’t want to make things more difficult.”
“You’re not. I really want to do the videos.” They would be fun and she needed the money.
“All right. We’ll talk tomorrow. Why don’t I go make you a snack? You can’t study if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Becca sank onto the floor. Jazz settled next to her and leaned close.
“I’ve got to figure this out,” Becca told the dog, even as she reached for the phone. She sent off a quick text to Kaylee, but there was no response. Of course. Kaylee was too busy having fun.
Becca scrambled to her feet and started making a list of everything she had to get done. It was way too long and she was left with the sense of being trapped in some kind of cage with no escape. By five, she’d figured out there wasn’t an interesting part of World War II that didn’t involve a lot of people being dead, Kaylee still hadn’t answered, she’d totally screwed up her math homework, she had no friends to talk to and the usually well-behaved Jazz had chewed one of her cat slippers.
“Jazz, no!” she yelled, picking up one ear and a bit of tail—all that was left of the fuzzy slippers. “These are mine. You have your own toys.”
Her dog simply looked at her.
Becca didn’t know if she should cry, scream or run away. Her phone chirped with a text from Ashton.
Hey. Thinking of u.
Becca looked at the chewed-up slippers, the bored dog, the notes on a paper she still hadn’t figured out, her unfinished math homework. She thought about the fight with Jordan and how Kaylee had well and truly forgotten all about her.
Her life was a disaster and she didn’t know how to fix it, but she did know one thing. Having a guy in her life would change everything. And there was only one way to make sure that happened for real.
She was going to have sex with Ashton. Then everything would be fine.