“Get to movin’, Fairfield,” Michael says, nudging the center of my back and nearly sending me sprawling. I save myself from falling and send him a dirty look over my shoulder, making him laugh.
“What are we in for today?” I ask as we start walking toward the giant barn that’s behind the equally giant garage. It’s not really a barn, though I guess it was one once and that’s what everyone still calls it. The Hales converted it into a cavernous room where they can entertain people. Like a reception hall or something, with a full kitchen built right in the center. I’ve seen these sorts of things like the VFW hall in town but never on someone’s property.
“They have a ton of Fourth of July stuff they want taken out of storage,” Michael says as he pushes open one of the double doors to the barn. I follow him inside, my gaze snagging on all the art lining the walls. I never noticed it before, but then the last time I came in here, I ran into the kitchen to pick up some extra silverware for Mrs. Hale and then left, too focused on grabbing what I needed versus lingering around checking the place out.
Every single painting is of God, an angel, or Jesus, or some other biblical looking character. They look really old fashioned and I stop and study one of them. It’s of a scary looking Jesus hanging on the cross with a crown of thorns around his head, blood dripping down his face. His eyes are looking upward, thick nails through each of his palms and I can’t help but stare, horror running through me.
Freaking creepy. I thought religion was supposed to give you hope and purpose, not scare the crap out of you.
“Come on dude, help me out over here. We have to carry out all this patriotic crap,” Michael calls.
I find him standing in front of a closet full of clear plastic storage bins on the shelves, every bin stuffed with red, white and blue decorations. We each brought a hand truck with us so I go to the closet and start grabbing boxes, handing them to Michael so he can stack them and we can wheel them out of here.
“So I’m guessing they throw a huge party for the Fourth?” I ask, trying to make conversation. Not that it’s hard to talk to Michael. The guy always has something to say.
Plus, I’m trying to find out information about the Hales. Specifically, Reverie.
“Massive,” Michael says. “Family, friends, their parishioners, and lots of little kids running around and always falling into the pool. My first summer working here, a kid almost drowned. They’ve hired special lifeguards just for the day ever since.”
“Crazy.” I shake my head and lean on the tall stack of boxes I was supposed to take out. “Lots of hot girls show up or what?”
Michael burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? No way. Hale’s a man of God, remember? Not a bikini in sight unfortunately. Everyone’s good and covered up. You’ll appreciate that, bro. Most of the people who attend these parties are around the Hales’ age. You don’t want to see those women in bikinis.” He mock shivers.
“But the Hales have kids,” I point out. “Don’t the kids have friends?”
“Not really. The Hale kids are pretty sheltered. They don’t mingle much around here in the summer so they don’t have many local friends that I know of. No one really knows them, though I’ve heard the boy has come out of his shell and been seen driving around town lately.” Michael pulls out the last patriotic-filled box and shuts the closet door before he turns to face me. “The daughter goes to a private girls’ school and every time I see her she’s either riding her horse or reading a book. And Evan just graduated so I’m guessing he’s off to college in the fall. I don’t know. I don’t pay them much attention.”
I don’t say anything else. If I start asking more questions, Michael will suspect I’m fishing for info and he’d be guessing right. I don’t want him to know I’m curious. And I especially don’t want him to know I’ve talked to Reverie.
That’s my secret. One I don’t want to share with anyone.
“We’ll take the boxes over to the main house,” Michael says as we exit the barn. “Mrs. Hale will want to go through it all and pick out what she wants to use. She does this every year. And then she’ll run into town and buy more crap. It’s the same routine each summer.”
I remain silent, letting Michael chatter on. The guy has a mouth that won’t stop once he gets going but I don’t mind. Listening to him helps pass the time.
Besides, I’m nervous. This is the first time I’ve been in the Hale’s house. Even when I was hired, it was at a youth center where they were having a job fair. I’d been forced to go in and put in applications by my high school counselor. I hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Next thing I knew this guy was telling me he could make a difference in my life and wanted to hire me on the spot.
Whatever. I ran with it. I didn’t need to be saved. I just wanted a job.
We approach the French doors at the back of the house and Michael knocks on the wood frame, tapping his foot as we wait for someone to answer.
Imagine my freaking shock when it’s Reverie I see opening the door to us.
“Hey Michael,” she greets, her gaze going to mine, her eyes widening subtly. “Hi,” she breathes.
I nod, trying for cool, probably failing. I don’t want her to acknowledge anything in front of Michael.
“Rev, this is Nick. He’ll be working with me this summer,” Michael says, flicking his head in my direction. “We have stuff for your mom.”
“Um, nice to meet you,” she says, her sweet voice washing over me, her gaze never leaving mine.
“Yeah,” I say. “Same.” I tear my gaze from hers, looking anywhere but at her. Though I’d rather look at her than anywhere else. I can’t though. I refuse to make eyes at her in front of Michael.
“Where should we put the boxes?” Michael says, sounding impatient.
“Oh. You can put them in the study.” Reverie opens the door wider and Michael walks past her, pushing his hand truck in front of him. I fall in behind him, my eyes going to hers once again, seeing the hurt swimming in the pretty blue depths.
I feel like a dick.
As I walk through the door, I catch a hint of her intoxicating scent. Sweet and light, I can’t peg what it is exactly but I know I want more of it. She’s wearing denim shorts that hit just above her knee but fit her skintight and a pale pink T-shirt. Her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail and it’s damp. Like she just got out of the shower or the pool.
My mind instantly goes to naked and I banish the thought.
“Looking good Daydream,” I murmur under my breath as I pass by her, needing to say something to her to let her know that I’m not a total ass.
She doesn’t acknowledge me, just shuts the door and strides past me so she can lead us to the study. Her head is held high, her ponytail swinging to and fro and I have the sudden urge to wrap all that long hair around my fist. Give it a gentle tug. Test just how soft her hair is just as I test the texture of her lips…
“Watch it,” Michael mutters as I run into him with my stack of plastic boxes. They almost topple over and I reach around, slapping my hand on top of the highest box, holding the stack steady.
Reverie pauses and turns around, her delicate golden brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?” she asks, looking directly at me.
Aw, she cares. I feel pinned in place by her intense gaze and her question makes my heart leap, which is freaking stupid. “I’m fine.”
“I'm the one he ran into,” Michael points out, jerking his thumb toward his chest and making Reverie laugh.
I immediately frown. I don’t want him making her laugh. I think that should be my privilege.
And mine alone.
We wheel our respective stack of boxes into the study and set them up for Mrs. Hale to go through. Reverie stands at the open doorway, watching us the entire time though I swear her eyes are only on me. I can feel her tracking my every move and it makes me self-conscious. Makes me wonder what she sees.
If she even likes what she sees.
We finish up pretty quickly and
then we’re leaving the house, Rev trailing behind us the entire way. Michael shoots me a strange look, flicking his head in Reverie’s direction in a, what gives with her way but I just shrug in answer. I don’t know why she’s following us.
But I can hope she’s doing it because of me.
“Thanks for your help, Rev,” Michael says as we’re walking out the back door. We left the hand trucks in the study since we’ll be coming back in a day or two to retrieve the boxes. I feel sort of lost without it, like I need something to hold onto, or I should be doing something with Reverie standing so close to me.
I feel edgy. My hands are tingling, like they want to reach out on their own and touch her.
“You’re welcome,” she says cheerily before her gaze settles on me and her expression goes somber. “Nice meeting you Nicholas.”
Michael frowns. He introduced me as Nick. “Likewise,” I tell her and her eyes narrow.
She didn’t like my one word response. But what am I supposed to do? Fall at her feet and tell her I think she’s hot? It would be the truth but I can’t react in front of Michael. No way.
A brand new BMW pulls into the driveway, its engine purring as it comes to a stop right in front of the open garage. The driver cuts the engine and a young guy gets out, his expression impatient. He looks about my age, tall with light brown hair but I don’t recognize him. He props one arm on top of the car, shoving his glasses up and off his eyes to the top of his head with the other. “Come on, Rev. You ready to go?”
“You’re early,” she says, her gaze skittering to mine quick before it darts away.
Who the hell is this guy? He’s wearing a white Polo shirt and khaki shorts, an expensive looking watch on his wrist, looking every inch the perfect preppy rich boy. I can’t fucking compete with that. “Well, it’s now or never, sweetheart. You coming or what?” he asks, sounding impatient.
She rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother to grab a purse, a cell phone, nothing. Just walks over to the car, throws open the passenger side door and slides inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and she keeps her head bent.
Like she doesn’t want to look at me.
Preppy boy shakes his head, offers Michael and me a quick salute and then jumps back in the car. He starts the engine and throws it into reverse, then drives away in a big ass hurry, kicking up dust from the gravel driveway.
“What a jackass,” Michael mutters.
“Who was that?”
“Evan.”
I don’t know who Evan is but Michael says it like I should. “Evan…”
“Hale. Rev’s big brother.” Michael turns to look at me. I hope the epic relief I feel isn’t written all over my face. “Why did she call you Nicholas anyway? That was weird.”
I shrug, immediately defensive. “I don’t know.”
But I do. I know why I call her Daydream too. I hate how indifferent I treated her but she can’t act so familiar with me in front of Michael. No way would I ever tell him I met her and flirted with her a few days ago. Alone.
No way.
Dear Diary,
(June 27th, 9:56 p.m.) I don’t understand boys. I was so excited to see Nicholas standing at the door with Michael today. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. He looked surprised to see me too but when I said hi to him, he barely reacted. He hardly talked the entire time he was in the house with me and he even pretended that he’d never seen me before.
I didn’t like that. But I guess it makes sense if he didn’t want Michael to know that we’d talked once already. I don’t think Michael would say anything or even care. He’s never paid attention to me and this is his third summer working at the house so why would he now?
Nicholas did call me Daydream and that was sweet. He said I looked good when I know I looked lame. I’d just gotten out of the shower and was waiting for Evan to show up. I didn’t even do my hair, just threw it in a ponytail because I was feeling rushed.
I hate that I can’t look pretty for him like other girls can. I want to wear makeup and stylish clothes like what I see in magazines. I talked to Mama about it last night. I told her I was almost seventeen so why couldn’t I at least wear mascara and lipstick or something but she said no. Blinked her thick with mascara eyelashes at me and told me I was to remain pure. I’m just a young girl. I don’t need any makeup or sexy clothes to make me look like something I’m not.
I didn’t protest. What could I say? I’ll be seventeen in three weeks and a senior in high school but that doesn’t matter to my parents. I’m still a child in their eyes. I still have an image to uphold as a Hale. At least he doesn’t parade Evan and me around on his television show anymore. The best thing that ever happened was when Evan put his foot down almost two years ago and said we weren’t Daddy’s pets to show off for his followers. I still remember how Mama cried. How Daddy and Evan fought.
But Evan won. And his win was a victory for me too. We were taken off the show. Daddy mentions us casually here and there, mostly to say he’s proud of us. That’s it though.
The second Evan didn’t have to deal with the show anymore he changed. I follow the rules but he doesn’t. He drives the fancy car that costs almost as much as a house. He wears a Rolex. Designer clothes. Daddy lets him do whatever he wants but he won’t let me.
It’s so unfair. Evan’s the boy that’s why he doesn’t get in trouble. I’m the girl. I have something to offer, Mama has told me more than once. I’m sweet and innocent and I need to remain that way.
Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I want to know what it’s like to be wild and free. Maybe I want to ask Nicholas if he’d take me out on a date. Maybe I want him to kiss me…
He looked mad when Evan picked me up. I thought he knew I had a brother but maybe he hadn’t met Evan yet. We went into town and bought Mama a birthday present and Evan let me sneak in a special dress for me to wear at her party. She’s a Fourth of July baby. I came two weeks after and she likes to call me her late birthday present. When I was little we would have joint birthday parties but now she wants one all to herself.
I think she likes all the attention. She says the fireworks are just for her and Daddy agrees. I think he says that to keep her happy. Not much else does lately.
I love fireworks. The bright lights and the way they sparkle. The colors and the loud boom that rattles through my chest, throughout my entire body…
A book I read a few months ago said that the perfect kiss felt like fireworks. I want to know what that’s like.
With Nick.
Weak: not strong.
June 30th
I’m at home alone, hiding out in the living room with the lights off, the TV off, everything dark. Except for my phone. I’m curled up on the couch with an old quilt my grandma made when I was little, Google becoming my best friend as I do a search for Reverend Harold Hale.
There’s so much on the guy it’s unbelievable. He has an entire channel on YouTube. He has a dedicated website, numerous magazine articles about his ministry, television features, his TV show…the works. He’s everywhere. I had no idea how popular he was.
I remember that disclosure statement they had me sign when I first started working for him. That I wouldn’t release any sort of information to the media, not even the color of the guy’s socks, or else I’d put myself at risk for being fired.
Now I totally get why. He’s a media sensation. Everyone wants a piece of him.
So then I decided to Google Reverie Hale.
There’s not nearly as much information about her and most of it is old. Seems like the Hale kids fell out of the spotlight a few years ago. Reverie and her brother Evander don’t even make appearances on the television show anymore but there’s a lot of old footage out there. And pictures. Tons of pictures. My favorite is of a cute little Reverie in a white dress, her hair pulled back and topped with a snowy white bow, a shy smile on her face as she stood with her family.
She was adorable. And on
such blatant public display for most of her life along with her brother…then they weren’t. I wonder what happened. What changed that? Why were they taken out of the public eye so fast?
I can’t ask her. It’s none of my business.
There’s a knock at my door but I ignore it. It’s late, past eleven at night and I’m definitely not expecting any guests. I keep it low key because I’m living on my own since Mom died and I’m still underage though I don’t feel it. Child Protective Services would probably try and throw me into foster care until I turn eighteen or something stupid like that and that is the last thing I need. I don’t know why they haven’t come sniffing around already but whatever.
CPS isn’t knocking on my door this late at night though. Who the hell could it be? And why are they so persistent? The knocks just keep on coming, getting fiercer with every attempt.
“Nick! I know you’re in there,” a voice yells from the other side of the door and I sit up straight, surprise and irritation coursing through me.
I recognize that voice. It’s my neighbor, Krista. She’s my age. We’ve known each other forever, since elementary school. She was my first kiss. My first real girlfriend. The first girl I had sex with. I had sex with her right after I got out of jail too.
She called it my welcome home present.
“Nick! Open the damn door. I can see the glow from your phone through the window, asshole. Why are you avoiding me?”
Krista is super classy too. Though I really shouldn’t bag on her. We’re the same, Krista and I. We grew up in the same neighborhood and our moms were acquaintances. It’s a natural progression, Krista and I ending up together. I broke up with her in the middle of sophomore year and she got so pissed at me. I blew her chances to go to prom, she accused. I didn’t really care. I got sick of her neediness. And her disloyalty to me.