Good For You - Page 8/47

Exhibit A: Gabriel e Diego is jailbait anywhere, not just “on this property.” (Side effect of having a crack attorney for my paternal role model: if you’re going to argue a point with me, don’t leave gaps in your logic.)

I’m so pissed my hands are shaking. Usual y this type of response fol ows a chat with my dad, after which I retreat to the basement to pound the shit out of a hundred pound heavy bag. We’ve got an entire gym setup down there; my trainer meets me several times a week when I’m not on location. Or performing compulsory community service.

The back yard is thickly populated, and of course this is where Gabriel e was banished. Judging by the look on her face, she assumes I fol owed her outside. When she glances at me with a provocative smile, a boredom-exterminating scheme pops into my head. One that wil drive Dorcas batshit crazy for the next three weeks.

Community service just got considerably more interesting.

*** *** ***

Dori

I’l give him ten minutes to throw his temper tantrum before I bring him back inside. He needs to understand that messing around with Gabriel e is unacceptable. I would march outside and say it just like that, but he’s evidently taking anything I say as a dare, which is the last thing I want.

Final y, I settle on apologizing to him for the better person comment—I stil can’t believe I said that—and discussing my anxiety concerning Gabriel e with Roberta, privately. Hopeful y she can keep an eye on the situation.

Without me involved, he won’t feel goaded to do something everyone would regret.

The back yard is teeming with volunteers because we got a shipment of trees and shrubs yesterday, which should be transplanted from containers to ground promptly. It doesn’t take long to locate Reid, because every woman in the yard and most of the men are watching him. Much as I’d like to, I can’t blame them. The sight of him is simply compel ing.

While digging a hole for one of the three 30-gal on live oaks that wil line the back fence and provide shade for the yard, he’s stripped off his t-shirt. Hard lines of definition ripple across his back and shoulders as he as he plunges the shovel into the ground, heaving mounds of earth out and piling it to the side. His jeans ride low on his hips, showing off his enviable movie-star abs. Muscles flexing and contracting, it’s clear that what he’s doing is strenuous, yet he doesn’t slow or tire when other volunteers take wheezing breaks for water.

Looks like I’l be finishing the cabinets myself.

Before I turn to go back inside, I spot Gabriel e standing a few feet from Reid. After tossing one contemptuous look my way, she flips her glossy black hair over her shoulder and turns back to watch him. Though she’s only two years younger than me, it feels like a lifetime of difference.

Testing her sexuality, she thinks she’s caught a beautiful fish, when in reality, she’s netted a shark. As soon as she gets too close, he could snap through the fragile filaments and consume her.

I want to trust Reid not to be what I fear he is, but I know better. There’s not a trustworthy bone in that impeccably muscled body.

Chapter 10

REID

I haven’t seen Dori since I left her standing in the bathroom with her mouth hanging open. I wanted some privacy to get my shit together after that exchange, but with a yard ful of people, solitude wasn’t an option. So, I did the next best thing—I grabbed a shovel and dug a big fucking hole.

By lunch break, we’ve planted three trees and half the shrubs. Dori materializes outside, talking with some tool I haven’t seen before today. They load their paper plates and she takes the lawn chair next to him, eating her burger while he talks. He seems unfamiliar with a basic principle of conversation: reciprocal speaking. Despite this, she seems engrossed in his monologue. Either that or she’s too polite to be real with people other than myself.

Gabriel e is literal y sitting at my feet in the stil -patchy new sod. I don’t have to do anything to keep her enthral ed outside of an occasional smile. She’s jabbering about her modeling and acting aspirations, her loathing of school and her immature classmates, and what kind of car her older ex-boyfriend drove. (A Mustang? Please.) I think this last is an attempt to il ustrate her experience with boys. And/or an attempt to il ustrate her experience with boys. And/or fast cars.

“The car you had was a Porsche, right?” She flutters her lashes as though this isn’t a peculiar subject for her to bring up, or for us to discuss.

“Um, yeah. Had being the operative word.” Her eyes widen. “I guess you’re pretty pissed it got wrecked, huh?” As though my car wrecked itself.

“You could say that.”

She lays her hand on my knee. “Aw, I’m real y sorry, Reid.”

I can’t help but chuckle. This is the most awkward exchange ever. “You’re sorry… that I drove my Porsche into your house?”

“It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

I laugh out loud and smile down at her, “Wel , that’s true. I wish you’d been the judge in my case.” She beams up at me.

I hazard a glance at Dori, who’s staring daggers into me.

I swear if we were within striking distance and she had a plastic fork in her hand, I’d be concerned. Instead of returning her heated expression, I keep the grin affixed to my face and add a sardonic air to it—one eyebrow arched, indifferent eyes. This look has been refined to perfection over many years with Dad. Sends him through the goddamned roof. Does it work on Dorcas?

Oh, yes. Yes, it does.

I can hear the guy next to her saying, “Uh, Dori? Did you hear what I—” just before she leaps up and charges inside without answering him. From the look on his face, this is uncharacteristic behavior for her.

I think I’l spend the last couple of hours planting shrubs, and get Frank to sign my sheet. No sense in pushing her too far this afternoon. I have two and a half weeks to harass her to the edge of insanity.

*** *** ***

Dori

“I understand your concern, Dori, but I don’t think he’l actually do anything…” Roberta’s sentence trails off indecisively.

It’s up to me to convince her. “I’d be less concerned if Gabriel e was assigned to work with someone who’l keep a better eye on her, that’s al .” I feel like I’m tattling. Having just told the project director that I suspect an adult volunteer of socializing too warmly with a juvenile volunteer, I guess I am tattling. “Just to be safe,” I add.

She taps her pen on her clipboard, gnawing her lower lip. “Wel , the least confrontational thing might be to reassign Gabriel e to you, and reassign Reid to Frank.” A puzzling sense of disappointment settles over me, but I shake it off. “That works for me.”

“Gabriel e doesn’t come in on Fridays, so I’l leave Reid with you tomorrow, and I’l talk to him about moving to Frank’s crew next week before he leaves for the day. We’l get Gabriel e situated on Monday.”

“Thanks, Roberta.”

“Yes, wel , better safe than sorry, I suppose.” She bustles off as I clean up for the day and prepare for tomorrow. Reid off as I clean up for the day and prepare for tomorrow. Reid is going to be furious at the interference, and Gabriel e wil probably have a meltdown when she isn’t al owed to hang around him. There’s no way for her to see that we’re trying to protect her; the separation wil look like pure malice from her point of view.

***

My last day to supervise Reid has been almost stress-free.

He showed up on time and made no comments or snide remarks (other than cal ing me Dorcas al day, and what can I say to that since it is my name). He was a model volunteer. He even kept his shirt on.

My iPod fried itself last night, so I brought a radio this morning and had it tuned to a pop station when he came in.

I told him he could change it to whatever he wanted, but he hasn’t moved the station. As we’re wrapping up for the day, the DJ plays a new duet. Without realizing it, I hum along. At the end chorus, Reid turns to me and sings into his paintbrush, “Where were you, baby, where were you? When I was al alone, with no one of my own?”

I sing back, “Where were you, baby, where were you?

When I needed you there, when nobody else cared?”

“I was here, I was right here, looking for you, yeah…” we both sing, and then we laugh at our own goofiness.

“You have a great voice,” he says, but not like he’s surprised.

I lower my glance and mumble, “Thanks,” oddly pleased.

Coming from him, the words feel different, as though I haven’t heard that exact expression of praise a hundred times before.

From the doorway, Roberta says, “Mr. Alexander, could you see me before you leave? I’l be in the kitchen, checking the sink hookups.”

“No problem.” Sliding his eyes back to me when she disappears, his head tilts a fraction to the side and he asks, “What’s that about?”

Uh-oh. With Gabriel e gone al day, I almost forgot about her and the supervisor swap occurring on Monday. “Um, something about work assignments. Probably.”

“Work assignments? I thought you were the boss of me.” His smile is tentative, like he’s teasing me but also testing to see if there’s something I’m not tel ing him.

Coward that I am, I shrug and begin cleaning the paintbrushes, and Reid is silent for a moment before he hammers the lid onto a 5-gal on bucket of paint and then places his folded timesheet on the floor next to me. “I’l swing by to pick this up after I talk to Roberta.” When he returns five minutes later, I brace for an offensive comment or another quarrel over my unwelcome judgments or interference, but neither occurs. He snatches the paper I’ve signed without a word and leaves. As he storms out, I cringe, guilt-ridden after the il usory camaraderie in which we spent the day. At the inevitable slam of the front door, someone in the hal exclaims,

“Jesus!” and a moment later, I remember to breathe.

Monday is going to be a nightmare.

***

Nick is coming over tonight. After he showed up at the Diego House yesterday—a breath of fresh air in his non-designer jeans and thrift store t-shirt—I couldn’t say no when he asked if we could hang out.

I hear his voice downstairs, his courteous, “Good evening, Reverend Cantrel ,” though Dad has urged him countless times to cal him Doug.

As I leave my room, I glance at the clock on my wal .

He’s exactly on time, the minute hand clicking onto the twelve as my father intones, “Good evening, Nicholas.” Nick fails to hear the playful nature I immediately recognize behind Dad’s words. “It’s actual y just Nick, sir.” He spares a quick look in my direction as I reach the last step.

“And it’s just Doug, Nick.” My father slaps his shoulder lightly.

“Do you want to go out?” Nick asks after Dad disappears back into his study. “I think that movie starring your new associate is stil out… School Pride, right? I heard it was… cute.”

Nick isn’t into cute, and general y speaking, neither am I.

I’d not even considered seeing School Pride, but now that Nick’s mentioned it, I’m curious. I know Reid Alexander from his fame, but I know nothing of his so-cal ed talent. I’ve never seen a single one of his movies—like Nick, I don’t real y term them films. A film is something social y consequential or historical y evocative. A movie is hol ow entertainment.