“Having trouble there?” I joked, looking at his obvious problem the pillow had been covering.
“Are you offering to help?” He winked.
“If only we had time.”
“Tease,” he said, helping me rise from the couch.
“Hey, you’re the one who started this. I distinctly remember mentioning we only had twenty minutes. You know what they say about those who play with fire getting burned.”
“True, and in Hollie’s world, that’s closer to five minutes. Someday we’re not going to have a gearshift to stop us or my kid sister.”
“Promises, promises,” I said, stepping on my tiptoes so I could place my lips on the back of his neck as we headed for the stairs.
“Who’s playing with fire now?” he asked, turning so abruptly I almost fell down the few stairs we had started climbing. He reached out to steady me before dropping a hard kiss that was filled with promise and need on my lips.
“Can you two ple-e-e-ease stop kissing so we can eat dinner?” Hollie demanded at the top of the stairs.
“I need to muzzle her,” Justin mumbled against my lips, making me giggle.
We could here Trish chastising Hollie to leave us alone. She stomped away from the door, complaining that she didn’t get the big deal about kissing and that she personally found it gross.
“One day you won’t,” Trish said as we entered the kitchen, handing Hollie a stack of plates to add to the table. “Hopefully that day is way down the road,” she added under her breath, shooting Justin and me a wry look.
“Years and years,” Justin clarified, looking green at the thought of his little sister lip-locking with anyone.
“Boy, I pity the first guy who asks Hollie out,” I remarked, carrying drinks to the table.
“Don’t drop those,” Justin mocked, making a production of helping me with the glasses.
I stuck my tongue out at his reminder of my previous clumsiness.
“Why?” Hollie asked inquisitively.
Justin grimaced, making Trish and me laugh and only confusing Hollie more.
“Why do you pity the boys?” she demanded this time, afraid that she was the butt of the joke.
“Because, honey. Your brother is just a wee bit protective over you. I’m afraid it’ll make the Spanish Inquisition look like a walk in the park,” Trish laughed.
“What’s the Spanish Inquisition?” Hollie asked. She was easily distracted.
“It was the way they handled certain religions back in the fifteenth century. I remember hearing about it in a history lecture years ago, but more notably, it was a Monty Python skit I saw years back, before you or your brothers were even thought of.”
“What’s Monty Py—”
“Why don’t you go see if Travis is ready for dinner,” Trish interrupted, dropping a quick kiss on top of Hollie’s head.
“How’s the play going?” I asked at the mention of Travis as I sat in what had become my normal seat at their dinner table.
“Good, if the new bounce in his step is any indication,” Trish said, smiling broadly. I had learned on my first visit to their house two weeks ago that Travis had landed the role of Ebenezer Scrooge in his high school’s production of A Christmas Carol.
“Yeah, except he’s taking his role a little seriously,” Justin complained. “He tried to con me into giving him extra dough so he’d know what it would feel like to have some wealth. Those were his words.”
“Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” Travis said, entering the kitchen. “Brittni,” he smiled widely, happily pulling me up for a bear hug. Travis was a hugger. I was slowly adjusting to it. Slowly.
“Hey, Travis,” I said, returning his smile. When Travis was around, you couldn’t help responding to his enthusiasm and personality. “How goes the showbiz?”
“Well, it’s tough to be a star, but I’m adjusting to all the fame and paparazzi,” he joked, taking his own seat.
“Oh boy. You better get the contractors out here, Mom. Looks like we’ll need to have the doors widened to fit Travis’s head and ass if he doesn’t stop eating all the bread,” Justin growled, moving the bread from his brother’s reach before he could add a third roll to his plate.
“I can’t be blamed for being a growing boy,” Travis answered, unfazed by the ribbing. Justin held the bread basket out to me so I could claim my own roll.
“Key word there being ‘boy,’” Justin joked. Travis retaliated by throwing a piece of the rolls in question at Justin, who deflected it, where it ended up landing in Hollie’s glass.
“Ew, gross. Can you two please act your age?” she huffed, stomping to the kitchen to get a new drink.
“Boys, behave,” Trish said, looking up from a stack of papers from school she was grading while we ate.
I still liked the fact that Trish was a teacher, which is what I wanted to be for as long as I could remember. My friend Tressa said it was because I was born bossy, which was probably true. I liked the idea of teaching others. I wasn’t the most affectionate or easygoing person, but I really did like kids. Even if I did gripe about the ones I worked with at the daycare. It was just the way I was. I put on an air of gruffness, but working with kids was my passion.
“Yes, Mom,” Justin and Travis answered in unison. They both exchanged silent death threats once her head was bent down again.
Hollie and I laughed at their antics, which made Trish’s head shoot up again as she mockingly glared at both of them. “I mean it, or I’ll put you both on dish detail for a week without the dishwasher.”
Her words had the desired effect, as both guys instantly grimaced at the idea of a week of hard labor.
“Harsh, Mom,” Hollie quipped, taking a large bite of her salad.
“Sometimes the dish card is necessary,” Trish laughed, pulling her reading glasses off and placing them on top of the stack of papers. “Now, tell me about your day.”
“Molly threatened to cut my braid off if I wouldn’t let her cheat off my paper today,” Hollie piped in while helping herself to a serving of the big bowl of spaghetti at the table.
“What the hel—” Justin started to say as Trish sent him a warning look for his language. “What the heck?” he clarified.
“You can say ‘hell.’ Ms. Johnson says it all the time,” Hollie said nonchalantly as she took a hearty bite.
“I thought you said this charter school would be a good experience for her,” Justin said, shooting his mom a look.
“It is a good school. Hollie, what did you do when Molly threatened you?”
“Nothing. Mr. Davis was right behind her and heard the whole thing. You should have seen her face.”
“I bet. What did Mr. Davis do?” Trish asked, holding up a hand so Justin wouldn’t interrupt again.
I smiled and patted his leg as he clamped his lips closed.
“He sent her to Principal Rhodes. She didn’t return to class, so I’m pretty sure she got suspended, which is too bad since we took the test and she wasn’t there for it.” She grinned mischievously.
“Okay, that’s good. Now what is this about Ms. Johnson?”
“Well, a couple of kids in my class have been cussing lately. Not me,” she added quickly when everyone pivoted to look at her. “Anyway, Ms. Johnson told us that chances are we were all going to be exposed to swearing and most likely do it ourselves. She made us think of all the swear words we could and she wrote them on the board. The only curse word she wouldn’t write was the F-word because she said that’s just vulgar,” Hollie continued around a bite of her roll. “She said as long as we use them in context, she was fine with us using them, but if we use them out of context, we have to write a five-hundred-word essay on the origins of swear words. None of the boys want to write the essay, so the cussing has stopped. I guess they were using them wrong.”
“I guess so,” Trish answered dryly. “Sounds like Ms. Johnson knows what she’s doing.”
“Yeah, she sure tricked them,” Hollie said, obviously not fooled by her teacher’s ploy. “Anyways, Justin can say ‘hell’ because it seemed like he was using it in context, since that was my response when Molly threatened to cut my braid off.”
“Thanks for your permission, squirt,” Justin replied as the rest of us laughed.
“What about your day?” Trish asked, turning her attention to Travis.
“It was good, except I don’t know why girls come to me about clothing or costume questions now that they know I’m gay. It’s not some kind of prerequisite that all gay guys are into fashion and clothes,” he griped.
“Welcome to stereotypes,” Justin said. “Remember when I was in high school and everyone assumed my friend Mitch would be an excellent basketball player because he was like a six-foot-three giant? He couldn’t run and dribble at the same time if his life depended on it. Hey, even Brittni has been known to put people in stereotypical bubbles,” he added, smirking at me.
“Guilty,” I shrugged.
“Like what?” Travis asked, looking at me with interest.
“I assumed that a guy who is tattooed up and was flirting outrageously with two girls at once must be a player,” I answered dryly.
“Seriously, bro? Two chicks at once? That’s so not cool,” Travis said, polishing off his spaghetti.
“Shame on you, son,” Trish said, clucking her tongue.
“Not cool at all,” Hollie added, shaking her head.
“Hey, put down your pitchforks. What makes you think she’s talking about me?” Justin asked, trying to look innocent as he held up his palms.
“Um, gee, I don’t know who she could be talking about—duh. Besides, she’s got you on the one thing. You are a terrible flirt,” Travis mocked.
“See, like I said,” I crowed triumphantly.
“I’m so glad I have my own family on my side. Thanks for the love,” Justin said, standing up from the table.
“Don’t leave mad, just leave,” Travis joked.
“You’re hilarious,” Justin said, holding out a hand for me.
“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Avery, I mean, Trish,” I said, standing also.
“Anytime, Brittni. It’s nice to see Justin with someone who has her own mind,” she answered warmly. “Now, we’ll be seeing you Thursday for Thanksgiving, right?”
“Are you sure?” I asked. I wasn’t overly excited about crashing their family holiday.
“I won’t take no for an answer. Justin will pick you up by noon,” she said, leaving no room for argument.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, surrendering.
13.
Present Day
1:48 PM
It was official. They were deliberately toying with us. More than two hours had passed and we were still stuck. Since his last outburst forty-five minutes ago, the only words Justin had spoken were through the elevator phone.
“How much longer are we going to have to cool our heels in here while you dick around with this elevator?”
I could hear the woman’s unruffled voice, assuring him that it was being worked on as quickly as possible. She’d inquired about our health and well-being, and once Justin informed her we were still alive, we got the same advice we’d received for the past two hours—to sit tight.
Justin slammed down the phone and resumed his stony silence. My iPhone was clinging to life with less than ten percent battery left. I couldn’t decide if my phone dying would be a blessing or a curse. I was driving myself nuts checking the slow-moving time so often. Then again, with nothing but Mr. Stone Wall over there, I might go stir-crazy.
Unable to handle sitting there doing nothing, I emptied the contents of my oversized bag onto the floor. It had been ages since my purse had a good purge. A bottle of water rolled across the floor, stopping near Justin’s foot. Ignoring his stare, I grabbed the bottle and set it on end so it wouldn’t roll away again. I methodically sorted through months of old movie ticket stubs, receipts, and loose change that for some reason never made it to the small change purse that I also found among the other items. I hit the jackpot when I discovered a mini package of peanut M&Ms one of my students had given me before I left and a handful of peppermints I had snagged from my boss’s office last week. At the bottom of my bag, I also found a couple of ideas that I had jotted down on a Post-it for my friend Ashton. She was relatively new to Woodfalls, but Tressa and I had hit it off with her right away. Her only quirk was the crazy bucket list of things she wanted to do. It seemed odd, but she said it was research for a thesis paper. Tressa and I suspected there was more to it than that. Of course, Tressa’s idea that maybe Ashton was some kind of closet adrenaline junkie was different from my theory. My suspicion was that the list was because of something much more serious. I hoped to God I was wrong.
“Why do girls carry so much shit in their bags?” Justin asked, taking in the piles of stuff I had sorted in front of me.
“Oh, hi. Are you talking to me again?” I asked sarcastically. I was sick of him treating me like a yo-yo. One minute he was cordial enough to hold a conversation with, and the next he was a raving lunatic.
“I don’t know. I’m trying here, okay?” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“Yeah, well, so am I. So if you could hold off using me like a verbal punching bag until I can escape from this hellhole, I’d appreciate it. You’re not the only one who was hurt.” It bothered me that he seemed to forget everything that had transpired.
His teeth came together with a snap, but he didn’t comment. While he mulled over my words, I continued cleaning out my bag.
“What’s in those little bottles?” he finally asked, eyeing the seven mini bottles of hand sanitizer I had unearthed.
“Hand sanitizer,” I admitted, seeing the proof of my OCD.
“And you need seven bottles, why?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Beats the heck out of me. I guess I’m always afraid of not having one when I need it, so I buy a new one every time I go to the mall. I guess I have enough.” I smiled, even though it felt slightly forced. I didn’t offer up the fact that I also had a basket of them sitting on the dresser in my room.
“Mint?” I asked, tossing him one of the cellophane-wrapped candies.
“Old mints from the depths of your purse. What are you, my grandma? Thanks,” he said, pulling off the wrapper and popping the mint into his mouth.