“Should we help him?” I offered, a little terrified of the answer.
“No.” Lucas had grown suddenly distant while keeping his eyes glued over my shoulder. “You wouldn’t want to be around him at the moment.”
~
We made it to the lookout just as the sun was beginning to set over the valley. We’d hiked through the woods in relative silence, Lucas offering his hand when crossing deep trenches and fallen trees. He was reserved, lost in contemplative thought, and I feared I was losing him to a hidden darkness. When we settled next to each other on the grassed overhang, thighs touching, we watched as slashes of orange marred the sky contrasting against the murky gray storm clouds forming in the distance.
“So,” I chirped. “What’d I miss?”
Lucas exhaled heavily like he was preparing the stories. “Old Mr. and Mrs. Smith went door knocking searching for their yappy sausage dog and blaming each and every person on the block for illegally hoarding him. Turns out, little Franklin had gotten himself stuck between the shed and the fence, his tiny legs tearing at the grass to free himself. The Blackwells are busy preparing for tomorrow’s street party and bossing everyone around. She has this vein in her neck that twitches whenever someone asks her if she’s making a chicken casserole.”
“Oh, sounds hectic,” I replied, smiling. “And what about you?” I threw a casual glance his way. “What’d I miss?”
By now the sky was cut in half. Half was the brewing storm clouds in the distance, the other was the faint glimmer of stars.
“I’m fine,” he stated quickly. “Mrs. Burnett said that she won’t be cooking if—”
“Lucas,” I calmly reprimanded. “I want to know about you.”
He turned his face away from me and pulled at some blades of grass. “Mom has a boyfriend.” His tone was caught somewhere between scathing and defeated. “She’s been seeing him for a while apparently.”
“Have you met him?”
He nodded.
“What’s he like?”
“He’s tall. Bigger than Dad. Throws his weight around like he owns the place. Like he owns Mom.”
“I’m so sorry.” The last six months had proven to be tumultuous for the Carter family, and it didn’t seem to be improving.
“He’s taken an interest in Mason,” Lucas continued. “I don’t know whether it’s because he’s the eldest and he can handle more, but he’s always on his case. He comes into the house and makes himself at home, eats our food, leaves a mess and beats on my mother. Mason tries to stop him but is hit with the consequences of disobedience.”
My heart was pounding in my chest. “Has he hit you?”
“A few times.”
I hooked my arm through his, and together we fell onto our backs staring into the darkness at the twinkling stars.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come stay with me, Lucas Carter.”
“Okay, Gemma Sinclair.”
Chapter 6
The smell of numerous croc-pots loaded with home cooked meals, fresh salty popcorn, and hot dogs wafted through the street on a hot summer’s June night. Children squealed in bouncy castles, and adults cheered when they won shooting challenges at the smaller than fair sized gaming stalls. Long picnic tables were lined down the road’s center, decorated with red and white chequered cloths, and carnival lights zigzagged from one side of the street to the other. A local garage band made up of middle-aged men reinventing their youth played on a makeshift stage singing covers from the seventies. The whole block had turned out in celebratory mode or on amicable terms. Truces about fence disputes were put on hold much like a universal peace treaty for the duration of the Olympics. Mrs. Blackwell even had the neighborhood’s newest arrivals lining up for her chicken casserole.
“Mom,” I said, touching her shoulder gently while lifting my leg over the picnic seat. “I’m going to find Lucas.”
She stopped mid-conversation with the Forests who lived across the street. “Okay. But…” she warned, “… I know we know most of these people but be careful, and…” my mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, her voice lowered, “… don’t get yourself too close to that Peterson man. I caught him lewdly looking at young Joanie in the convenience store this afternoon.”
“Got it. I’ll be home by ten,” I reassured, before setting off through the maze of people and food stalls.
The sweet smell of cotton candy drifted by as children ran past with thick wads of it wrapped around a stick. I hadn’t seen the Carters’ all afternoon, but after what my mother said, I was fixed on finding Joanie. While Lucas and I were best friends, Joanie and I were also tight. We attended the same school together since kindergarten. It didn’t take me long to find her. Joanie was beginning to find a new group of friends who were less concerned about their grades and considerably more eager to build up their street cred, for all it was worth in our middle-class suburb. It was also easy to see why Joanie was on the receiving end of unwanted attention. Her denim shorts were riding high, her pale skin midriff was exposed, and her C-cup breasts were more on display than covered. I’d never before seen her dress like this and I was almost certain her parents hadn’t seen her either.
“Pay up or buzz off,” the stern voice from the sixty-year-old gaming attendant ordered the group milling around.
“Come on, out the way, old man,” came a familiar mocking voice.
Mason Carter.
He stood with the rifle pointed at the moving target, which at this particular stall was a small plastic sailboat with a number on the flag. Mason was flanked by three other boys his age who I didn’t know, and Joanie who was giggling while twirling pink cotton candy around her finger. “I get one more shot,” he insisted, arrogantly.
“You’ve already had your last—” The man ducked for cover as Mason fired, aiming only inches from the attendant’s face. The soft bullet hit a target square on, with a force strong enough it should have fallen. But it didn’t.
“See, you’ve got weights holding them down,” Mason jeered, and Joanie swooned at the bad-boy behavior. “You’re robbing me of my prize because you’re a cheat.”
When the man straightened from the almost hit, his reddened face was furious. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” he roared.
Mason smirked. “A lot.”
The group of youths, amused by his reaction, laughed mockingly before moving to the next stall but Mason remained taking aim, refusing defeat.
“Joanie,” I called gently, reaching out to touch her arm. She knew Mason was a loose cannon and I was horrified she seemed so taken by him. Still admiring her bad-boy crush, she cast a sideward glance but then seeing it was me, pivoted until we were face on. There was a glimmer of both guilt and defiance in her eyes.
“What are you doing, Joanie?” I asked. She knew precisely what I was talking about.
“I’m fine, Gemma,” she replied in a hushed voice but shifted uncomfortably. She knew what she was doing was only asking for trouble, but she wasn’t going to stop.
“I didn’t know you were hanging out with him.”
“Well, I am. And I said I’m fine.”
“Joanie, this is a bad—”
“Gemma Sinclair…” The voice saying my name caused a cold shiver up my spine. Mason swiveled on his heel, the rifle pointed at my chest, his eye still looking through the scope. I took a step back, some color draining from my face while looking down at the weapon. Getting peppered with soft bullets didn’t scare me as much as the underlying threat glinting from Mason’s eye. My palms grew sweaty, and my heart began to race. My gaze turned to Joanie who was wide-eyed and horrified. She swallowed nervously, hopefully realizing her choice of acquaintances had been a misguided one.
“Get me a soda,” Mason ordered Joanie, who without debate turned and left. The gaming attendant was barking orders that were going unheard.