Driven, page 3
He caved in. “I guess we could try it… but we set a time limit. If any of us is unhappy with the situation, I go. No questions asked and no trying to talk me out of it.”
The sisters exchanged yet another look Oliver couldn’t really decipher. Tude dipped her chin, and Vera turned toward him, a look of triumph on her face. They must have done that weird twin telepathy thing.
“Three months,” Vera said after getting the okay from her sister.
Oliver already felt the restraints closing in on him. “Too long for a trial. How about one?”
Tude shook her head. “Two and a half,” she countered.
“One and a half,” Oliver shot back, feeling his throat getting tight, the panic rising.
“Two is the final offer,” Tude said, leaning back in her chair, crossing her thin arms.
“With a discussion of a longer trial at the one-and-a-half mark,” Vera said, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with the delight of bargaining.
It was longer than Oliver wanted. He had no idea if he could last more than a full twenty-four hours with them, much less two whole months. He shouldn’t have even entertained the thought. The door was right there just beyond the couch. His long legs could have had him up and out before they could even muster the energy to get out of their chairs.
A clearing throat made Oliver jump. He saw that the women were staring at him, expectantly. His daydream of running from them must have lasted longer than he thought. A sigh escaped his lips as he conceded.
“Fine. Two months” came his somewhat defeated voice. Vera clapped with glee and Tude just gave him a satisfied smile, as if she had expected no different answer from him.
Dread grew heavy—like the rocks he used to toss in the lake to splash his sister when they were kids—as he thought about all the personal questions they would probably ask him over the sixty days. Things had barely begun and already Oliver was thinking he’d never make it through.
Chapter Five
OLIVER FELT like a rag doll as the twins dragged him through the house, pointing out favorite tchotchkes and every nook and cranny of the old Victorian home. Even with all the clutter, it managed to look elegant and put together instead of the jumbled mess he suspected it would be elsewhere.
They herded him up the creaky stairs, stopping to name every person in every photo hanging on the wall, giving a not-so-brief history of each. The trip up twelve steps seemed to take a lifetime, and Oliver doubted he’d be able to remember even half the names. Hopefully he wouldn’t be quizzed on it later.
When they exited the stairs, and the world’s most boring history lesson, Oliver looked left and right at rows of closed doors. Short of a small stained-glass window at the far end of the hallway, and the muted rainbow circle it projected on a flowery runner, the passageway was dark, almost foreboding. It seemed at odds with the rest of the house. Oliver wondered why that was. They led him toward the only light source, stopping at a plain wood door on the left. It was decorated with an old-fashioned beveled crystal doorknob. Oliver lamented the lack of lighting in the hall that would have danced off the door’s pretty accoutrement.
Tude gestured for Oliver to turn the knob. Following the silent order, he opened the heavy door. Expecting to be swamped by the overpowering smell of musty mothballs, he was pleasantly surprised to have his senses delighted by fresh citrus scents of orange and lemon. More shocking was the bright, almost blinding, sunlight that streamed in through two large windows on the far side of the room.
He stepped farther inside and did a slow 360, taking in the very modern room around him. Painted in shades of gray with pops of neon yellow and green, it was quite the departure from the Victorian charm invading the rest of the house. There was a full-size bed flanked by glass-and-metal bedside tables as well as a slick black dresser with a small flat-screen TV perched on top of it. A glass-and-metal desk that matched the tables took up residence under the incredible windows.
“Did I just fall down the rabbit hole?” Oliver asked no one in particular. The women both chuckled.
“Just ’cause we’re old doesn’t mean we don’t know what young’uns like these days,” Tude said, hands on hips. “We’re all up on Red Delicious computer thingies and that rap guy named after the little chocolate candies.” Her sister nodded in agreement.
Oliver’s mind whirled trying to figure out what they meant. When it hit him, he laughed out loud. “You mean Macintosh computers from Apple and Eminem?”
Tude threw a hand in the air. “Red Delicious, Macintosh, they’re both types of apples, right?”
“Yes, but—” Oliver tried to correct her, but she waved a hand in front of his face like she didn’t care to be put straight. He decided to let it go, enjoying the idea that the sisters were at least trying to be hip and up-to-date.
He walked toward the windows and couldn’t help but think of how great it would be to work in a space like that. If he could set up an easel where the desk was, it would be the perfect spot to create for most of the day. A sigh escaped him before he could hold it back.
“You don’t like it?” Vera was quick to ask. “It’s too bright? We can get those newfangled shades that block out the sun. Teens like to sleep a lot, don’t they?” She turned to her sister. “We will get some.”
“No!” Oliver saw the women jump a little and cringed. “I mean, thanks but that won’t be necessary. I enjoy the light. It’s great for painting.”
“You paint?” Vera asked, eyes sparkling.
“I, uh, dabble… I’m not very good, but it’s fun.”
“I see,” Vera replied. Oliver wasn’t sure he liked the look on her face. It was obvious the gears inside her head were still well oiled and turning. He hoped she wasn’t coming up with ideas of him painting the house. He’d do it, but they definitely weren’t the type of brushstrokes he enjoyed.
“We’ll leave you to get settled for a bit, but then we’ve got some grocery shopping that needs to be done. Do you think you can handle that?” Tude asked.
“Where is the store?” Oliver countered, already trying to work out the transportation time in his head.
“Back in town, not too far from where we met,” Tude said.
“You can take the car. We trust you,” Vera added.
Oliver’s chest felt tight as he glanced out the window to the large gleaming hunk of machinery in their driveway. He threw up a quick thank-you for the nice weather, knowing he could use the sun as an excuse to walk rather than drive.
“I don’t need to drive,” he told them, trying not to make it a big deal. “I enjoy walking. It’s good exercise.”
The two women exchanged glances but shrugged in unison.
“If that’s what you want,” Vera said.
“I think it’s nice to see a young man who isn’t afraid to wear down his shoes a bit,” Tude replied. “You’re just going to have to leave soon if you expect to get back in time for lunch.”
Oliver smiled. “No problem. I’m used to being up early anyway.”
Vera reached into her pocket and produced a neatly folded list. Oliver could see the familiar scrawl decorating it, top to bottom. His arms were definitely going to get a workout.
Tude reached up to the lacy neckline of her dress. Oliver’s eyes took on a puzzled glaze as he tried to figure out what she was doing.
“Mind your manners, boy, and turn your back so I can get you the grocery money,” she said, glaring at him.
Oliver flushed and quickly spun around, not wanting to think about where exactly that money was hidden. He stared out the window, spying Simon pushing the mower across the green grass. Even from a distance, Oliver could see the other boy’s well-defined arm muscles and the sun glistening off his sweaty brow. It almost made Oliver want to go out and make friends, offer him a cold drink and a wipe down, but he knew it was in everyone’s best interest to stay away from the cranky neighbor.
“Ahem!”
He spun around at the sharp sound at his back. Tude was holding out a wad of wilted green bills for Oliver to take. He tried not to cringe as he grasped them and felt they were slightly damp.
“Enjoying the view?” Tude asked, a smirk on her wrinkly face.
Oliver felt himself go red, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing just exactly what had caught his attention. “Yes, you have a lovely yard. So green and lush.”
“Lush indeed,” she replied with a cackle. Damn crafty old lady. He was sure there was no fooling her. Grabbing the list from Vera’s hand, he hurried out of the room, promising to be back by lunch.
Chapter Six
ESCAPING THE house without being seen by Simon the grease monkey was easier than Oliver could have hoped for. The other boy must have finished mowing the expanse of the front yard and headed off for the back. Oliver slipped by, unnoticed, and started back on the trail he had taken the day before that had led to the fairy-tale house he would be calling “home” for the next couple of months.
On autopilot as he headed toward the grocery store, he thought about his new circumstances. Having glanced at Vera’s list before leaving the house, he realized he knew the store, and knew it well. They had once kicked him out when he tried to help another homeless kid, younger than him, steal some chips. He knew he shouldn’t have done it; it was too great a risk to get in trouble with the police again. His probation officer would probably have sent him straight back, but at the same time, Oliver knew he couldn’t let the poor kid go hungry. The shelters had already closed for the night, and the boy looked like a wounded animal: skittish, skinny, and bruised. It was worth the risk to get him something to eat. They had gotten caught, but not before Oliver had shoved some snack cakes down the front of his pants, where he knew no one would go looking for them. Thankfully, the manager let them go with a warning and Oliver was quick to apologize and usher the kid out. Not wanting to press his luck, he hadn’t been back since. Maybe he’d get lucky, and they wouldn’t recognize him, but knowing how his life typically played out, he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the case.
Sighing, he fingered the money in his pocket. He hadn’t counted it before leaving the house, but seeing how long the list was, Oliver knew it had to be a decent chunk of change. The possibility of taking the money and running flitted through his head. With all the tricks he had used in the past, Oliver knew he could spread it and make it last for a good long time, but then what? He had left his few precious belongings back at the house, and he’d have to find another place to stay, since he was sure the women would come looking for him.
No, it just wouldn’t be worth it.
Walking into the store, he stepped to the side to look over the list again before grabbing a cart. He was only halfway through the delicate script when he felt pressure squeezing his left bicep. Taking a deep breath, Oliver turned to face his assailant.
“You’ve got some nerve, kid, coming back in here. Don’t think we’ve forgotten when you graced us with your presence last.”
Oliver bit his tongue, knowing sarcasm would do him no good in the situation. Instead he plastered on what he hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace.
“I’m just here to do some shopping for two nice old ladies. I’ve got cash. Promise.” He forced the smile wider in the hopes that his rarely seen dimple would make an appearance. Who could resist an adorable dimple?
“Sure you do. I think you best take your ‘cash’ and find somewhere else to shop,” the store manager said, obviously having the Herculean power to be able resist the cuteness of a dimple.
“Really, man, I’ll show you and… and you can shop along with me if you’re afraid I’ll take something.” Oliver didn’t know where else he would go to buy the food if he got kicked out. The list was very specific, and he wasn’t sure other stores would carry the items, not to mention there was no other specialty grocer within walking distance. That would mean taking the bus, and he’d really rather not do that. If he screwed this up, the ladies would probably renege on their deal. Why would they want him to stay if he couldn’t even get a stupid shopping trip right? Something on his face, the worry perhaps, must have shown through, and Oliver saw the manager give in.
“Go on, then, you can’t leave nice old ladies waiting… but if I see a bulge in your pants, I’m going to pat you down!” the manager threatened. Oliver tried not to smile at the man’s choice of words, but must not have been so successful. “You… you know what I mean!” the man stuttered, flustered. He turned on his heel and stalked off to his office where Oliver was sure he would be watching the cameras around the store.
Oliver thought it best to get through the list as fast as he could. For all he knew, the manager was up there calling the cops on him. There would be nothing they could bring him in for, but they could detain him long enough that the fudge ripple ice cream would melt.
He sped up and down the aisles, easily finding the items on the list and popping them into the cart with just enough ease to keep the boxes and cans from getting damaged. Thankfully, it was a small store, so he was done before he knew it. The cart was filled high, and it caused Oliver to flash back to a memory of shopping with his mom and sister.
He was probably six or seven, and Amelia had to be only two or three. His little sister had gotten to sit in the cart, and when he begged his mom to be able to ride too, she snapped at him, saying big boys could walk and didn’t whine about such little things. She ended up walking off, pushing the cart with his sister, leaving him crying in the aisle. She never came back, and he had run up and down the rows, frantic at the thought of being left behind. Finally he found her in the frozen food section bragging to some neighbor about Amelia with her golden curls and adorable big blue eyes. He clung to the cart, his young mind thinking if he laced his tiny fingers through the metal mesh he would become one with it and his mom wouldn’t be able to leave him behind again. Oliver could have hated his sister for all the attention their mother gave her, while ignoring him, but she was sweet and innocent and obviously loved her big brother. Her small pudgy hand petted his sweaty brow, and he felt relief at finding them, even if his mom didn’t seem to have missed him at all.
“Hey, kid, some of us want a chance to feel the melons, could you move along?” A gruff voice in his ear shook Oliver from his memories.
Eyes wide, he was quick to move the cart and mumbled apologies as he left the disgruntled shopper behind him. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to think about Amelia, much less let himself get lost in thoughts about his mother. It left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
APPROACHING THE registers, he spotted the manager, arms crossed, staring him down. He must have left the Fortress of Solitude, aka the upstairs office, to make sure Oliver made good on his promise to pay for everything. Oliver tipped his head toward him in acknowledgment, before loading the items onto the conveyer belt.
There was a fresh-faced, perky brunette swiping each of his items as they completed their trip to the scanner. She swept each item over the glass plate, smiling at him every time the machine beeped. Oliver gave her a small smile in return but tried not to make eye contact too often. He had an idea she was trying to subtly flirt with him, even though her boss was standing right there watching their interaction. The belt stopped with one item just out of her reach. She leaned over, giving him a direct view of her ample cleavage, as she grabbed the item. Oliver was a little disgusted by her transparent ploy to get his attention. When she straightened, she gave a giggle and a quick wink Oliver was sure she thought the manager wouldn’t catch. Glancing over at the middle-aged, portly man in a sweat-stained, white button-down Oliver saw that he hadn’t missed the exchange. Great, now he would think Oliver was trying to use some girl to help him steal or something.
Oliver coughed, “Not interested,” hoping it was clear enough a statement for the girl to put an end to her flirting game and just hurry up and finish checking the items out, rather than him.
She blinked, her eyes wide, looking as if no one had ever uttered those words to her before. At least Oliver could tell from the expression that she had indeed heard and understood him. He tried to smile in the hopes of softening the blow, but when he saw the glassiness of her eyes, he groaned internally. Shit. Making girls cry was definitely not his thing.
“Uh… look,” he said quickly in a quiet voice, hoping the manager’s hearing wasn’t as good as his eyesight, “you’re a lovely girl, I’m sure, but, uh, I prefer people with their… umm, plumbing on the outside, if you get what I mean.” The vacant look in her watery eyes told him that she definitely didn’t get what he meant.
Oliver sighed and stepped a little closer. “I prefer guys, okay?” Her confusion quickly turned to disgust, her nose turning up and lips turning down.
“Gross,” she muttered as she was quick to finish ringing up the sale.
“You didn’t think so a minute ago,” he bit back before he could think twice about it.
The girl put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Oliver tried hard not to roll his eyes. Sure, he thought, you weren’t just flashing me your special on melons a minute ago. Before he could reply aloud to her, the girl had turned to the ever-watchful manager.
“Mr. Wooly, this customer is hitting on me. Make him stop.”
Oliver’s jaw dropped. She was delusional. He turned to the manager, sure the fear was shining in his eyes. The older man sighed and clenched his teeth, looking as if he was long-suffering for having to deal with crazy teens.
“Gina, I clearly saw you wink at him. Let’s just finish up this transaction, and you can go on break, all right?”
“But Mr. Wooly, isn’t it sexual harassment?” She pouted and blinked as if willing those earlier tears to finally fall.
“Yes, Gina, but he would be the victim. Let’s go.”
She gave Oliver a look of hatred and disdain before pounding out a few keys on the register. “$105.60,” she spat at him. Oliver carefully counted out five twenty-dollar bills, a five, and a single before handing it all over to her. Gina took it between pinched fingers, as if she were afraid she might catch “the gay” by touching the money.
