Eventually the torture came to an end. My mother, Jacks, and I cleared the table while Scotty went back to his video game. Allen and my dad retired to the media room to watch TV.
“Rosalyn?”
“Yes, Mom?” I grinned, baring my teeth.
She held a glass in one hand and a dirty plate in the other. “Why don’t you go relax? After all, you clean tables for a living. I’m sure you don’t want to do it on your off hours, too.”
“Don’t be silly. Since I’m a pro, it will go that much quicker if I help.”
Jacks’ nervous gaze shifted between my mom and me. “Why don’t you both go relax? I can do it.” She hurried into the kitchen.
As we cleaned up, my mother chatted with Jacks, freezing me out entirely. She considered this a punishment. I considered it a reprieve.
After we filled the dishwasher, Jacks left the kitchen with the sorry excuse she needed to check on Scotty while my mother and I stood in silence.
“Did you get the phone numbers for Mary and Packard?” I finally asked.
She raised her chin in the air and stared at me with her lips pursed before walking to the small desk attached to the countertop. She pulled a piece of paper from the top drawer. “I want you to know that I’m doing this against my better judgment. You can’t hound these people.”
“Darn, hounding and grain alcohol are all I have going for me.” I took the paper. It had Mary’s new married name, her address and phone number, as well as Packard’s number and address.
She acted as if I hadn’t spoken. “Packard is very busy. He’s on the city council, you know.”
“So?”
“There’s talk of him running for mayor.”
“And?”
She closed her eyes for a second and sighed. “Axton is nothing but trouble, and why you continue to be friends with him is beyond me. He ruined my birthday party with his drugs.”
Ah, the infamous country club fire alarm incident where Ax toked up in the bathroom. “That was four years ago. Seriously, when are you going to let it go?” My guess was never.
“Furthermore, Packard doesn’t need some drugged up relative causing him problems.”
My turn to ignore. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, waving the paper. I almost made it to the stairs when her voice stopped me.
“Why can’t you just for once do what is expected of you?”
I turned to face her. “What exactly is expected of me in this situation, Mom?”
“He’s probably somewhere getting high. Just stay out of it. It doesn’t concern you. You’d be better off trying to get a good job and make some decent friends.”
I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath. “Axton is decent. He’s the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I know, and he’s in trouble.” I stepped forward and lowered my voice. “And I like my job, thank you. Just because you were too good—”
She made a slashing motion with one hand. “As far as I can see, you’ve had a pretty good life. We gave you the best of everything so you could make something of yourself, but you’re throwing it away with both hands.”
I rubbed my eyes. We’d had this conversation a million times. We could have it again tonight, but it wouldn’t change anything.
I turned and left the kitchen, made hasty farewells to my dad and Allen, gave Scotty a kiss on the head, and promised my sister I’d call later in the week.
My mother stood on the front step, her arms crossed, and watched me drive away. I felt unsettled, sad and angry at the same time.
But in a way, she was right. Although I’d rather stick a shrimp fork in my eye than admit it to her. Lately, I felt like life was passing me by. I’d been coasting.
I diddled my time away, taking classes like Film Appreciation and Sex Throughout History for the past five years without any direction whatsoever. I couldn’t decide what to do with my life, and it scared me I might never figure it out.
I blew out a breath. What I needed was action, not introspection. I wasn’t going to find Axton by driving around feeling sorry for myself.
I pulled into a Quickie Mart and asked for directions.
Packard Graystone lived on the outskirts of Huntingford in a development so new half the houses were under construction. Silhouettes of backhoes and earthmovers, their jagged claws hovering in the air, bordered the neighborhood. I got lost driving down partially finished streets that led to nowhere. Kind of like my life.
The luxury homes all looked the same in the dark. Cookie cutter housing for the professional set. I finally found Packard’s house — two chimneys, two bay windows, and a four car garage — in the middle of a cul-de-sac. A white SUV sat in the driveway and most of the lights were shining from inside the house.
I grabbed my purse and keys, marched up to the front door, and knocked. Axton’s niece or nephew — I couldn’t tell which because it had one of those floppy haircuts and long eyelashes — answered.
“We don’t want any,” he/she said and started to close the door.
I wedged my foot in the gap. “Get your dad, kid.” Ax never talked about his brother or this kid. Axton was on the outs with this family, even more so than I was with mine. But it was going to drive me batty. Was this kid a boy or girl?
The child looked at me, then my foot, and proceeded to yell at the top of its lungs, “Dad!”
Packard walked toward the door, wiping his hands on a green and white plaid dishcloth. He resembled Axton, but where Axton was small and scrawny, Packard was taller, beefier, and almost fifteen years older. The wiry blond hair was obviously a family trait, but Packard wore his short and full of hair product.
“May I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Rose Strickland.” I waited, but there was no look of recognition on his face. “I’m a friend of Axton’s.”
“Jordan,” he said to the kid, “go finish your homework.”
Darn, I still didn’t know if that kid was a boy or a girl. Jordan could be used for both, right?
When the kid zoomed out of sight, Packard narrowed his cold blue eyes. “Listen,” he pointed a finger at me. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but that little shit has nothing to do with me.”
Chapter 10
My mouth hung open a second before I snapped it shut. “When you say ‘little shit’ are you referring to Ax?”
“That’s right.”
His brotherly concern was underwhelming. “Axton is missing. Like really missing. I’m filing a police report tonight because it’s been forty-eight hours. He’s in trouble, Packard.”
He threw the dish towel over his shoulder and rubbed his forehead. “Is it a drug thing?”
“No, and he’s not really into anything but pot.”
“Hey,” he said, “pot is a drug. It’s an illegal substance.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. Packard was working my last nerve. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but this isn’t a drug thing.” I peered over Packard’s shoulder as a tiny woman walked up behind him.
“Pack, what’s going on? Who is this?” she gestured in my direction. Her brows drew together over light brown eyes.
“She says she’s a friend of Axton’s.”
I smiled and held out my hand. “Hello, my name is Rose.”
She stared at my hand a moment before shaking it. “Hello, Rose. Where’s Axton? Is he with you?”
“She—” Packard started.
“He’s missing,” I said, “and I’m very worried about him.”
