Control You Page 4

  * * * *

  My parents have owned the same house in Coldcreek my entire life. It’s a large two-story white house with black shutters. I pulled up to the front and parked my car behind my father’s Mercedes. Inhaling a few breaths, I gathered up enough courage to walk through the front door and tell them all I’d conjured up during the ride here. Opening my door, I stepped out and closed it behind me with a quick gesture. A cool morning breeze flitted across my skin as I started up the front steps while smoothing out my shirt.

  “Hello? Mom, Dad? I’m home,” I called as I stepped inside.

  The house was quiet, vacant sounding. I glanced around the empty sitting room that was seldomly ever used, and headed toward the back of the house. My mother’s clip-clap from her heels against the hardwood floors met my ears as I rounded the corner into the hallway.

  “Paige, honey, I’m coming.” She stepped out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of mimosas. Of course, brunch wouldn’t be complete without those. My mother was right on the verge of being labeled an alcoholic; she’d been teetering that fine line my entire life. “Can you help me carry some of the food outside? Your father insisted we have this thing on the back terrace.”

  “Sure.” I followed her into the kitchen. My eyes scanned the array of food available. There were glazed croissants, scrambled eggs, hash browns, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and a bowl of mixed fruit. “Looks good.”

  “I know. We had Clarence come in early this morning and make everything.”

  After grabbing the fruit bowl, I popped a cut strawberry from the top into my mouth. Fruit was one thing I could never grow tired of eating. “Is Dad outside?”

  “No, he’s on the phone, dealing with some important business matters this morning before he sits down with us.” Her red lips dipped into a frown. I wasn’t sure if it was because my father would be joining us, or if it was because he was taking a business call.

  With my mother, it was hard to tell. One minute my father was the light of her life and the next she couldn’t get enough distance from him. Some would call this trait bipolar; I called it being indecisive and hardly ever satisfied.

  We walked through the French doors off the dining room that led to the back. I frowned and dug through the bowl I was carrying for another bite-sized piece of fruit. Now that my father was already in the mindset of work, he might not be so easy to swindle into allowing me to use my remaining college money for opening the clothing store I wanted. I set the bowl down in the center of the table, and backtracked with my mom to gather the rest of brunch from inside.

  “Here, have a mimosa,” Mom said as soon as we’d finished carrying all the food out and sat down.

  I reached for one, thinking of the first time she’d offered one to me. I’d been ten. She’d been taking pain medication for a horrible infection she’d gotten from a manicure gone wrong. That had been her excuse for her lapse in judgment when my father got on her later that afternoon after I’d disclosed she’d allowed me to drink not one but three.

  “Paige, good Lord, what is that on your nails?”

  I fanned my fingers out in front of me. “Nail polish.”

  “What a horrid color. It does nothing for your complexion.” Her face scrunched up, and I felt her eyes graze over my appearance, taking it in wholly. “Why do you have your hair in that braid? Does the rest of it look as bad as your ends do? You need to book a spot with Chantal.”

  “I just felt like putting it in a braid.” I took a swig of my mimosa, wishing my father would hurry up with his phone conversation so I could get what I needed to say done and be out of here. Now that she’d started in on my appearance, there would be no stopping her. “And my ends look fine. I just had a trim a few months ago.”

  Mom reached out and fingered them. “Honey, they’re so dry. You really need to either have them trimmed off or use some product on them.”

  I gripped the ends of my hair and brushed my thumb along them. They felt fine to me. Biting my bottom lip, I felt the muscles in my entire body weaken. This brunch was not going the way I’d planned.

  My father chose that precise moment to stroll out the opened French doors and sit in the chair beside me. Thank goodness, because my mother’s incessant nagging and nitpicking would be the end of me otherwise.

  “Paige, how have you been?” he asked as he unrolled his silverware and set his napkin in his lap. “I’ve been monitoring your spending habits this month and I must say there has been a slight improvement.”

  My heart sank. He hadn’t even given me a moment to respond to his first question before he started in on the topic of my spending habits. It was disheartening. There were only two things my parents cared for in life: money and their family’s outward image. This had become apparent to me at an early age.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I served myself some eggs and then reached for the croissants next, wondering how I should bring up the idea for a store. I’d forgotten how I’d chosen to begin the speech. Damn it. “I wanted to—”

  My mother cut me off midsentence. “Honey, go easy on the croissants, okay? I know you love them, but carbs, sweetheart, keep them in mind.” She ripped off the tiniest bite of one and popped it in her mouth. That would be all the bread she would ingest for the entire day. “Have you been working out still? Your school has that gym on campus; you’d think you’d take advantage of it.”

  I sighed. It was a mystery how I hadn’t ended up with an eating disorder living with her. I was not fat by any means. In fact, I was petite and small-framed, but she still insisted that I watch my figure, diet, and exercise every time I saw her. “I’ve been a few times, but not recently.”

  “Well, maybe you should get in the habit of it. Exercise is good for you, even if you aren’t trying to lose weight.” She put a forkful of blueberries to her lips to hide a small smile forming, and I knew she was thinking about her personal trainer, Ben. For the last year and a half, I’d wondered if she was cheating on my father with her twenty-four-year-old trainer.

  “About your spending habits,” my dad said. He reached for a mimosa and took a small sip before continuing. “I’m not going to commend you on them, because simply put, I feel as though you could do better. I don’t understand this excessive shopping you manage to do every month. For all the purchases you’ve made in just the last month alone, you could have a store inside your closet.” He smirked and wiped the corners of his lips on his napkin.

  I smiled and released a little nervous laugh. “Actually, Daddy, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I straightened my back and met his stare dead-on. It was now or never. “I’ve been contemplating opening up my own clothing shop. I want to—”

  “Open your own clothing store? You have to be joking. What about school? When would you have the time for that? You have no idea how time consuming running your own business is, Paige. I mean, you do plan to run the thing yourself, right?”

  My shoulders slumped. The idea had instantly been shot down. No surprise there.

  “Oh, a fashion line would be fun!” my mom shouted. Her words slurred together a little, and I wondered how many mimosas she’d downed before I came.

  “No, I don’t want my own line, just a store,” I clarified. “And I have thought about how much time would be involved in this. I plan to drop out.” I muttered the last two words under my breath.

  “What?” my father asked in a scary, calm tone that made goose bumps prickle across my skin. “No, dropping out because you’ve come up with some off-the-wall idea is unacceptable. You actually think you’re responsible enough to handle running a business of your own? Unacceptable, Paige!”

  Here we go. Now it was time for me to lay it all on thick. Shark Tank. Shark Tank.

  “It’s not off-the-wall, Daddy. I know clothes. I could do this. You could invest the money you have in my college fund into this store. We could go in on it sixty/forty. Me being the sixty and you or Mom being the forty. I can make this work. All I need is a little money and some time
to get things going.” I said everything so quickly and clearly, I didn’t give either of them a moment to interrupt.

  Mom sat back in her chair with her mimosa pressed to her lips, staring at me. Dad remained eerily quiet with his jaw clenched. I couldn’t even breathe.

  “She does have a point, Richard. She knows clothes well,” Mom said.

  My heart kick-started in my chest and I wondered if this was it, if I’d gained my mother’s approval. If so, she might go in with me on the deal and leave my father out.

  “How do you plan to obtain the clothes for the store? Have you researched potential places for the business? Projected costs for start-up? Anything?” Dad asked.

  I chewed on the bite of sausage in my mouth, stalling. No, I hadn’t thought of all the details yet, but I wasn’t about to admit that. He would shoot my idea down if I did.

  “Stewart—Angelica’s Stewart—he owns that strip of commercial buildings off Westhills, near the college.” My mother guzzled the remainder of her cocktail disguised as a breakfast drink, and set her glass down. “I remember Angelica saying at the dinner we had with them last week that they had a shop go out. It was that gem place. Paige could rent the space. It would be suitable.”

  A small smile broke out on my face as I realized my mom was entirely for this. This dream of mine was obtainable. I glanced at her and smiled even wider. “That would be perfect! And if they still have the glass cases from all the gems being displayed, then I could use those to display jewelry and belts and stuff.”

  “Good idea.” Her eyes grew wide. “Even wallets and purses, if the cases are big enough.”

  “Barbra, you can’t be serious about this.”

  Mom glanced at him. “I am, Richard. Paige could be successful at this, and I think you’re cutting her short by dismissing it so quickly.”

  “But what about school? She needs an education,” he insisted.

  “Why?” Mom shrugged. “I never went to college and look how well I’m doing.”

  I remained quiet. I didn’t even move as I waited to see where this conversation would head. My mother’s little jab could send my father into a tailspin of anger.

  “Okay,” Dad said. He dropped his eyes to the plate of food in front of him and placed his hands on either side. “I’ll make you a deal, Paige. If you can obtain a job in a high-stress environment and keep it for, let’s say, five weeks, I’ll let you do this entire thing the way you want.”

  My jaw slacked. “Seriously?”

  “Don’t get too excited. You have to prove to me you can get a job and hold it before I’ll agree to anything—a high-stress job like a waitress, fast-food, or something along those lines.”

  I grinned from ear to ear. “I can do that.”

  I could. I hoped. My track record for jobs was not the best. In fact, my longest job to date was three weeks, but for this, I would force myself to do well. I felt as though this was a chance of a lifetime with my parents. This was the moment they would hopefully look back on one day and say they were glad they’d agreed to give me the opportunity.

  CHAPTER SIX

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  Sunday had been a blur. I’d woken with a pounding headache to find myself wrapped around Eva in my bed. Deciding I liked waking up beside someone I cared for, I fell back asleep again just so I could have a repeat of the moment. The party had been wild. By the time Craig had made it back from wherever innocent-looking Paige lived, the house party was in full swing and half of his friends were hammered. The other half sat in the living room looking as though seeing people have fun was the most distasteful thing they’d ever witnessed. Eva and I had gotten plastered. She’d beaten me in beer pong, twice, and then went on to becoming the undefeated champ of the evening. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.

  Monday morning I woke early and decided I’d go for a drive to clear my head. Scott, Craig’s dad, wasn’t supposed to be flying in until later in the afternoon. I was supposed to meet him at his office around five to sign my papers, which gave me plenty of time to loaf around. Since loafing was a specialty of mine, I had no problem doing so.

  Putting a cigarette to my lips, I lit it, and then turned the key in my ignition. The song blaring through the speakers made me jump. I chuckled and exhaled as I reached to turn the volume down, and then cracked my window. Changing the song to something more fitting of how I felt—Hurt by Sevendust—I shifted into reverse and barreled down the driveway.

  I needed to get away. I needed a moment to gather myself before I walked into Scott’s office and had to sign those fucking papers that were nothing besides salt to an open wound every damn time. Thoughts of calling Butch, my main supplier here, hit me hard in the chest. I was positive he’d have something I could swing by and pick up that would counteract this pain surfacing, something that would erase it, even for a moment.

  I bashed my hand against the steering wheel as the drums in the song kicked in, and sang the words with as much emotion behind them as the lead singer did. This was like the fucking theme song to my life. As soon as it ended, I hit replay and listened to it all over again.

  When I pulled in front of 313 Northside Drive, my chest nearly caved in. I hadn’t realized my drive to clear my mind would lead me back home. To my home. The home I’d shared with my parents. It looked the same as the last time I’d driven out here to see it. I didn’t know why I always seemed to expect overgrown weeds and cobwebs; maybe because it would be easier to see. At least then, it wouldn’t look like the house was frozen in time, waiting for them to come back. It would look as though it had given up on their return. Just like me.

  Scott had bought the house shortly after my parents’ deaths. He figured that one day I might want it for myself. Nearly eight years had passed and I still didn’t want it, but he managed to upkeep it just in case. He never offered to sell it to me, but always said if I wanted a place of my own to call home, it would be here, waiting for me. I think the reason he never offered it to me was because he knew I’d turn around and sell it, and then later on down the line I’d regret doing so.

  The cream-colored house with its dark brown shutters and matching roof stared at me. It looked hollow and haunted. There was no warmth inside; that warmth had died the moment my mother did. It had been her dream house. My father had saved and had it built for her exactly the way she’d always envisioned it. The memory of how he’d surprised her with it on their anniversary when I was eight flitted through my mind. She’d cried tears of joy and so had my father. It was the only time I’d ever witnessed him cry. I knew it was because he loved her with everything that he was, and that he was incredibly happy to be able to give her a slice of the happiness he felt with her presence in his life. I’d sworn that day I’d find something like what they had, and it would be as wonderful.

  That was then and this is now.

  I started up the wooden front steps to the house, and made my way around the wraparound porch toward the back, wanting to see the lake. A slight fog rested across the water and added to the eerie ambiance of the entire house. Pulling another cigarette from my pack, I put it to my lips and slid out my lighter from the front pocket of my jeans. Leaning my elbows against the railing, I stared out at the misty waters. A memory of the last time I’d been here flittered through my mind.

  “I just want to fucking die...let me.”

  The words reverberated through my core and made me squeeze my eyes shut. Pulling in a deep breath, I opened my eyes. My gaze dropped to the wrist on my right arm and zeroed in on the scar there. It was barely visible through the tattoo covering it, but it was still there—a reminder of how far I’d fallen at one point. Inhaling deeply, I pushed the thoughts of that night—of my scar—out of my mind. Lighting my cigarette, it became apparent to me this place was not where I needed to be right now. Fuck what my subconscious thought I needed. This wasn’t it.

  Taking a pull off my cigarette, my eyes dropped to my wrist again. This time, I focused on the tattoo instead of t
he scar.

  A man can be destroyed but not defeated.

  I smiled. Hemingway was a fucking genius. That moment in my life had destroyed me, but it hadn’t defeated me. I had Eva to thank partly for that. My eyes skimmed across the lake while I finished my cigarette. Peacefulness slipped over me. This was why I’d come here. This was what I needed. A sense of closure. A little part of the ache that had been present inside of me the last few days died.

  “I’m doing better, Mom. I promise you I am,” I whispered into the air.

  * * * *

  I turned onto Main Street, and pulled into the first parking space I could find. I hadn’t walked the main strip of shops in forever. Locking my car doors, I paused on the sidewalk, and glanced up and down the street at the business signs. Some of them were new and some I remembered from years ago.

  Whenever I came back to Norhurst to sign my papers, I never went anyplace besides Shooters, Craig’s house, and sometimes Eva’s place—that was it. This time I felt like doing some shopping. I headed into the store directly in front of my car—Simon’s Jewelry. Today was one of those days where I was down to spend a few thousand in an hour or so.

  The bell above the door rang as I entered the store. It smelled like old lady perfume inside, and my nose crinkled with disgust. This purchase would have to be a quick one. I walked to one of the glass cases, and viewed the pieces inside. A woman with thick-framed glasses caught my attention from behind the case. She was eyeballing me like I was some hoodlum about to hold up her store. People could be so fucking judgmental sometimes.

  “Can I help you find something in particular?” she asked.

  I bent over to view the rings behind the second shelf a little closer. “Nope, just browsing.”

  She huffed as though I were wasting her precious air in the store, and fiddled with something in front of her again. “Let me know if you need anything, then.”