Right in Front of You: (A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance) Page 2

  “I’m never missing curfew again.”

  “Maybe you should talk to your parents.”

  “Have you met my parents?”

  Yeah, she was right. Talking was pointless. Molly’s mom was okay. She always carried candy in her purse. I remember her giving some to me after church one time. And she always smiled, the way Molly did. But not when Mr. Fowler was around. Mrs. Fowler was always sad when he was nearby, and I could never understand why. My parents loved each other’s company and their love for each other always shone through their smiles.

  “Sorry, Molly.” I turned around to go back out the window and instead bumped into a small wooden box perched on the corner of Molly’s dresser. It crashed to the floor without breaking, but a few jewelry items spilled from underneath the lid. The noise alerted Molly’s father.

  His footsteps upstairs sounded like a dinosaur’s.

  “He’s coming.” She covered her mouth. I dashed for the window, but Molly grabbed my arm and pushed me inside her closet.

  “You won’t make it. Stay here and don’t breathe,” she whispered.

  The door closed in front of me, sealing off the remaining daylight. I gently touched the front panel, shifting its hinge like a shutter’s, to illuminate the claustrophobic space. No sooner had I crouched to the floor and held my breath the way Molly had asked than her bedroom door opened. My parents always knocked before they came into my room; Molly’s father didn’t.

  “Where were you?” His stern voice shook the dread right out of my chest.

  “I came home twenty minutes ago. You were in the kitchen.”

  A distinct locking sound clicked in my ears and I searched through my memory: did Molly have a lock on her door?

  “You’re a liar, baby. And you know what happens when you lie, don’t you?”

  “I’m telling you the truth, father.” The tremble in her voice made the hairs on my arms stand up and I had the urge to leave the closet. Overwhelmed with my own fear, I stayed hidden, praying that he’d believe her little fib.

  “If you’ve been here, then why aren’t your pajamas on? You know the rules, Molly. Eight o’clock, pajamas on. It doesn’t look like you’re respecting the rules.”

  “I am, I promise.”

  “Change into your pajamas, now.”

  “But…”

  “Baby, I’m not going to ask again.”

  I shuddered, and through the thin slit in the shutter I saw him place his hands on his hips and wait. Molly slowly unbuttoned her shirt, and I closed my eyes. She wouldn’t want me looking at her when she changed. Why was her father still there?

  A slight click of metal forced my eyes to open, and I saw Mr. Fowler unbuckling his pants.

  “Please, not—” she begged.

  “Shut up and do as you’re told.”

  If he laid a hand on her, I’d jump out of that closet and hit him as hard as I could. I tightened my fists at the thought. He’d probably throw my skinny-boned ass against the wall and then out the window, but hopefully I’d scare him enough to leave Molly alone. He had better have loosened that belt because of his beer belly, not for any other reason. I wanted to believe that the worst he’d do would be to hit her with the belt, but even that seemed like a lenient punishment from Mr. Fowler. Still, I didn’t hear any other physical threats. What was he up to?

  “You still have enough pads?” he asked.

  “Yes, they’ll last me a while.”

  “Did you mark your period on the calendar?”

  “I did.”

  Her voice was barely audible. I didn’t have any sisters, so I didn’t know the standard procedure for dealing with women’s issues — gross — but something about his question made me feel uncomfortable.

  When I saw Molly’s shorts fall to the floor and her tiny feet wiggle as she shimmied out of her underwear, I closed my eyes again. I didn’t open them until I was sure she had her pajama bottoms on. The next few minutes as she went through her routine of changing, going to the bathroom, brushing her teeth, combing through her hair and whatever else there was that girls did when they got ready for bed, felt like they lasted forever. When I peeked through my eyes, Mr. Fowler hadn’t moved from his spot; as long as he stayed away from Molly, I was fine with that.

  Fifteen minutes later, the closet door opened. Molly pulled her hand over her swollen eyes and reached for me. She’d been crying. I wanted to hug her and tell her that everything would be all right, but doing so would acknowledge that she had been crying and embarrass her that much more. And so I ignored the redness in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry about that, Carter.”

  “I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t see you change.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s good. You should probably leave now, in case he comes back again.”

  Chills swept over my arms. Why would he come back, if Molly was ready to sleep?

  “Yeah, I should go. Are you okay though? You know, I’m not afraid of him.” That was a little bit of truth stretching, but I wanted her to feel safe. “I can stay with you if you’d like.”

  Without waiting for her objection, I took her hand and led her to her bed. Molly slipped underneath the covers, and I tucked the corners around her shoulders. The drapes were pulled closed to make the room appear darker. It was barely past eight-thirty and the summer sun wouldn’t set for another hour at least. She looked beautiful lying there, her brown hair splayed out on the pillow. In fact, I’d never truly taken the time to take in her beauty until that moment.

  “He’s not like that all the time,” she whispered.

  “Has he done this before? Asked you to change in front of him?”

  “No, this was the first time.” Her eyes skidded to the side, twice. She was lying, but I didn’t want to upset Molly anymore, so I let it slide. “He’s stressed. Mom just had a baby, and it’s… it’s just very difficult for them.”

  I couldn’t imagine that having a newborn in the house was easy, but that didn’t mean that Molly’s privacy was to be sacrificed.

  “Please don’t tell anyone, Carter. It was a one-time thing.”

  I hoped so. I really did. Little did I know the doubt in my instinct was still being fed by the innocence of my age. I wished later that I’d listened to that nagging voice in my head more carefully. It could have saved so much grief in the future.

  “I won’t.” I made the sign of the cross over my chest.

  “And never mention this again. Promise me, Carter.”

  That was one difficult promise to keep, but my parents always taught me to give other people the benefit of the doubt. Not to judge, but forgive and know that second chances didn’t come often.

  “Promise,” I said, before opening the window and climbing down. “This is between me and you, Molly. You can trust me.”

  “Thank you. You’re a good friend, Carter,” Molly whispered from behind me; but I felt like a jerk. I felt like the worst friend in the world, and I didn’t know why.

  I never liked being around Mr. Fowler after that day, and I wished I had known the signs of a pedophile and a sick man when I was younger. Maybe I could have saved Molly from the pain she’d experience as a young woman.

  We never spoke about that night again, and I selfishly chose to forget it. I did, however know that if Mr. Fowler ever hurt Molly, I’d be the one who killed him.

  MOLLY, AGE 15

  Today was Father’s birthday, and he took our family out to dinner at the local pub. The last time we’d gone out for a special occasion was three years ago, before Nathan was born, which coincidentally was just around father’s birthday. Mom’s pregnant belly was so big that day that she couldn’t see her feet.

  We always ate at the round wooden table in the corner of the pub. It was father’s favorite spot. I pulled out my usual chair and sat with my back to the dining area. My mother made herself comfortable to my left, with Nathan in his booster seat, and Father sat across from me. We ordered the food. Actually, Father ordered for everyone, the way he alw
ays did, which meant that once again we’d be eating fried chicken, taters, and coleslaw. Sometimes I wished for fish and chips, but it was tradition for Father to place the order on his birthday.

  When the waitress brought our meal, the plates were all squished toward the right of the table. There’d be much more room if Father moved a little to the left, but Father had said he liked his view from that spot. I didn’t know how that was possible when I was blocking everything in his sight. He looked at me from across the table in that uncomfortable way, smirking, and I looked away.

  “Happy birthday, son!” Gripping a beer can, Father raised his hand up in the air. It surprised me that he remembered his son’s birthday at all. He then turned to my mother, saying, “If you’d pushed him out of that pussy of yours three days later, we would have shared a birthday.” He lowered the can and ruffled Nathan’s hair, all the while looking at me, the way he always did when he wanted to see my reaction to his vulgar words. He was waiting for me to blush or bite my lip, but I’d learned not to even flinch. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I’d learned a long time ago to not pay attention to him, especially when he wanted me to. He frowned, scanning my frozen posture, but I didn’t care.

  My mother cleared her throat. “Are you going to work tomorrow?” she asked. The company Father worked for as a logger had recently moved their operation closer to town. This meant that he could come home for the night, but hopefully he’d choose to stay in one of the barracks, the way most men did. The project was for ten years, and Father was halfway through. Sometimes I worried that he wouldn’t have a job once all the trees were cut down and would then stay home, but then I realized that I would be an adult by then, probably living elsewhere. No; I would definitely be living elsewhere.

  “Work? The day after my birthday? Nonsense. A man celebrating his birthday has to eat well” – he patted his belly – “drink lots” – he took a gulp of his beer – “and fuck as if it’s his last day on earth.” He looked to me again, slowly lowering his gaze. I could feel him staring at my boobs and I wondered whether my bra was twisted. He’d tried fixing it once and touched my breast in the process. I didn’t like it. My father had this thing about undergarments being worn the right way. If you don’t know how to wear them, then why wear them at all? he’d once said. Needless to say, I liked wearing them, but I didn’t like him looking at me wearing them.

  “What was all that fuss about last night?” Father asked.

  “Nathan’s teething. His gums hurt.” My mom’s brows squinted with concern. Her eyes were tired with an even darker shade of fatigue underneath. Nathan had been crying for the third straight night.

  “So, give him an ice cube or something.”

  “I can’t just give him an ice cube. Actually, I think he may have a fever.”

  Father fisted his hand and slammed it on the table. A few patrons turned to look our way, and I lowered my head. From the corner of my eye, sitting a few tables over, I saw Carter with his brother Maxwell and their parents. They nodded politely our way, and I pasted a stiff smile on my face before looking back to our table.

  “Don’t you say it, Clare. Don’t you dare say it.” My father shook his head from side to side. “If I hear his name again, I’m going to lose it.”

  “But I really think he should see the doctor, Ron.”

  “I’ll drive you to the city tomorrow morning, then.”

  “He’ll keep us up all night. And the fever is getting dangerously high.”

  As my parents kept arguing over taking Nathan to see Doctor Burke, I asked to slip out to the bathroom. On my way to the back, I saw Carter follow me, and so I snuck out the back door.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is Nathan teething again?”

  “Yeah, he is. But I think they’d find a way to fight anyway. Father doesn’t want Mom to take Nathan to see Doctor Burke.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I think he may be jealous because Doctor Burke is always so nice and Father is always so grumpy. I think that’s why my mom likes to visit Doctor Burke so much. It’s quieter at his office than at our house.”

  “Do you wanna grab some ice cream?” he asked. “It’ll give your parents some space to figure out what’s wrong with Nathan. We can get some vanilla for your brother. Maybe that would soothe his teeth.”

  I hesitated because I wasn’t sure whether my parents – or should I say, Father – would let me out of his birthday celebration. He didn’t like it when I hung out with boys. I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care, but I also didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention my way or towards my mother.

  “Come on, Molly. It’s on me.” Carter winked, then leaned into me and said in a lower tone, “You need a break from the yelling as much as your mom does.”

  “Thanks. I just need to let her know.”

  Instead of going to Father to ask for permission, I did what I’d rarely done and was afraid to do on most days: I whispered in my mother’s ear. She nodded, and I ran off without looking back. I hoped that my mother could handle the aftermath once Father questioned her. Carter was waiting for me outside. His brother, Max, joined us, and we bought vanilla and chocolate mixed soft-serves from the side window at the pub. We sat on the outside bench. My ice cream dripped from the cone down my inner arm. I licked the cream off, and as I turned, I saw Father looking through the restaurant window, smirking. Chills tingled down my spine. I didn’t look that way again.

  As I sucked the melted cream from within the cone, the front door opened. “You keep your hands off my son, Burke,” we heard father say. I sat there frozen, along with Carter and Max, watching the tension-filled exchange between my parents and Doctor Burke unfold. I figured it was a safer choice to remain quiet. Father swayed on his feet. The effects of the few cans of beer he’d had were visible to the world, and my gut twisted. Why did he have to act like this while out in public? Why did he have to be here at all?

  “Ron, he needs to be checked out. This is more than teething.”

  Father turned toward Doctor Burke and locked his jaw.

  “Haven’t you checked out enough of my family already? I said it once before and I’ll say it again: stay the fuck away.”

  Father stumbled forward, and it looked like he was heading home on his own. My mother would follow. She always did, but when father was still turned around, I watched as she gently touched Doctor Burke’s arm, mouthing I’m sorry.

  “Take care of your baby, Clare. And get him to a doctor as soon as you can. Now go,” he urged, as if he were aware that Father would flip if my mother didn’t follow him home.

  My parents left without me that day. When my mother turned around to see me and pressed her finger to her lips, it meant that I had better stay where I was. She placed my crying brother in the stroller and pushed it forward, bringing her walk to a slow tread as she got closer to father. My home, just beyond the cemetery, was the last place I wanted to be. But soon I’d have no choice and I’d need to go back. I returned by my eight-o’clock curfew that evening. Nathan was very sick for the next three days, but he got better after my mother secretly took him to see Doctor Burke.

  CARTER, AGE 15

  I was at the fire station with my father when he received the call for extra muscle. It was urgent that he come to the local pub right away. My father, also known as Captain Clark at the fire station, wasn't working that day, and he took me with him to show me the new fire truck they’d bought for the town.

  We walked two streets down to where the sheriff’s cruiser was parked in front of the pub, its lights flashing red and blue. My father’s pace was quick and uneasy, and dust spun from underneath his soles. Grateful for the growth spurt last summer, for the first time ever I was able to keep up with his long strides. The day was a hot one, like most during the summer in Hope Bay, but that didn’t stop my father from speed-walking.

  “You stay here, son.” My father pointed to the porch, and I nodd
ed. I flinched at the sound of shattering glasses from within the pub. Voices rose higher, and the loud swearing I’d heard in the two minutes since my father had gone inside should have burned my ears right off. I had the urge to use my hands to cover them – and I was a teenager, so that was saying something.

  A soft cry around the corner of the porch drew my attention, and I got up to see who was pulling in the long sniffles. As soon as I saw the brown curls, my heart jumped.

  “Molly? What are you doing here?”

  She lifted her head. Her eyes were puffed up, her cheeks swollen, and her nose running. She pulled her bare arm underneath her nose, wiped the snot off, and then dried it on her dress, which appeared disheveled. Fresh tears sprung from her eyes.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” I crouched beside her and took her into my arms. “Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay.” She was trembling so hard that I couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard I squeezed, no matter how much I smoothed my hand over her arms or tried to whisper a soothing Shhhhh into her ear. “What happened?”

  “My father. He’s drunk again. He told me to help him with groceries, but we came here instead and… well, he had a lot to drink. I wanted to go home, but he said he never got a proper gift for his birthday and that he deserves one from me, and I…” She pulled in another sniffle along with a longer, desperate breath of air. “I fell.”

  “You fell?”

  “Yes. I scraped my knees.”

  I tried to see her scraped knees, but she was holding on so tight it was difficult, and so I smoothed my hand over her back before securing it there to comfort her.

  “Well, that’s okay. Everybody falls. Your knees will heal.”

  She broke out into another heaving cry.