Page 27 of The Deadbeat Next Door

When I pulled into the driveway at her house, a man stepped immediately onto the concrete stoop at the front of their two-story house. The siding needed a good power-washing and it looked like the yard hadn’t been mowed in a couple of weeks, but the man on the stoop, though scarecrow thin, wore clean jeans and a button-down shirt that looked like it had been recently pressed. He grinned and waved. Kayla was out of the car before I’d put it in park. She raced to the stoop and pretty much shoved her father into the house. Then she turned and hollered for the kids.

Simon groaned. “She’s so bossy,” he said. But he got out of the car and plodded to the house. I got out of the car, hoping to talk to their father and get a better idea of what was going on, but Jenny leapt out of the car and threw her tiny arms around my waist. She held her milkshake in one hand and her bag of food in the other. “Thank you for lunch, Miss Harr’son.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” I peered into the car to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, but the bench seat in the back was spotless, not even a crumb or drop of milkshake in sight.

By the time I looked up, Jenny was running into the house, the door closing behind her.

I considered following her, knocking on the door, and asking to speak to their father, but I didn’t know what I’d say and the truth is all I had to say began and ended with the question, ‘what’s wrong in this house?’ Probably not the best way to get on his side and earn his confidence. I shook off my concerns. The only secret they were likely hiding was that money was tight and Kayla’s father had to work two jobs to support them. That would explain why he had hadn’t been home that morning and why Kayla got her sister from the bus. He was probably doing the best he could, and my prying do-gooder tendencies would be of no help to anyone.

I’d keep an eye on Kayla at school and be there if she needed me. That’s all I could do.

I went back to my quiet, comfortable house, I ate my take-out, and I worried about those kids with every tick of the clock on my kitchen wall.

I called Lance after I’d eaten and told him what I’d seen. “You did the right thing,” he said. “You made sure the kids were fed and safe. There’s nothing else you could do, so stop beating yourself up about it.”

“I’m not beating myself up about anything,” I lied.

He sighed. “I know you, Carrie. You suspect something is going on with Kayla and you want to fix it, but you can’t force everyone you care about to be happy. For all we know, she’s a typical teenager struggling with keeping up with fashion trends when money’s tight at home.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Yeah. Probably. But until she comes to you and tells you what’s going on, there’s nothing more you can do.” He paused. “Unless you have a good reason to suspect she or the other two are being abused.”

“No. You know I’d have told you if I’d seen anything like that. All physical signs indicate you’re right and they’re just very poor. It’s just…”

“Your intuition is telling you there’s more going on, but intuition isn’t enough of a reason, Carrie, to intrude on someone’s life.”

“I know.” It was a fact of life as a teacher that we saw things, things we felt were wrong. Freedoms that parents allowed kids that we felt were more than they could handle or parents who were too busy to know or care how many hours their kids were spending watching on-line porn or sexting or wearing clothes that exposed their children to the wrong kind of attention. None of that was right, but none of it was illegal, and interfering, telling a parent they were making a mistake, overstepped a boundary we were supposed to respect. I had to respect Kayla’s privacy and her father’s privacy unless I believed something truly dangerous or illegal was going on.

“I know you know,” Lance said. “And I know how hard it is to look the other way, to let it go. I also know what will take your mind off it.”

I groaned. “Don’t drag it out. Just tell me everything I did last night.”

“You were like a different woman,” he said. “A fun, crazy, uninhibited woman.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

And then he told me everything, not sparing a single detail. I hated and loved him simultaneously for his willingness to see me at my worst, report on it, and still love me. Apparently, I’d danced with Cody almost the entire rest of the night, except for one time when I escaped him and tried to dance with some guy Lance said looked like he was underage. Cody had saved me, but I’d escaped him again and climbed up on the bar top and danced alone. I’d been kicked out of the bar when I wouldn’t get down and Cody had taken me home. Lance didn’t know everything I’d said to Cody, but I’d apparently been all over him and told him he had great lips and beautiful muscles. I didn’t even like his muscles, they were too big and veiny and muscley. He was so not my type, but I’m afraid I gave him the message the night before that he’s exactly my type.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was an adult. I knew better than to behave that way. I should have known that the one night I tried to let loose and act my age, disaster would strike. I wasn’t just cursed when it came to guys, I was cursed period.

I dropped my head in my hands. “I’m going to become a recluse and only leave my house for work and a run every day. And gardening. I’m so bad at being young.”

“No, sweetie,” Lance said. “You drank a bit more than you should have, but you didn’t hurt anyone or anything. You had fun and it looked like Cody was having fun. Don’t feel bad about this and don’t abandon your plan to be young.”

“Maybe I’m just not made for fun.”

Lance, who was almost never serious, got serious. “You’ve had a lot of bad breaks, sugar, but everyone deserves fun. You more than most. Don’t give up on it, yet.”

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