Page 55 of Trusting Blake
“Do you need some help?” I offer as I return to Savannah, and when she nods, I hunt down another shovel and join her in the pen.
After a minute, she gives me a suspicious look. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“No reason,” I say.
And I’m not smiling because I find pleasure in shoveling horse crap – no way.
I’m smiling because no one will be boarding a flight out of here anytime soon.
21
Engrossed, Mom’s gaze travels the length of the shelf and back again, entranced by the drugstore makeup options on offer. She plucks a six-dollar mascara from the rack and examines it between her fingertips. “People really use this?”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, pressing my lips into a firm line and snatching the tube from her hand. I place it back on the shelf and grab her elbow, pulling her away before she has a heart attack when she discovers that two-dollar lip gloss exists. “Don’t be such an elitist. You weren’talwaysa sought-after Hollywood MUA,” I remind her.
“I know, but it’s just been such a long time since I’ve—”
“Stepped foot inside a Walmart?” I finish with a judgmental tilt of my head.
Mom has always been the one to instill humility in me, more so than Dad, but sometimes she loses sight of where she came from in life. It’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes when you live a life of luxury for so long, you forget it’s exactly that – luxury.
Mom lowers her head, shamefaced, perfectly aware of how snooty she’s been acting ever since we pulled up in the parking lot in the rental SUV. But she didn’t expect to be in Fairview for so long, and she needs supplies. Specifically, a conditioning hair mask that – no surprises here – Walmart doesn’t stock. Still, it feels otherworldly, browsing the aisles of Walmart with Mom. Okay, it’s not where we usually hang out, but checking out cosmetics together is such a normal thing for people to do, and I’m just glad to get us both out of the house. Plus, there’s no crowd of paparazzi swarming outside the Harding Estate anymore, so Mom is free to leave without fear of being harassed. That doesn’t mean she isn’t maintaining a low profile still – she’s draped in a baggy, unflattering sweater with a pair of sunglasses resting on her head, ready to hide behind at any moment if anyone were to recognize her.
“Can we go by Dunkin’ on the way home? Ineeda hazelnut iced coffee right about now.”
“Sure,” Mom says, glancing into the blue Walmart handbasket I have resting in the crook of my elbow. “Is there anything else we need? Maybe we should bring something back for your grandpa.”
“This way,” I say, making a sharp U-turn and directing Mom down the candy aisle. “He loves Jolly Ranchers.”
Mom abruptly halts. “Oh! I forgot dental floss. I’ll be back in a second.”
As she disappears, I weave my way around some kids eyeing up M&Ms and search for the largest bag of Jolly Ranchers I can find. Popeye is always sucking on those damn things, so I reach out for a bag that should last him until the end of the year.
“Mila?”
I twist around and my heart momentarily stops beating, like a glitch in the system.
“I thought it was you! Hey!”
I force myself to say, “Hi, Lacey.”
Lacey brings herself closer to me, her brunette hair in a high, smooth ponytail that swings around her shoulders as she walks. It’s the first time I’ve ever encountered her while alone, and the shine of those red streaks in her hair beneath the fluorescent lightning sends a ripple of total indignation through me. Who does this girl think she is?
“We missed you at the tailgate, but how was Memphis?” she asks, and as always, her voice is sweet yet with a subtle undertone of falseness.
“I loved it,” I answer with a bright, emphasized smile. “Blake and I had a blast.”
Lacey props an elbow up on a shelf of Hershey’s and keeps her expression placid, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “Did he take you to the Tin Roof? I love that place. He kissed me up on the balcony once.”
“Are you kidding me?”
She wipes the complacent smirk from her face and widens her eyes in mock innocence, feigning confusion. “What?”
My resentment rears its ugly head and I drop the handbasket to the floor. I slam the bag of candy in my hands back onto the shelf and take a step toward Lacey, my pulses racing with hot anger at the image of her lips against Blake’s. “That was then,” I remind her in a cold voice. “He’s not yours.”
“No, but he was,” she says calmly, “and who knows what will happen when we head off to college together?”
I screw up my face, wondering how this girl was voted student body president at Fairview High. She is truly delusional. “You’re applying to Vanderbilt?”
