Page 61 of Good Days Bad Days
“So. Where should we go now?”
“Home,” she says, powdering her nose, and unlike last night, home doesn’t mean the little two-bedroom farmhouse we just ran from. She means Janesville. Poor Betty, always chasing home.
But at least we share Janesville.
“Let’s go home,” I say, pointing the car south and pressing the gas pedal to the floor mat before she changes her mind.
Chapter 23
Charlie
Present Day
Standing in a retro kitchen set, my mother speaks to the camera with poise and charisma. In each episode she wears a stiff white apron and is in flawless hair and makeup as she teaches women how to be the perfect housewife.
Lacey gasps and clenches my hand within the first five minutes of the show.
“Your mom was hot.”
Lacey and Cam have only seen the scary version of my mom. She never let people inside our house when I was a kid and discouraged friendships with other children. Once I was removed from the house, the town was left dealing with her. Lacey hasn’t been tactful in her retellings of my mother’s interactions with the local police, the health department, and Code Enforcement. This view of Betty must be just as much of a shock for them as it is for me.
“Yeah. Yeah, she was,” I agree, not as stunned as Lacey by my mother’s beauty, but totally hypnotized by her camera presence. AlthoughThe Classy Homemakerbook struck me as a hilarious irony, the films make me a believer. She’s convincing, she’s enthralling. Andthough she seems like a stranger to the three of us, I feel like I’ve been getting to know the woman on the screen—getting to know that Betty.
“She knows how to talk to a camera,” Cam says as the film rewinds at the end of the episode. “Or like, through a camera. Reminds me of you on your show.”
Lacey agrees, repeating his assessment but with more words. As much as I usually hate being compared to the woman who screwed up the first few decades of my life, I definitely don’t hate being compared to Betty Wilkens.
“Wait.” I look at Cam with a raised eyebrow. “How would you even know that? You supposedly haven’t seen my show.”
Cam shakes his head, grinning like he’s been caught. “I mean, I hadn’t seen it, but that’s since changed,” he admits.
“In like a day? You little stalker,” I say, carefully removing the delicate film and replacing it with another one.
“A little friendly stalking is normal, I think,” Lacey interjects, curling up under a fleece blanket. “Especially when you find out your high school ex is a full-on TV star.” I squirm at the “star” label but let it go, knowing Cam probably streamed a couple episodes ofSecond Chance Renovationafter meeting my costar in person yesterday.
“Fair,” I say, flicking the projector’s motor back on. It starts with a whir, and I hop into the open spot between my two friends, my knee lightly brushing Cam’s every time one of us shifts positions.
That’s where Olivia finds us when Ian drops her off without coming inside, much to Lacey’s chagrin. She holds a Styrofoam to-go container, explaining it contains a dinner Ian bought in case I didn’t have a chance to eat. In her other hand is a piece of carrot cake, my favorite. I put the meal in the fridge next to our Thai leftovers and bring the cake to the couch with four forks.
“Join us?” I ask, after introducing Lacey and Olivia, pointing to the makeshift movie screen. She glances at me and then at Cam and finally at the carrot cake.
“I think I’m good,” she says, retreating to her room. I shrug at my friends, and Lacey says something about teenagers as she takes the first bite of the newly delivered dessert.
The rest of the night grows fuzzy as fatigue pulls at my eyelids. Soon, with Cam already snoring lightly next to me, Lacey excuses herself just past midnight, and almost immediately after, I also surrender to sleep.
Some unknown number of hours later, I awake to Cam sitting beside me, a gentle hand on my shoulder. As the fuzziness clears from my eyes and head, I squint at the glowing numbers on the microwave clock. It’s 3:00 a.m. I gasp and sit up, pushing off the fleece blanket Lacey placed over me when she left.
“How long have I been asleep?”
Cam laughs. “Only a little longer than I have.”
His hip presses into my side, and the light scent of his woody cologne lingers in the air between us. The ambient light from the projector hits his iris at an angle, highlighting the brown freckles. He rubs his lips together, and I half expect him to finish what we started on the front porch last night.
“You should stay over. It’s too late to leave.” I prop myself up and then clarify quickly, thinking of Olivia in the other room. “The couch is comfy.”
“As tempting as that sounds,” he says, giving me a small, rueful smile and shaking his head, “I have work in the morning, so I should go.”
“I get it. You have important teeth business.”
