The Pretender - Cora Brent Page 0,68
front of the truck and rubs his tired eyes. But when he climbs in he gives me a smile of relief. This must be what it means to be a parent. Once you have the job it never ends, not really. You can be called upon any hour of any day and you’ll willingly rush to the aid of your child to do whatever is needed without complaint.
A police cruiser pulls up to the front of the station and the second it comes to a stop a woman jumps out. She’s wearing a short black party dress and even in the dim parking lot light I can see she’s been crying. An officer rushes to open the station door for her.
“That’s Ben’s mother,” I tell my dad.
He looks at her, nods, and then starts the engine.
Adela and Frankie are indeed awake and waiting at home in the kitchen. I feel terrible to know that I’ve been the source of their worry and at the same time it does my heart good to feel so loved. They have a lot of questions and I don’t have many answers.
Adela holds onto my hand and now I see how tired she is. I also know she won’t return to bed until she knows I’m all right.
I fake a yawn. “I should get some sleep.”
“We all should,” my dad agrees, catching my yawn.
Frankie heads back to bed first and I go next so my parents will feel free to return to their own room. I brush my teeth, change into a pair of sweats and curl up on my bed with my phone at my side. I don’t expect sleep to come for me and it doesn’t. I do wish desperately to hear from Ben but by the time the first grim light of a cold winter morning shows itself outside my window there is still no word from him.
The house is quiet. I pull on my shoes and my bathrobe and quietly exit through the front door. I’m not planning to go anywhere. I just want to take a look at the world on the first day of a new year. The snow that had fallen days ago has not melted but it no longer looks pretty and clean.
I stand at the end of my driveway and rise up on my tiptoes, looking north, looking in the direction of Black Mountain. There are plenty of places in Devil Valley where you can clearly see the outline of the rocky formation that gave Black Mountain its name but there are too many rooftops obscuring the view from here.
My arms cross over my chest as the freezing air finds its way beneath my robe. No matter the temperature, I never feel cold when I’m with Ben. I know that if he were here right now he’d wrap his arms around me and I’d rest my head on his shoulder. I can almost believe my fantasy is real when I close my eyes.
When I open them I see a girl walking slowly in my direction. She’s actually a little unsteady on her feet and I tense with recognition. In the same second she stops and notices me. Usually when this happens she mutters an obscenity or acts like I’m invisible. Today she straightens up, bypasses her house and walks right up to me.
“Hey, Cam.” Bridget says this as if it hasn’t been nearly four years since we’ve had a civil conversation. She looks wrecked. Her makeup is smeared, her bleached hair appears sticky and her eyes are glazed over. She’s obviously been out partying all night.
“Hi, Bridget,” I mutter, wary over what possible reason she might have to speak to me.
Bridget leans against the frame of my dad’s truck and looks me up and down. “Heard you got into some trouble last night.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Dez’s sister was at the police station looking for her boyfriend. She said she saw you there.”
“I was there. But I wasn’t in any trouble.”
“If you say so.” She shrugs and then grins. “So. You and Beltran, huh?”
“Yup. Me and Beltran.”
She’s still grinning. “That’s cool. Better you than one of those Black Mountain rich bitches.”
The Black Mountain girls are not all rich. Nor are they all bitches. I have a feeling Bridget does not wish to hear this.
She stretches and grimaces in the direction of her house. “Fuck. I don’t feel like going in there. Mom’s probably passed out in a puddle of her own puke. Let’s go down to Imogen’s