Losing Gabriel Read online

  One afternoon, Dawson brought her home from school so she could grab a change of clothes, and LaDonna drove up. Sloan’s stomach knotted, but she was trapped and knew there was nothing she could do about having Dawson meet her mother, something she’d been avoiding. She only hoped LaDonna was sober.

  “I’m sick. Got a killer headache. Had to leave work and everything,” LaDonna said, eyeing Dawson when they walked out of the trailer.

  “We’re just leaving.” Sloan took Dawson’s hand and pulled him toward his car, parked on the gravel and dead weeds in front of their trailer with its flecking green paint. The November day had turned blustery, the sky gray, as if smudged by a dirty pencil eraser. A plastic bag had blown onto a light pole, wrapped around as if holding on for dear life. Music from the open window of a nearby trailer floated on the wind.

  Dawson slowed, offering a smile and a wave. “Hi. I’m Dawson Berke. Sloan and I go to school together.”

  “My, you’re a tall one.” Sloan’s mother batted her eyelashes. Dawson took a step back. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but LaDonna was no version of her daughter. The woman was short, plump, with a doughy-looking face and bleached hair that looked fried. Hadn’t Sloan said she worked in a beauty salon?

  Resigned to introductions, Sloan let go of his hand. “My mother, LaDonna Quentin.”

  LaDonna said, “Never seen you with Sloan before.” She smiled, showing deep dimples that prettied her up. “Sloan never brings her friends around. I’m forever asking her to, but does she listen to me? You friends with Jarred?”

  “I don’t really know the guy,” Dawson said, thinking it odd that he and Sloan had been together since October and Sloan had never mentioned her breakup with Jarred.

  Sloan ground her teeth. Why would I bring friends to this dump? As if LaDonna even cared who she hung with or what she did as long as Sloan didn’t hang around when LaDonna had a new man. “Dawson and I have to go.”

  LaDonna turned on her daughter. “Well, I wouldn’t want to hold you up. Never mind that my head’s splitting wide open and you could fix me some supper later.”

  Dawson gave Sloan a questioning glance. He knew her father wasn’t around, so he wondered if she’d return to the trailer and help LaDonna.

  Sloan said, “Gee Ma, nothing to fix but peanut butter and jelly. But no bread, though. Guess you left it off your grocery list.”

  LaDonna flashed Sloan a hateful look. “Go on, then. I’ll take care of myself.”

  After a couple of drinks…Sloan was familiar with LaDonna’s habits. She’d seen the pattern all her life…leave work, come home, have a drink, go bar hopping. Today was Friday, after all. “Come on,” she said to Dawson.

  “You’ll have to come visit,” LaDonna called to their backs. “When I feel better.”

  “Sure,” Dawson said, doubting it would happen. The rancor between the two women was tangible. He and his dad could get into some tangles, but they both got over it, went on with life. He basically liked his dad, while Sloan seemed to want nothing to do with her own mother.

  Once in his car, Sloan sat ramrod straight, staring out the windshield. Dawson could see and feel her animosity and wondered why it was so entrenched, but he was unsure if he should ask about it or forget about it. He started the engine and drove along the pockmarked asphalt that passed for a road through the park. He reached over and took Sloan’s hand. “You okay?”

  “Good as I can be with her for a mother.”

  “She said she was sick.”

  “In more ways than you know.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nothing to talk about. We just stay out of each other’s way.” She looked over at Dawson, wanting to forget the encounter. “Think we could stop for a burger and fries? I’m starving.”

  “Yeah, missed you in the cafeteria.”

  “Got busy, had to skip lunch.” In truth, she’d had no money to buy food in the cafeteria and hadn’t signed up on the freebie list at the beginning of the week. The condescending air of the cafeteria lady had put Sloan off too, so she’d gone without.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  Sloan flashed him a smile. “How about buying me a chocolate shake. This big.” She used her hands to measure from her lap to the top of the car, making him laugh. She leaned across the console and kissed his cheek. “I’m lucky to have someone like you.”

  His heart swelled. She was like a little girl sometimes, with quicksilver moods that flashed from sulky to sunny, from sexy to innocent. She could let go with a stream of swearing to rival guys in the locker room or curl up in his arms like a kitten. She fascinated him. Not only because she was hot—so hot she made his blood sizzle—but also because she was an enigma, a puzzle he wanted to solve.

  Before turning onto the main road, he grinned at her. “A chocolate shake for a kiss. Fair trade.”

  Sloan rewarded him with a nibble on his earlobe that sent shivers through him and a kiss that seared his mouth. She broke the kiss and laughed deep in her throat. He shoved the car into gear and peeled out, laying rubber away from the trailer park entrance.

  CHAPTER 10

  Sloan spent every free minute at Dawson’s house during the holiday break. One night the three of them decorated a fresh evergreen tree that Franklin centered in the front window of the living room, where it could be seen by everyone walking or driving past. Holiday music played through the whole-house audio speakers, and a fire crackled in the room’s brick fireplace, mixing the smoky scent of burning wood with the woodsy smell of the evergreen. They drank warm apple cider, munched on cookies, and wrapped the tree with endless strands of twinkle lights, yards of garlands, and an amazing assortment of colorful decorations.

  The evening was like one out of a storybook, far different from the Christmases of Sloan’s childhood, when Santa Claus was gift delivery from a social service organization or charity church group. Her mother knew how to work the system, so Sloan always got presents, but rarely what she wanted. “You just act grateful no matter what,” La Donna would tell her. The gifts were plentiful before Sloan aged out of cuteness. As she grew, the presents morphed from pretty dolls, toys, games, and puzzles to clothes that never quite fit.

  “Hey, here’s an ornament I made for Mom in first grade.” Dawson held up a circle with his school photo glued inside it. Gold paint flaked onto the rug.

  Sloan studied the image of the dark-haired boy with the gap-toothed smile. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “I’m taller.” He grinned and dipped in for a kiss.

  “These were Kathy’s favorites.” Franklin opened an old egg carton, where gorgeous crystal snowflakes nestled in white tissue paper. Almost reverently he took each one out and looped their cords around the highest branches, and Sloan swore she saw his eyes glisten with a sheen of moisture.

  After Franklin went upstairs, she cuddled with Dawson in front of the fire under an old quilt. He kissed her, savoring the taste of apple and cinnamon on her breath. “So tell me, Sloan Quentin, if you could have anything for Christmas, what would you want?” He’d already bought her gifts, using up three weeks’ allowance. She was worth it.

  “I want to be someone.”

  He was expecting a flirty comeback like she usually gave when he teased with her, so her answer baffled him. He rose up on an elbow to search her face and saw that she was serious. Whoa. “You are someone. You’re my girl.”

  She regretted her answer. Somebody like Dawson, who had the best things in life, would never understand the hunger inside her, how it drove her, and she had no words to explain it to him. So she smiled and darted him a kiss. “Then how about the Crown Jewels?”

  He saw her gaze flit away, and he knew she had shut him out.

  She had little money and stressed over what to buy Dawson for Christmas but finally hit on an idea. She called Bobby, and during a long, cold afternoon in his garage, she recorded a mix of ballads and folk tunes, with Bobby on guitar. He downloaded the recordings to
his laptop and took it home to balance the vocals and add layers of additional chords. Days later he appeared at the trailer park with a CD that had her photo pressed onto the front and handed it to her.

  She hugged him. “Bobby! Thanks sooo much!”

  “You sound great on it.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Made me miss our band.”

  “Me too,” she confessed. “But I don’t miss the drama with Jarred.” Cold seeped through the old trailer walls. “You ever hear from him?” She didn’t know why she asked—maybe because creating the CD reminded her of how much she loved performing.

  “Not for a while. I know he’s hanging with some musicians in Nashville, playing some weekend jams, nothing big. He’s always been good on the guitar.”

  The talk of making music made her miss it even more. “And he’s probably high,” Sloan added.

  “Never sure about old Jarred, but he loves music. Kicked us into gear in middle school and made us into a band.” Bobby threw her a glance. “You look happy.”

  She shrugged. “True story.”

  Bobby offered a wistful smile. “Dawson’s a lucky guy.”

  Sloan shifted, suddenly self-conscious. “I like him. He’s normal, and he’s nice to me.”

  Bobby nodded, his expression one of acceptance. He opened the trailer door backhanded and stepped out and down. “Well I should run. Have a good Christmas, Sloan.”

  “You too.” She watched him walk to his car. “And thanks again.” She closed the door, leaned against it, ever aware that Bobby cared for her. She’d never given him any encouragement. He was a nice guy, but she felt only sisterly toward him. No chemistry. Zilch. Sloan quickly wrapped the CD, then called Dawson to come pick her up.

  The seminar in the hospital’s new auditorium about the Step-Prep program was so well attended that Lani was afraid she wouldn’t make the cut. But most of the attendees turned out to be people already enrolled at MTSU, taking nursing and medical classes. Dr. Berke gave a welcome speech, outlined the basics, then turned over the podium to the head of nursing, Mrs. Trammell, who outlined the interview process, the immunization and health record requirements, the upcoming January training sessions, the mandatory service of up to fifteen hours a week during the volunteer phase, and the shadowing by a mentor during expected twelve-hour shifts throughout the program. Once completing the internship hours and classroom credits, the person would earn a diploma and be on an inside track for a job. None of the requirements made Lani want to back out. She wanted to be an RN. All that stood in her way was filling out the paperwork and acing her interview. Her heart squeezed in anticipation, her stomach churned with apprehension. Go big or go home. Wasn’t that what athletes said?

  As it turned out, Lani was only one of four high school students from the county to sign up for the 100 percent volunteer part of the new program. With such a small group, she felt better about being accepted. She quickly wrote her name on the “Call for Interview” list.

  She hurried to the parking lot, where tall mercury light poles were wrapped with red and white foil to resemble giant candy canes. The temperature was dropping and a cold wind promising snow flurries made her teeth chatter as she ducked into her mom’s car. She backed out of the parking space, in a hurry to get home. Her sister, Melody, was coming in for holiday break from Vanderbilt. There was a tree to decorate, cookies to bake, gifts to wrap. Christmas! Her favorite time of year. Tonight she and Mel would sit on her bed, drink hot chocolate, and talk forever.

  “How’s it going?” Franklin asked.

  Dawson was spending a morning of his holiday break hunched over a pile of paperwork on the floor of the den. “Look, another acceptance letter.” He waved the piece of paper. He’d been filling out paperwork and submitting applications for months to different colleges and universities, all in the northeast.

  “That’s five, yes?”

  “What can I say? Everybody wants me.”

  Franklin laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m writing tuition checks. Thinking of any special major?”

  “Probably business.” His high school aptitude test scores showed he had organizational, social, and leadership skills, scoring in the top five percent in math and in something designated as “high moral character.” Big hurrah.

  “Not medicine, like your old man? Country needs doctors.”

  Dawson didn’t want to live his father’s life. He’d seen medicine from both sides, from dark and light. Sometimes it fixed people. Or not. It hadn’t fixed his mother. Plus the profession was all-consuming. He wanted a simpler way to make money, and earning a business degree seemed smart to him. “Can’t be a doctor. I’d have to learn to play golf.”

  Franklin burst out laughing. “Reason enough. My golf game stinks. No time to perfect it.” Then he grew serious. “Daw, the move here hasn’t been all bad, has it? You’ve seemed pretty content lately.”

  Having Sloan in his life had settled him and given him something to look forward to each day. “Still not in love with this place, but yeah, things are better.”

  Franklin nodded, glancing at the paperwork on the floor. “What about Sloan? The two of you spend a lot of time together. She have college plans?”

  The question dinged an alarm bell in Dawson’s head. He leaned back on his elbows. “She’s a terrific singer, has a really great voice. College isn’t for everyone, you know. Why you asking?” Sloan’s talk of a singing career was ever in Dawson’s head. He knew how badly she wanted it, but for him, letting go of her once they graduated wouldn’t be easy.

  “I just…well, I don’t want her to change your plans about college. Sometimes feelings for a girl can do that.”

  “Dad, I wouldn’t be doing all this paperwork if I wasn’t going to college.” The look of relief on his dad’s face didn’t get past Dawson.

  “Lots of girls on a college campus.”

  “And I plan to meet them.” The words were more false than true. Sloan would be a hard act to follow for any girl who came along.

  “I’ll miss you when you leave.”

  Franklin’s nostalgic expression made Dawson uncomfortable because in spite of their head-butting over the past year, he would miss his father too—he just didn’t want to say so. “You’re not going all girly on me, are you, Dad?”

  Franklin feigned horror. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Simply a statement of fact. I’ve had you hanging around with me for almost eighteen years, you know. There’s going to be a hole when you go away.”

  “Don’t rent my room. I’ll come back to visit.”

  Franklin crouched, grinned. “Mi casa es su casa.”

  “Dad, your accent sucks.”

  Winter sunlight spilled across the floor from the windows. Dawson began to straighten up the papers and file folders on the floor. “I think I’ll go for a run. Want to go with me? I’ll run sloooow,” Dawson said. “Course, if you’re too old…”

  “Old! Me? Let me get my gear. Game on!”

  Together they rose from the floor laughing, bumping, and jostling one another to get out the doorway first.

  CHAPTER 11

  Sloan and Dawson were curled up together on the sofa in Dawson’s basement on New Year’s Eve, watching a horror movie. Gore dripped in living color on the big-screen TV. They had strung Christmas lights together around door frames, with bulbs that blinked in syncopation with music from his iPhone dock. His basement was a safe haven, away from the trailer and a life she hated.

  Sloan wasn’t in the mood for the movie. She wanted to watch the megastar singers and bands performing for the New Year’s Eve party in Times Square. She imagined herself onstage in Times Square. Head trip!

  He grinned, stroking her hair. “Popcorn?” He tossed popped kernels into his mouth from the bowl on the coffee table.

  “Not now.” She cozied into Dawson’s side like a burrowing kitten. She heard Franklin moving around upstairs. “Your dad going to watch the ball drop with us?”

&
nbsp; “Probably.” Dawson didn’t sound happy about it.

  Sloan liked Franklin—he was nice to her—but she never felt truly alone with Dawson because his father constantly hovered in the background. She had no memories of her father, knew nothing about him except from LaDonna’s vile descriptions of him, and of how he’d walked out on them. Yet Franklin often reminded her of a too strict teacher: Do this, don’t do that. Don’t be late. Have you studied? Where are you going? Franklin’s house rules were so numerous, Sloan didn’t know how Dawson kept track.

  “Let’s dump the movie, figure something else to do before Franklin crashes our party.”

  Her kiss shot shivers through Dawson. “You’re making me crazy.” No exaggeration.

  For weeks she’d taken to teasing him with her hands and mouth and tongue, running her hands under his shirt and waistband of his jeans, stroking his skin, turning it fiery, but darting away when he grabbed for her, laughing and wagging a finger and saying, “Uh-uh.” And for weeks he’d been wound tighter than a string on her guitar. He kept control, but just barely.

  Sloan loved the game of keeping him on edge, of pushing, retreating, challenging his willpower and her power over him, something she found intoxicating, compelling. Feeling in control was a high she liked, one she’d rarely known. So far he’d always backed off.

  Now, in the soft light of the room, she ran her hand beneath his shirt and across the flat plane of his abs, edged slowly downward under the waistband of his jeans. She heard his breath catch. With unexpected lightning speed, she snatched the TV remote from his hand and clicked over to a station promising a ripping good New Year’s Eve party.