Wardrobe Malfunction(59)

I drive the usual route on the OR 66, heading west, soaking up the greenery of home.

I can feel the dirt of Hollywood falling away from me and the clean of Oregon seeping into my pores.

Charly starts to chat a little more on the drive, asking questions about the place I call home.

She seems enthralled by the roaming fields and greenery that sit off the highway.

We cross the bridge over Klamath River into Keno, and I’m home.

I drive past my old elementary school.

“Is that where you went?” Charly asks.

“Yeah.” I smile.

“Looks like a nice school,” she observes.

I wonder what her school was like back in Philadelphia.

“So, where are you from, Charly?” my dad asks.

“Philadelphia originally. But New York is home now.”

I know the question is coming, but I can’t stop it.

“And your family? They still back in Philly?”

“No, sir.” She clears her throat. “I was raised by my grandma, but she passed years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” my dad says.

“Thank you,” she says politely.

I glance back at her in my rearview, but she’s not looking my way, her eyes on the window. Something pulls in my chest for her. Protectiveness. I feel like I should’ve protected her from my dad’s innocent questioning.

I’ve never felt this protective over a woman before.

Maybe it’s because Charly was dealt such a bad hand in life, and I was raised with a great family.

Or maybe it’s just because I’m crazy about her.

I turn on the long drive, taking me up to my parents’ house.

When I pull up outside, Jester, the dress destroyer, comes bounding up to the car, attacking me the moment I step out of the car.

“Hey, buddy.” I crouch down, picking him up, and he covers my face in sloppy licks.

Charly comes over, scratching Jester’s ear. “So, this is the little man who caused all the problems.”

The moment he sees her, I’m totally forgotten about. He all but leaps into her arms and starts smothering her in doggie kisses.

She laughs, scratching his ear, and he’s putty in her hands.

I know how you feel, bud.

“I’ll get the dress,” Dad says.

“Oh, can I?” Charly says, putting Jester down. He’s at her feet, following her to the trunk of the car. “No offense,” she says to my dad, “but I wanted to give this to Sasha. When I do a job, I like to be the one to deliver it.”

“No worries.” My dad winks at her, handing the garment bag over.

He shuts the trunk, leaving our bags in there, as we’ll be driving over to my house soon.

“Now, Jester, no chewing on this dress again, do you hear me? It took me a long time to fix it after your last playtime with it,” she chats away to Jester as we walk up the steps of the porch, making me smile.

Jester is just trailing along behind her, gazing up at her, like a puppy in love.

“We’re home,” Dad calls out as we step through the door.

My mom comes bustling out of the kitchen. “Vaughn!” she calls, walking toward me, arms outstretched for a hug.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, stepping into her hug.

“Missed you.” She kisses my cheek and then cups it, leaning back to look me in the face.

“Missed you, too,” I tell her.

“You look good, baby. Really good.”

That’s a change from what I get every time I come home. I usually get the spiel that moms generally give once you’ve left home. You look tired. Are you eating properly? Sleeping enough? It’s probably thanks to all the sex I’ve been having with that little vixen back there, but I’m not going to say that to my mom.

Her eyes move past me to Charly.

“Charly!” my mom greets her like a long-lost friend. “I’m Everly, Vaughn’s mom, but everyone calls me Evie. Is this it?”

Charly looks down at the garment bag hanging over her arm. “Oh, yeah,” she says almost shyly.

“Oh, wonderful! You’re our lifesaver, Charly! Come here.” My mom bundles Charly into a hug.

I see Charly freeze the instant my mom’s arms go around her, and then she slowly puts her one free arm around my mom, hugging her back.

I know Charly has issues with hugging. I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s from a lack of affection growing up; she told me her grandmother wasn’t that loving. I’m not going to question her about it. She’ll tell me if she wants to. But that’s why I make sure to hug her as often as possible—for all the years she wasn’t hugged.

“Where are Gran, Meg, and Sasha?” I ask Mom.

“Meg’s in town, running some errands. She’ll be back soon. Sasha’s out back, and your gran is in the kitchen.”