Wicked Charm(21)

The gator dips his head back under the water and swims away. I grin a little.

"Girl," Jorie says. "You are reasoning with the gators. I've never seen such a thing in all my life."

"Sometimes they listen," I say.

Jorie laughs.

Today we've decided to take a boat ride for the hell of it. Some days  are like that. Not much else to do in the swamp, anyhow. Jorie holds out  a flask, and I take a sip. I don't typically drink, but this evening is  an exception. Jorie says sometimes you got to have ordinary fun. And so  we are.

"You think the sun will set proper-like-big burning ball they always  show on postcards and paintings-and give us a good show? Or is it going  to break apart like mist and disappoint us?" I ask.

"Proper-like," she replies, leaning back against the metal edge of the boat.

"Sure hope so," I say, downing another sip of the bourbon. It burns like hell taking up residence in my throat.

"Where did you say you got this?" I ask, examining the flask that has reeds and a duck etched into it.

"From my poppa's stash. He won't notice it's missing. He doesn't drink enough to know the difference."

In that case, I take two sips.

"I'm glad we met," I say.

"You're just happy that you had someone to warn you about Beau before you got in too deep," she jokes.

I smile. "Maybe a little of that, too."

She knows what I really mean. The distance from town and people can get  lonely. Family is wonderful, but without Jorie I'd be in this boat alone  most likely-Beau can't always be around to join me-and I much prefer to  share it with her.

"I'm glad to have someone near, too," she says. "All the others are  either boys or not my age, and going into town every day to see friends  gets old quick."

"Do you have other friends in town?" She hasn't introduced me, if so.

"I know people," she replies. "Acquaintances, mostly."

"Me, too. I never had close friends in Florida." The confession hurts  more than I thought it would. "I saw people at school and at  after-school activities. There was a group-four of us-who tried to meet  up for bigger events like football games and spirit days. But I didn't  do best-friend things, like share clothes or spend the night. I didn't  even know where they lived, much less stay over with them."

"There are friends. And then there are friends." Jorie pops her gum  loudly. "Some you invite to parties. Some you call when you're having  the worst day. One you show your front to. The other has your back."

I think I know which type to label Jorie.

"You can always call me," she says softly.         

     



 

A smile tucks its way into my cheeks. "You, too."

The sky turns bright orange, burning the horizon. We get the sunset we'd  hoped for. Colors are reflected and smudged in the water, dripping  through tree limbs, landing on leaves and the forest floor. The entire  world seems to be on fire.

"Where's the rest of your family?" I ask.

"Gone." She watches the sun slip away.

"They never visit?"

"Not if they can help it."

I nod, knowing the feeling. "Reminds me of my family. I have cousins up  north. Aunts and uncles all over. None of them likes the swamp much,  mind you."

Jorie shrugs. "Sometimes family is what you make it. Mine is my momma  and poppa and none of the extended relatives who happen to think we're  strange for living so secluded."

"I suppose I'm glad Mom and Dad moved me to Florida for some time.  Helped me to see the world outside. Turns out that I happen to love  country roads, but leaving for a while let me see that. I might not ever  leave again. Think you will one day?"

"I hope not."

We stay out on the water until I'm pretty sure I'm tipsy. Until the sky  darkens and a creeping takes over the swamp. I remember the person Beau  and I saw in the woods and decide now is as good a time as ever to go  home.

Shadows begin clinging to the trees the farther the sun slides down the sky. A shiver racks my body of its own accord.

"Are you thinking about the girls, too?" Jorie asks.

"How did you know?"

"I can feel it sometimes, the sadness coming off the swamp. I think you  feel it, too." She dips the oar gently into the water. "I think about  the killer more than I should. I guess it's mostly because no one's been  caught."

"Speaking of, I don't want him finding us out here," I tell her.

She nods, and we try hard to row back, the flask now empty. We nearly  forget the way. My brain feels fuzzy like the outside of a peach. When  we finally make it home, Mom and Dad are waiting up for us.

Mom leans in to kiss me on the forehead.

"Wanted to make sure you made it back safely before we go off to bed," she says.

Her nose crinkles. I know then that she smells the bourbon.

She whispers in my ear. "Say good night to your father and go upstairs to take a shower."

I think she means for my dad not to smell the alcohol. It's not like he  would mind much, I don't think, but it's easier to do as Mom says.

"Night, Dad!" I call as Jorie and I take off toward the stairs.

"Night!" he responds.

Jorie and I disappear to my room.

"You're still planning to stay over, right?" I ask. No way she can drive home in her state.

"Yes, ma'am." She salutes me with a goofy smile.

Jorie grabs a change of clothes from her bag before heading to the  shower. When water pounds on the other side of the wall, I pull open the  curtains.

And find what I'm looking for.

Beau's truck is there.

 …

Once I've showered and Jorie passes out, I make my way outside. A minute  later, Beau's front door opens, and he walks across the dividing line.

"Willow," he drawls. "What are you doing out here alone?"

He risks coming onto Gran's property to take a seat next to me on the porch swing.

"Counting the stars," I say slow-like.

He eyes me. "You can't count the stars."

"I can try," I insist. "Now stop interrupting me. You'll make me lose track."

It's no use. Now that I've caught sight of him, I can't look away.

His hair blends darkly into the night. His shirt is deep green, maybe  brown. Hard to tell with only the stars to go by. I feel the texture of  his jeans rub up against my bare leg.

"Did you go into the bog without me today?" he asks.

"Sure did. Watched the sunset with my friend Jorie."

I don't know if it's the rocking of the swing or the alcohol, but everything spins softly like a slow carousel.

"You're beautiful," I say, though I mean to say not a word.

Beau grins. I think he assumes I'm joking. I lean in closer, pressing my  upper body against his, feeling the strain of his well-sculpted  muscles. He inhales sharply.

"What has gotten into you, Willow?"

His breath is warm against my skin, sending an ache stealing through my blood.

"I can't stop thinking about you," I reply. "You have a way of  enchanting people. And even though some whisper in the school halls,  suspicious of you and the deaths, I know you didn't kill those girls.  You're mighty mean sometimes, but you're no killer."         

     



 

I did wonder at first about Beau's innocence. How could I not? His  sister seems mean enough that she just might lie about his being with  her, the original alibi he holds so tightly to. Gran always is reminding  me of the evil his grandfather totes around like a charm, so who's to  say his grandfather wouldn't lie for Beau, too? They're family, after  all. Blood before all else.

It doesn't help that the police are always talking about his involvement  with the girls. But I saw him with the group from the pool. There's no  way he could have been in two places at once. He has an alibi for them  both-he was with his family when the first girl was killed, and he had  company over when the second girl was murdered. And the same killer did  murder her-the police said so. It couldn't have been Beau. Not the boy  who looks at me with sharp eyes, who speaks in riddles, who touches me  softly.

I forget for a moment that Jorie is in my room, that Gran sleeps down  the hall, and that Mom and Dad have a room on the bottom floor just  below mine. I forget everything because his stare forces me to.

"I wish you could come inside with me," I say.

His eyes turn absolutely electric. "I don't know, Willow. Your gran  isn't a fan of mine, and I don't want to mess things up with you."

He takes my hand.

A howl sounds in the distance, and I imagine a coyote lifting his snout  to the sky and letting loose the beautiful sound. Beau turns to the  woods, listening to the wail.

"I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. I have company. Jorie is inside."

But under the stars, no one is here to see a thing. Beau could press his lips to mine and no one would know.

"You should kiss me, Beau," I say boldly.

I'm finally ready.

I reach a fingertip to his mouth and brush his bottom lip lightly.  There's a hunger in his stare. It takes everything I have to control the  pleasure it gives me to see him so unhinged.