Feeling lighter than she had in some time (and all because she’d clocked more Charlie time this week than she’d had in the last two months), Ari turned up the volume on her phone, letting her playlist sweep her through the suburban streets. Her neighborhood was quiet and neat. Immaculate. The houses were large and modest in appearance, with lush lawns and white fences and lots of space between each one. The street curved around in a huge bend until it split off in two directions. To the left, the town stretched out from the moderately well-off, to the rich, to the wealthy, to the even wealthier, and then to a couple of farms on the outskirts of town, like A.J.’s parents’ grain farm. As for the center of Sandford Ridge, it was literally that. The center. Stores, a mall, small businesses, a large car manufacturer factory… the usual. And best of all, The Smoothie Place on Main Street, Ari’s favorite place to chill out.
Ari took a right toward Charlie’s house and the school. The Creaghs lived three blocks over in a noisier neighborhood that seemed much more real to Ari. She’d loved hanging out there. Unlike her street, where the only activity comprised people jogging by quietly alone or with their dogs, Charlie’s street was abuzz with the sounds of children’s laughter and shouts as they played in one another’s yards. Lawnmowers growled, dogs barked, music blared from car radios. It was like walking out of Stepford into Sandford. Charlie’s neighborhood was still considered the west side, as was their high school, but only four blocks over from the high school was all the low income housing and two well-kept trailer parks. Overall, Sandford Ridge wasn’t a terrible place to live. It just wasn’t great either.
Just as she was taking her first steps onto Charlie’s street, the smell of sandalwood and spices floated up her nose and Ari skidded to a halt. Her pulse throbbed in her neck. Sniffing the air to catch the scent again, her skin prickled as if someone was staring at her. Or standing right over her shoulder. Ari spun around. No one there. She sniffed again and couldn’t find the scent. Thoroughly freaked out at the reminder of the invisible hands that had rescued her, Ari curled her arms around her waist, and picked up her pace.
Jittery, Ari strode up onto Charlie’s porch. She blew out nervous air between her lips, glanced once more to make sure there was no one behind her, and rapped on the porch door. When there was no response, she rapped again, only harder this time.
Mrs. Creagh appeared. She shoved the screen door open so hard it almost whacked Ari on the nose. Charlie’s mom’s expression cleared at the sight of her, but Ari missed the huge smile she always bestowed on her when she came around. “Ari. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Ari shrugged apologetically. “Yeah, I know. Things have been busy. I’m looking for Charlie. Is he still home?”
Mrs. Creagh snorted and stepped back. “You’ll be lucky. You can go on in and check his bedroom if you like. I’m late for work.” She grabbed her handbag and keys and scooted past her, patting her shoulder almost affectionately before she left. Ari stared after her, watching her walk to her car with slouched shoulders and angry lines around her eyes. The bubbly, mothering woman who would have known whether her son was safe and home in his bedroom every night and every morning was gone. She’d died two years ago, along with her youngest. Feeling anger at her loss and her subsequent treatment of the son she had left, Ari swallowed hard, trying to force the choking sensation in her throat away.
“Mrs. Creagh!” she called out before she could stop herself.
Charlie’s mom nearly dropped her keys, her head jerking up in confusion. “Yeah?”
“He’s not good,” Ari told her, her voice cracking on the words. “Charlie.” His mother gulped, her skin seeming to tighten even more across her cheeks, her lips trembling. Seeing the emotion, Ari took a step toward her. “He still needs you, Mrs. Creagh. The way he’s going… I’m afraid you might lose him too.”
Rearing back like Ari had slapped her, Mrs. Creagh’s face darkened. Ari waited for her to say anything, even if it was to tell her to mind her own business, but she jammed her keys in the car door before hauling ass into it. Feeling remorse, Ari turned and peered into the house. If Charlie was home, she hoped he hadn’t overheard that.
Pushing her shoulders back, she ambled into the house, amazed by how familiar and yet unfamiliar it was. Mrs. Creagh had always been this TV mother, always baking, so the house consistently smelled like mouthwatering heaven. She’d also hated clutter, and there was never a speck of dust anywhere. Now the walls were faded, darkened by cigarette smoke; there were photographs of Mike everywhere, frames cluttering furniture and the walls. Ari stopped at the doorway to the living room and felt her chest twist in pain. Mr. Creagh, about thirty pounds heavier than the last time she’d seen him, was lying on his recliner in front of a flickering TV screen, his eyes closed, his mouth open in loud snores. A half-empty bottle of scotch and a glass tumbler lay knocked over on the floor beside him. Unable to keep looking at the unrecognizable man, Ari squeezed her eyes shut and headed upstairs to Charlie’s room. She’d read about situations like this, seen them on TV, and thought they were so clichéd. But it wasn’t cliché. It was real. And devastating.