From A To Z

Chapter 17

33 Oak Street turned out to be an old bungalow not that different from my house. That threw me off. It's not that I expected a mansion - this was Bruler, after all - but the fact that Arlo lived in such an ordinary place surprised me. Everything about him screamed adventure. A tree house or a bivouac where he made fire using flint and steel, and drank rain water would have been more fitting.

On the way there I almost texted him to say I was coming but I felt that if I gave him advance notice he would find an excuse to turn me away, so I decided to show up unannounced. Not a big deal in itself but going over to Arlo's wasn't without its risks.

For one, someone might see me. If a neighbor spotted me, word would reach my mom before the vigil was over and all hell would break loose. What worried me more than her wrath was Arlo's reaction.

I was petrified that he might think that I was into him. I would have, if he showed up on my doorstep uninvited. What's worse, he wouldn't be far off. I was falling for him. Nobody knew but that didn't make it any less true. I found Arlo intriguing not because he was new. No, I was drawn to him because he was hot. And didn't chicken out of a fight or give a damn about what people thought.

But how I felt didn't matter. I hadn't come to make eyes at him. This wasn't about me or my baffling crush on someone I hardly knew. It was about justice for Sienna. Once the culprit was behind bars, I might coax myself into showing Arlo I liked him. Until then, I'd be damned if I let my feelings get in the way.

The house sat back from the street, flanked by two oaks which swathed the front lawn in shadows. Light spilled from the windows. The car I had seen Arlo arrive in at the sheriff's station was parked in the driveway. Oops. His parents were home.

Still, I climbed up the porch steps purposefully. If I hesitated, my courage would fizzle out. I might have lost my mind, I couldn't afford to lose my nerve too.

A laminated piece of paper was wedged under the doorbell. I squinted at it in the early dusk. The word 'EASTMAN' was printed on it in all caps.

I took a deep breath and rang.

At first nothing happened. Then a faint vibration traveled through the porch planks. The wood under my feet shook. These were some seriously heavy footfalls, I thought. Then the door swung open and I found myself staring at the midriff of a man with the build of an NFL defensive tackle.

He was wearing sweats and a white tank top that strained against his chest. A damp tea towel hung over his right shoulder. It was as if I had interrupted The Rock's tidy-up routine. My eyes traveled up. The man's skin was darker than Arlo's and his hair cropped close to the scalp but the resemblance was unmistakable. I was facing obstacle number one - Arlo's dad.

Lucky for me, I could clear that level easily. Buttering up Sienna's parents for years had prepared me for this very moment.
"Hi," I beamed. "Is Arlo home?"
"Arlo?" He repeated as if I had asked after a stranger.
Suddenly alarmed, I glanced once more at the name under the doorbell. EASTMAN. This was the right place.
Seeing my confusion, the man smiled.
"Come on in."
He stepped inside and I followed, closing the door behind me.

Music pulsed through the house. The air was hot and smelled of fried chicken.
The living room was lit up brighter than a superstore. The furnishings were few and far between. A well worn couch and a La-Z-Boy recliner gravitated around a plus-sized TV. Barren shelves, an empty cupboard. Nothing on the walls.

The house was probably rented, I realized. It made sense with them being new to town. Getting settled took time.

The only personal item that caught my eye was a framed photo centered on the mantel above the fireplace. A snap of Arlo and a red-haired woman, hugging and smiling at the camera in someone's backyard. So this is where his green eyes came from.

"That's Emma, Arlo's mom," offered Arlo's dad, noticing me taking inventory of the place. "Most of our stuff's still in storage. I've been picking up overtime and haven't gotten around to it yet." His side nod encompassed the room. "Makes you realize how little you need to get by."

I was planning on leaving for college with only a backpack, so yeah.

He wiped his fingers on the tea towel and extended a hand.
"Deontay." His voice tickled, his handshake hurt.
"Zoe," I squeaked.
"Sorry," he patted my palm with both hands. "I'm used to mashing the paws of the other guards at the prison."
"It's fine, really." I found it funny that he was embarrassed by his own strength. "Is Arlo—"
"Arlo's in his room," said Deontay. "Guess he didn't hear the bell. Yo, Arlo!" he hollered over his shoulder then added quieter for my benefit. "That should do it."

Deontay stepped into the kitchen, and resumed drying the dishes. I exhaled.
If someone showed up at our house asking for me, my mom would have grilled them worse than the Spanish Inquisition. I expected no less and had been bracing myself for a barrage of questions that thankfully never came.

A door whined and Arlo appeared wearing only a pair of low waisted shorts.  He walked toward me, rubbing at his eyes. Marooned in the living room, I couldn't look away. He was proportioned like a Renaissance statue. Long limbs, broad shoulders, a taut stomach. The chest of a man, not a boy. I felt suddenly lightheaded.

Arlo stretched and looked up. Our eyes met and time stopped. I didn't know how long we stood there, staring at each other across the hallway, but he was the one to snap out of it first. He ducked back into his room and emerged pulling a wrinkled T-shirt over his head as I struggled to commit each inch of his chocolate skin to memory.

Back in control, Arlo propped his hands on his waist and glared at me.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered.
I didn't hear him over the music and picked the words off his lips. Not the welcome I had hoped for but I wasn't here to flirt.

"You weren't at the vigil," I said flatly.
"So? I didn't feel like it."
"Still. You should have shown your face. This is Bruler. People talk."
He scoffed.
"Did you seriously come over to give me grief about—
Now it was my turn to whisper.
"No. I came to talk." My voice dropped even further. "About what happened in the woods. We were interrupted in the library."

Arlo shifted his weight from leg to leg, suddenly less cocky.
"Right." He glanced through the open kitchen door. His father was shelving plates, his back to us.
"Let's go sit on the porch," said Arlo finally.
So I wasn't going to see his room but I'd rather be quartered than let my disappointment show.
"Fine."

He stepped outside barefoot and I followed. There was no swing or chairs, so we sat side-by-side on the steps. The night smelled of rain and childhood memories. Streetlights shimmered under the dripping canopies. An owl called out from a trove of trees. Bruler was showing its best side.

Arlo bent forward and scratched his calf. I didn't dare stir. I was so close to him, I could feel his warmth. He glanced at me expectantly and I blinked back. I had come to talk but this moment was perfect. No way I was going to ruin it.