Trouble in Loveland Read online

  My parents just seemed to fit. My dad was tall, dark, and handsome, and my mom was light and feminine, with a willowy figure. You could see that they were in love.

  As I was oohing and aahing over my parents, I had a surprise. Evan, Ryan’s playboy brother, requested punch, although it looked like he’d had plenty to drink from the other side at the bar. “Charlee, you are looking fine tonight. How old are you now?”

  Part of me was flattered because I was seventeen and stupid at the time. I think I even blushed. “I turned seventeen in March,” I answered.

  He smirked. “Let’s dance.”

  “Oh, well … I’m kind of busy serving punch.”

  “No problem,” he said. He left and asked some woman I didn’t know if she wouldn’t mind serving punch while we danced. She quickly agreed, and I was relieved of my duties for a moment.

  Evan held out his hand to me, and I took it cautiously. I had little beepers going off in my head telling me that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but again, I was seventeen, naïve, and I was flattered that a very attractive older man was paying attention to me. Evan was tall, like Ryan, and they looked similar, but Evan was darker and had brown eyes.

  Evan led me to the outside of the dance floor where it was a little darker and less populated. He pulled me very close and rested his hand awfully close to my gluteus maximus region. I could smell the beer on his breath—it was real classy. I placed my hand on his shoulder anyway. He smirked again and applied more pressure with his hand near my nether regions.

  I smiled nervously, and that seemed to give him satisfaction. He grinned wickedly. Those beepers went off again.

  “You filled out quite nicely,” he whispered low in my ear. “I always knew you would.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. That should have been my clue to walk away. My mom had warned me that a decent man would never make a woman feel uncomfortable, and I was very uncomfortable at the moment.

  “So what are you doing after this shindig?” he asked.

  “Oh … uh … you know. Going home with my parents.” That sounded so lame.

  He laughed low. “Sounds dreadful. How about a change of plans?”

  “Like what?” I knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as I said it, but I was nervous.

  He pulled me tighter to him and his hand inched lower. He crossed the zone.

  I reached back and moved his hand back up. Maybe I was a lot younger than him, but I wouldn’t stand for that nonsense.

  He laughed devilishly. “I like a girl with a little spirit. Why don’t you meet me by the gazebo after I make the best man toast.”

  The loud buzzer sounded in my brain to not go anywhere alone with him, especially in his obviously inebriated state. “I promised your brother I would stay and serve punch until the reception was over.”

  His hand slid down again. “That can be easily remedied.”

  I once again moved his hand up and pulled away.

  Just as he was pulling me closer again, I heard a deep angel voice say, “Evan.” The voice didn’t sound happy.

  I looked over to see Ryan walking our way. Evan let go of me, but immediately grabbed my hand, like he was telling me I should stay put.

  Ryan didn’t look happy at all. “Evan, it’s time for the toasts to begin.”

  “Give me a minute, I’m a little busy here,” he responded.

  Ryan looked over to me, and I let go of Evan’s hand. “I’m going back to the punch table now.”

  Evan reached out and took my hand again. “The dance isn’t over yet.” He looked over to his brother. “Do you think you could get someone to take over for Charlee?”

  I shook my head no. “That’s ok.”

  “Let’s go, Evan,” Ryan said more forcefully.

  I let go of Evan’s hand, and this time he didn’t take it back, but instead smirked at me. “I’ll come find you later, sweet thing.”

  His words and look made me feel dirty.

  “Evan, leave her alone. She’s a kid.”

  I did appreciate him protecting me, but that kind of stung, although it was true.

  “Look at her. She’s not a kid anymore, and the age of consent in Colorado is seventeen.”

  Age of consent? Holy crap. That was his intention?

  Ryan looked disgusted with his brother. I concurred, but I took that as my cue to leave. I didn’t even look back. I just rushed back to my punch-serving duties.

  Ryan followed me and caught up easily to me. “Hey, Charlee.”

  I stopped and looked at him. We were almost eye level, with me in heels. “Congratulations,” I said nervously.

  He smiled kindly, and I reminded myself he was married and not to have any thoughts about him. “Thanks, Charlee. I’m sorry about my brother.”

  “Oh … it’s ok.”

  “No, Charlee, it’s not ok.” He was completely right. “Did he do anything to you?”

  I shook my head no.

  He looked relieved. “Do me a favor and stay away from my brother.”

  I nodded my head yes. I had become a functional mute.

  He smiled and showed off his perfectly white teeth. “You look very pretty tonight.” He said it like I was his kid sister. Of course, that’s how he should have said it. He was married and you could tell he loved Victoria, just like he should.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly as I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “You know, I have a really nice cousin here that’s your age. I’ll send him your way.”

  I shook my head no. “That’s ok. Thanks.”

  “Alright,” he said with a smile. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

  I quickly walked back to the punch bowl, thanking my lucky stars I didn’t do anything stupid and also reminding myself to quit obsessing over my crush. He was married. End of story. Off limits. Period.

  The rest of the evening was a total bust. The toasts were drunk-laced and filled with crude humor from both Evan and the maid of honor, Trixie. Was that even a real name? They were both completely inappropriate, and people only seemed to laugh because they felt obligated to. I won’t even insult your intelligence by repeating what was said.

  I was so happy when the clock struck ten and it was time to throw the bouquet; then we could all go home. To add insult to injury, guess who caught the bouquet? Yep, me. I was only standing there because Krissy made me. I wasn’t even trying, but it was like the flowers zeroed in on me and I couldn’t get away. Of course I pretended to be excited about it, but once the commotion died down, I gave the flowers to Krissy.

  On the way home that night, my parents discussed at length how off the whole night seemed. They, too, had noticed the unseemly behavior of the bride. They both hoped out loud that it was just an off moment for her and that she and Ryan would be blissfully happy for eternity. I just listened, not because I didn’t hope that. I honestly did. My whole life my parents had tried to instill in me the importance of commitment and what it means to be married. I wanted that for Ryan, and Ryan had made his choice. I knew I was never even in the running, but in my head we would have been perfect together.

  I went to bed that night a little depressed. As I lay in bed trying to think of all the boys my own age who I could throw my attention at, I heard a very unfamiliar sound in my house. I heard my parents’ raised voices, in particular my mom’s. I had rarely heard my parents argue. That was something they did behind closed doors, and even if I did, it was mild, but this was anything but mild. I couldn’t make out the words, but there was definitely some volume. My parents’ room was upstairs and on the other side of the house. I had been in the basement since last year when my parents remodeled and made the basement like the coolest place ever for a teenage girl. It was perfect for slumber parties and hanging out with friends. My house had become the go-to place for team parties. I think that’s why my parents did it. They wanted our house to be the gathering place—this way they knew we would all behave.


  Without warning, I heard doors slamming and then crying. The puzzling part was, it was my dad that I heard crying. He must have been in the family room which was above me. I felt completely unsettled, and I wasn’t sure what I should do. This was so out of the norm, and I didn’t know if I should get involved in my parent’s dispute. I lay there and worried for several minutes. I was also confused. My parents seemed happy all night. My dad had even sent my mom flowers earlier in the day, and she kissed him fervently when he got home from the golf course. It kind of grossed me out.

  I decided to just stay there. I was sure whatever it was would blow over and in the morning it would all be ok. I woke up Sunday morning to an eerily quiet house. Sunday was our big breakfast day, and I would normally hear and smell the sounds of something wonderful being made in the kitchen. For some reason, I had this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It made me not want to go upstairs, but on the other hand, I felt like I needed to.

  I slowly got out of bed and ran my fingers through my overly-hairsprayed and styled hair from the night before and made my way upstairs. The basement door was right off of the family room, and the first thing I saw was a blanket and a pillow on the couch, but no one there. The family room was sunken and off of the kitchen and eating area. I made my way up to find my dad in the kitchen, looking at the Sunday paper and drinking coffee.

  “Good morning, Daddy,” I said as I looked around for my mom.

  My dad looked up at me from the breakfast bar. His eyes were red and swollen. He looked terrible.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

  He stood up and immediately took me in his arms and hugged the air out of me.

  I knew something wasn’t right. “Daddy, where’s Mom?”

  My dad began to cry, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I felt ill, and I wasn’t even sure why. “Daddy?” I was starting to freak out.

  “She’s out for a walk, clearing her head.”

  Ok. Well that wasn’t so bad, but why was my dad bathing my head in his tears?

  “Daddy, please tell me what’s going on.”

  He hugged me tighter. “I need to tell you something.”

  Why did I feel like I didn’t want to hear what he had to say?

  He took my hand and led me to a stool at the breakfast bar, and he took the one next to me. He kept on crying, making me cry, too. I had rarely seen my dad cry, and I’d never seen him cry like this. Whatever it was, it was terrible. I thought someone had died, but it was worse.

  My dad took both of my hands. “Baby girl, I’ve done something that I’m not proud of at all. I deeply regret it. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

  I hated this. I wanted him to say it all, while not wanting him to say it at all. I knew whatever it was, it was life changing. I just had no idea how much at the time.

  “CJ, last month I had a dinner meeting with the owner of one of our largest accounts.”

  Ok, that didn’t sound bad.

  “And …,” he could hardly speak. He was practically full-on sobbing.

  “Daddy, please tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

  He looked up into my worried and watery eyes. I think he wanted me to get it without him having to admit it to me. But admit it to me he did.

  “I drank too much and I wasn’t thinking straight. One thing led to another and I left with her.”

  Oh. I got it. It was a her. I jumped up. I didn’t need to hear the rest. I was smart enough and old enough to get it. I ran outside in my pajama shorts and t-shirt; I didn’t even bother with shoes. I did what I always did when I was upset: I started shooting hoops. I wasn’t making any shots. I was crying too hard. How could this have happened? My dad and mom loved each other. They said it every day, and more importantly they acted like it. I felt hate, hurt and confusion. What did all this mean for my family? My poor mom. She must be devastated. I knew how much she loved my dad. She had always told me to find someone just like him when I got older.

  My dad joined me after a few minutes. He looked weak, and I hated him.

  I threw the ball at him as hard as I could. “I hate you!” I ran past him back to the house, but not before I saw the utter defeat in his hazel eyes, eyes that were just like mine.

  In a matter of a week, my whole life and world came crashing down. I found myself being whisked away by my inconsolable mom. My parents gave me the choice to stay, it was my senior year after all. And I was going to be the team captain that year, but I meant what I’d said. I hated my dad. I felt I would betray my mom if I stayed. She was relieved when I chose her. My dad was just as devastated, but he agreed I should go with my mom. He begged us both to stay, but my mom couldn’t bear the thought. She was broken.

  The whole week before we left for my grandparent’s home in Overland Park, Kansas, my dad stayed home from work. He begged and pleaded with my mom to try and work it out. It was horrible. I just kept to myself. I couldn’t even talk to Krissy about it. I was embarrassed and ashamed of what my dad had done. My mom was even sleeping in my room with me. I remember laying there and wiping her tears as she kept me close, like I was all that she had. My dad tried to talk to me, but I was too angry. He threw my whole world off kilter and he hurt my mom. Yes, I was a daddy’s girl, but what he had done killed me and seeing what it had done to my mother worsened it all for me. My mom had always seemed prone to mild depression and insecurities, but this threw her over the edge.

  I remember packing up my mom’s minivan and thinking this was just a nightmare and I would eventually wake up, but the pain was too real. Then to add insult to injury, the newlyweds showed up at Ryan’s parents’ house next door. Ryan held Victoria’s hand and waved at me with the other. I didn’t return it. I vowed then and there I would never think about him again. He was married, and married men should stay married and true to their wives. And sneaky awful women shouldn’t take married men to dinner and drink with them and then sleep with them. I would never, ever be a home wrecker.

  So that was that. My last memory of 1935 Mulberry Lane was of my dad and Krissy standing on our perfectly manicured lawn, in our perfect neighborhood, crying and waving. I could barely see through my tears, which was bad since I was driving. My mom was like a zombie and barely functioning. Life would never be the same again.

  Chapter One

  “ … health, good humor, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn.” Oh wait, we weren’t in a Jane Austen book. But it was true, eventually those things did reappear. It just took a really long time, not the fortnight like in Pride and Prejudice. It was more like months, I would say even years. My senior year of high school was like a blur to me. I kind of just functioned. I did well in school and got good grades, but that was about all. I didn’t make any real friends, and I didn’t even attend the graduation ceremony. I was mourning what I was missing out on in Colorado: my friends, the parties and celebrations. I especially missed Krissy. We talked and texted every day, but it wasn’t the same. I didn’t even try to make it onto the basketball team. I wanted nothing to do with the sport that had meant so much to me and my dad.

  My mom was doing better by the time I graduated, and by that I meant she was getting out of bed almost every day. She and I even moved out of my grandparents’ home and into our own townhouse. The divorce was finalized the summer before I started school at KU. My first school of choice had always been CU, but my mom couldn’t bear to be without me, and I didn’t want to be near my dad. He had come to visit me several times, but those visits were anything but pleasant. I resented him with a fiery passion. He eventually gave up and wrote me some very lovely letters and called me on a regular basis, though I rarely answered.

  For those first few years, I was lost and confused. I wanted my perfect life back on Mulberry Lane. I missed Loveland and my mountains. I didn’t particularly care for the plains. I missed Krissy, and mostly I missed my dad and even my mom, my mom from before our lives were obliterated.

  By my junior year in college, my mom was back
to herself, or at least her new self. She shed her motherly image, lost twenty pounds, and decided to hit the single scene. At first I was happy for her, but she took to the single life in what I considered an unhealthy way. It was about this time I decided I needed to live on my own. There’s nothing like coming home to find your mom making out on the couch, or worse. Besides, I had been the parent long enough.

  My dad set me up with my own place. In a way I felt guilty about it. I hardly talked to him, but he always seemed to want to do whatever he could to help me out. I didn’t even have to work while I went to school, which actually ended up hurting me more than helping, but we’ll get to that momentarily.

  So, there I was in my junior year, not sure what I wanted to be when I grew up, like really grew up. That’s not entirely true. What I really wanted to be was a psychologist or counselor. I loved every psychology class I had taken so far. It made sense. I had felt so screwed up, and being able to analyze my situation from a research point of view helped. And I liked the thought of being able to help other people with their problems. The only problem was, everyone around me, and especially my mom, kept telling me not to waste my time on a degree that I couldn’t support myself with, at least not for a long time to come. My mom was worried— she had never graduated from college and was always a stay-at-home wife and mom. She never expected to be out on her own, so I was constantly reminded that I needed to stand on my own and never depend on a man.

  Don’t get me wrong, my mom wasn’t a man hater (in fact, she had come to love men a little too much); she just saw life through a different lens now.

  I hated doing it, but I ended up majoring in accounting. It was kind of in my blood. My dad was obviously one, but oddly my mom’s dad was, too, and his dad before him was. Seriously, someone needed to stop the cycle, but I guess it wasn’t going to be me. I was a natural at it anyway, and it didn’t require a lot of thinking on my part; which was good because I was in no state of mind for thinking.

  Fast forward two years later. I’d earned a degree in a field I’d barely tolerated and I had no real work experience. So what did I do? I decided to get an MBA. There’s nothing like pushing off real life for as long as possible. My dad was once again willing to help fund my juvenile delinquency. By this time, my mom was remarried to, you guessed it, an accountant. It was weird, like an epidemic. At least she was happy and behaving more like a woman her age should.