One Headlight // The Wallflowers

We hit the road later than I thought we would. After spending that much time with my family, I figured Emily would shrink into herself and we'd be forced to leave after breakfast. I was shocked to see Emily interacting. Bantering playfully. Smiling. Even then, I was expecting her to tell me to grab her bags like a good little lap dog and follow her to the car.

She loves to put me in my place.

But then my mom got cooking, putting both Emily and I to work chopping and stirring. Emily smiled in my mom's dingy kitchen stirring peppers and onions at her dilapidated stove more than I've ever seen her smile before. She smiles at premieres, but those are her camera smiles. They're practiced, slick. It's all about lighting and angles and outfits.

But in a less than middle class home, without the public scrutiny, or anyone coaching her, Emily's smile was illuminating. I found myself sneaking more than one peak at the anomaly.

I thought that would be the end of the surprises.

I was wrong.

Now we're piled back into my Charger, rolling down the highway with the windows down. Emily has her shoes off, feet propped up on the dash, bopping to a playlist she started up. It's not too dissimilar to the stuff I listen to. Hard, fast, powerful. Edgy. I realize the music fits both of us in so many ways. I can't help but sneak glimpses of her motion out of the corner of my eye.

More than once I've recognized how different this drive is than the last one. Before, she was tense and irritable. Dismissive. Now she's bright and energetic. Dare I say, happy. The change is disarming, but I like it.

"Nice tunes," I say after the third song starts up and it's as edgy as the others."

Emily looks my way. I catch her wink before turning her face back to the side.

"Yeah," is all she says.

I let the music fill the silence for another song before saying more.

"So, are you glad I dragged you away after all?" I ask, knowing the answer and feeling smug about it.

"Meh," she says with a shrug.

"Are you serious?" I shoot her a side eye, seeing her smirk then giggle. "You're messing with me."

"It's so easy to do, I can't help myself." She laughs harder, throwing a hand over her mouth as she crumbles against the window. She laughs for a solid minute at whatever strikes her as hilarious. I don't actually care what it was, but the result is pretty nice to witness.

"I love your sister," she says once she's composed.

"Good. I love her too." I sit straighter, knowing how rarely Emily throws that word around. She loathes more than she loves, I've noticed.

"You know, she's adopted. So's my brother." I tell her.

Emily whips her head in my direction. "You're joking."

"I would never. Not about that."

She leans closer, twisting toward me so her shoulder presses against the seat. "Tell me more."

"Oscar came to us when he was five. My mom signed up to foster kids needing emergency placement. She was only supposed to be a safe space until a secure spot with a family opened up. But Oscar grabbed her heart." I shake my head, remembering those early days with him. "Ever see those documentaries where animal rescue finds some abused dog who won't go near humans and they have to coax the thing to eat for days before they're willing to get closer?"

"Yeah." Emily speaks quietly, more as a tentative question than a statement.

"That was Oscar. He curled under a blanket and wouldn't speak for days. He barely ate. He was so scared. But my mom would sit close by and hum a lullaby, tell him what a sweet boy he was and she knew he was scared. She let him decide when to open up. Once he did, Mom was a goner. She'd never let him go through that again. So he stayed."

Emily nods, looking out the front windshield but I don't think she notices the scenery at all.

"What about your sister?" Her voice has lost its joy. I feel shitty for ruining her happiness but I have a feeling Emily needs to hear she isn't the only one with a shitty family.

"Marisol was older. She came to us when she was fourteen. Her step dad had tried to traffic her."

"Wait...what?"

I take a deep breath. It fucks with my head every time I think about it. Mari is very open about her past, now. She didn't used to be. But she's become an advocate for survivors. She wouldn't be upset with me for telling Emily about all this. If we'd been home longer, I'm positive she'd tell Emily herself.

"It's exactly what it sounds like." I say. "Her mother let it happen. The step dad attempted to sell her around to his friends. But one of the friends turned him in." That's where the trauma ended. I'm not telling Emily about where the trauma began, because that's not my story to tell.

"I can't..." Emily covers her mouth, wide eyed as she turns again to look at the scenery without seeing it.

"You're not the only one with a crap parent."

"I never said I was."

"I know. But sometimes it helps to hear it with concrete examples."

Emily sits back in her seat, silent for a while. Contemplating life, I suppose. The playlist continues at a low volume in the background of our thoughts.

"What else do you have for me," Emily asks, turning to face me in her seat. "I need stories."

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head with a smirk. "Your turn. You gave Mari some dirt on my nickname. It's time for some payback."

"Ugh. I've had enough payback for a while. And I'll be getting more payback at the table read tomorrow."

I laugh. "I forgot that's the name of your big hit, Fatal Payback."

"Don't forget the highly anticipated sequel, Fatal Retribution." She chuckles. "I thought having 'fatal' in the title indicated it was dead and buried, but no...they had to write a part 2."

"Hey, it's a hit. You should be happy to be part of a franchise."

Emily's head bounces right and left, as though she's weighing the validity of my statement.

"Hmmm, maybe. It's nice to have something tied to my adult persona, rather than being hounded about child stardom and the downfall of my youth."

"Was it that terrible?"

Emily's silence gives me pause. I shouldn't have asked. It's too personal. Little by little, the lines between us have become crossed. I need to stay in my lane. She's a client. I'm her bodyguard. We don't discuss regrets in life. That's not my job.

But I sense Emily has no one to say these things to. She doesn't trust anyone. She doesn't have girlfriends stopping by, or calling. I'm her only face to face interaction other than her mother at the moment. So I'm willing to step into the role of confidant if it helps her get through this isolation without losing her mind.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have asked." She needs to know I'm not digging for information. "Tell me about the script for the new one."

"No."

"No?" Shit. I pissed her off.

"I mean. No, I don't want to talk about the movie. I want to talk about my terrible parental figure and how she's trying to single handedly ruin my life."

Oh. "I'm listening, Em."

She nods. "I don't know where to begin."

I do.

"Why do you call your mom, Mother Dearest? There's a story there."

"Hell, yes, there is." She rubs her hands together. "Because of Joah Crawford."

"Who?"

"A Hollywood Starlet of yester-year. Think old Hollywood, black and white films, that era?"

"I can picture it."

"So Joan was one of the big names back then. She was probably married and divorced a couple of times, I don't remember that. But she adopted some kids, older ones, not babies. And the oldest one, Christina, wrote a scathing tell-all book about how horrible of a mom she was. They made a whole movie about it. And guess what Joan forced Christina to call her?"

"Mother Dearest?"

Emily laughs. "Haha, no. Mommy Dearest. I watched the movie and there was one scene that I felt was stolen right from my life. Our housekeeper picked up our drycleaning. I wanted to be a good little girl and get a pat on the head for helping, so I hung up all the clothes, but I kept them on the wire hangers. My Mother Dearest didn't appreciate my 'help.' It was just like the movie. That's when I started using the name, but I changed Mommy to Mother so she wouldn't figure out where I got it."

"What happened when she did?"

"Figure it out?" Emily shrugs. "As far as I know, she didn't. She used to preen when I called her Mother Dearest. Not so much anymore because of the way I say it. But she's never confronted me, so I'm pretty sure she thinks I came up with it randomly."

I shake my head, picturing the magnanimous Anita Brooks walking around, not knowing her daughter is basically calling her out on the daily with that name.

"Soooo," Emily drawls as she stretches her legs. "What's a girl gotta do to borrow this bad boy?"

"Borrow what?"

Emily leans forward, brushing her hand along the dash like a caress.

"Oh, hell no. No one drives her but me."

"Her?"

"Come on. All muscle cars are girls." Although mine isn't technically a muscle car. The year and model don't exactly qualify. I couldn't afford the real thing, and I didn't have the time to buy a junker and fix it up. I did what I could when I got my first real job with Clinton.

Someday I'll get my dream car, a '67 Charger, rebuilt engine and decked out interior. Until then, I'll drive this.

Me.

No one else.

"This is a one man car. No dice."

"Hmmm." Emily presses her lips together as she crosses her arms.

I have a bad feeling she's taking this as a challenge.

Too bad she can't win this one.

And that's final.

Famous last words hahahah...

This one is shorter than normal, but that's the way it goes. I'll have to go back and adjust some of the details of wire hanger-gate in the last chapter to fit this one. Plus, I have a very interesting Anita Brooks interaction planned that I can't wait to write after the details Emily spilled!

Okay, my Wattpad peeps, I have some exciting Player reveals coming tomorrow on my IG and TT so check me out there! AND I'll be opening spots on my ARC team for anyone who'd like an ADVANCED REVIEW copy prior to publishing on Amazon.

One headlight was originally a Player song, but the vibe for Jacob and Char's story has gone more 80's. This song is so perfect for their drive home I had to use it here.

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See you soon and happy FRIDAY FEELS!!