Page 3 of Enemy Crush
Mom coughed again and her eyes darted to the rearview mirror. We were nearing home and there was no traffic following. She slowed as we entered Ambrose Lane, even though the street was deserted. Our hundred year old house was at the very end of the lane, built by my great-great-grandfather. Once upon a time all the land in this area belonged to Ambrose Manor. But over the years it had been divided up and sold, and now there were four new houses on the lane, in addition to the cottage opposite our house that had once been our gardener’s house. It had been sold some years ago and the Trask family lived there now. Mom didn’t like them, which meant, by default, I didn’t like them either. According to her, they were the enemy and I shouldn’t talk, mix or associate with them in any way, shape or form. They made the street trashy with their beat up vehicles, and she was forever complaining about their dog, or their yard or their noisy motorbike.
“About that,” Mom said, her eyes narrowing.
My eyes were fixed on the Trask house. They’d built a new garage on the property when they moved in and the door was open and I could see Mr. Trask and one of his sons standing by a car. I wondered if they’d been away over the summer.
“Yeah, I need to check my uniform and book list.”
“Quinn,” she said, turning into our driveway, slowing beneath the archway of Ambrose Manor, which I noticed was shabby and in need of repair. “I’m afraid you won’t be going back to Brizendine this year.”
It was a moment where I was unsure my ears were working, that I’d misheard her, because it sounded like she saidI wouldn’t be going backto Brizendine Prep for my senior year.
“I’m sorry,” she carried on, ignoring my shock which had stunned me into silence. “But finances are stretched at the moment. Money is extremely tight. We simply can’t afford it.”
I turned to her, blinking, staring, blinking again, shaking my head. “What are you talking about? Can’t afford it?”
Ambrose Manor was one of the grandest houses in the area. It had been in my mother’s family for generations. We weren’t flashy money, but my parents drove new cars and I had a Jeep, we wore designer brands and vacationed every year. We had a housekeeper and a gardener and when we were younger, William and I had a nanny.
Mom stopped the car in front of our three car garage and switched off the engine, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. She let out a shuddering breath.
“We had a huge tax bill to pay,” she whispered so softly that my ears strained. “It...it was...we owed a lot. I had to sell your car, honey, I’m sorry, but it just about wiped us out.”
“Tax bill?” I said, my voice lilting in incredulous disbelief. “You soldmycar?”
Mom babbled like someone amped up on caffeine, something about Dad’s importing company going under, a tax audit, some bad investments, lawyers and the divorce settlement. But my mind had blanked out. All I knew was that my car was gone and I wasn’t going back to Brizendine Prep.
Tears were welling in Mom’s eyes by this stage, a look of utter despair, like she’d aged ten years in a minute. I should’ve felt sorry and sad for her because Mom was not one to show vulnerability, a firm and stoic demeanor her trademark. But it was hard to find empathy when my life was crumbling right in front of me.
“So, you’re not sending me to Brizendine for my senior year? For my last year of high school?” I asked shakily as I envisionedmy class graduating without me, of not being part of the school where I’d studied since third grade.
Seemed Mom’s moment of weakness was over. She reverted back to a cool and composed manner. “I know it’s hard for you to hear, and if I could, I would. But I’m sorry, I just can’t...”
I pulled hard on the door handle, exiting the car before she could finish, because right now my life might just as well be over. Spending my senior year at Snow Ridge High School was possibly more tragic than losing my Jeep. Bad enough that Dad had moved out, now I was going to lose my second home, my second family.
Storming off was futile because the front door was locked and I didn’t have the key, so I had to wait while Mom got out of the car.
Coming up beside me, she placed her hand on my shoulder. “Quinn, I’m sorry,” she said,“but it hasn’t been easy for me either. The salon is all I have now.”
“Well, you still seem to have a car,” I sniffed back, my mind in a whirl because I could barely grasp this new reality, this new life where my world had turned upside down without warning.
But if I thought that was the worst, when Mom unlocked the door, there was another shock. Instead of being greeted by the circular antique walnut table and the bespoke pale blue sofa that had graced our front entrance my whole life, the room was empty except for the coat stand.
“Mom?” I gasped, worried that we’d been burgled. “What...?”
But Mom was headed back to the car to get my suitcases. I skipped to catch her up, completely bewildered. “Mom? Where’s the furniture?”
Mom lifted out a suitcase and I reached for the other one. “What’s happening? What’s really happening?”
“I had to sell a few things,” Mom mumbled, fumbling with the handle which she was trying to extend.
“Have I got a bed?” I asked in exasperation, because this situation seemed to be spiraling out of control by the minute. My car had gone, we couldn’t afford my prep school and now family heirlooms had been sold.
“Of course,” Mom snapped, slamming the trunk shut with more force than was necessary.
“That table belonged to your great-grandfather,” I said, strangely feeling its loss more than my Jeep. “It’s been in the family for generations.”
Mom turned her attention to my suitcase, rotating it so she could pull it behind her. That table had been precious to her and I couldn’t believe she could be so cavalier about selling it.
“Mom?” I pressed. “You loved that table.”
