Page 13 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER TEN.

K nock. Knock. Knock.

The first set of bangs on the door woke Hunter from his sleep, but instead of standing and running to the door, he struggled to open his eyes.

Heat from the sunlight streaming in through his single-pane windows warmed his chin.

His body sank into the cushions, the ribbed fabric of the couch rubbing against his right hip as his shirt shifted out of place, an innocent betrayal.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Who would come here so early?

“Go away,” he muttered, knowing no one could hear him.

“Hunter Nethanial Gunnan,” a shrill woman’s voice came from the other side of the front door. “I have a key, and I will use it.”

Mom.

“She’ll do it, son. Time to get decent.”

Dad.

Hunter sprang up off the pillow and blanket, which tangled around his feet and tripped him.

He wobbled forward, trying not to trip, but it was too late.

The click of the latch sounded, and the front door swung open, bringing in the chill from outside and the most frightening thing that could appear in his home at that time: his parents.

“Are you still in bed?” He could hear his mom’s voice, the heels in her boots thudding with her short, bouncy steps. They carried her straight down the hallway, into his bedroom.

“A woman!” she screamed.

There it is.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m here looking for my son. He lives here. You’ve got such pretty hair.”

“I found him,” his dad called, standing in the entryway to the living room. “Over here, Minerva.”

Dad, still unfairly handsome for his sixties, clapped Hunter’s back like nothing was out of place. The full head of silver hair, the stubble, the cheap clothes—everything exactly the same as always.

People said Hunter looked like him. He hoped they were right.

His mom marched in with the energy of the fifth graders in his class. Her bleached blonde hair was pinned tight, and pearls dangled from her ears. Her bright red jacket tapered down to her knees to show off her black boots.

“Mark, there’s a girl in Hunter’s room.”

“I heard, Minerva,” his dad sighed. “Hunter, there’s a woman in your bed.”

“Oh my gosh, I am so proud of you,” Mom threw her arms around Hunter’s neck, forcing him to bend down a few inches. She pulled his face close to hers.

“I loved Sarah. We all did, but it’s only healthy to have a rebound.”

“Mom . . .” Hunter groaned. “Dad, a little help here?”

“I’ll be staying out of this one,” Dad said, flopping onto the couch and pulling out his phone.

“Wait a minute.” Mom looked down at the bedding thrown across the floor. “Did you sleep on the couch? Mark, he slept on the couch.”

“Have you made any coffee yet?” his dad asked him, knees cracking as he stood right back up. Hunter shook his head. “I’ll go start a pot.”

“The woman in my bed, Mom,” Hunter started, “is a friend who needed help. She was in some trouble. Her name is Olivia.”

The eyebrows drawn on his mom’s face defied gravity. “What kind of trouble?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s personal stuff. I’m just trying to be a good guy.”

“You’re the best guy,” his mom said, coming in for another hug.

“Did you hear about the accident in town?” his dad yelled from the kitchen, cabinets slamming as he dug for supplies.

“Ground beans are on the counter in the tin,” Hunter answered. “And what accident?”

“A police car ran into the general store last night, right on Market Street. The officer died. I could only assume drugs. Some world we live in these days.”

Hunter’s breath left his body. It was becoming a habit.

Olivia entered the living room. Her hair had been disheveled before, but now it had the extra bedhead texture. Her clothes swallowed her. Still, magic surrounded her—there was no denying a special kind of beauty.

“Oh, my dear.” Hunter’s mom turned towards her, taking Olivia’s hands, looking at the bruises, at the scratches on her skin. “What you must have been through. Your feet are nearly black with dirt. This won’t do. Let’s go get you in the shower. Hunter, why hasn’t she gotten a hot bath?”

Hunter didn’t know how to react; the last time Olivia was around another person, they’d ended up dead.

She’s dangerous. She’s holding Mom’s hands, blood on her own skin. You brought her here.

Maybe he was grumpy from the lack of sleep, or maybe more levelheaded after some hours had passed, but when Hunter looked at Olivia, he felt fear and uncertainty.

“It was late, Mom,” Hunter answered, “when we got in.”

“You poor thing, you must be traumatized to look like this. Let me help you.” His mom pulled Olivia away, and she smiled at him but went willingly. She was quiet today, around all the new people she had unfortunately woken up to.

It was easy to clear his head when he wasn’t staring into her eyes. That warmth could make him forget everything else.

Hunter listened to his mom fuss over Olivia, her high-pitched voice coming through the closed bathroom door down the hallway.

“Not too hot, dear, you just step in. Oh my gosh, you are too skinny—we need to get some food in you. What must you have been through? My Hunter is such a saint.”

“Mom, leave Olivia alone.” Hunter put his head between his hands and flopped back onto the couch, groaning. He wouldn’t put it past his mom to jump into the shower with her and help her wash her hair.

The comforting smell of cheap coffee filled his nostrils as his dad came out of the kitchen, placing a beige mug on the low square glass living room table a few feet before him.

“You have no idea how much joy your mom is getting out of you having a new friend,” his dad said, sitting next to him, sipping his coffee. “Too hot.”

“Why are you guys here without a text, Dad?” Hunter asked. “Didn’t we talk about boundaries?”

Mark chuckled, spilling some coffee on his hand. “Ouch. Can’t catch a break.”

Hunter lifted his head and looked over at the man who raised him.

“Your teacher friend, Sadie, texted your mom yesterday, concerned.” Mark put his coffee on the table only to rummage around in his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled paper.

“Of course she did.”

“It’s been years, son.” He slapped the paper on the table, splashing coffee. “We all miss Sarah. I don’t know who this woman is or why she is here, but you need this.”

“Define this .” Hunter stared at the paper revealed. It was a folded check. “Dad, who even writes checks anymore?”

“I’m too old for change now.” Mark chuckled. “And when I say this, I mean change. I mean something new. I can’t be your only friend, as much as I love you, son. And hell, even if that’s my fate, I’d love to come over here without having to smell vinegar.”

“Sorry, I barely notice the smell anymore.”

“She doesn’t even have any clothes. Where is this poor girl from?” His mom’s voice shrilled through the house, her footsteps determined as she exited through the front door.

Hunter shook his head, and his father laughed.

“Why don’t you sell those pickles at a farmers’ market? You could meet new people there.”

“I have another friend, Dad. She texts you about my well-being, so you show up unannounced. Please put that check back in your pocket. I don’t need it.”

His father sighed. “I’ll just leave it right there. Tear it up after I go if I must.”

The two let silence pass between them as they sipped too-hot coffee, trying not to flinch.

The front door opened again, and his mom huffed and puffed down the hallway to the bathroom.

“That woman cannot be stopped.” Mark laughed before slapping Hunter's left shoulder. “We just worry. It’s our job, I suppose.”

“I know, Dad. Thanks.”

With that, Mark stood up, his knees cracking, running his hands through his gorgeous head of hair.

“Minvera, we should leave the kids to be kids,” Mark bellowed.

“Almost done,” Hunter's mom rang out like a school bell ringing over a hangover.

Hunter grimaced. “I should go check on them.”

“What can happen? You’ve got to let ladies do what ladies do.”

Hunter imagined walking into the bathroom, his mom wrapped in vines, her eyes lifeless.

Don’t leave your mom to be butchered, you idiot.

He jumped to his feet. Mark very much noticed the sudden panic.

“What did I say?” his dad asked, following him with wide, quick strides down the hall.

His hallways were framed by the same wooden slats that were installed in the 1970s remodel by the owners two generations back.

Hunter’s feet stopped mid-step as the bathroom door opened, and relief rushed in as Minvera came bouncing out into the hall.

The smile on her face was one of a plan gone right, but Hunter looked past that for now.

“I pulled some clothes from the car, just some basics that I would be donating, so don’t sweat it. Hunter, your girl is so stunning.”

His mom squealed and squeezed Hunter's shoulders while his dad lingered at the back of the hallway, hands in his pockets, dying to leave.

“We are only friends, Mom. I’m sorry to break your heart.”

“I’ve got a few more things to get out of the trunk. I’ll leave you crazy kids to yourselves. Come help me, Mark!”

With his mom already behind him, Hunter raised his chin to greet Olivia, who emerged slowly, cautiously, from the small and cramped bathroom.

“I … you … wow,” Hunter stammered, his palms fumbling with the collar of his t-shirt, not knowing what to do with them.

He knew, however, what he wanted to do with them.

She’s yours.

Olivia's black, thick hair was lustrous, shining like glitter in a snow globe from the fluorescent lights above. Hunter didn’t even realize he had a hair dryer, and decided that yes, his mom would be the type to drive around with one as he peeped at the large square brush and dark green hand tool sitting still plugged in on the bathroom sink.

The earthy smell that had entranced him before was still there, lingering beneath whatever fragrance came out of his two-in-one shampoo. He assumed it was the pink flowers that were displayed on the bottle.

“Your first shower in one hundred years?”

That’s your opening line, huh?

Olivia raised her thick, dark eyebrows at him. He imagined a bright red apple against her lips, freshly washed with droplets skidding down the fruit onto her chin.

The contrast of colors, the brightness against her milky white skin.

Your. Girl.

Hunter was not the possessive alpha male type, no gym rat, no six-pack.

He was a normal guy, a grieving guy, a sometimes funny, quirky guy who had enough common sense to run away from monsters.

But here, he was staring into her eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to memorize her scent.

As he tried to figure out how he could become a part of it.

You’re gone.

Sarah, I’m losing my mind.

He had thought that to himself too often these past few days.

Olivia wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t let her go.

You sound ridiculous.

“It was warmer than the rain,” Olivia whispered, her hollow cheeks almost pinching, a secret dimple threatening to appear.

“The clothes fit well,” Hunter murmured, unable to stop his eyes from drifting down her slight frame. The spell she carried wrapped around him all over again. It was not magic now. Just Olivia and him. His stomach tightened; his lips parted.

Olivia wore a long, thick sweater dress, black to match her hair and eyes. It fell down to her calves, paired with chunky, shiny boots.

“It suits you, really,” he said softly while she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’m baaaaa-ack,” his mom announced. Hunter watched her pass him in the hallway with an armful of plants.

“Don’t just stand there, help me,” his mom barked at a helpless Mark.

“Yes, ma’am,” his dad grumbled, stepping aside.

“Should we help? Unless you’d rather be alone?” Hunter asked, glancing at Olivia and lifting his hand to signal she should walk first. Olivia’s long eyelashes nearly brushed her cheeks as she blinked, that smile still lingering, carved soft but sharp. A perfect, flawless, wicked doll.

She moved, walking down the hallway in front of him, her head turning over her shoulder to scan him slowly. He would kill to know what that look meant, what she was thinking. The dress hugged her frame, her waist so slender, yet her hips swished back and forth, like a salsa dancer at center stage.

Is she doing that on purpose?

Olivia looked over her shoulder again, her smirk confirming it. Hunter raised an eyebrow at her as they turned into the living room, where his mom was fussing over seven potted poinsettias.

“Mom,” Hunter huffed. “Why?”

“Oh, you insult me, Hunter. Christmas is in six days, and you would have never known it by stepping into this joyless house.”

That’s because Sarah isn’t here. She was the cheer.

“And since you refuse to visit home, where it is properly?—”

“Extravagantly,” his dad cut in, earning a look from his wife that promised that he would pay for that later.

“Properly decorated,” she continued, “I thought I’d bring some of that holiday spirit here.”

“Mom, is this because of Sadie’s text? There is nothing to worry about. Besides, this is too much. Where am I supposed to put all of these?”

“Oh, nonsense.” His mom tapped Hunter on his shoulder, a too-large smile pinned across her face. “Olivia here can help you, I’m sure. A fun little project that might make your home smell better.”

Olivia reached in between a few of the poinsettia’s red blooms, pulling out a sprig of mistletoe, pale berries nestled among the sharp green.

“Well, I’ve got to go donate those items to the church. You know how the ladies get when I’m late.”

“We don’t go to church,” his dad grunted, earning another glare.

“I have to donate it somewhere, Mark. I love you, pumpkin. Have a good day. Mark, we are going,” she yelled even though his dad stood right beside her.

Hunter glanced at Olivia, who seemed half amused, half lost in thought as she turned the sprig between her fingers.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Olivia called after his mom. The woman turned and gave her a wink.

“Those crazy kids,” he heard his mom mutter with glee as the two exited. Hunter and Olviia were alone again as the cold wind violently slammed the door shut.

“How different parents are in this time,” Olivia murmured, lifting the mistletoe higher, inspecting its leaves.

“I’m sorry about them. I wasn’t expecting . . .”

Any of this.

She turned to face him fully. “What an interesting plant to bring. It's very up front about how it's poisonous; its jarring red warning signs are ignored, and instead, it gets worshiped as holiday decor.”

Olivia spoke to the poinsettias then, "Don't worry, little ones, I'm here."