Cherry Money Baby Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lucas.
    She breathed
yes
into his mouth just as the 8:21 to Boston blasted,
exploded
overhead, quaking the bridge and rattling the paint cans in their duffel bag, vibrating the happy couple pressed against the strut. Once it had passed and Cherry and Lucas pulled back from their kiss, the train was gone, but she was still rocketing on, moving forward, breathless with velocity.

Once, on a dare, Cherry had chugged an entire twenty-ounce Red Bull. The effect of all that caffeine, aside from making her jaw clench, was a kind of relaxed hysteria, like a tiny, insane Cherry was doing jumping jacks inside her skull. She felt something similar now, saying good night to Lucas at his door. Like life was set, certain, and simultaneously so fucking exciting, she might piss her pants (another side effect of the Red Bull).
    But the dreamy-giddy thing lasted only as far as the chain-link fence, and then something began to grate at the edges. She’d have to tell the fam. She didn’t want to tell them. The news was perfect so long as it was just hers. Stew would laugh it off, make a joke like he always did. Pop . . . Pop would be trouble. He’d see it as the nail in Cherry’s college coffin, an idea that was already sealed and buried.
    She crossed the backyard, auditioning her tone out loud.
    “Lucas asked me to marry him. . . . Pop, I’m marrying Lucas.” No, that was taking the offensive, which made her feel like a sneaker-stomping little girl. Climbing the rear steps, she tried again, imagining her father in his armchair, staring up at her in glum disbelief. “Poppa, there’s something I need to tell you. . . .” Too dramatic. Keep it light. “Okay, you wanna hear something
nuts
. . . ?”
    No.
    Fuck it. If Pop didn’t like it, tough. She wasn’t going to make a production.
    She opened the door.
    “Hi. I’m engaged.”
    The trailer was empty. She checked the bedrooms; the garage was dark and vacant. No note. It was 9:30. At this hour Pop was usually watching TV, halfway through a six-pack of Silver Bullets. She checked her phone, also lifeless. She was on her way to charge it when she heard a car pull in, an engine die, a door slam. Now she pictured Pop lumbering up the walk, fist stuffed in his jean pocket, searching for his keys.
    Cherry opened the front door.
    “Hi. I’m
ennnn
. . .” The last word teetered over the edge like Wile E. Coyote. Cherry steadied herself against the door frame to keep from tumbling off the stoop. The mental image of her father snapped back like a rubber band, leaving Cherry brain-numb, completely stalled.
    There was a movie star on her doorstep.
    Ardelia Deen looked much recovered. She was dressed in a swimming green cocktail dress, her flawless features touched with makeup.
    “Cherry, right?” She offered a manicured hand. Cherry shook it.
    “Yeah.”
    “Sorry, you must think I’m absolutely
bonkers
just dropping in like this. My manager got the address from
your
manager, ha-ha.” She swallowed.
    Cherry’s brain was still stumbling. Pop, the engagement, Lucas . . .
    “I’m sorry, what’s happening?”
    “I wanted to say thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t this afternoon. I was so distracted, and Spanner — that’s my manager, the friend I was with — she insisted we rush off before the press showed up. And then there was a checkup at hospital, and with one thing and another . . .” She took a breath. “Anyway, I am sorry it’s so late, but I had to see you in person.
Thank you,
Cherry.”
    “Oh! Yeah, sure.” Cherry tried to clear her head, shaking it. “You’re welcome. I just did . . . It was nothing.”
    “Not to me!”
    The intensity of her tone startled them both; Ardelia’s voice was for amiable after-party interviews and gracious
your welcome
s while signing photographs, not life-and-death talk. She smiled and flipped her hand to lighten the tension. Cherry squinted. She didn’t seem like that afternoon’s Burrito Barn customer or the towering goddess Cherry