Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)(64)
I know she has some kind of RV-related PTSD, much like I have a complete aversion to open doors—especially in the bathroom—but this reaction is extreme. I’m also concerned she’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen. I don’t know how a person can scream that long or that loud without taking a breath.
“Charlotte! I’ve come to save you!” Khaki Man yells.
Who the hell is Charlotte?
Charlene lurches forward and squeezes between me and Alex. I reach out to stop her, but she pushes away, careening toward Khaki Man. She corrects herself, stumbling as if she’s drunk. She grabs my arm, eyes bouncing around my face as she motions to the RV.
“Tell me this is a nightmare. Tell me this isn’t happening.”
“Are you okay? Do you know that man?” I try to wrap her up in my arms, but she pushes away again.
“No, no, no, no, no!” She grabs two fistfuls of hair, clutching hard as she shakes her head. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.” She spins around to face Khaki Guy. When she speaks her voice is clear, but shaky, “What the hell are you doing here, Frank? How did you find us?”
He makes some random hand gestures while waving around a cell phone. “I saw your mother on the devil’s box, and I knew it was a sign to harvest again. I’ve been searching for you for so long. It’s time to come home.” He opens his arms wide. “Come give your Daddy Frank a hug.”
“Daddy Frank? Is that Charlene’s father?” Alex asks.
“I have no fucking clue,” I reply.
Everyone from the backyard starts to trickle out in the driveway. “What the hell is going on?” Randy asks from somewhere behind me.
“Oh! Did Charlene’s whole family come to celebrate her birthday?” Daisy asks.
This Frank guy claps his meaty hands twice and a woman appears at the door of the RV. She’s wearing a white long-sleeve blouse buttoned all the way to her throat and at her wrists, despite it being eighty degrees today. She’s also wearing a white bonnet, like she stepped off the set of The Handmaid’s Tale. It’s one of the few shows I’ve watched recently.
She hesitates on the last step, but when he motions her forward, she hikes up her long beige skirt, revealing a pair of white Keds, and takes a tentative step down. She scans the crowd, eyes falling on Charlene, and her expression is a mixture of fear, sadness, and envy. “I thought I’d never see you again,” the woman says softly.
“What the fuck is happening here?” Lance asks from the other side of Alex.
Charlene takes a halting step. “Carrie?”
“Come see your sisters. They’ve missed you, Char-char!” Frank the fucker claps his hands again, and several more women follow the first one off the RV.
I notice several things: they’re all wearing the exact same outfit, as if it’s a uniform, and the rest of them keep their eyes fixed on their white Keds. They all also have medium to light brown hair that falls to the middle of their backs, which makes them look eerily like Charlene.
“Do you want me to call the cops?” Miller asks. “I think this guy has a few screws loose.”
Based on Charlene’s horrified expression, I’m pretty sure Miller is right about that. I step up, because Charlene’s welfare is my first priority and my responsibility. “You need to leave before we call the police.”
Khaki Man turns his wide, freaky-ass smile on me. “I can’t leave. The devil’s box sent me a sign and brought me here to save my Char-char from a life of excess and corruption.” He motions to Alex’s house and all of us standing there in bathing suits, beach coverups, and swim shorts, and finally to Charlene, as if that’s all the explanation he needs to give. “I knew it was too late for her mother when I saw that awful show.” He turns to Charlene. “But I can still save you. Don’t you see? It’s fate that I’ve found you again. It’s time for you to come home and take your rightful place in the co-op.”
Charlene shakes her head furiously and side steps toward the house, away from him. “This has to be a nightmare,” she mutters. “You can’t be here. This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.”
“Oh, shit.” Charlene’s mom pushes through the crowd holding a huge bowl of potato salad, which she hands off to Poppy, who looks confused and alarmed. She stomps across the interlocking stone toward Khaki Pimp Daddy. “Frank! What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here?”
He puffs out his chest. “I’ve come to save Char-char from your poor choices!”
“Poor choices? For the love of Christ, falling for your bullshit was the poorest choice I made. Now get your pasty ass back in that RV and go back to your subpar greenhouse operation where you belong!” She nods at the women. “Carrie, Cassie, Clara, Clair, Cara, Caddie, so sorry, no offense.”
“Production really took a dive when you left,” one of the women says with a shrug. The rest of them nod in silent agreement.
“Enough!” Frank puts a hand out as if he’s some kind of magician and can stop Charlene’s mom from advancing on him. “Cendy, you’re no longer welcome in the fold.”
“My name was never Cendy, you crazy dickbag! It was Wendy, and I had to change it to keep your psycho ass from finding us! And newsflash, Frank, I don’t want to be in your fold, and neither does Charlene. Now get the hell out of here, or I’m going to file a goddamn restraining order.”