Free Perfect Timing by Laura Spinella

But bare feet and gravel were as painful as the night, and she ended up walking along the dirt edge. As she walked, she plucked bobby pins from her hair, dropping them onto the road. The cascading updo unfurled, leaving dangling curls caked in hairspray. She wiped mascara-filled tears, wondering if, after the ball, Cinderella felt this shitty.
    The trailer was dark, but she did notice Rick’s SUV parked nearby.
Super.
More than once he’d left in the wee hours of the morning. Aside from the obvious grossness of that, Isabel wanted her mother. Well, she wanted her to herself. She hesitated a few yards from the porch. Maybe she didn’t. They were as snug as two bugs in a rug—after the split Carrie said it all the time. It was her mantra from the time they started driving on I-95 south, reassuring a younger Isabel about the beauty of the South, a terrific job, and the prospect of a happy life. But since the uproar over Aidan, since she wasn’t that little girl anymore, maybe since Rick, things weren’t so snug. She was home earlier than expected, that part being a small plus. She wouldn’t have to play Juliet to his Mr. Capulet. Walking through the door, it occurred to Isabel that her mother’s car wasn’t out front. But that couldn’t be right.
    She tossed the high heels in a corner and grabbed some tissues from the breakfast bar. Blotting mascara, Isabel turned toward the dark living room and flipped on a lamp. She shuffled back, colliding hard with the breakfast bar. Rick was sprawled across the sofa, deep beer-gut laughter responding to her surprise. He scratched a hand across his chest where a thicket of hair protruded. Isabel was unable to keep from noticing his unbuckled belt, the open button of his trousers. “Where’s my mother? What are you doing here?”
    “Waitin’ on you, missy. Busy night in the ER; Carrie got called in to work.” It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. “You’re early,” he said, glancing at the diamond-faced watch he showed off to anyone who would look. “Seems a bunch of you kids left the gala and got a little drunk. There was a wreck out on Old Station Road.”
    Isabel’s mind leapt to Aidan. But there really wasn’t enough time for him to go off and get drunk. On the other hand, with his newfound fame, who knew what he’d be tempted to do. “So why are you still here?”
    “Your mother was worried, couldn’t get you on your cell. I volunteered to wait until you got home. Just being helpful,” he said, his shrug lazy and benign. It was at complete odds with Isabel’s cautionary stance and the voice in the back of her head.
    “Nice of you. I’m home. You can go.” She turned toward her bedroom, but Rick was up off the sofa, following.
    “Now, that’s not too social, Bella.” She froze as thick fingers moved up and down her arm. She’d rather it were fire ants. Isabel turned, wanting to tell him to get his hands off her. His penetrating stare stole the demand. “From the look of you,” he said, a finger swiping through a tear, “seems your night with Roycroft didn’t go so good. I didn’t hear his truck—can’t miss that hunk of junk.” Caressing fingertips kept moving, closing around Isabel’s arm. “See what I mean, him letting you find your own way home. That’s not safe, sweetie, not safe at all.” His gaze darted past her head. She was alone, and he knew it. “That’s no way to treat a young woman, particularly one as special as you.” She stepped back; her arm didn’t follow. “You are special, Bella, you know? Pretty too. But not the kind of pretty that’ll satisfy a tomcat like him. A little spitfire that’s a touch more smarts than she is beauty. Roycroft, he can’t help that. It’s in his DNA. He likes ’em blond with big boobs, whether they can think or not isn’t the point. Ever take a good look at Stella? I can tell you from experience she puts out after one drink. Not very classy. Not like your mama.”
    “You’re