Shelter

By Stephanie Fournet

Elise Cormier has hated Cole Whitehurst since she was five years old. He’s always known just how to make her feel dumb, shabby, and — worst of all — invisible.

Even when they live under the same roof.

But that’s where Elise learns Cole’s terrible secret and why he is the way he is. Despite how he’s always treated her, Elise becomes his ally.

Cole Whitehurst has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Day in and day out, it’s up to him to keep his mother and sister safe. He’s used to giving up everything he wants in order to protect them.

And there’s nothing he wants more than Elise Cormier.

Cole has no business falling for his housekeeper’s daughter, but how could he resist? She’s funny. She’s real. And he trusts her with his life.

But, as Cole knows, loving someone comes with a price, and it may take him years to pay it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Fournet
• Release date: Mar 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005651770

Stephanie Fournet

Stephanie Fournet, author of eight novels including Leave a Mark, You First, Shelter, and Someone Like Me, lives in Lafayette, Louisiana—not far from the Saint Streets where her novels are set. She shares her home with her husband John and their needy dogs Gladys and Mabel, and sometimes their daughter Hannah even comes home from college to visit them. When she isn’t writing romance novels, Stephanie is usually helping students get into college or running. She loves hearing from readers, so look for her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads, and stephaniefournet.com.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter One

ELISE

When I first met Cole Whitehurst, he had blood dripping from his nose. The collar of his light blue shirt was ripped and hung limp like a banana peel. The skin over his knuckles was split and angry. Everything about him looked angry.

He was the scariest looking eight-year-old I’d ever seen.

I wasn’t supposed to be at the Whitehursts’, but I’d come down with an earache and a fever in Mrs. Sonnier’s kindergarten class, and since Mama couldn’t afford to miss a day of work, I could either lie down on the Whitehursts’ back porch swing or sit at the kitchen table while Mama folded laundry and cooked their supper.

I chose the porch swing.

Mama had given me two Tylenol and set me up with a blanket that smelled like lemons. She’d rolled up a bath towel and put it under my head as a pillow, and every twenty minutes or so, she’d come out and take away the damp kitchen towel I had pressed to my ear and pop it back in the microwave. And while I waited, I held my palm to my ear and counted to a hundred.

It hurt a lot.

After the third time she got me settled and went inside, she was back out again not five minutes later, carrying a Ziploc bag of sliced onions and peeled garlic.

What’s that for? I asked, frowning at the see-through bag. I hoped I wasn’t supposed to eat it. Raw onions burned my tongue.

It’s for your feet, Elise, she said. It’ll draw out the fever.

I didn’t want onions and garlic on my feet, but my ear hurt too much to argue, so when Mama untucked me and peeled off my socks, I just whimpered my protest until raw vegetables actually touched my skin.

"That’s cold," I whined.

I know, baby, Mama said, arranging sliced onion wedges over and under my feet with one hand and patting my blanketed knee with the other.

Ugh! And it stinks!

I watched her smother a laugh. I know it does, Elise, but until I can get you to the clinic for some ear drops, it’s the best I can do.

I clamped my mouth shut. Even at five, I knew we didn’t have much. We didn’t live in a house anywhere near as big as the Whitehursts’. We had an old, brown car that ran most of the time. We had food in the pantry, though sometimes it came from FoodNet, and we had clothes, though usually they came from Goodwill.

But I loved my mama, and I knew it made her sad when I wanted or needed something we didn’t have enough money to buy. So, I tried not to want anything. I tried very hard. I didn’t want an earache, so I thought it was just plain mean of God or the devil or whoever gave little girls earaches that I now needed medicine. Medicine that would cost money we didn’t have.

So, with my mouth shut, a hot towel on my ear, and a bag of onions around my feet, I closed my eyes on the Whitehursts’ back porch swing and fell asleep.

"What are you doing?"

I lifted my eyelids to see a scowling boy with a bloody nose. A scowling boy who was a lot bigger than me. And the way he looked at me combined with the way he stressed the second word in his question made me feel exactly like a girl with a bag of onions on her feet, lying on someone else’s porch swing. Weird. Ugly. Small.

Like I’d swallowed a bowl of worms. My stomach turned sour, and my eyes stung.

Before I could say anything back, his lip—bearing a dripping trail of blood—curled even higher, and his frown deepened. "Ugh! You stink."

He stepped away from me, thrusting his hand down and away as though officially putting the likes of me behind him. And that was when the sour in my stomach turned to gasoline, and I sat up.

My ear hurt, and sitting up so fast made it hurt even worse, but the boy I’d already guessed was Cole Whitehurst had lit a fuse inside me. My movement caught his eye, and he paused in his exit to stare.

And you just lost a fight, I fired back, trying to match his ugly look the best I could.

Something like surprise flickered in his frosty blue eyes before he narrowed them in fury. His nostrils flared. Not being a hundred percent sure that dragons weren’t real, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had opened his mouth and breathed fire.

You’re as dumb as you look. The words came out low. Like the rumble of thunder that let everyone know a storm was on the way.

My face grew hot. Considering I had a towel over my ear and a bag of onions over my feet, I guessed I looked pretty dumb. On top of that, I was one of the few kids in Mrs. Sonnier’s class who wasn’t reading in picture books yet, and I wondered if he knew that just by looking at me. The thought made prickly-heat rush up my chest and down my back.

I realized then that looking dumb and feeling dumb were two different things, and the second one was a whole lot worse. Wanting to make Cole Whitehurst feel just as bad, I tried to think of the ugliest names I knew, combining them in my head to come up with new, fancy insults. I was drawing in a breath to call him a fat-fart-booger-butt, when he lowered his scowling face to mine.

And if you weren’t just some dumb girl whose mother works for my mother, I’d do to you what I did to the kid who did this to me, he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of his still bleeding nose. "And you’d see that I did not lose that fight."

Without giving me the chance to do anything, fire back or cower under my hot towel—and I was probably leaning toward the latter in that moment— Cole Whitehurst spun away from me and stormed into his kitchen. He slammed the door behind him, but instead of shutting, the door bounced in its frame, standing open about two inches. Wide enough for me to hear Mama.

Cole! Good heavens, what happened to you?!

I sat back on the edge of the swing, knowing not to follow him inside but listening as hard as I could. I heard nothing.

Mama tsked. Baby, who did this to you?

A moment passed. I’m not a baby.

My mother made a sound. A sound I recognized. A snorting kind of swallowing sound. Like she did when she was trying not to laugh.

Don’t laugh at me, Flora.

My head snapped back as if I’d been slapped. Because I knew I would’ve been if I'd talked to Mama the way Cole Whitehurst was talking to her now. Kids didn’t talk to grownups that way, but instead of hearing Mama’s swift and sure justice, I just heard her clearing her throat.

Let me get you cleaned up, she said. And that was all she said.

They must have gone to one of the first-floor bathrooms because I couldn’t hear them anymore. I was left frowning on the back-porch swing with my feet still in a bag of onions.

Who was this boy who didn’t cry when he got beat up? Who could tell I was dumb just by looking at me? Who could talk to Mama that way, even call her Flora without say ma’am or Ms., without earning at least a swat on the leg?

At five years old, I had little experience with hatred, but I decided I’d start learning with Cole Whitehurst.

Chapter Two

ELISE

I didn’t see Cole Whitehurst for almost year after he told me I stunk and was as dumb as I looked.

I would like to say that the second time I encountered him, I kept my dignity intact, but that didn’t happen. Far from it.

It was Halloween, and I was six.

Two weeks before Halloween, Mama had asked me what I wanted to be. I have no idea why she needed to ask. I’d seen Mulan that summer, and since then, I’d eaten, breathed, slept, and lived Mulan.

I’d even had Mama cut my hair like hers—which worked well enough since it was dark and fairly straight. But cutting bangs revealed a cowlick over my right eye that wouldn’t smooth down for anything.

Still, with two weeks, Mama was able to put together an outfit that mostly looked like Mulan’s costume in the final battle scene when she saved the emperor. With an old half-slip of Mama’s that she pulled up under my arms and secured with safety pins, a long-sleeved light blue T-shirt she borrowed from one of her church friends, a navy-blue jumper she found at Goodwill, and her pink scarf that she tied around my waist as a sash, I almost looked like Mulan.

Since I was good at art, I drew and colored Mulan’s dragon medallion out of a small paper plate, poked a hole in it, and strung it onto a red ribbon so I could wear it around my neck. Then I took a broken broom handle I’d found by the dumpster behind the Coin Laundry and turned it into a sword with a hilt made out of aluminum foil. It didn’t have the curvy shape of Mulan’s sword, and it wasn’t silver—or even gray—but without any paint or the craft foam Miss Leaky my art teacher had, it was the best I could do.

All in all, I guess I was a pretty shabby Mulan.

Because that was exactly what Cole Whitehurst mumbled under his breath when Mama dropped me off to trick-or-treat with him and his little sister Ava. Now, I had been trick-or-treating since I was two, but I always, and I mean always, went with Mama. She would drive us to Our Lady of Fatima Church, park the car, and get out and walk me over to the Twin Oaks neighborhood. The houses were real nice. The people were nice. And they gave lots of candy.

We lived on Silkwood Street on the wrong side of Four Corners. I was not allowed to trick-or-treat on Silkwood Street, even with Mama. Although it was just two-and-a-half miles away from Twin Oaks Boulevard, it may as well have been another world. But that year, I would not be trick-or-treating on Twin Oaks because Mama couldn’t take me. She’d dropped a jar of imported Italian olives on her left foot that morning and broken a toe.

Of course, this had happened in the Whitehursts’ kitchen. We did not have imported Italian olives. We didn’t have imported Italian anything.

And Mrs. Abigail Whitehurst, Cole and Ava’s mother, feeling awful, had insisted that I join her children on Myrtle Place for Halloween.

After my one humiliating and, frankly, frightening encounter with Cole Whitehurst, I wasn’t keen on spending an entire Halloween evening with him.

Can’t I just go with Ava? I asked as Mama tied the pink sash around my middle. We sat on the edge Mama’s bed, her foot propped up on a three-legged stool and covered in an ice pack.

No, Mama said, her voice gentle. Cole and Ava are doing you a kindness by inviting you along. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to trick-or-treat at all tonight.

I pressed my lips together to keep the words I wanted to say in my mouth. Cole Whitehurst wasn’t doing me a kindness. Based on what I knew of him, he wouldn’t do anyone a kindness.

Ava, on the other hand, wasn’t all kindness, but she was all kinds of fun. Unlike her brother, Ava Whitehurst was sparkly, playful, and just one year older than me. She always wore a dreamy smile, even though her eyes could also be wide and watchful, and she’d always seek me out in the kitchen on days I didn’t have school or if Mama needed to work late when the Whitehursts were entertaining. We’d play with her Water Lily Barbies—she had two of them—or her Tomagachi, or we’d take her ribbon dancer set outside and pretend the wands could cast spells and the ribbons were bursts of magic.

I’d flick my wand around, imagining that with every flick, I granted myself a wish. Flick! A new house. One in a nice neighborhood like Myrtle Place. The house didn’t have to be as big as the Whitehursts’, but bigger than our two-bedroom shotgun, and it would be full of nice things, like Ava’s house was. White couches with deep cushions… big screen TVs in every room, even my bedroom…

Flick and poof! Instead of Mama working as a housekeeper for someone else, we had a housekeeper who worked for us. Mama could wear her Saturday clothes every day and pick me up straight after school instead of working until five o’clock.

And, finally, with one last flick, my wand would produce a fluffy, brown and white dog to go in our new back yard, but who would also secretly sleep in my bed at night. And Mama would never know because she wouldn’t be the one changing my sheets, so she wouldn’t be able to see any dog hairs on my brand-new Disney princess bedspread.

The things Ava Whitehurst wanted confused me. Once, she wished for a new dressage outfit, whatever that was. Another time, she wanted a Bijon Frise. I didn’t know what that was either. But most of the time, she would flick her wand and cast a spell to make Cole as big as her daddy. Her brother, of course, never played with us, thank goodness. She would cast her spell on a pretend Cole nonetheless. Once, when she started dancing around a pretend, grown up Cole, I asked her where her real brother was.

Lessons, she’d answered.

What kind of lessons? The only person I knew who took lessons was Anna Grace Hillborn in my first-grade class, and she took ballet. The thought of Cole in a leotard and a tutu made me giggle.

He takes karate lessons on Mondays and Wednesdays, fencing lessons on Tuesdays and Fridays, and Chinese lessons on Thursdays and Saturdays.

As far as I was concerned, lessons sounded a lot like school, and I hated school. "He goes to school on Saturdays?" I’d asked horrified.

Ava nodded, her sandy-blond ponytail bouncing as she did. He likes it. Oh, and he has swim practice on Saturdays and Sundays too.

I’d wrinkled my nose at this news. Who liked going to school on Saturdays and Sundays? Maybe that was what all fourth graders did, but I’d hoped not. Still, it was one more reason for me to stay away from Cole Whitehurst. If he took karate and fencing lessons, then he probably hadn’t been lying about who got beat up worse the first time I’d met him.

I remembered all this as Mama drew makeup on my eyes like Mulan. Cole Whitehurst was going to ruin my Halloween.

If I had a daddy, he could take me trick-or-treating, I pouted.

Mama’s mouth got flat the way it always did when I talked about daddies. Elise Nicole, it’ll do you no good to talk like that, she said. She wasn’t using her angry voice, but she didn’t sound happy either. Your daddy isn’t worth knowing.

She’d always say that when I asked about him. He isn’t worth knowing was all I knew. But that answer just seemed unfair.

But you know him, don’t you? I argued.

Mama eyes didn’t look into mine, but I saw her slim, brown eyebrow make a hill on her forehead. I knew him once, she muttered, barely opening her mouth around the words. But that’s my fault, not yours.

I frowned and puffed air through my nose. I asked my next question, hoping for more as I always did. Does he know me?

Mama sighed, and I felt her breath blow over my face. It smelled like peppermint Life Savers. I’m afraid he does.

Well, then why doesn’t he ever come to see me?

Mama shook her head. Like I said, he’s not worth knowing. Now close your eyes and be still so I can put on your eye shadow.

I knew that be still meant be quiet. Mama always wanted me to be quiet when I asked about my daddy. But I couldn’t help but wonder about him. If he knew me, that meant he’d met me. Maybe when I was a baby or too little to remember it. And if he met me and he didn’t come back to see me again, maybe it wasn’t him.

Maybe I wasn’t worth knowing.

As Mama drove me to the Whitehursts’, hissing every time she had to use the clutch, all I could picture was Cole dressed in one of those white fencing outfits. Would he try to poke me with his fencing sword? Or what if he wore his karate costume? The ones I’d seen on TV looked like a bathrobe with pajama pants. I hoped he wouldn’t wear that because then I’d laugh at him, and he’d karate chop me in the stomach.

But when we arrived at the Whitehursts’ house at a quarter to six on Halloween night, Cole wasn’t dressed for fencing or karate. At first, I didn’t see him because as soon as we pulled up, Ava dashed down the steps of the spacious front porch and ran to greet me in her short pink dress, pigtails, and plastic heels, her makeup done to look exactly like Baby Spice from the Spice Girls.

I smiled at her as I got out of the car, and it wasn’t until my feet hit the concrete of their driveway that I saw him. Cole Whitehurst descended the steps of their porch dressed for battle. In camouflage from head to toe, his eyes blackened with greasepaint, Cole carried a toy machine gun and wore two bands of pretend ammo crisscrossed over his chest.

The sight of him wiped the smile right off my face. He was that scary.

Aren’t you both something, Mama said, sounding almost as surprised as I was. I’ll just go in and let your mother know we’re here. She limped up to the house, leaving us. Ava was smiling gently at me, but Cole and I just stared at each other.

He narrowed his ice-blue eyes at me. What are you supposed to be? His voice was low and held dislike, though, I’d admit, not as much as the day I wore a bag of onions on my feet.

Ava turned to him, appalled. She’s Mulan, silly.

His left brow arched, and his lips pressed together and to the side. That’s a pretty shabby Mulan, he muttered.

I clutched the pretend hilt of my broomstick sword, not sure whether I wanted to draw it out of my sash and hit him with it or throw it in the garbage.

Ava stuck her tongue out at her brother. Ignore him, she told me. Then she reached for my medallion. "I love the dragon. Did you draw it?"

I nodded, allowing myself to smile under her admiration. I noticed Cole’s eyes trailed after Ava’s, and when he saw the dragon, he blinked and his lips parted. Then his eyes shot to mine before he clamped his mouth shut. But I knew. I knew he’d seen my drawing and thought it was good.

And it was good.

"Are you going to carry that?" Cole asked, nodding his chin to my plastic jack-o-lantern. The way his nose wrinkled, I might as well have filled the fake pumpkin with dirty diapers.

I frowned at the jack-o-lantern and then looked back at him. Well, yeah, it’s for trick-or-treating.

Cole rolled his eyes. "Hua Mulan was a sixth century Chinese warrior. She wouldn’t have carried a plastic pumpkin."

His words made me feel like I’d been pushed into the dirt. I looked to Ava for rescue, but she was biting her lip and scrunching her nose up.

"It doesn’t really go with your costume, she admitted, wincing. She lifted a pink sequined purse. See. I’m using this for my candy. It’s something Baby Spice would wear."

My eyes ran over Cole’s costume, and as they did, he dropped his left shoulder and held up an army green rucksack as evidence, that he, too, wouldn’t be carrying a plastic pumpkin.

I swallowed thickly and wished hard that Mama hadn’t dropped a jar of imported Italian olives on her foot.

But then Cole stepped forward, his haughty brow lowering. He watched me for a long moment. Long enough for me to narrow my eyes at him and clench my teeth, forgetting that I’d wanted to cry a moment before. Now, I just wanted to bounce my plastic pumpkin off his face.

Before I could, though, he gave a decisive nod. I might have something. He turned back to the house, but then caught his sister’s eye. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave the yard. He set off, leaving Ava and me to gape at him.

Mama stepped outside just after he disappeared behind the front door. Now, Elise, you have got to stay with Ava and Cole. She bent down to look me in the eye. I’ll be here to pick you up at eight o’clock sharp, but if y’all finish before that, you wait for me out here. Am I making myself clear?

I nodded. Yes, ma’am. Whenever I had to join Mama at work, I had to stay in the kitchen or the laundry room or play outside. Without Mama in the house, I knew I did not belong indoors.

She pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Smiling down on me, she tried to smooth my cowlick. You make an excellent Mulan, she whispered and then stood straight. Be good and have fun, Elise.

Just after Mama’s car pulled from the driveway, Cole came through the front door carrying a red and gold pouch. Here, he said, handing it to me. This should work.

The pouch wasn’t quite as big as my jack-o-lantern, but it was beautiful. The silky fabric was a bright red, but gold Chinese characters decorated one side. I touched the cool, sleek material between my thumb and index finger Where did you get this? My voice was nothing but hushed awe.

Cole frowned and straightened his shoulders. Then he cleared his throat. My father brought it back from a business trip to China.

I studied the lines and curves of each character on the silk, mesmerized. What’s it for?

What does it matter? he snapped, forcing me to blink out of my daze and meet his glare.

I cocked a brow at him, forgetting for a moment how scary he looked in his battle gear. Because I don’t want to put candy in it if you use it to wipe your nose, I shot back.

His mouth fell open in surprise, and I heard his breath move past his lips before he clamped his jaw shut. Cole bunched his lips together like he was either really mad or he was trying not to laugh. I couldn’t tell which. His eyes became slits, so I guessed he was mad.

Wipe my nose on it? he asked, looking at me like I’d just wiped my nose on it. What’s wrong with you?

Ugh, Ava groaned a frustrated sigh. Enough already. Elise, it’s a Chinese wedding bag. Like for party favors. I had one, too, but I lost it.

Rolling his eyes, Cole turned away. As usual.

Ava gave the back of her brother’s head a silent, mocking sneer. Can we go? She jammed her knuckles against her hips. It’s already after six.

We left.

The three of us didn’t actually trick-or-treat together. Not exactly. Saying he didn’t want to be seen with two little girls, Cole walked ahead of us, and whenever we went to a house on the right side of the street, he chose the one opposite. And vice versa.

I, for one, was relieved. Cole Whitehurst couldn’t be mean to us—or more specifically, to me—from across the street. But I saw how Ava’s eyes followed him, and I knew that if I hadn’t tagged along, he probably would have kept close to his sister.

So, yeah, that stung a little.

But I quickly learned that Myrtle Place was great territory for trick-or-treating. Most of the houses were really nice. Not quite as nice as the Whitehursts’, but if my ribbon wand held real magic, I wouldn’t have been disappointed with any of them.

And the people on Myrtle Place gave good candy. No candy corn or Swedish Fish or 3 Musketeers. 3 Musketeers. Yuck. Just the thought of nougat on my tongue made me gag.

Before we were even halfway down their street, my Chinese wedding bag was heavy with the good stuff. Twix, Kit Kat, and, my favorite, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I loved chocolate, but I wouldn’t turn my nose up at Starburst—except the red flavor. Red Starburst tasted like dentist office tooth polish, as far as I was concerned. Now, give me a yellow, orange, or pink Starburst, and I’d be happy to make it disappear.

By the time we reached the corner of Myrtle Place and Azalea, in addition to my chocolate hoard, I had six packets of Starburst and four rolls of Smarties—which, I’ll admit, tasted like baby aspirin, but I always liked baby aspirin. It sure was better than Children’s Tylenol.

My feet hurt, Ava said after we’d stopped at the last house on the street. Let’s sit down for a few minutes. She pointed to the concrete curb of the median. My feet didn’t hurt at all, and I wanted to keep going, but I knew better than to insist. Besides, I knew that Ava was wearing plastic dress-up heels. The kind that came in sealed plastic with a princess dress and pretend jewelry. I’d never had any, but even though they looked cute, and I would have loved some of my own, they didn’t seem very comfortable.

We sat down on the curb and immediately helped ourselves to candy. I peeled open a tube of Sixlets and gave a sigh of satisfaction when the first candy-coated sphere crunched between my teeth. I stared up at the cloudless night sky, savoring the sweetness. The thought occurred to me that maybe Sixlets tied with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as my favorite candy. I couldn’t be sure without further testing.

I was so lost in my candy comparison I didn’t notice Cole’s approach.

Ava, why are you sitting on the curb? he asked, impatience edging his voice.

Coming out of my chocolate haze, I was grateful he hadn’t addressed the question to me.

Next to me, Ava wagged her feet. My feet hurt. A whine that hadn’t been in her voice before crept into her words.

Cole rolled his eyes. I told you not to wear those shoes. They’re just for dress-up. Not for walking.

I swear, he sounded just like Mama. Not like a lady. Just bossy. He was only two years older than Ava. Why was he so bossy? I wanted to ask this question aloud, but I kept my mouth shut.

Ava was probably thinking similar thoughts because she didn’t respond to his I-told-you-so either.

Cole sniffed out a breath and sat down on the curb with us, choosing the space on the other side of Ava. Without hesitation, he emptied his knapsack of candy onto his lap. Blinking in shock, I couldn’t hold my tongue.

A-are you going to eat all of that right now? I asked half-stunned.

Cole tucked his chin, crinkled his brow, and looked at me like I’d just blown a snot bubble. God, no, he said. Then he focused on the pile in his lap, his look of disgust never fading. Half of this is inedible.

Huh? I asked, confused by his fancy word.

Licking her chocolaty fingers, Ava enlightened me. He means you can’t eat it.

I gasped at the pile of candy on Cole’s thighs, horror stricken. Why not? What’s wrong with it? Is it poisoned?

Cole’s snot-bubble look returned. No, dummy, it’s trash. Not worth eating.

Not worth eating? Was that like not worth knowing? Candy?

My neck hitched back. His lap was full of the best candy around. Nestle Crunch, Twix, $100,000 Grand, Milk Duds, and, of course Reese’s. And he had six Kit Kats. Six!

Ava gave me a look of boredom. Cole’s a candy snob.

A candy snob? What did that mean?

I once heard Mama’s friend Rita say that Mrs. Hillborn at church was a snob, and when I asked what a snob was, Mama explained that it was someone who thought they were better than everyone else.

I already knew that Cole Whitehurst thought he was better than everybody else, but did he think he was better than candy? And quality candy, too?

I didn’t understand how anyone could be too good for candy, and I also thought someone should introduce Cole to Mrs. Hillborn. They’d probably get along great.

But I watched in growing disbelief as Cole began picking through his stash and putting select pieces back into his knapsack. Hershey’s Special Dark, which, as far as I was concerned, was the bad penny of the Hershey’s miniature line. Almond Joy and Mounds, both of which had me tasting bile because coconut was worse than nougat. Dove Chocolate, Red Hots, and Junior Mints also made it into the bag.

What are you going to do with the rest? I asked, baffled.

Cole shrugged. Throw it away.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head. He might as well have said the GD word right in front of a priest. You can’t do that! I practically wailed, and then I thrust my Chinese wedding bag at him. Give it to me!

I didn’t care that he now looked at me like my snot bubbles had grown googly eyes. All that mattered was the candy. Normally, if I rationed myself to one piece a day, I could make my Halloween haul last until Christmas, but if I snagged all of snobby Cole Whitehurst’s candy too, perhaps I could coast until Valentine’s Day. And that achievement was worth a little humiliation.

Mama didn’t approve of spending money on candy. It was expensive, unhealthy, and unnecessary, she’d say. So I usually only got candy on holidays and on the rare occasion when I bought it for myself, but since I also only got money on holidays, that didn’t happen very often either.

Cole looked from me to his leftover pile. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, he said under his breath but still loud enough for both me and Ava to hear. Sure, weirdo, come and get it.

I stood and walked around Ava, making sure I didn’t let my face show any reaction to his name-calling. He already thought I was dumb and tacky and cheap. Not worth knowing. What did it matter if he added weird and lowlife to the list? I was getting his candy.

I didn’t look him in the eye as I plunked down beside him and started grabbing handfuls of his leftovers, reassuring myself that this lump in the pit of my stomach would go away soon, and I’d be able to enjoy the spoils of his snobbishness.

I mean, really. Who would pass up Milk Duds?

But on my third handful, Cole grabbed my wrist. Wait a minute, he said, a spark of something igniting his pale blue eyes. What about we make a trade?

I narrowed my gaze at him. What do you mean? You don’t want it, and you said I could have it.

His stare locked with mine, and he looked like he was searching for something. Yeah, but… he said, working his mouth and frowning as though he were trying to solve a puzzle, "…that was before I knew how much you wanted it. If this stuff has value, you should pay for it… Otherwise, it’s like taking charity."

The way he said the word charity made my cheeks sting with shame. I clenched my teeth together. "Well, maybe I don’t want it," I said, dropping my handful back into his lap.

Cole smirked. Now, just hold on, he said with a wicked smile. We both know you want it. What’s it worth to you?

His voice had softened in a way that on other people might sound nice, but I knew he wasn’t being nice. Cole Whitehurst didn’t know how to be nice. When I didn’t answer, he let go of my wrist and picked up the fun-size bag of M&Ms I’d just dropped.

How about this? Let’s make a deal. You can keep everything of mine you already have. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, after all, he said, grinning.

I had no idea what those words meant, but I understood the part about keeping what I’d already claimed. That was a relief because I didn’t really know how much of that was his, and if I had to give it back now, I might actually lose some of my own candy in the bargain. Still, I said nothing.

He waved the M&Ms at me. I’ll give you one of these for one box of your Junior Mints.

I immediately shook my head. Junior Mints weren’t my favorite, but I’d seen him stuff those in his backpack when he’d kept none of the M&Ms. That meant he didn’t think they were the same value, so why should I?

No way. You give me three of those, and I’ll give you one box of Junior Mints.

Cole’s eyes widened in surprise, and to my amazement, he smiled. Oh, so little Elise Cormier knows how to negotiate, he murmured.

I scowled at him, not wanting him to see that I didn’t know what negotiate meant. Why did he have to use such fancy words? He was fancy, and mean, and snobby, and I hated him so much.

Okay, three for one. Deal, he said, still smirking.

Without a word, I reached into my red bag and picked up a box of Junior Mints. He took it and gave me his three bags of M&Ms. Then he quirked a brow at me. Any more?

I glanced into my bag. I had two more Junior Mints. I didn’t want to give over both because, now, I was starting to wonder what was so good about them. Maybe I hadn’t given Junior Mints their due.

I’ll give you one more box, but I want a Nestle Crunch and two Milk Duds instead.

Cole seemed to laugh without making any noise, and I hated him all the more for that too. Who laughed without making noise? But he nodded and handed over the candy.

We went on like this, me giving up all the dark chocolate options in my bag—except for one each now that curiosity had bitten me—and Cole trading in all the milk chocolate goodness he was so foolish to part with.

By the time we’d finished, Ava had grown impatient. What time is it? I still want to go to a few more houses before we have to get back.

Standing up from the curb, Cole checked his wristwatch. It’s seven-thirty. We still have thirty minutes before Flora comes back for Elise.

Ava shot to her feet and pulled me with her. C’mon! Let’s go. We still haven’t been to any of the houses on Azalea Street.

Even under the light of the streetlamps, I could see Cole’s eyes roll skyward. Your feet will start hurting again in five minutes. We should go up on Parkside so we’re at least heading back in the right direction, he said, pointing north.

But at the blue house at the end of Azalea, they give away homemade Rice Krispy treats, Ava whined. We always get those.

I liked the sound of that, so I cast my vote, even if I didn’t get a vote. I want Rice Krispy treats, too, I said, stepping closer to Ava.

Cole heaved a sigh. Fine. But let me at least get a head start so we’re not walking together. He set off at a run without another word, but Ava yelled at his retreating back.

Oh, so you can sit here with us and swap candy, but we’re not good enough to be seen walking down the street with you. Is that it? she hollered.

That’s it, he yelled back without turning around, and soon the night’s shadows had swallowed him up.

Good riddance, I muttered.

Ava sighed. I know he’s mean sometimes, but he’s nice a lot of other times, she said softly. I wish he’d stay with us.

I didn’t let Ava know that I thought Cole was about as nice as a kicked wasp nest. Instead, I looped my arm through hers. C’mon. Let’s go get some Rice Krispy treats.

Fifteen minutes later, Rice Krispy treated, I trudged back up Azalea Street practically dragging Ava behind me. The house at the end of Azalea had truly been at the very end, on the corner of University Avenue, a busy four-lane road. Along the opposite side of Azalea Street sat City Hall and the offices for Lafayette Utilities—where I went with Mama sometimes to pay our electric bill—but across the street on the University Avenue side was St. John Cemetery.

It was Halloween. It was dark. And even though Ava was with me, and I could see other kids trick-or-treating at the end of the road in the direction we were heading, I did not want to be that close to the cemetery.

C’mon, I hissed, casting a backward glance over my shoulder at the spiked wrought iron cemetery fence. I couldn’t help but wonder, was the tall barrier to keep the living out or the dead in? I gripped Ava by the elbow, tugging her to make her match my hurried pace. It’s getting late.

Ow! Elise, you’re hurting my arm, she protested, wrenching her elbow from my grip. And my feet are killing me.

The kids up the street ahead of us turned the corner, leaving us alone on the long stretch of road. I looked back, imagining that I’d see skeletons in tattered clothes climbing clumsily over the black fence. I could taste my heartbeat in the back of my throat. It certainly was going a lot faster than the click-clack of Ava’s plastic shoes.

The cemetery fence was free of ghouls, and a car turned onto the street from University Avenue. I let go a sigh of relief. If there was a car, the zombies and ghosts wouldn’t bother with us. That’s how it worked on Scooby Doo, anyway. I brought my eyes back to the end of the road, wondering how far we could get before the car passed us and left us unprotected again.

Seconds later, I looked back over my shoulder into bright headlights. The car had slowed, probably to be careful around us kids. It was a boxy car that looked either yellow or beige in the light of the street lamps. I expected it to move past us and continue on up the road, but when the car came alongside us, the brakes let out a high-pitched squeak, and the passenger side window hummed down.

You girls all alone out here? A man’s voice called from within the cab, and at the scratchy sound of it, I immediately forgot all about zombies and skeletons.

I grabbed Ava’s elbow again, this time more gently so she wouldn’t pull away. C’mon, I hissed on a whisper. My eyes pierced the dark interior of the car to see a man who looked older than Mama, wearing an Astros baseball cap and a mustache that looked like a feather duster.

No, sir, Ava said to my horror.

My whole life, Mama told me never to talk to strangers in a car, never approach a stranger in a car, and never to accept anything from a stranger in a car. And if that stranger was a man, I needed to get out of there as fast as I could. Clearly, Mrs. Whitehurst had never had the same talk with Ava because she kept gabbing. We’re not alone. My brother is around here somewhere, and I just live on Myrtle, she said pointing to her right.

Ava! I rasped. Not only was she still talking to him, she’d told him where she lived!

Well, why don’t y’all get in, and I’ll help you look for him, the man said, smiling his mustachioed smile at Ava. Y’all shouldn’t be out here by yourselves in the dark.

I frowned. He was right about that, but Mama had warned me that bad strangers might try to trick me into going somewhere with them or getting into their cars. He wasn’t my Mama or my teacher or the principal so I didn’t have to listen to him.

No, I said, shaking my head. We’re not allowed to ride with strangers.

The driver’s smile grew. Aw, I’m not a stranger. My name’s Charlie, and I live right across St. Mary on Souvenir Gate.

Beside me, Ava’s mouth dropped open with delight. My house is on the corner of Souvenir Gate and Myrtle Place, she nearly sang.

For the second time that night, my eyes nearly came loose. "A-va, what are you doing?"

Charlie just chuckled. Well, get in, girl. I’ll take you home.

To my growing shock, Ava reached for the car’s door handle, and my hand already clasped around her other wrist cinched tighter. She swung her eyes at me with an impatient look.

Reviews for Shelter

[Ayesha izhar · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Sweet cute romance, loved it alot... Its about family dynamics and having an abusive parent and how it takes toll on the kids well being Good read to end the day with and to enjoy with a cup of tea