by Zoey Castile
But when I stand two yards from the door, I get a sick feeling in my gut and I turn around. I go back to the window that faces the red hunk of junk, the woman standing in front of Scarlett. That sick feeling doesn’t quite go away, but it moves around.
She’s taller than Scarlett, but then again, so is everyone. Her light-tan skin looks golden in the early afternoon sun. I only get one more glimpse of her face before Scarlett leads her inside. Beautiful is the first and last word that comes to mind because I shut that shit down. I run the hell upstairs.
This isn’t going to work.
* * *
“You can’t hire her,” I say.
Lena. She said her name was Lena and she spoke at about a thousand miles per hour, which is faster than her car at least. I bet if I got under the hood, I could at least make the 2005 model run like a 2015 model. I shake my head and something angry and hot runs through me. There’s the spark of a flash. The sting of glass.
“Pat?” Scarlett asks.
I shake my head. “What?”
“I asked why. She’s professional, I can tell she’s a fast learner, and she’s in town for a while. She’s going to school.”
“I thought she was twenty-six?” I ask.
Scarlett raises an eyebrow. “I thought I heard you creeping about. You could have said hi.”
I think about the nurse who unwrapped my head the first day I was fully conscious after the accident, after the surgery that got a piece of metal out of my chest and a hundred pieces of glass out of the left side of my face. I was swollen and red and sedated, but I remember the sheer horror in her eyes. I remember the glistening tears and the perfect circle of her mouth.
Ever since the accident, I’ve gotten variations of the same facial expression followed by pity and grimaces and apologies, as if they were the ones driving the car that night instead of me. I don’t need that. It’s been six months and I don’t want to feel that way again.
“Give me one good reason why I can’t hire her and I won’t.”
I suck in a breath and look at Scarlett dead in the face. She’s barely five foot two but Scarlett Johnson, better known as Scarlett West, has a way of making even me shrink under the challenge in her eyes.
I think of the way Lena spoke of her little sister. The way she ticked off the times she wasn’t right for the job. Mostly, I keep wondering why a girl like her, a girl who could be anywhere for the summer, would choose to be here. Then, I remember she said she was living in a house with nine other people.
“What if she brings people over? She’ll turn the place into a frat house,” I grumble.
“That is a bullshit reason and you know it. She told me she spends most of her time studying and painting. She’s back at school to work and she needs this job. You need to eat something that isn’t microwaved and to see your overpriced rug instead of dozens of boxes. It’s a match made in heaven. Unless—”
I cross my arms over my chest. She’s got this sparkle in her eye. I’ve seen it before she locks herself away in her house for two weeks at a time banging away at her laptop keyboard with the dozens of romance novel ideas she dreams up. “Unless what?”
“Unless you think there’s another reason why you don’t want her around. She is incredibly beautiful. You should see the cute little beauty marks on her cheeks.”
“Okay, enough,” I say and turn around because even if I didn’t get close enough to see the beauty marks, I definitely noticed the rest of her. “Your line of work is a hazard in my life. Take two seconds to get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Some of us like living in the gutter every now and then.” Scarlett smirks, but I can already tell she’s glowing because she knows she’s won.
Scarlett is the reason my life changed over a year ago. She’d been my babysitter when Jack and I were kids. I hadn’t seen her in years until she was in Vegas for a bachelorette party and recognized me even half-naked on a stage. It was only a little awkward at first. I hadn’t seen someone from my life here in so long and I didn’t expect to see her there of all places. She didn’t know I was going by my mom’s surname, Halloran. She just so happened to be in search of a cover model for her first romance novel and I fit the part. Then, the book was an international success overnight. Well, seemingly overnight. Scarlett gave me a new start and I destroyed it. Now, she’s trying to help me even though she doesn’t owe me a single thing. Even when I was a drunken mess, and even when I was rude and loud and trying to fall apart, she stood by me.
I’m such a fucking dick. She’s hiring help because she needs time for her work. She can’t take care of me forever and I’ve been using her as a crutch. I know I have.
“Did you tell her the rules?” I ask.
“Yep. Every single one of them. She’s not allowed in your Vampire Den and she’s not allowed in the house when she isn’t cleaning or cooking. Though, is that really necessary?”
“The pool house is practically big enough to fit a whole family,” I shout.
She purses her lips and I lower my voice. “I gave her the option of staying with me. Though I don’t want her getting lost through those woods out back. You know how city folks are.”
Scarlett isn’t the kind of person to pass judgment, so I know she’s laying it on thick. “Fine,” I say. “But if she doesn’t listen. She’s out.”
“Yes, yes, she’ll follow your rules. She’s going to bring her things here later tonight and I’ll be back for when she does. Go work on your abs or whatever you do until dinner. You can be your grumpy old self at midnight, Groucharella.”
“Groucharella is a new one,” I grumble. “I don’t like it.”
She laughs and nudges my arm. “I’ll be back.”
She’s halfway out the back door when I realize something. “What time is she going to be here? When are you coming back?”
My heart is racing, and I palm my left hand against my chest to stop myself from trembling.
“About five. But call me if you need anything, you hear?”
Relief washes over me. Maybe—maybe this can work. “Thank you, Tiny.”
She walks back to squeeze my free hand. “Don’t mention it, Stretch.”
When she’s gone, I glance at the clock. I have about five hours before this Lena comes back. I should make the most of my solitude, but I crawl back into bed. My room is the only part of the house that is fully furnished and even then, there’s just my king-size bed, deep-blue painted walls, a mahogany dresser, and a reading lamp atop a bedside table. I pick up my copy of Scarlett’s latest romance but, instead of reading, the lack of sleep from last night catches up to me.
I start to dream of a tiny red car, a narrow road, a girl with waterfalls of dark hair and beauty marks.
As always, the dream changes, and I relive the accident one more time.
2
Maldita Sea Mi Suerte
LENA
“Hey, Ari, I’ve tried calling a few times. I know you’re mad at me for not being able to go home this summer like I promised, but I got a new job. I’m packing things up as we speak. No more cochinitos leaving their dirty boxers all over the place. Call me. Love you, nena.”
I pocket my phone and finish throwing my things into the same black suitcase and duffle bags I moved to town with.
“Lena!” Mariana shouts from somewhere in the hall. “What is this business about moving out?”
Her head of black curls pops out from the hallway door. Her catlike green eyes narrow in my direction. Her bottom lip juts out in an exaggerated way.
“I told you,” I say. “The job means I have to live there.”
“Live there? Is it like a nanny for an adult?” She glides past me and throws herself on my bed, preventing me from getting the clothes into my bags. “Because they have a name for that. Someone’s spouse.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re too young to be so jaded, darling.”
Mariana’s twenty-one, but despite being five years my junior, she’s the one person in the h
ouse and in my classes that feels like an old soul. When I first got here, she was my first friend. There’s a camaraderie that comes with looking like we’re not from around here. She’s an art history and archaeology double major, and when she isn’t buried under stacks of books or in the studio with me, she’s hiking in the wilderness. Like, for fun.
“Whatever. Who is going to feed us? Who is going to make sure we don’t run out of toilet paper for a whole twenty-four hours? Where’s this magical job, anyway?”
“It’s off Hyalite Canyon Road. Used to be called Donatello Ranch but now it’s a giant glass box.”
“You’re working for a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?”
I tug at the hoodie she’s crushing with her ass. She rolls to the side and I nearly stumble back when it comes free. “I’m actually working for a friend of the property.”
“What?” she asks. “Okay, explain. I think I’m still dehydrated from yesterday.”
“No one told you to forget your water bladder on a twelve-mile hike.”
“Anyway, you were saying.”
I give Mari the rundown of the situation. Every time I bring up a new detail like “recluse,” “room I’m not allowed to go into,” and “cook” she gets more and more bewildered.
“He’s a serial killer,” she says, nodding gravely. “Definitely.”
I sigh and give up on packing while she’s on my bed and sit down next to her. The twin bed isn’t big enough for the two of us, so I end up slinging my legs over hers. I think of Ariana and how she’s been avoiding my calls. When I was her age, I wouldn’t even look at my dad for days when I was mad, so I foresee this being a long silent treatment.
“He’s not a serial killer. He’s just—odd. But I’m from New York. Odd is the normal.”
“And I’m from New Jersey, bitch. And when you show up at a house and there’s a man locked inside, you better run.”
“You can come visit,” I say. “There’s a pool and some woods.”
She perks up a little and rests her head on her propped-up arm. “I’m happy for you. Even if—”
“Don’t do it.”
“You—” She sucks in a deep breath and makes a crying face. “You wanna leave me!!!”
She puts on her best Greek accent. On our first ever hangout, we were both pretty homesick and ordered in the neighborhood pizza and even two snobs like us thought it was delicious and watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
“You sound like your dad,” I tell her.
“Papa Tsamis would definitely not approve of this decision.”
Mari’s dad is her best friend in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s not as if my dad and I weren’t friends. It’s just all my life there was a distance there and I was never sure if it was because that’s who he was, or if it was because he never had a son like he wanted to, or because his illness just never allowed him to get close to anyone after a while. I guess I’ll never really know.
“Don’t tell your dad.”
“He’s very worried about your well-being. You haven’t come to the studio in like two weeks. You aren’t still moping over your B minus in Abstract Expressionism, are you? Because even I barely got a B.”
That’s not it at all, but I don’t tell her it’s because I can’t afford any paint or canvas and I’m too stubborn or proud to ask for a loan, even if she’d give it to me. I pick at the pills on the comforter and settle for a truth I can handle.
“I’ve been uninspired.”
“Maybe you should come and hike with me and you’ll get some inspiration. Or at least, the guys in the hiking groups are really hot in that haven’t-showered-in-two-days-pine-needles-and-beard kind of way.”
I make a face. “That’s strangely not arousing, thank you. Besides, me and nature aren’t simpatico.”
“My mom’s like that,” she says. “My whole Persian side. They’re too bougie. My aunts blame my dad sending me to Greek camp in the summer and also for the reason I didn’t want to go to business school.”
“You in business school? You’d eat everyone alive.”
“See? I can’t be left unchecked and unsupervised. I’m about to tell Timothy about himself if he keeps leaving the upstairs toilet seat up.”
“Wow, I’m really loving this convincing speech to get me to stay. But, I have to finish packing. I told Scarlett that I’d be over by five.”
“That’s like four hours away and everything you own can fit in the back of your car.”
I don’t know why, but that reminder bothers me. Growing up, we didn’t have much, but I had stuff. Posters and collages I’d make from ripping up magazine cast-offs from the local salon. My mom would buy me books from the liquidator centers in New Hyde Park. I had a giant collection of Nancy Drew for that exact reason. Here, I have clothes and school books. A knife that one of my teachers helped me build in a mill at the beginning of the year. A very soft sheep’s wool blanket from a local shop. If I could count Selena and Leia Porgana, that’s it. That’s my whole existence in a single car.
“Then come with me to the studio so I can get my easel and things. I’ll even buy you lunch with the deposit I’m getting back from Landlord Louis.”
“Giant souvlaki or bust,” Mari says, and kicks into high gear packing up the remaining clothes on my bed.
* * *
After Mari and I pack up my car with my bag of brushes and paint tubes rolled up like toothpaste trying to squeeze the last little bit, we grab lunch. She runs through her latest crushes—a musician girl from Seattle and a surfer dude from California. Listening to Mari talk about her love life is better than most of the telenovelas I’ve grown up with. She always finds something scandalous about the person she’s with. The exchange student she dated over the beginning of the year turned out to have been kicked out of the program because he was assuming his brother’s identity to shirk family duties in Rome. A girl she was dating over Christmas was a famous winemaker’s daughter and took her on their private jet. Why do I even need Netflix when I have lunch with her?
At about four o’clock, I have nowhere to go but to my new job. I head back to the Donatello Ranch and this time have no problem finding the rickety road. I’m pretty certain my car is going to fall apart with me still sitting at the wheel one of these days.
I notice the detached garage has one of the three doors left open. There’s a shiny black pickup truck and another car covered by a tarp. I would expect the man who lives in this house would have something flashy and shiny and vaguely resembling an erect penis on wheels. I dial Scarlett’s number but it goes to voicemail.
I sling my duffle bag over my shoulder and drag my suitcase across the gravel. I walk the blue-tiled path around the pool. A dead dragonfly floats on the surface, but other than that, it is pristine. There aren’t any lounge chairs, but I imagine they’re probably boxed up somewhere like everything else. Unsurprisingly, the pool house is not locked.
I let myself in, taking in the cozy living room. It has the same open feel and actual furniture. I can see Scarlett’s touches. Plaid blankets and fuzzy pillows on the couch facing a wooden coffee table and entertainment unit. In the back there’s a sink, a microwave, a fridge, but nowhere to actually cook, which means I’ll have to go to the main house to do all of those things. I follow the wooden stairwell to the loft upstairs.
There’s a little welcome note on the white comforter and a basket of goodies. A stuffed Montana State bobcat, a couple of bottles of wine, a jar of huckleberry jam, huckleberry chocolates, a small bag of Béquet salted caramels, and three paperback romances. The name Scarlett West jumps out at me right away because it takes up more space than the actual title. The guys on the cover are equal parts sultry and outdoorsy with cowboy boots and big belt buckles.
“Nice,” I chuckle to the room.
I leave the paperbacks on my new bed and mosey over to the window. I take a deep, calming breath. More than anything, I can breathe again. Relief washes over me for the first time in a month. I don’t have to dr
op out of college again. I can pay the medical bills. I can keep on going. But what about when the next three months are over?
You should go home, I think to myself.
What’s waiting for me there? Daily fights with my stepmother. Isn’t that why I left in the first place? I could have moved out, but New York is unlivable on your own if you’re working middle class or less. I could share a place with a dozen people like I do here. I could make something work so that I could be close to Ariana. I could try harder. But that doesn’t change that I needed to get away. I think of the conversation I had with my little sister before I left.
“Why do you have to go all the way to the other side of the country?” she asked.
“Because I got a partial scholarship and the loans will cover the rest,” I tried to explain.
“Mom says you already have a job and you don’t need to go back to school. She says you just don’t want to be with us anymore.”
I remember the rage that lit up my face and I thanked whatever higher power is out there that Sonia wasn’t home because I would have ripped her to shreds. “That’s not true. You are the most important person in my life.”
Ari pulled a giant unicorn plushie on her lap and hugged it. “Then why are you going?”
“Because if I get a degree, I can get a real job at a museum or at a gallery. School is important, no matter what your mom says. I don’t want you slipping in your grades while I’m gone. You promise?”
“I promise.”
I feel a tightness in my chest at the thought of her. I know that I’m doing the right thing. I just hope that I’m not too late.
I take a much-needed shower after running around all day, and slip into a pair of lightweight sweats and a tank top. Despite it being June, Montana isn’t hot the way summers in New York are. I can’t complain about perfect weather, though. The crisp air wraps around me. It isn’t quite five yet, but I let myself into the house through the kitchen door to see if there are any instructions and instantly halt as something glass smashes on the floor.
