For All the Evers

by Debra Anastasia

  Fenn must have been watching her reaction because he’d started in right away with a plan he was working on. “Coach said they’ve given out all the scholarships already since I’m joining after the start of the season, but I asked if there was any other way to earn some money—like, if I could clean the locker rooms or mow lawns or something.”

  Fallen had reached over and touched his hand. She hated that something as all-American as playing football had him on the defensive. If they had their parents, this wouldn’t be a concern. The responsible adults would figure out a way to pay, right? Maybe pull from savings. Maybe they’d even have an extracurricular activities fund. But Fallen had only her meager and recently pilfered-from bank account.

  “I’m not sure there is,” Fenn continued. “But coach is going to think on it.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Fallen had assured him. “We’re doing okay.” That had been a bald-faced lie. But there was nothing they could do to change it, so why make him worry? “Did you get good cleats? How do you like the practices so far?”

  He nodded. “It’s really fun,” he’d said, a smile breaking over his face.

  “Cool. Great. Tonight’s spaghetti for dinner, and I’ll be home by six.”

  “That owner still there?” Fenn asked.

  “Yeah. He’s still making me make his bed. I guess I’m some sort of bed-making protégée.”

  “You sure it’s all on the up and up?” Her brother sat taller in his seat.

  When did he get so adult?

  She nodded. “I’ll keep you posted if I need the football team to drop by and storm the castle.”

  She was rewarded again with his bright, white smile. He loved being on the team, that much she could tell, and his joy had kept her going all day long.

  Despite Orbit’s constant lurking, Fallen had managed to get to the satellite library branch near her home last night after work. It was open until six on Wednesdays, instead of closing at the usual 4:30. As expected, without a last name, her Google search for Thomas had been fruitless and frustrating. There were far too many. She’d been on the third page of images when the librarian tapped her on the shoulder to tell her the library was closing.

  She’d thought taking action might make her feel better, but now she just felt overwhelmed. She decided to focus on the action of praying for a next time with Thomas.

  ···

  On Thursday morning, as instructed, Fallen left her hair down for the walk in and tried to stay away from 8 and 9 while listening in the meeting. After the first day, Mr. Orbit hadn’t come to the staff meetings, but he always waited for her in his room: dressed in a suit, sitting in his chair.

  She would knock and announce herself as housekeeping, and he would yell for her to come in.

  Today, as she set the rubber stopper, he asked her to stop.

  This is a first.

  She looked up at him, but stayed in her position. He stared at his phone’s screen, his tongue peeking out of his mouth just a little while he adjusted the focus. She glanced down. Her very modest uniform top had enough of a V-neck that her cleavage was visible.

  “Move your hair to the side.”

  Facing him and taking orders was even more demeaning than the pictures as she left had been.

  This was clearly sexual harassment. She blushed and shook her head, standing.

  “No. Sir, I’m here to make your bed.”

  He looked from his screen and frustration washed over his face before it was replaced with what seemed like a forced pleasantness.

  He waved at the bed.

  She started to make it, as she normally did—tucking, fluffing, and smoothing. When she was all done, Mr. Orbit stood up, went to the bed, and yanked all the blankets off.

  “Today I want a linen change.” He turned and sat back down.

  She swallowed her anger. Maybe she should have asked. She was so on edge about standing up to him, she hadn’t thought of that. Was he punishing her?

  Fallen went to the cart and picked out two precision-folded crisp, white sheets with matching pillowcases. She took the ball of old sheets out of the center of the bed before inquiring, “And your spread?”

  “No, thank you. Just the sheets.”

  Fallen dumped the dirty sheets in the laundry sack before coming back. All of the pillows and the comforter now sat on the very edge of the bed, closest to Mr. Orbit.

  It was odd that he’d moved them while she was briefly out of the room.

  “Make the bed from that side. I don’t want you on this one.” He pointed to her side of the bed and then his.

  She knew her face showed her confusion. And then she got it. If she made the bed from her side only, she would have to bend down over and over, giving him a great view of the gap in her shirt.

  He thought he was being tricky. She wanted to cry because he was creepy. Fallen turned and went into his bathroom. Inside the vanity was a small sewing packet meant for guest clothing emergencies. She extracted a safety pin and pinned her shirt closed at the neck.

  Fallen returned to the bed, lifted her eyebrow at him, and began to follow his rules.

  He said nothing, but he shifted around in his chair quite a bit.

  It took a lot to make the bed only from her side, and required tons of extra smoothing, but she managed. When she was finally finished, she nodded at Mr. Orbit. He stood, went to the door, and removed the stopper himself, letting the door slam.

  Her mouth fell open. She should have run. She should have never even let him take pictures of her legs—so many regrets in the span of just a few seconds. He spun on his heel once they were in private.

  Fallen’s knees were weak, but she managed to stay standing from rigid fear.

  Mr. Orbit walked right up to her so the tips of her breasts touched his lapels. She could hear her own breathing and feel her heart beating in her throat.

  He reached for her, and she flinched, but all he did was release the safety pin and free it from her blouse. He closed it and slipped it into his pocket.

  “I hear your brother’s playing football. That’s great.”

  Fallen watched him with wide eyes.

  He ran a hand from her elbow to her wrist. “I’ve forgotten to tip you, for all this extra work.”

  He reached in his wallet and flipped through it. She took a step back, and he countered with a step forward.

  “Please. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

  “Am I? I’m sorry, Fallen. I thought we were friends.” He pulled out money, and the outer bill in the stack was a hundred.

  “We are. It’s just, I have to get to my rooms and…”

  Mr. Orbit carefully tucked the bills in the front pocket of her apron and left his hand there, pressed against her hip. “I’ve decided I’d like to sponsor a student on the varsity football team this year.”

  She shook her head. All her concentration was on the hand against her hip. His fingertips were starting to bite into her.

  Fallen tried to take another step back, and Mr. Orbit stopped her with his other hand.

  “And I think your brother would be a great recipient. It’s a prestigious honor to have a sponsor. The colleges love to see that.”

  Fallen let her gaze slip from his eyes to his throat. What did he want?

  “I’m not trying to force you into anything you don’t want, Fallen. But as friends, I’d love to take you to a charity ball I have to go to this weekend in the city. Black tie. I think you’d make a great companion. And it’ll show the other attendees that fraternizing with my staff in a friendly way is what makes my business thrive.”

  “Are you implying that if I go to this charity event with you, you’ll pay for my brother to be on the football team?”

  “No. No. Not at all. The charity event is only if you’d like to spend the night dressed up and listening to boring men try to catch a dance with you. Please. Relax.”

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “For the football, all I need you to do is let me take t
hat picture I was trying to take. And maybe give me a kiss on the cheek. That’s it. Real friendly.”

  Fallen stepped back again, and this time he let her. Her pride demanded that she storm out and toss his money at him.

  Her brother’s smile the other morning over breakfast made her stay.

  “Okay.”

  Mr. Orbit clapped his hands together like a spoiled child. “Very good. Glad we have an understanding.”

  He stepped aside and allowed her to get on the bed. She got on her hands and knees and waited. Mr. Orbit came in front of her and squatted down so they were eye to eye.

  “You made the right choice. This is a good thing.” He tapped his cheek.

  That was her cue. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his skin. When she backed away, his eyes were soft.

  “Lovely.” He dragged her shirt lower with his index finger.

  It was just cleavage, not even nudity. It will be okay. It will be okay.

  He took the picture a few times from slightly different angles before declaring her all done.

  She adjusted her shirt as she stood.

  “Will you come to the ball with me?”

  “I’m not going to have sex with you.” Her shame made her brave.

  “Of course not. Did I ask you for that? What do you take me for? I thought we were friends.”

  Fallen opened the door. “I’ll think about it.”

  Her skin crawled. She’d helped this man indulge in some sort of fetish, and it felt terrible.

  “Have a good day, Fallen.”

  Chapter 8

  Antique

  Fallen looked in her pocket and found that Mr. Orbit had given her $200 as a “tip” for making his bed. She should’ve marched back up and left it in his room, but she needed it for Fenn.

  After forcing herself to start her actual day and do her best in each room on her floor, she had finally made it to room 514 and the end of her work. It was just after 2 pm.

  Maybe she could dream of Thomas anywhere on a Thursday, but to be as certain as possible, she felt compelled to seek out the same atmosphere and recreate the initial experience.

  She neatened the room and was thrilled when her lids felt heavier and heavier. After pulling her cart inside, Fallen threw over the bolt bar, hopefully preventing any unwanted sleep-kissing from Mr. Orbit again.

  She crawled onto the bed and felt a twinge of revulsion and regret over Mr. Orbit’s pictures as she stretched out on her side.

  And then she committed to the blackness. Fallen wasn’t sure how much time passed before she opened her eyes again, but when she regained consciousness, she lay on the couch in the house where she and Thomas had eaten in the last dream. She sat up and called for him. Getting no response, she began to worry.

  She got off of the couch and started nosing around. She picked up a picture of Thomas with two other men who looked like him—the brothers, John and Edward. She’d forgotten about them. In her next internet search, she’d include their names, especially if she didn’t get to see Thomas today.

  That possibility sent a wave of disappointment through her. She looked around again, only to realize the house was incomplete. The rooms she hadn’t seen last time were walled off now. Fallen felt a little claustrophobic as she tried the front door, but it was open, and the empty street lay beyond.

  She didn’t want to leave, though. She would wait right here, surrounded in his memories, until Thomas arrived.

  Fallen went through the house looking for mail or some hint at his last name. No luck. But with her careful scrutiny she realized the place was impeccably vintage. His mother must be a serious antique collector. Thinking of his mom made her think of the fridge. She went over and opened it, once again finding two plates inside. A peek under the foil told her the same roast beef dinner awaited them as last time.

  “Fallen?”

  “Thomas?” She whirled around, slamming the fridge door.

  He stood in the doorway, relief and a smile on his face.

  She ran to him. He braced himself and caught her.

  “I was afraid I was here alone. Oh, thank God you’re here.” She kissed his chin and nose before he slid her to her feet, stilled her frantic movements, and centered her with his kiss. She melted into him, his hard chest, his sparkling eyes.

  She stopped the kiss to hug him, and he bent to accommodate her.

  “Are you okay? Where you are, is it safe?” She ran her hands over his chest again. This time instead of appreciating his solidness, she checked for injuries.

  She’d had such important questions for him, and now she could not drum up a single one.

  His eyes held trapped answers, but he revealed nothing.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  He nodded, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “I missed you so much.”

  “Every day is a million days. It took forever to get to Thursday.” She wrapped her hands in his, standing toe to toe with his boots. Her white Velcro sneakers got a chuckle out of him.

  “Those are something else. Where are your laces? Are those buttons?”

  White noise saturated their world. He wrapped her close to him, covering her ears while she covered his.

  They waited, and eventually the sound tapered off.

  But the interruption had made their dream world seem less safe. She watched as Thomas scoped out the windows with a searching gaze.

  “That was unexpected. Did you wish for that noise to happen?” She couldn’t stop touching him.

  Thomas shook his head.

  “I thought for a second it was an earthquake. I’d hate for any of these antiques to be damaged.” She glanced around at the charming vintage decorations.

  He gave her a confused look. “Antiques? This stuff is all new and—”

  The noise was back again. They covered each other’s ears and waited it out.

  When it tapered off, he suggested. “Maybe we should go somewhere new?”

  Fallen was about to agree, but then she remembered the meal in the fridge. She towed him over and showed him. “Do we have time for this? You loved it so much last time.”

  Fallen tried to make a microwave appear on the counter the way clothes sometimes appeared on her in this world. Nothing happened.

  Instead she focused on the plates and thought about them being hot enough to eat. “Careful, don’t touch,” she said. “Let’s see if this worked.”

  She grabbed a potholder from a hook on the nearest cabinet and checked— sure enough, the meal was steaming. Thomas grabbed a potholder too and picked up the other plate.

  She snuggled close to him, wrapping her arm around his waist as he tucked her in close. Fallen pictured her favorite boardwalk from the trip to Atlantic City Nora had taken she and Fenn on when they were kids, before her mother was completely non-functional as an adult.

  Instead of flashy lights and cars, a desolate boardwalk and a few older buildings appeared. The waves crashed in the distance at dusk, and she was pleased to see Thomas still with her, holding his plate.

  “Okay, let’s sit down right here and eat.”

  He didn’t have to be told twice and folded his legs to sit on the wooden boardwalk.

  He held up a hand to her so she could sit as well, forced into being graceful by her uniform skirt.

  “We forgot forks!” She laughed as he shrugged and picked up the slice of meat in his hand to take a bite.

  She did the same. “Is this better than the last time we had it?”

  Thomas moaned. “Maybe. Thank you for thinking about this for me.”

  It felt good to give him something. She used her finger to scoop up mashed potatoes and licked them off.

  He stopped eating to watch her do it, and the next minute she was under him.

  “Do that again.”

  Fallen was hesitant, but she licked her finger again. Being ordered around made her think of Mr. Orbit, and she looked to the side when Thomas went in for a kiss.

  “What’
s wrong? What did I say? This is too forward. I’m sorry.” He eased off of her and helped her sit.

  She felt terrible ruining the moment. “You’re fine. I’m sorry. It’s just, today was kind of weird, and that gave me flashbacks. Seriously. Stay close.”

  She scooted over so her shoulder touched his chest, his mother’s food smooshed beneath them.

  “Tell me, dream girl.”

  “No. It’s nothing; it’s reality. I didn’t wait all week to be with you just to whine. Come back. Kiss me more.” She touched his chin.

  His lips were yummy—that was probably the wrong word, but she’d never seen a man’s lips so kissable before.

  “Sweetheart, if something made you pause, I want to know what it was. Let me be here—” He pointed at her heart. “—while I’m here.” He pointed at the boardwalk.

  “Okay. Remember the guy who was at our first dream date?”

  His gaze softened. “I like that you think of it as a dream date.”

  She blushed. “That’s what it was.”

  “Yes. I remember him. Lad.” Thomas’s eyes got stormy.

  “Well, he’s in my real world. He’s my boss. And he’s being weird. He makes me uncomfortable. Like, he wants to take pictures of me bending over.” She looked out at the waves. They seemed real, as real as the carpets she vacuumed almost every day. “And he wants to give me money, and Fenn, my brother, needs money to play football. What’s a picture in the grand scheme of things, and I—”

  She stopped talking when she saw Thomas’s face.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  The absolute certainty came from a place inside of him that clearly could follow through. It wasn’t just a vent of anger. It was a proclamation.

  “I let him take the picture; you can’t kill him. And besides, we’re in a dream.”

  She wanted to tell Thomas about her theory that he might be in her real world too, that she needed his last name, his address, something to go on, but those words couldn’t find purchase in her mouth.