by Sasha Gold
The notion of carousing with friends is losing its appeal. I haven’t gone in weeks. My buddies are starting to ask if I’m sick or something. On the wagon. They’re giving me shit for staying home when there are plenty of women asking for me. I tell them I’m taking a break and they wonder what sweet thing has me wrapped around her finger.
Like that would ever happen. I pride myself on my freedom. There’s never been a woman who’s tempted me or even come close.
When I stroll through the house and into the kitchen, my little, near-runaway almost faints. She’s helping Jane with the salad and goes white as a sheet when she sees me. I narrow my eyes and she gives me a furious scowl in reply. Jane’s too busy to notice anything.
Taking the tray of burgers outside, I see Wes and Michael practicing their throws. Neither Wes or Jane know much about the boys’ past, just whatever the agency feels like putting in the file, but it’s clear that Michael has some natural ball-playing talent. He throws better than Wes, which isn’t saying much, but hearing the thwack of the ball hitting the mitt makes me smile.
Wes and Jane and the four boys eat, sleep and breathe baseball. Michael’s the only one playing fall ball, because the other three boy’s teams didn’t make the numbers. That’s all right because the family will be plenty busy with Michael’s select team.
As the rest of the team arrives, I see a few familiar faces, kids Wes has coached before and they nod a polite hello. Other kids I don’t know give me cautious glances before running off to join the others. Sometimes I forget that I have scars, and how they scare some people. Women, after a few drinks, often tell me how hot I am, but to kids I just look scary. The height, the tats, the scars. People can’t believe Wes and me are brothers.
Maggie comes out of the house and crosses the patio to the grill where I’m finishing off the burgers. She’s got more stuff for me to put on the grill.
“Jane forgot to give you the hot dogs,” she says softly.
She keeps her eyes averted. A strand of coal black hair falls across her face. I swear the girl wears the same damn clothes every time I see her. Yesterday I gave her money and I know she took money from my wallet. Part of me wants to tell her to spend it on something that doesn’t look like it came from a garage sale, but I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in my fashion advice.
“Warms my heart to see you helping Jane,” I say, taking the packages of hot dogs.
“That’s what I live for. To warm your heart.”
Her gaze lifts to meet mine and just as quickly she looks away, but I can see her lips twitch.
“Feeling brave, Maggie? Sassing me?”
She brushes the hair from her face bites her lip. “Did you mean it when you said you’d take me to Vegas if I graduate?”
I turn back to the grill and start on the hot dogs. “You really want to go to Vegas?”
“No, I want to go to Colorado.”
“Change of plans?”
She folds her arms. “I want to see the mountains. If I’m going to wait tables I want to live in some place pretty.”
Irritation collects inside me. Why the hell did I promise anything?
“Also, I don’t want to go with you,” she adds. “You can just buy me a bus ticket or something.”
“Pretty lofty ambitions. A bus ticket to a waitressing job.”
“Says the man who works in a garage.”
Her voice drips with disdain. Shaking my head, I fight the urge to set her straight. Yeah, I’m a mechanic. I spend my days working on semi-trucks, but I own my shop and have other mechanics working for me.
“So that’s what you want? A ticket to someplace in Colorado?”
She looks at me like she can’t believe I’ll agree. “Yes. Someplace where there are mountains.”
Her voice is small as she asks and the tone pulls at my heart a little. Every one of Wes and Jane’s kids have horrible backgrounds. Another thing they have in common is how little it takes to make them ridiculously happy. They never ask for much of anything and all Maggie wants is a bus ticket. To go from Texas to Colorado can’t be more than a hundred bucks. Maybe a few hundred. I’d gladly part with the money if it means this girl behaves and gets through school. No question.
And if it means she’s not making plans to go to Sin City, I’ll buy her a first class plane ticket and fly her there.
“All right, Maggie. I’ll make that deal with you.”
She blinks and her lips part with surprise. “You will?”
“I will. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I want you to walk the straight and narrow. No partying. No drugs-”
Her eyes widen. “I’ve never done drugs in my life.”
“Glad to hear it. You still need to listen up.”
Pursing her lips, she glares at me.
“I mean it. Wes and Jane won’t know what to do if you mess up, but I will and I’ll be watching.”
A flash of fear lights her eyes. They water and her stony expression softens into one that’s fragile. I don’t care if she starts weeping right here in front of everyone. I’m not kidding. At all. And the sooner she gets that through her head, the better.
“Got it?” I ask.
Jane steps out of the back door. “Maggie, can you help me with tea and lemonade?”
“I’ll be right in,” she calls. Turning back to me speaks in a softened tone. “From what I’ve heard, you’re not exactly getting awards for citizenship. Wes says you drink and brawl and have a different girl every week.”
“Yeah, well I’m not the one who needs a bus ticket. Plus, I’m an adult, not a ward of the state. You want to argue with me some more?”
She hears the threat behind my words and retreats a step. “You can watch all you want. I’ll graduate in May. With flying colors.”
“Good. That’s what I want to hear. Go help Jane.”
With a huff, she turns and heads back into the house. I wait to see if she’s going to slam the door, but she doesn’t. Instead she gives me a dirty look over her shoulder before going inside.
Chapter Five
Maggie
I hate to say it but the burgers Trig made are amazing. I can’t stand the guy and don’t want him to know I went for seconds of something he cooked but he totally busts me. He doesn’t say anything but he winks at me as I pass with another burger.
We’re sitting outside, in the backyard, all of us gathered around the picnic tables Wes and Trig set up this morning. I come back from the kitchen with my second burger and Jane sees me with the second burger and broadcasts that she’s proud I’m getting my appetite. Trig smirks.
Jane’s determined to turn me into a happy camper. How do I know this? She told me, using those exact words. I’m determined to turn you into a happy camper. That was last night while I was trying to recover from my little outing with Trig, the maniac. She noticed how quiet I was, saying I just wasn’t myself. Uh. No. My life flashed before my eyes, a hundred fucking times thanks to your insane brother-in-law.
Her solution? A manicure. For me!
She was so happy about the idea, I didn’t have the heart to say no. The only thing I refused was the pedi, because her touching my feet seems just a little too personal. When she started, she massaged my hand and I thought I might fall asleep right there. No one’s touched me since my mother died. I made the mistake of telling her that when she was done and she looked like she wanted to burst into tears.
Totally awkward. But nice, in a way. I fell asleep by nine, exhausted.
My mother never did stuff like that. She loved me in an absent-minded sort of way. Every so often she’d touch my chin, lean down and say, I love you Maggie Callaghan. Don’t you ever forget it. Then she’d hurry away to grade papers or work on a poem. I existed in her periphery.
Jane, on the other hand, wants to know everything. What sorts of music I like. Who’s my favorite actor?
Even now, sitting in the backyard, I catch her glancing over at me. Checking on me and the boys. Making sure all is w
ell in her little realm.
I don’t talk to anyone and try to tune out Thomas, sitting beside me. In between bites of his burger he acts out a battle between a baby carrot and a cucumber slice. He makes crashing, battle noises that escalate until either the carrot or cucumber meet a heroic death. Then he shoves the fallen vegetable into his mouth and a moment later another battle begins.
After the third cucumber slice is taken out by a carrot, he grins up at me, looking for a response. Softly, so only he can hear, I hum a few bars of Taps. He grins. I’m not sure if it’s because he understands the song’s meaning or if he’s amazed I’m not scowling at him.
Then I hear it. A woman talking. One of the moms. She’s sitting at the same table as Trig and she’s telling someone about how noble Wes and Jane are. My skin crawls. Thankfully, Thomas is too involved in his warring vegetables to notice. The other boys sit on the other side of the yard so can’t possibly hear this bitch.
Slowly I turn to glare at the woman.
“…poor little homeless strays…that Jane…don’t know how she does it…”
Trig’s not listening. Instead he checks his messages on his phone but everyone else at the table bobs their head in agreement.
The woman yammers on about Good Samaritans and special places in heaven when Jane jumps to her feet, claps her hands, announces there’s cake and ice cream for dessert. She looks at me with alarm and I know she’s trying to get the woman off the topic of homeless strays.
I can’t eat another bite.
Jane purses her lips and shakes her head. It’s like she’s trying to apologize for this woman, but her sympathy only pisses me off more. I wish I could slip back into the house and disappear. I don’t want to be part of this. The minute you relax and start to settle in, something or someone shows up to let you know you don’t belong.
Michael jogs past. “Want to play catch?”
A few minutes ago, I might have said yes, but not now. I tilt my head. “What do you think?”
He stops. “Um… no?”
I paste a smile to my lips. “Go away.”
With a shrug, he turns and runs to the boys who’ve gathered to toss the ball back and forth. Thomas abandons his lunch and follows Michael. They’re all more interested in throwing a stupid ball than in the cake Jane baked. There’s a table full of sweets because every mom brought something with her.
From behind me a man speaks. “Aren’t you going to play ball, cutie-pie?”
Cutie-pie… I scoff at his words. I’m sure the kid he’s talking to doesn’t appreciate the endearment. I watch the boys playing and think of other descriptions for them – none of them polite.
“Mind if I sit with you?” the man asks.
It dawns on me the guy is addressing me, calling me cutie-pie. I stare in disbelief at him. He’s tall and blond with a too-bright smile, like he whitens every time the wind changes. His hair is perfect. To me he looks like a newscaster or a spokesperson. Maybe for toothpaste. I’m tempted to tell him to go away too.
Without waiting for permission to sit, he takes the empty spot across from me.
Tugging my attention from his really good hair, I’m struck by the way he wears his polo shirt, with the collar up. I fight the urge to lean forward and yank it down. Does he have any idea how dumb he looks?
“I’ve been watching you ever since I got here. Wondering.”
The intense stare he gives me makes me question if this guy might be one crayon short. He says nothing and I know this is the part where I’m supposed to ask what he’s wondering about. But I don’t. I’m going to let him fill the quiet and if he starts talking about homeless strays, I’m done with this stupid party.
He raises his index finger. “Number one, I’m wondering what you’d look like without that black hair.”
Either he’s trying to be neighborly or he’s trying to be creepy.
“Without black hair? Bald, I guess.”
Ignoring me, he goes on. “Number two, I’m wondering if you’re really as smart as they say.”
“I’m not.”
“No?”
“I’m smarter.”
With a wink, he raises a third finger. “I’m wondering if you babysit.”
I shake my head slowly. “I have never babysat and I have no plans to start.”
“I bet if I offered enough, you’d reconsider.” His gaze wanders from my eyes down to my mouth and back up again.
Ugh. Gross.
Trig comes to the table and sits beside me. Ignoring the d-bag sitting across from me, he points to the cake on his plate. “Did you make this?”
Did I bake a cake? What is it with these guys thinking I do all this domestic shit?
“No. Jane made it.”
He smiles, clearly pleased, grabs his fork like it’s a shovel and proceeds to demolish the slab of cake. It looks like he served himself half the pan.
“You got a kid here, buddy?” Trig asks the d-bag.
“Ah, yes. Trevor over in the pale-yellow shirt. He’s mine.”
D-bag points at his kid, but Trig doesn’t bother to look. He keeps his attention squarely on the guy.
“Did your wife make one of the desserts?”
The man flushes. “No. I’m separated.”
“That’s too bad.” Trig takes another bite of cake.
“That’s why I was asking this young lady if she’d baby sit for me. I have a few dates coming up.”
Trig shakes his head. “She doesn’t babysit. And even if she did, she needs to check stuff with me. And I wouldn’t let her work for some guy I don’t know.”
D-bag opens his mouth to protest, but Trig cuts him off. “Go throw the ball with your kid. That’s the point of the party.”
The guy looks a little stunned, but keeps his mouth shut. After he leaves, Trig grumbles. “Don’t talk to strangers, Maggie.”
I almost laugh at how quickly and efficiently Trig dispatches the man, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
“I don’t need a boss, Trig.”
“You totally need a boss. And I’ve picked one out for you. Me.”
I scoff. I’d argue but what would be the point? I don’t want to babysit that d-bag’s little twerp. Trig can just think he won that round because I couldn’t care less. He gives me a long look, intense and heated, daring me to say something. I can’t help notice how his shirt hugs his muscles. He’s massive and sparks of awareness dance across my skin.
There’s no way to understand what makes a guy like that tick. I’ll never forget how frightened I was yesterday. I was terrified. Last night I was determined to hate him, but just when I decide the man is a flat-out monster, he’ll do something half-way nice, like chasing away D-bag. r the other night when he gave me the last dinner roll – even buttering it for me.
He finishes his cake and heads back to the dessert table. I watch his easy gait and the way he helps a kid cut the Rice Krispy squares. He thinks he can boss me around? I’ll let him think that. He may be handsome in a rough sort of way, sexy even, but he’s not worth the argument. In May, I’m out of here.
Chapter Six
Trig
Over the next few weeks I watch with amusement as Maggie tries to get along with Wes and Jane and the four boys. I can tell she’s making an effort. Maybe not to be sweet, but, at least, polite. Jane takes her to the high school to register.
It’s the same school I dropped out of, a little country school. Most of the kids live on ranches around town and I’m sure there aren’t too many girls walking around with their hair dyed jet-black. The kids might give her a bad time. Tough shit though. She’ll figure things out.
Her first week of school doesn’t get off to the best start. She’s managed to piss off the government teacher and talked her way out of taking his class. She convinced the principal she knows more about Civil Rights than her instructor. He agreed and allowed Maggie to go to the library and take some college-level class online.
Then she scowled in a threaten
ing way at the bus driver, getting her troublesome ass kicked off the bus. There’s no way Jane can pick her up with all the other driving she does, shuttling the boys here and there, and Wes works an hour away, so he can’t either.
I offer to take her and pick her up until she’s allowed back on the bus. I tell both Wes and Jane over dinner and Maggie damn near loses it right there. Wes and Jane are pleased I can help. Not Maggs. One minute she’s staring daggers at me. The next she looks like she might cry. Mostly it’s the dagger stuff, though.
The first day I take her to school, I tell her she can glare at me all she likes. Won’t bother me a bit. When it’s just me and her in my truck she doesn’t give me dirty looks. She’s ready to take on the whole world, but not me.
Friday, the third week of school, she comes to the truck walking beside a boy.
My gut twists with a strange emotion. I don’t like the idea of her messing around with some high school kid. I’m not jealous, obviously. It’s something else. Protective, I guess. I like thinking I’m in charge of keeping her out of trouble.
She gets in, puts her seatbelt on and ignores me which is pretty much par for the course. The boy, a skinny kid with a mop of hair, waves from the sidewalk and Maggie responds with her own little wave.
Instead of taking off and heading home, I sit there, letting the engine idle, a thousand bad scenarios going through my head. Maggie doesn’t dress provocatively, not like some of the other girls she goes to school with. And yet she’s caught the attention of a guy. I never imagined any of these little motherfuckers would notice her.
Her black hair’s always in her face. It’s as if she’s deliberately trying to make herself unattractive. But teenaged boys are horny little bastards. I remember how it was and I suppose it’s possible some of them find her pretty enough.
I scowl at the twerp on the sidewalk and turn my attention to Maggie. “Do you need to be on the Pill?”
