by Faye, Amy
The other things Caroline remembered weren't memories, so much as they were recitations of facts she believed to be true, though she couldn't say where she might have heard any of them. Dad certainly never spoke about Mom, after she'd passed away, but Caroline couldn't remember her smile; only that she remembered Mom smiling a lot. She couldn't remember what her cooking had tasted like, only that aside from that one morning, she was quite a good cook.
Dad was in the hospital now, and in another twenty years, maybe he would be relegated to similar patchwork memories and lists of facts that she believed she had known about the man who had been with her and taken care of her since she learned her first words.
She let out a long breath and wrote the number at the bottom of the letter down on a lined legal pad, and then folded it back into threes, and moved on to the next sheet in the unread stack.
The stack wasn't high; now that she lived alone (temporarily, she reminded herself; Dad was going to get back out of the hospital any day now) she had no problem keeping the bills minimal.
At the very bottom of the sheet she tallied up her numbers and frowned at the total with a vague sense of dissatisfaction. She wasn't making much money from the hospital; most of her income was in the form of college credit and in the form of being work towards her degree, which would eventually pay for itself on some level. That was the idea, at least. She hoped that was how it worked.
As it stood, she had $1500 a month coming from Dad's social security, another $1200 a month, before taxes, coming from her time at the hospital, far too much of it for such a small sum. After taxes were removed it was barely $900 a month.
$2400 was enough to do quite a bit, when it was on its own. In less than a year, she'd be able to buy a brand new car, if she were thrifty. In a year and a half, she might be able to buy one that was quite attractive.
The problem was that between now and then she would have to eat at some point. She would have to keep the electricity running, she would have to keep her cellular phone connected, and more than anything she would have to find some way to keep the hospital from kicking Dad out on the street for lack of payment.
Once all those bills were accounted for, she had almost $50 for paying the rent, which was enough for a night at the movies and not much more, because if she actually tried to pay that money to the landlord she knew that he'd laugh in her face.
There were answers, of course. There were always answers. For example, she could cut down on food costs. It was far too convenient to buy food while she was at work, rather than bringing food in. It would change the numbers quite a bit if she were more careful with food. That opened up her income.
Then there was the cell phone. She had already been doing the math on it, and now that she'd quadruple-checked her numbers, it was clear that was going to be reduced, as well.
They were little things, here and there, and with all of it together she could make it work.
Well, that wasn't accurate. She could make it work… if her rent were only half what it actually was. If her electricity bill were only half what it was. Water and heat were covered by the apartment.
She smiled to herself, glad that the answer was obvious. The weight on her shoulders lifted a little bit. Long enough that the rest of her almost threatened to forget about how worried she was going to have to be about work the next day, because 12-hour shifts were hard no matter how much you thought that you were catching on.
She could post an advertisement, and after her shift tomorrow, she'd get a nice long rest and make some calls the following morning. Easy as can be. She sidled up into her chair, started typing out an ad for a roommate. She wasn't much of a photographer but she could at least take a few shots with her phone to give people an idea of the space.
Then to post, nice and easy. She laid her head back for only a moment before she threw a tray of quesadillas onto a tray and put it into the oven. When they finished she should try actually sitting down at the table for something that wasn't completely miserable, she thought. It would be a delightful change of pace from the TV tray in front of the couch.
As she waited, standing by the oven rather than finding a better seat in spite of the fifteen minutes it would take, her phone buzzed in her hip pocket. Probably spam, she thought, but she checked it anyways. She wasn't going to get many chances tomorrow.
Caroline's eyebrow raised. She'd expected some takers, but she'd expected them to filter in over the next day and a half. Not one within ten minutes.
She opened the email and scanned over it. The image of a thick-skinned Irish girl, tough and streetwise, immediately flashed in her head as she read through. The name at the top fit perfectly. Hell, it almost single-handedly created the image.
Shannen O'Brien sounded like just the sort of woman that Caroline could get along with. Independent, tough, and no-nonsense. Which was why, against her better judgment, she agreed to meet in the morning before her shift. The sooner that she had someone else paying rent, the sooner that she could breathe easy about the dwindling numbers in her bank account.
The sooner that they came and saw the place, the sooner that she could start making friends with this girl, and the sooner that she could start thinking beyond just solving the little day-to-day problems like money.
The timer on the microwave beeped loudly, and she sent her reply before pulling the food out. There was a lot to look forward to. Things were finally looking up. The boorish patient had been ejected and wasn't on her route any more. Sarah was beginning to treat her a bit less like she was a small, skiddish animal. And she was finally going to have a roommate, after distantly imagining what it might be like for all this time.
Things were looking up so much that she forgot to turn off the oven until she started to notice the smell as she went through the house flicking off lights. So perhaps not everything was looking up.
But at least it was only a very small fire. Nobody would notice, and nothing seemed permanently damaged, she hoped. She was pleased, though, with one thing at least. It didn't damage her attitude one bit, because tomorrow morning she'd meet her new room-mate, and Shannen was going to be her new best friend.
3
Caroline's night wasn't as grand as she might have hoped for. She rarely hoped much at all; it was the same most nights. Come home, from class or from the hospital, the sun already down and dinner barely an afterthought in her mind. She just wanted to sleep, and after sucking down a remarkably unhealthy microwaveable meal, complete with enough sodium to fill a salt shaker, she would pass out on the bed.
It was small, for anyone, but for her it almost worked. She was not a tall woman, and at only five-one she was able to fit without her legs dangling uncomfortably off the end of the bed.
The night was supposed to be a little pre-roommate celebration. She'd bought a bottle of wine and everything, for herself, so she could drink it by herself while she watched old romcoms and thought about the future and how it wasn't a complete wreck any more. That was a good thing, at least.
Instead, at some point she had made a microwave dinner and passed out on the couch. Her phone beeped loudly at her that it was six in the morning and it was time to get up. The sun, for its part, hadn't risen yet. Why should she be up before the sun? Couldn't sick people just wait a few hours so that she could keep reasonable hours?
Caroline forced herself up and moved mechanically to get herself into her clothes. The phone beeped a message, but she ignored it for the time being. Too many morning chores to deal with.
She hopped into the shower, her clothes on the floor in a heap until she remembered, as soon as the hot water hit her, that she was expecting someone to come by in a little bit. She leaned out, dripping water all over the floor, far enough to snag the clothes and toss them into a hamper.
She was quick in the shower. The entire thing was a necessary part of waking up, and it wasn't the last one on the list. She padded out of the bathroom, enjoying her ability to go naked one last time before she had to share the
house with someone else, and clicked the button to start the coffee brewing.
While it poured out, she went and got herself dressed. She could just about hear the sound of the water starting to gurgle as it ran out by the time she had pulled on a fresh set of scrubs. She picked up the phone first and checked it. There were three messages from a number she didn't recognize right away.
Caroline clicked it open and headed for the coffee. It was healthier to drink it black, though some she knew that some of the health blogs she followed were talking about how great and effective it was to put butter in. Supposedly, it provided long-lasting energy, and given how fats are processed by the body, it probably was.
Instead, she poured in a tablespoon of sugar and stirred the cup idly with a knife as she read.
The first text read 'On my way, still on for this morning?' The second read 'hello?' The third said 'I'm outside'; By that point, Caroline had finally managed to take a sip of coffee, and with the surge of awareness that came along with it came the memory of a girl who had messaged her about the room. Shannon, she thought?
Luckily, the last text hadn't been a long time ago. Her fingers scrambled to tap away at the phone. 'OMG I'm sorry, I'll be outside in a sec to show you around. Just getting ready for work.'
Caroline drank another sip of coffee, set the cup aside, and grabbed her little bottle of pepper spray. She tucked it into a pocket, dropped her key ring into the other pocket, and opened the front door.
The man outside was startlingly unlike the girl that Caroline had imagined. He was tall, handsome, muscular without being too bulky. He looked up as the door opened, already beginning a smiling greeting.
His smile and hers dropped at nearly the exact same moment, because in addition to all of those things, he was something else: he was awfully familiar.
Caroline spoke first. "I thought Shannon was coming. The room's only for one, so…"
"I'm Shannen. We spoke last night about a room."
She wanted to answer that Shannon, however you spelled it, was a girls' name. He didn't look like the sort of man that would take particularly kindly to that kind of talk, though. She swallowed.
"I'm sorry, I… misunderstood."
"I need a place to stay," he told her. "I'm kind of on the street right now, so… I won't bother you, and I can pay you an extra hundred for rent, but please. I need a place to stay. Hell, I'll take the couch if you want."
She looked at him and all she could see was his body, hard and tight, shadows stark under the severe fluorescent lights, grunting as he thrust into Deborah. All she could see was the look on Deborah's face, desperate for more.
Her body started reacting before her mouth did. She should have turned him away, she knew, but the look on his face was nothing like the cocky expression that she'd seen before.
"Well…"
"I won't cause you any trouble at all," he said, his voice almost pleading. It was a strange change from the first time that they had met.
"I need to get to work," Caroline countered, hoping that would get her out of the situation. Hoping that she could get herself time to think about it, at least.
"Let me give you a ride," he told her. She pinched her lips together, looked over at his car and thought of the beat-up junker in her garage.
"I'll need a ride home tonight."
"Just say a time."
"Look, I'm not saying I'll agree to anything, but I'll think about it."
He seemed to accept that. She stepped inside, grabbed her purse, drank her coffee in a deep, burning-hot mouthful, and stepped back out. Shannen O'Brien was already in his car, the lights illuminating the whole driveway, the passenger door standing open.
She settled in beside him. The leather seats were comfortable, but if he had no place to stay then it was much, much too small to sleep in, she thought.
"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry if I was rude, I just—"
"I get that a lot," he said.
"And I'd rather, you know, if you have to do stuff like…"
"Keep it quiet?"
She'd meant to say 'Don't do it around me.' "Yeah," she agreed.
"Of course." They drove for a little while in silence. A mile and a half away from the hospital, his phone chirped, the display lighting up the inside of the car.
Caroline silently disapproved as he reached down and picked it up, swiping at the screen with his thumb.
"Fuck," he said, seemingly unconscious of her presence. "I gotta go."
"Wait, what? You can't just drop me, I'm still thirty minutes away if I have to walk."
"I'm really sorry about this, but it's on the other side of town and if I don't make it I'm so fucked."
Caroline stared at him wide-eyed as he pulled over.
"I'll make it up to you," he said. She somehow wasn't sure how in the world he was going to make anything up to her, but if he managed it then she was going to be very surprised.
4
Caroline ignored the fact that her feet hurt; it was part of her life, now, and the sooner that she got used to it, the better. Some time in the past century, she'd been left to walk to work, but it was so long ago that it felt like nothing more than another item in the pile of things that needed to be dealt with.
So she did the same thing she did with everything else that was causing trouble: she closed off the memory, planned on an Uber ride home, and a long hot bath to scald away the soreness if she could be bothered to do any of it.
There was, after all, that bottle of wine, still left open. There was always something that she had to lean on to get herself through the day and today, that was what she was going to use, right or wrong.
She let out a long breath and followed behind. Her duties were no different than they had been any of the previous days, and she was finally starting, just a bit, to feel as if she were starting to figure out how she was supposed to go about them.
The phone that buzzed in her pocket was a surprise. She pulled it loose and settled back against a wall. A moment's much-needed rest was all she could ask for, at this point.
"Do you need me for anything else?" Caroline hoped she didn't sound too hopeful.
"Go on," Sarah said. "You're free."
The older woman turned back to her papers, making marks with a ballpoint pen, and for a moment Caroline almost felt bad. Then again, she reasoned, it wasn't as if Sarah was 'on' either. Her hair was down, her eyes a little out of focus, and she gave every impression of being minutes from walking out the door herself.
Sarah thumbed across the screen and the message popped up. She still didn't recognize the number, but this time she at least recognized the messenger, no matter how tired she was. 'Work going alright?' Her head started to hurt in frustration.
It was going better than it had when she'd had to deal with him, that was for certain.
'Why, you hoping to drop me in the middle of nowhere again?'
Caroline started working her hair free of the ponytail she'd pulled it into, shaking her scalp to try to get at least a little bit of blood flowing into it again. There were two separate places she could get coffee on the way to the front entrance and she'd need to hit at least one of them.
'I said I'm sorry. What do I have to do to make it up to you? I'll buy dinner.'
She made another face and dropped the phone into her pocket, poured the coffee into a Styrofoam cup, added a liberal amount of sugar, and decided to text back.
'Come get me, then.'
She didn't much expect how quickly he'd text back that he was waiting outside. She hurried her pace and drank deeply from the coffee. It was only barely warm, which did wonders for her ability to drink it quickly. As she tossed the cup into a trash bin, she saw him outside.
Shannen O'Brien stood by his low-slung coupe watching her as she came out with an expression that looked startlingly like interest. He was probably thinking about that room he was hoping for, but she couldn't help wondering what else he planned on getting out of his stay there.
&nb
sp; Caroline reminded herself more than she was planning to remind him, that he wasn't going to get anything else out of it. Assuming he didn't piss her off enough again to get herself out of a room altogether.
"You have a decent day?"
"It started a little slow."
He made a pained expression and looked at the ground. "Yeah."
"That's it?"
"It's not really worth talking about. You getting in, or what?"
She got in, dropping her stuff into the foot well behind her before she pulled the seat belt across her body. He watched her openly, and pins and needles spread across her body decidedly without her permission.
"Where are you taking me for dinner, then, boss-man?"
"What do you like?"
"I like someone else paying for my dinner."
She left out the part where she would barely be able to pay for her own supper more than once a year on her birthday. It was a treat and a half and as much as she appreciated it, it was also the only thing keeping her from sending him packing.
"So how's the hospital?"
"Why do you care?"
"I don't. You worked there long?"
"Only a week now," she answered, truthfully.
"And what about, uh… Lara?"
"Deborah?"
"Is that her name? I know it ended with an 'a.'"
"She's probably going to be fine when she finds another place that will hire someone who sleeps with patients."
"That's a shame," he answered, but his conversational tone told her that he didn't feel especially bad. It was like someone who's lost a television on an earthquake: a shame, but not something anyone could have helped.
"Yeah, I guess. I can't imagine what she was thinking. She couldn't have just not realized."
"I might have had something to do with it," he said. There was the bareliest shadow of a smile on his face, like he'd done something to be pleased with himself for.
She soured. "I thought you wanted to stay at my place."
"I'll be on my best behavior, scout's honor."
