Not What You Seem

by Lena Maye

  Thought you lost your phone. I fire off the text and grin like an idiot. Her response dings quickly. I’ve got to get her a ringtone.

  Her: Got a new one.

  Me: Want to know what color I picked?

  I walk over to the counter while I wait for her reply. I scan the three color swatches she wrote on and hand Hal one.

  Her: Not exactly news of the year. But u might as well tell me which one u picked.

  Me: Didn’t. The color I picked was perfect.

  Her: No.

  Me: No what?

  Her: No way I’m staring at that ugly green all day. I can see it from the bakery.

  Me: Get used to it, baby. That’s ur new view.

  Her: U aren’t serious. Fess up. What color?

  Me: Wistful sage green.

  I pause before sending. Then I add thank you, but it still doesn’t feel complete. Maybe it’s all my thoughts from before. When I said I wanted to know everything about her, I wasn’t joking.

  Even if it takes a while—if she can’t trust me right away, I’m still in. Still want to know.

  Her: Awww… that makes me pee.

  I bust out laughing, so hard that I struggle to type a message back.

  Me: Makes you pee?

  Her: No! Evil autocorrect. That makes me pee.

  Her: It won’t work.

  Her: That makes me h-a-p-p-y.

  Me: I aim to please.

  Her: Wait… was that a pee joke?

  “Paint.” Hal clunks three one-gallon cans down on the counter, and I reluctantly stash my phone. But when I go to pull out my wallet, he shakes his head.

  “Bacon cupcakes,” he grumbles.

  “What?”

  “She’s been bringing me those bacon cupcakes all week. She keeps doing that, and the damn girl’s never going to pay for anything again.”

  I stare at the paint. “You sure?”

  “Have you tried one of those cupcakes?” Both his eyebrows go up, and one palm hits the table in a smack of certainty.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I have.”

  24

  Ella

  Benny and Laura’s house smells like warm earth and herbs, and I always sink into it. Planters line every window and ledge, dripping with mint and rosemary. Thyme and basil and oregano. Laura stares out the window while misting them with a sprayer. She plucks mint leaves and rolls them between her thumb and index finger, releasing the scent even more. The long green cloth she wears knotted over her head falls into the herbs and speckles with water and soil on the end. She pushes it over her shoulder and grips onto her walker to move to the next one. The floor creaks under her, as it always does in the old Victorian house.

  She’s thin. Probably lost five pounds in the last week. I always think she has nothing more to lose, but every week is proof we have more to lose than we know. I’m looking for something else in her face now too. A reflection of who she was all those years ago when she stood next to Rosemary and my mother. But it’s hard to see the smiling girl in the picture.

  I tuck away my phone, still smiling a little from Dean’s texts, and slide into a seat at the sky-blue kitchen table painted with yellow flowers. A tented book sits in front of Laura’s chair. Your New Life. A doctor with thin glasses smiles next to the title. I’ve never known Laura to read self-help books before. But more are stacked in the middle of the table. Stepping Forward and Reclaim Your Mojo.

  When the plants are misted, she sits like every joint in her body aches, and sets her hand over mine. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited me by yourself.” There’s no judgment in the tone, but my chest still caves. Especially with thoughts of what I’m about to ask her. Maybe Benny was right that she doesn’t need to be bothered with these things. The last thing Laura needs is more complications.

  “Is Renee here?” I ask instead of attempting a harder question.

  Laura takes her hand from mine and shakes her head. “She came home early from her shift and then went out to lunch. I thought she was with you.”

  I raise an eyebrow at Renee leaving her mother to fend for lunch. A bowl of wilted lettuce sits on the counter. It’s hardly touched.

  “She should go out,” Laura says. “She shouldn’t have to stay here babysitting me.”

  I trace one of the yellow flowers on the table, the petals wide and the paint so thick I can feel the edges under my fingertip. “She doesn’t look at it like babysitting.”

  Laura smiles thinly. “Well, that’s what it is. But they shouldn’t worry so much. I’ve been doing better, actually.”

  I let out the breath I’d be holding. “That’s wonderful.”

  She pulls the end of the scarf over her shoulder, absently fingering the ends just like Renee sometimes does with the tips of her hair.

  “I’ve been reading a lot of these books.” She nods to the stack of self-help books.

  “Do they help?”

  “Sometimes.” She shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve got to do something, right?”

  “Me?”

  She tilts her head slightly. “All of us. There’s no easy path through. We’ve got to take the help where we find it and keep stepping forward. Maybe this one”—she taps on the book tented in front of her—“won’t have the answers I need. But maybe one of the others will. Everyone’s answers are different.”

  “Answers,” I repeat. “That’s why I’m here, actually.” Nervousness winds around me and fumbles with the staggered words in my mind. Benny’s right. I’m selfish and unkind and can’t think beyond my own invisible prison. But I can’t let this go. The questions will eat at me.

  So I let out a breath that contains words I’m terrified of saying. “You knew my mother.”

  She stills. Her index finger taps the book. Her gaze flips to the chives. A car drives past, and the clock in the kitchen ticks an even rhythm.

  “Yes.” She rubs the side of her neck with thin fingers.

  I want to crawl under the table and away from my own questions. But there’s nowhere to go but forward. “What do you remember about her? The things she did. The way she would flip so suddenly. The reason she left…”

  Laura tilts her head, still staring at the windowsill. “I’m not sure anyone knows exactly what your mother was thinking.” Her eyes are watery green, like lily pads floating an inch below the surface. They alight on me. “No one could have, Ella. And—”

  “You knew me too.” The truth crashes into me. “Before she changed her name. Before she left town with us. You knew us when we were little.”

  Laura presses thin fingers to her lips and nods.

  “Were you friends?” I ask.

  “You don’t want to know.” She leans forward, her eyes still watery, but somehow also certain. “It’s in the past. She’s going to be… where she is for a long time.”

  I brace my hands flat on the table. Painted yellow flowers look up from between my fingers. “You don’t know that.” I consider telling her about my mother’s pleadings, but it’s still such a long shot that I don’t know if I should worry her with it. “Why did she change her name?”

  “The past is useless. Think about today instead.” She places a cold hand on mine. “You have to let it go. When I said answers, I didn’t mean these kind. I meant for yourself.”

  “I can’t let it go,” I say. “My mother. My brother. They aren’t just part of the past. She’s still alive. And Anthony is out there somewhere.”

  “Laura?” Benny’s voice winds from the front of the house. The door shuts before he shuffles through the living room. He stops in the kitchen doorway with an armful of baguettes. He crosses and sets them on the table between us.

  “What’s wrong?” He hardly notices me. His hand falls on her shoulder, his eyes focused on her. “What is it? Are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m fine,” she says, but her voice trembles. “Ella came to ask about Mira.”

  He leans down to wrap his arm around Laura, staring at me from over her head. “I told you not
to ask.”

  “I had to.” I reach out toward them.

  Benny shakes his head. “But I told you. I…”

  Laura sniffles.

  “Get out,” Benny says quietly.

  “What?” I blink at him. I couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “Get out of my house.” The words resolve as he repeats them. The hardness from earlier fills up his face.

  “Benny, I just had some questions. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Leave.” He says something low in Laura’s ear and releases her. His finger shakes as he points toward the door. “Get out of my fucking house.”

  “Benny,” Laura says sharply. But it’s like he doesn’t hear her at all. He’s glaring at me. Flipping the way my mother used to.

  My legs push back the chair, and it scrapes across the floor. I open my mouth to explain. For seven years, Benny has been steady and kind. I don’t understand what’s happening now.

  “Benny.” I say his name softly, hoping that it will bring him back to himself.

  He grips the table, veins popping out of his arm. He shoves it forward, and it slams into my thighs. Baguettes roll onto the floor. I let out a surprised breath and catch my balance. Just as I do, he slams the table forward again, knocking me backward into the wall. I brace my hands behind me to keep from falling.

  “Stop it!” Laura grabs his wrist and yanks it down to her. It must hurt her, because she lets out a small groan. But that also seems to wake up Benny.

  His hand falls on her shoulder in a protective arc. I don’t think he’d harm her, but now I’m not so sure about me.

  Laura gives me him a confused look and then turns to me. “Please just go.”

  I shake my head. So confused. “Will you be—”

  “Get out,” he orders. No kindness lingers in his voice.

  He… changed. Just like my mother used to.

  Run.

  My mother’s voice echoes in my head. Laura’s eyes tell me to do the same thing. This time, I listen to them.

  I run. Out the front door and past the tire swing and away from the old Victorian house and the people who took me in with no questions. Away, away, away.

  25

  Dean

  “Dude, you have to talk to Ella for me.” Dev pauses with his paintbrush in midair. He’s got his shirt off even though it’s a chilly day with an inconstant sea breeze. And he’s painted maybe one-tenth of the area I’ve done in the exact same time. Of course, he’s got Matty to check on, but even the dog’s looking pensively at the tiny area Dev’s managed to complete. We’re going to be here all day at this rate.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Why, exactly?”

  “Her sister is ignoring me.” He glowers at his work and runs the brush over an area that’s already covered, then steps back to rewet the bristles. He’d dragged out my father’s red folding chair to put his paint tray on, and now there are drips over one of the arms. It’s not like I care what happens to the chair. But when Sebastian came across it the other day, his face had gone white. I should just get rid of the fucking thing.

  “How is Renee ignoring you? I thought you took her out a couple days ago.” I draw a steady line along the edge of the window, accidentally getting a line of paint on the back of my hand. Which reminds me of Ella’s hand running down my bicep. Which make me think of following her up the lighthouse stairs. And her in my bed.

  She’s the most distracting woman on the planet. Even Sebastian and Dev have noticed, ragging on me yesterday when I overshot the tie off.

  “I took her out,” Dev says. “Nice restaurant too. You been to that bistro on the end of the Harborwalk?”

  I shake my head. “So she’s ignoring you since then? What did you do to her?”

  “No, I mean she’s talking to me, man. We talk every day.”

  I heave out a sigh, not getting whatever he’s saying at all. “But she’s ignoring you? I swear to God, if you don’t explain yourself in the next few minutes, I’m going to start ignoring you too.”

  “You know when a girl doesn’t really look at you?”

  I think about this for a long moment. “No,” I finally conclude.

  Dev rolls his eyes, but I’m not really sure at what. “It’s like she doesn’t see all this.” He holds up an arm and flexes it. “She never fucking looks at me.”

  “Maybe she’s not into you.” I shrug. “Not every woman is into douche-roosters.”

  He flips me off with one hand and keeps running over the same painted patch with the other. “Then why is she still agreeing to go out with me? Why is she still talking to me? Fucking mixed signals, that’s what. And when I asked her, she refused to answer.”

  I bark out a laugh. “What exactly did you ask her?”

  “I just asked her why she never checks me out.”

  And now I’m laughing harder. “And what did she say?”

  “She called me a rolling pin. And then she explained this whole silverware theory to me. About you being a spork and some other shit about—”

  “A spork?” I set my brush on the edge of the paint can.

  “But I guess that’s a good thing since Ella’s into sporks.”

  “She’s into sporks?”

  He glares at me. “Stop changing the subject, dude. So I’m a rolling pin, but Renee was looking for a steak knife. But thinks she really might just want a spoon or some shit.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I try to cover my laughter behind a hand, but Dev glares at me again.

  “That’s why you’ve got to talk to Ella, man.” He shakes his head. “Figure out what the fuck is going on with the silverware.”

  “Well, I’d been planning to text her about taking out the charter next week.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I was kind of waiting for the right time. Didn’t want to approach her too quickly after…” It’s my turn to sigh. It wasn’t like I was trying to wait the three days like some guys do. I just felt like if I pushed too hard, she might back away again. Hand-holding is progress, and I don’t want to lose those forward steps.

  He points at me. “Just text her. You’re a spork, whatever the fuck that means. But they’ve been talking about you, so that means you’re in. Girls don’t talk about a guy unless he’s relevant.”

  I consider him. “Well, I do want to talk to her about next week.” I shrug and wipe the paint off the back of my hand before pulling my phone out of my pocket. I meander around the side of the ticket hut, feeling awkward with Dev staring at me, and pull up Ella’s number.

  Me: Hi.

  Yep, I put all my thought into that one. But it’s just my intro.

  Her: Hi back.

  She answers just a few seconds later, which makes me want to high-five myself.

  Me: We’re taking the boat out on Thursday if u still want to go.

  I wait, tapping the side of the phone and glancing toward the bakery. It’s late afternoon, so she’s probably not there anymore.

  Her: Okay. I’ll be there. Want me to bring cock cakes?

  Holy shit, I burst out laughing.

  Me: Um, if u want to I guess.

  Her: Nooooo!!!

  Her: I hate autocorrect.

  Her: Cupcakes!!! Want me to bring cupcakes?

  Me: U have the best phone ever.

  Her: Why does it always do that when I’m texting u?

  Me: Maybe ur phone likes me?

  Her: Now I’m scared to type anything.

  Me: Naw, it’s cute. Still at work?

  Her: At home. Writing a letter.

  Me: A letter?

  Her: It’s nothing.

  I stare at her reply for a minute. Something unsettles me about it, like I can hear her tone coming through the phone. And it doesn’t sound good. Does it have to do with her mother?

  Me: Can I help u with it?

  Her: No. I just farted it.

  Her: Started it!!! OMG. Going to hide now.

  Me: Best phone ever.

&
nbsp; Dev steps around the corner. “What are you laughing at?”

  I tuck my phone away. “Nothing. Just autocorrect.”

  He nods. “You ask about me?”

  Oh, fuck. “Yeah, about that… No. Not at all.”

  26

  Ella

  I can’t write this letter. I’ve stared at a blank page for the last hour. I did start it—put the judge’s name at the top and introduced myself as Mira Jacobs’ daughter. But that’s it. The words after that just wouldn’t come. Then I called Laura to make sure she’s okay, and she assured me she was. Benny calmed down.

  “Everything’s fine,” she repeated a million times.

  I tuck my phone in my sweater and slow my steps, rounding the corner onto Becham Road. The place Dean was talking about is a few buildings down. A low, white building with a drooping awning. A square sign out front says it’s Palmer’s Assisted Living.

  If I can’t write the letter, then I need something else. I called Carly yesterday, and she said it’s not looking like she can put a stay on my mother’s pleadings.

  I asked her what that meant, and she wasn’t fully sure. It depends what the judge thinks. How fast he moves. How clear cut he thinks the case is. And about a million other things that I don’t even know what to think about.

  I walk down to the glass door, humming a soft lullaby. I have to wait a moment until someone buzzes me in, but then I step up into the building. My heart hammering. My palms instantly sweating. The whole world suddenly feels very surreal.

  What am I even doing here?

  I step through the second door and turn the direction of the front office. I stop.

  Benny.

  He’s in the office, speaking with a thinly haired man. I still, as if I can hide in the hallway. If he turns around, he’ll see me. My heart launches up into my throat. Remembering how he looked yesterday, I hardly slept last night. Hardly felt normal except for the few minutes when I was texting Dean.

  What is Benny doing here? He wouldn’t be here to see Charles.

  Would he?

  “Family only,” the man is saying. He gestures a hand toward the door, and I jump to the side and out of view. I press my back into the dingy beige wall.