by Ivy Raine
Marta shrugged. “Fine by me as long as it doesn’t involve a dance club or alcohol.” She winced when the wrap made its first round over the tie-dyed bruise. “Not that I have anything against either one, but considering my current state, I’m a little wary of going that route too soon. I was never really much of a dancer, anyway, and large crowds make me nervous.”
Caught up in her own plight and rambling on about nothing, Marta didn’t realize what was happening until Brad was leaning in and gently kissing her lips.
“That’s for your foot. And this,” he said, kissing her again, “is for last night. I thought about that kiss all day long yesterday and it really pissed me off that I missed out.”
Marta swallowed to keep the lump in her throat at bay. Right then and there, even with the door opened wide and Jennifer lurking nearby, she wanted to drag him down on top of her. “And now?” The words struggled to escape her.
Brad ran his fingers through her hair, torturing her even more. “Well, let’s put it this way. You’re in my bedroom, sitting on my bed, and I’ve got your naked foot in my lap. I’m a happy man.”
“Not as happy as you could be.” Marta heard the words come out of her own mouth, but she wasn’t quite sure how they escaped as audible, formed syllables.
Nothing made sense, no thinking was involved, and Marta made no effort to stop him when he leaned back on her shoulders and pressed her into the firm mattress below.
“Lay still! They’ll hear us!” Kyle pressed his chest against Marta’s as a set of sandal-clad feet lingered near the shrub before taking off again.
“Can’t you find your own spot to hide? And how about getting off of me. You’re heavy!” Marta poked at Kyle but he made no effort to move.
“Maybe I don’t want to move,” he whispered in her ear. “This feels nice.”
It took but a moment for Marta to realize just how nice it felt to Kyle.
“Off!” she ordered, pulling one leg out from under him. She knew she made a mistake when he pressed down harder. “Come on, Kyle. You’re turning into a rapist!”
“Shhh!” He rolled off to the side. “Why do you always have to be such a prude? You know I’m only teasing.”
Prude. That was his new favorite word for her-especially since she’d thwarted his more and more frequent advances.
“I’m not a prude, you dope. You’re supposed to be my best friend, remember?”
“And you’re supposed to be fifteen,” he shot back.
Marta elbowed him, shoving him even farther away. “What does being fifteen have to do with anything? Am I supposed to magically transform into a whore or something?”
“Sex doesn’t make you a whore.”
Marta grunted. “It sure makes the girls you date a bunch of whores.”
Kyle lay back on the ground, his hands draped across his forehead. “Does this mean you’ll never date me?”
She hated how he always brought it back around to that. “Why does it have to be called ‘dating’? Can’t we just go to a movie, down to the beach, the library – anything – without calling it dating? Can’t it just be like it used to be?”
“We’re not little kids anymore, Marta. You make me feel things.” He grabbed a handful of leaves from the underside of the shrub and scattered them over Marta’s belly.
Marta rolled her eyes. She’d learned a long time ago just how fickle Kyle could be. “Yep. Me and every other girl you see. One day it’s Brit and the next day it’s Lexi and so on and so on.”
He sat up and pushed his way out from under the shrub. “Yeah, well, like I said. I was only teasing.”
Brad’s soft, gentle kisses were the exact opposite of Stash’s rushed, intense lip-locks – but no less stimulating.
“We really need to stop,” Marta panted, coming up for air. “Jennifer needs you in the kitchen.”
Brad buried his head in her shoulder and groaned. “I know,” he said, his voice muffled and irritated. “So much for my run. Sometimes I really hate being responsible.” He dragged himself up and away from her, but not before he drew close to her ear. “We’ll continue this later,” he whispered.
Chapter 13
The weeks wore on right along with summer, and even though Marta told herself that Stash was ancient history, she still listened for his footsteps each and every night. But during the day, she fell into something with Brad. Marta wasn’t quite sure yet what it was, but it was moving along by centrifugal motion.
“I think Jennifer’s starting to like me.”
Marta leaned back on her heels to take a break from helping Brad weed the herb garden planted behind the restaurant. A soft breeze wicked away the moisture around her eyes.
“I’m glad.” Brad pulled off his gloves and grabbed his bottle of water. “I told you she’d come around. She’s just cautious.”
Thinking back over the last six weeks, Marta had begun to wonder if she’d ever gain Jennifer’s favor, but slowly, as each day passed, Jennifer warmed up a little more.
“Did you know we’re going shopping later today?”
Brad dove back into his weeding. “That’s what she told me.”
Though he tried to sound casual, Marta could hear the enthusiasm. Jennifer was an integral part of his business and his success, and she knew their tense relationship weighed on him.
“She’s taking me to the special store.”
Brad looked up. Apparently this meant something. “The special store?”
Marta nodded.
“Hmm. She didn’t tell me that.” He shrugged. “I’m pleasantly surprised.” Brad blew her a kiss. “But don’t get too caught up in shopping. We have a date tonight, remember?”
The special store. When Marta first heard about this mysterious place to shop, it was in bits and pieces from the waitresses at the restaurant.
“We don’t know where it is,” they’d say. “It’s a secret.”
When she and Jennifer pulled up in front of the store later that day, the mystery was solved. The Special Store, as it was so aptly named, stood at the end of a long gravel road, invisible from the highway. The building looked like an enormous warehouse on the outside, but after Jennifer swiped her card at the door, the magic began.
“This place is amazing.”
Marta craned her neck to see all around her at the many aisles stacked twenty feet high with commercial sized cans, bags, and boxes.
“Anything you want or need, they have.” Jennifer pulled out her list. “You can only get in if you have a business. It’s all wholesale.”
They went through the spice aisle first and headed toward the ten pound bags.
Jennifer grabbed a bag of paprika and plunked it down in the cart. “Snag a bag of the Himalayan Pink Salt beside you.”
Marta hoisted the bag down beside the paprika.
“You know,” said Jennifer with a hesitant smile, “when you first started work, I really didn’t think you’d make it. And now, here you are in The Special Store.”
Thinking back to her first day of work, Marta was a bit shocked herself. Her life had nearly spun out of control when Brad stepped in to right her and pull her in another direction. “A lot’s happened over the last month or two.”
Jennifer paused, running her finger over the tops of the one pound spice bottles. “I hope you don’t think too badly of me.” Her eyes met Marta’s. “We’ve not been the best of friends. It’s just that after the last one, I’m a little leery.”
“Do you mean Brielle?” Marta made a specific point to not ask Brad anything about Brielle – and he hadn’t offered.
“Brielle.” The loathe Jennifer had for Brielle was obvious. “That woman nearly ruined Brad’s business.”
Marta’s eyes widened. “It was that bad?”
Jennifer raised a brow. “Worse.” Flustered, she turned back to her list. “Next, we need yeast.”
Though she was dying to know just what this Brielle had done to bring Brad’s business to the brink of collapse, Marta refrained
.
With Mirelli’s company van loaded down with everything from marshmallow cream to flour, Marta and Jennifer headed back to the restaurant.
“He’s one of a kind, you know.”
Marta smiled. “He’s not like the rest of them, that’s for sure.”
“I was one of his original servers and the only one that stuck around. I owe it to him,” she said, her voice softening. “He held my job open for six months while I took time off to take care of my husband. He had pancreatic cancer,” she said. “When he passed, I came back to work and Brad gave me the hostess position to help me out. The pay increase kept me out of poverty and helped me take care of my daughters. They even waited tables here while they went to college.” Jennifer reached up and shoved a tear away. “He’s been like family to us.” She looked over at Marta. “That’s why I’m a little protective. Sometimes I go overboard, but it’s all with good intentions.”
“Another safety girl.”
“A what?”
“A safety girl,” Marta repeated. “That’s what you are, and that’s what I am. It’s my job to make sure everyone’s safe.”
Jennifer tipped her head in thought. “I’ve never really attached a title to what I do, but that’s a pretty good description. Safety girl.” She said, trying it out for fit.
Marta laughed. “Now that you know what you are, you’ll be seeing it in everything you do.”
“Do you?”
Jennifer’s question caught Marta off guard.
“Well…yes,” she stammered. “Sometimes to my own detriment.”
Some people can pick up on an idea and run until they can’t run any farther. Not Marta. She has to think about how she’ll run before she takes her first step, and by the time her mind catches up to the situation, the opportunity has vanished. The old saying ‘a day late and a dollar short’ fit Marta like a glove – and she hated it.
With the load of ingredients safely tucked away in Mirelli’s pantries, Marta headed back to the cottage to get ready for her date with Brad.
The mailbox caught her eye the instant she pulled the key from the ignition; the dandelion yellow door sat slightly askew and something white peeked out from between the crack.
With metal groaning against metal, Marta pulled down the rusting door. She scraped away a fresh spider web and reached inside, the solitary envelope slipping between her fingers. Struggling to see, Marta held it away from the glare of the sun. The thin, little letter quivered and nearly flew out of her hands, stolen by the early autumn breeze chasing through the neat row of beach houses. Catching it at a good angle, the scribbled handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
“Stash!”
Marta drew the letter to her chest and hurried in where her treasure would be safe. She laid it on the coffee table and tried to pretend she wasn’t interested. It didn’t work.
A sick, giddy feeling crept up on Marta, nearly choking her. She thought she was getting over him, she knew she was getting over him – until now.
“Get a grip, you idiot!” Marta kicked off her boots and hung her windbreaker on the hook behind the door. As much as she wanted to open the taunting letter, she knew that once it was done, it was over – no matter the outcome.
With shaking hands, Marta picked up the envelope and turned it over – no return address. “Damn you, Stash!”
The sound of the tape tearing the thin envelope seemed to mock Marta’s fragile emotions, and by the time the last bit of glue unleashed itself from the flap, Marta was spent. She held the envelope close to her chest, closed her eyes and said a quick prayer.
Reaching in, she pulled out the lined paper that was folded in tight, crisp seams. That’s when the deluge of disappointment hit her. She didn’t have to open the paper to know it was blank. Tucked neatly into the paper sleeve was a money order for six hundred dollars. The memo at the bottom simply said ‘September bills’. Marta turned it over in her hands several times hoping to see something she’d missed the first time. There was nothing – not even a simple hello.
Tears stung Marta’s eyes. She’d waited six long weeks for contact and this was it? Did he care so little that a one liner was even too much trouble?
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I use your stinking money, Stash Steele!”
Marta tossed the money order aside, stopping just short of using it for garbage can target practice. She uncurled her fingers and let the scrunched up envelope drop. It bounced from the glass table to the floor and rolled under the sofa.
With a deep, hurting anger building within, Marta ran upstairs to change her clothes and compose herself before Brad arrived to pick her up. Instead, she threw herself on the bed and let the tears flow. Why, oh why, did he feel the need to torture her?
“You know and I know that you can’t live without me, beautiful. How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?”
Marta pulled the blankets up over her head. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t born with Stash Steel stuck to my hip, so I think I’m good. Besides, I managed to live without you for twenty-two years and I seem to have fared pretty well, don’t you think?”
Tucking the blankets tight down around her, Stash shoved Marta over and lay down next to her, pinning her to the bed like a cocoon. “No, I don’t.” He pulled off his socks and tossed them on the floor beside the bed. “You’re a virgin. How in the hell is that faring well?”
She folded the blankets down over her head. “Why is being a virgin so bad? I’ll have you know I like being untainted!”
“Ha!” Stash crossed his arms and lay back on the tiny bit of open pillow. “You can’t have an objective opinion on a subject unless you’ve experienced both sides. Me? I like data, and I’ll be more than happy to help you do a little research so you can come to a more unbiased conclusion.”
Marta wiggled her arms and upper body out of the burrito-like wrap Stash had trapped her in. “Oh, please. I think I should at least be able to pick my own control subject, don’t you?”
“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed into her pillow. “I pushed him away so many times that he actually believed I wanted nothing to do with him.”
How she wished she could go back in time and let him know how she really felt.
“Damn me,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Why do I always have to screw everything up?”
That’s when it happened. She hadn’t had an episode in nearly five years, but here he was staring her in the face. Kyle forced himself front and center, and for a moment she could see him clearly, sitting on the rocks with the waves splashing their white froth all around him. Only this time, instead of the terrified face she’d last seen, he was smiling and happy. His messy hair was shoved to the side and was streaked with blond highlights that she’d forgotten he even had. Marta lunged and tumbled off the end of the bed, reaching for his fading image before he completely disappeared.
“Kyle!” Struggling to breathe through the waves of panic, Marta ran her hands down over her face, grasping for reality. She managed to drag in a deep breath, calming her racing heart. “Oh, my god! I’m going nuts!”
It had been a long time since she’d been to see her therapist – four years, in fact. College seemed to bring with it a whole new life, and she’d managed to put it all away for a while. As she thought back, stuffed away was a better way to describe it. It was just like a drawer overflowing with clothes. Some of them spill out even when you close the drawer. That’s the way it had been with Kyle for the last six years. She could stuff him away, but he was always within sight.
Marta grabbed her cell phone, wiped away the tears blurring her vision, and called a familiar, safe number.
“Brad?” Somehow she managed to hide her panicked state. “It’s me. Could you give me an extra two hours? I need to take care of something.”
Ten minutes later, Marta was on her way to see Blondie – something she should have done a long time ago.
***
“I don’t keep track
of when she comes and goes.”
Marta tried not to watch as he shifted his wad of tobacco to the opposite side of his mouth. She couldn’t figure out what was worse – the smell of the stinky tobacco or the lovely bouquet of oil mixed with gasoline and sweat. “But she’s your daughter.”
“She’s also a grown woman.” Lindi’s father wiped the sweat with the back of his hand, smearing a bit of grease across his forehead. His light brown eyes nearly disappeared under his massive, unkempt brows. “She hasn’t been here for almost four weeks.”
Marta was nearly beside herself with the plethora of crazy thoughts running through her head. “So, you have no idea where she is…or who she’s with?” That last bit sneaked out before Marta could stop it.
He grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the shelving unit and spit out a stream of tobacco juice. “Oh, I know exactly who she’s with, but god only knows why. The man’s not exactly reliable.”
The sickening hollow in the pit of her stomach churned. “Do you mean Stash?”
He nodded before Marta had a chance to brace herself. “That’s exactly who I mean. He took off outta here without giving me even one damned day’s notice and Lindi followed after him.” Shaking his head, Lindi’s dad plunked the cup back down, splashing the brown spit down over the side. “But, it’s different this time, she says.” There was a definite hint of sarcasm in his voice. “She said that the last time and the guy turned out to be a real winner.” He gave Marta a quick, but thorough, once over. “Don’t you be stupid, young lady. Wait for the right man to come along.”
Marta nodded, numb from the words that stung like a million bees. “I…guess I don’t need to know anything else.” Turning, Marta pointed herself toward the blinding rectangle on the far wall.
“Miss!”
Though mentally numb, Marta managed to turn and face Lindi’s father.
“If you really want to see Lindi, she called yesterday and said she’d be stopping by in the morning to help out.”
“Thank you,” she managed to eke out as she stumbled through the open door and into the bright, mocking sunlight.
