CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ross
I push the plate of mushy jambalaya away and stretch my legs out in front of me. I’ve never been more bored or uneasy in my life. It’s been just a few hours since I realized she was gone. Since she left a fucking note on my pillow like we live in some goddamn movie.
I get up from the table, grab a few beers and settle in the living room.
“What’s your deal?” Maya asks.
I ignore the question and, taking a long swig of my drink, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I could’ve asked her to leave the second she showed up at my door. I probably should have. But I guess a part of me needs the company. I haven’t been in an empty house…well, ever. Even though she’s annoying the hell out of me with all her L.A stories and incessant questions about the tour, I’ve put up with it. It’s a hell of a lot better than silence.
The sofa shifts next to me, but I don’t bother to open my eyes. “I have to be honest,” Maya places a hand on my knee. “My visit serves a purpose.”
“Well, I should hope so. Otherwise, why the hell are you here?”
“Why are you so grouchy?”
I chuckle. “You act like you don’t know me.”
“Forget it.” She sighs. “Look, I need to talk to you about something. My dad’s been on my ass about getting a job and—”
“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place. Haven’t you heard? The band’s done for and I’m broke. Can’t help you there.”
“Would you shut up for a second? God, just let me get out what I have to say. You can snap at me when I’m finished.”
I scowl but don’t bother looking in her direction.
“Okay, so as I was saying, my dad wants me to find something to do with my life. Despite the fact that I don’t need the money, he thinks it’s not Lewis-like to sit around doing nothing. He’s afraid I’ll spend it all by the time I’m fifty and I’ll be useless.” I look up at her, a little stung by the comment, but based on the way she’s rolling her eyes and waving around with her hands, I can tell the dig wasn’t intentional. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about what I can do and there’s no way in hell I’m going back to school. Also, grocery clerk, secretary, choir director and forest ranger aren’t exactly on the list of things I’m willing or capable of doing, so I was thinking that maybe…you know if you’re willing to think about…I mean, when we were together, you used to talk about one day—”
“Get to the point, Maya. What do you want?”
“The restaurant.” It’s all she says before clamping her lips together and casting a wide-eyed gaze on me.
It takes a minute for me to understand what she’s saying. But, as it starts to sink in, my defenses come up again. “My parents’ restaurant?”
“Your restaurant. I mean it isn’t much of anything now. But, like I said, I’ve got money.”
“What do you want with the restaurant?”
“To open it,” she says with a shrug.
I laugh. “Maya, that place is a piece of shit. Why do you think I still own it? Because no one’s stupid enough to buy it.” I take a swig of my beer and let out another laugh. “Unless of course I sell it to you.”
She narrows her eyes. Sitting back in the chair, she crosses her arms. “You don’t have to laugh, you idiot. I have thought this through you know. God, you sound just like my father.”
That’s an insult if I ever heard one. I soften my gaze and nod in her direction. “Fine, what have you been thinking about? What’s the big plan?”
She smiles and leans forward again. “Well, I’ve got the financial capital, you’ve got the building, we both have ideas…I mean, assuming you still have those ambitions.”
Her eyes have lit up and for the first time in long time, I see a part of the Maya I used to like. She wasn’t just a piece of ass, after all. I dated her for a reason, called her my girlfriend for a reason, I just didn’t remember what that was until now. She’s smart. Sexy as hell, can harden a man’s dick in seconds, but she’s also got something inside her head.
I nod, slowly, allowing her to continue.
“I figure we can bring in a few people, see how much needs to be done, see where we stand. I mean it’s a great location. You already own the building, it’s already in the right zone. All we need is a renovation and a relaunch and we’re in business. What do you say?”
“Wait.” I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. “You want to—to own the place with me?”
Maya shrugs. “We used to…” She looks down and then back up at me. “I know things aren’t the same between us anymore. But we always talked about the things we could do in this town. And I feel like, even though we’ve both been through some shit and moved on with our lives, well, we’re back where we started. So why not do as we planned?”
I’m grinning now and it’s reflected in her expression. “I don’t know what to say.” And for once, I truly don’t. Just the other day I stood on top of that roof, thinking about how much of a dump it was. Pissed that I was stuck with it, wondering how the hell I was going to survive. And now here she is ready to take a chance on me. And I don’t even know why. It’s not like I deserve it. “Maya.” I meet her gaze again.
“Don’t,” she says, before I can continue. “It is what it is. And this is something different. I don’t hate you, Ross. I never have. Well,” she laughs. “Maybe for the first few months, but I just had to tell myself things happened the way they were supposed to. And they did. Now we’re here and, well, why not take advantage of that?”
I pick up my beer from the table and hold it front of her. A grin spreads across her face and she tips her own bottle toward mine.
“To the weirdest, most unlikely, fucking partnership this side of Snake River.”
She rolls her eyes as she clinks her bottle with mine, then lets out a little squeal. “This is going to be great. So great. I can’t wait to tell my dad.”
I nod as my mood suddenly takes a dive. There’s only one person I want to tell. And she’s not here. I’m not even sure she’s planning on coming back. But maybe it’s all for the best. Maybe life is going along exactly as it should. Ex girlfriends, job opportunities, new ventures and all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sheila
Sitting cross-legged and on my bed, I hug myself and stare into the darkness.
And it is so dark.
Our house is set back away from the road and surrounded by trees. The neighbors on either side of us are about a hundred feet away. There are no street lamps to ease the inky blanket surrounding me and all I can think of is the bed across the room that’s empty. That will always be empty. Next to that bed is where Ray’s crib usually sits. Mom and Dad rolled it into their room. Apparently he wakes up early and they wanted me to be comfortable. The truth is, I’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t in this room by myself.
I can’t go back to sleep. The clock glows 3:15 and I’ve officially been sitting here like this since I woke up, abruptly, four hours ago. All I really want to do is fall into another dream. To see my sister again. But I get the worst feeling that isn’t going to happen. For some reason, I feel like she knows I’m here. Like she was just waiting for me to come home and every dreamland visit we’ve ever had was leading up to last night. The one where she finally acknowledged what we’d both been avoiding. She’s gone. And she’s not coming back.
I swipe a heavy tear from my cheek and peel the blankets off my legs. The wood floor is warm beneath my feet as I pad my way across the room. For a good ten minutes, I just stand there in front of her bed, imagining her curled up there, imagining she’ll roll over, groggy and annoyed, throw her blanket to the side and say, “Get in if you’re getting in, you’re being creepy.”
And I would. I’d climb in and snuggle up next to her until morning.
I crawl onto the bed, pulling the blanket over my head and take a deep breath. I’d do anything to remember the scent of her. Perfume mixed with her shampoo and a hint of somethin
g that’s just Shannon. But all I get is dryer sheets.
Mom. Damn her. Despite the fact this room is virtually untouched, she’s been doing laundry like clockwork. Washing a piece of my sister away with every load.
I throw the covers off and sit up on the bed with a heavy sigh. This morning, after the dream I had, I was certain coming back here was a good choice. The only choice. But now I’m not so sure. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. And the funny thing is this is exactly what I always wanted. Mom and Dad not to grill me about where I’ve been, Grandma to be pleasant. I always figured it’d be the thing that made me comfortable. But all it’s doing right now is making me comfortably uncomfortable. I miss having something to bitch about. I smile, passing my palm over Shannon’s frilly pillow. I miss having someone to bitch with.
I climb off the bed and grab my robe from the back of my old desk chair. On my way out the door, I snatch up a towel and head off in search of the one thing that can help me clear my mind. That’s if it’s still there.
I tiptoe down the hall and down the stairs as quietly as possible. By the time I reach the basement, I’m sure I’m wasting my time. It’s been almost two years since I lived here. What are the chances they haven’t found my secret stash? But then again, not even Shannon knew about it.
After I’ve closed the door behind me, I roll up the towel and set it on the floor to seal up the crack. Then I scurry to my spot under the stairs, get up on my tiptoes and feel around until I find it.
Pulling my hand back, I hold the baggie in front of me. Three marijuana cigarettes and a lighter. Perfectly rolled and ready. It’s so old it’ll probably rip my throat to shreds, but now’s not exactly the time to be picky.
The moment I unseal the bag, the potent aroma hits my nose. I hurry over to the window and open it just a crack. Then I light up the one of the joints. As predicted, it goes down like gravel and out like water down the wrong pipe. It takes several moments of hacking and sputtering before I catch my breath. And once I wipe the tears from my eyes I take another drag, closing my eyes as I force my body not to react. Ten minutes and a half a joint later, I’m so baked I’m starting to regret it.
I decide to leave the window open for a little while longer and make my way back to the staircase. After I’ve shoved the bagged leftovers into the waist of my tights, I sit on the bottom step, head in my hands.
What am I doing here? What am I doing at all? I’m a nineteen-year-old high-school drop out with no job and no real ambition anymore. A year ago I was living my dream, doing everything I always imagined. Back then I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. It’s a wonder how much life can change in the blink of an eye.
And now I’ve got a choice to make: come back to my old life and new responsibilities, or keep hiding from reality. I’m dizzy just thinking of it. Or maybe that’s just the weed.
I rub my eyes and groan. Before I came back here and saw the way things have changed, I was convinced I was where I needed to be. But it seems like Shannon’s death didn’t only change me. It changed everyone. Just like Dave said. What if that’s what they needed in order to learn not to hold on so tight? Maybe this time around they’ll just let me be me. But what about what Shannon wants? How can I ever just be me again if I give into her wishes?
I was convinced I’d end up coming back here and remembering why I left in the first place. That they’d do or say something, that would validate my decision—make it easier to say no. But instead, they welcome me with open arms like nothing’s changed. Now all I feel is guilt—for leaving them alone in the first place, for shirking the ultimate responsibility. But on top of the guilt is something else.
Regret.
God, I miss Ross. I didn’t think I would this much. But I do. It’s been one freaking day. I don’t have a clue how I feel about him. All I know is when I’m with him everything’s right. Even in a house with ice-cold floors, bad coffee and an ancient percolator. I can deal with him neglecting the bills. I can deal with the fact that he refuses to cut his hair in an actual style. I don’t hate that he substitutes laundry detergent with dishwashing soap—and vice versa—as much as I thought I did. Because he makes up for it by looking at me the way he does, holding me the way he does, and kissing me the way no one ever has.
For the first time, I’m truly torn—between the life I’ve always dreamed of and the one I always lived. I don’t know which one is truly home. The one with the absent sister and oddly agreeable parents or the one with the almost-boyfriend who drives me up the wall most of the time but at the end of the day always makes me feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be?
My stomach grumbles and I sit up straight gripping my sides. I’m starving. Skipping dinner was a dumb idea. But knowing this house, there are plenty of leftovers in the fridge. I make a mental note of my near future plans, as I bolt the basement window.
Snack. Sleep. Life altering decisions in the morning.
The moment I open the basement door my plans change.
Grandma stares back at me. She looks like the Angel of Death, standing in kitchen archway, a hand on either hip. The dim light of the stove shadows her and even though I can barely see her face, the tension that’s practically suffocating me proves she’s not happy.
I halt in my tracks. “Grandma, what are you doing up?”
I ask the question as sweet as possible, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply moves her hands from her hips and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.
She turns away from me and silently toward the stove. After she’s poured herself a cup of tea, she stands against the counter. For several seconds, the only the sound between us is the clinking of her spoon against the china. Seconds turn into minutes as she slurps her tea, her gaze fixed on me.
I do my best not to fidget but as high, hungry, and nervous as I am, I can’t stop running my fingers through my hair. It’s like being thirteen all over again and getting caught in a mini skirt I borrowed from Coco. Or worse, the night of Junior Prom when she caught me kissing my date at the end of the driveway. For months she held that over my head. I never sang more solos, volunteered to teach more Sunday school classes, or polished her damn silver more than in those three months leading up to the day I finally just broke down and told my parents myself.
Grandmothers aren’t supposed to be ruthless negotiators or blackmailing bitches, but I guess it’s just a way of life for her. Shannon and I always wished she was like the clichéd kind of grandma. I never met my other grandmother; she died when Mom was seventeen and Mom’s grandmother died when I was a baby. So Grandma Carlson’s the only one I’ve ever known, but she’s the opposite of everything a grandmother is supposed to be—controlling, conniving, and cruel.
And here I thought she’d changed. But looking at her now, I know I’m in for a long night.
She finally places her cup back on the saucer and makes her way around the kitchen table. I haven’t moved from my spot by the basement stairs and, the moment I realize she’s coming my way, I want to disappear. She’ll smell it on me. And if she doesn’t, she’ll see it in my eyes. I should have just said goodnight. Why didn’t I just say goodnight?
She stops about a foot away from me. When she sniffs, I cringe and clench my jaw waiting for her full wrath.
“Your sister made some very stupid choices. She was smart enough to do something to fix the mess she made of her life, but now she’s gone.” They aren’t the words I’m expecting and all I can do is frown in response. “I can only hope she’s with God.” She purses her lips, her gaze raking me from head to toe. “If you ever want to see her again, you’ll get your act together, little girl. And you’ll do it right now.”
My heart is hammering away at my chest and I’ve clutched my fists so tight my nails are digging into my palms. Now would be a good time to walk away. Now would be an excellent time to say goodnight. But instead, I open my big mouth.
“Excuse me?”
Her icy stare holds
mine. She blinks a few times, then sticks out her chin as she continues. “You’re being very immature, Sheila. After all these years, all these mistakes, I expected you’d get at least one thing right. How foolish of me?”
“I didn’t realize it was your job to keep count.”
Did I really just say that? To Anne Carlson?
Her eyes narrow again and she takes a step closer. “This is no time to be selfish. If anything, it’s the perfect time to grow the devil up. Your parents may be used to your juvenile behavior, they may even be able to turn a blind eye, but I’m telling you right now, you will not bring sin into this house again. You will not corrupt those sweet children. If you’re home, you’re going to behave yourself. If you don’t plan on it, you might as well go back to where you came from. Do you hear me?”
I take small step back. Clearly I’ve gotten it all wrong. Nothing in this house has changed. Nothing ever does. I should have seen it before. I was too caught up in my own emotions, but I had every right to be worried when Dave dropped that bomb this morning. Because nothing in this family will ever change.
Dad took off the moment I got here because he can’t stand being near Grandma any more than the rest of us. Mom was sweet and kind because she knew Grandma was watching and Grandma was just biding her time. I’m so mad I could scream. The last thing I need right now is her judgment. This isn’t even her home. It’s not her place!
I lick my lips and take a deep breath. “Grandma,” I whisper. “I’m only going to say this once because, despite the fact that you’re a condescending control freak, you’re still my grandmother and, as much as you deserve it, I’ll keep most of what I really think of you to myself. Here’s the thing. I’m nineteen years old. An adult. I will do what I please. When I please. I will make my own choices without giving a second thought to what you think. And as far as my sister is concerned, unless you’re praising the ground she walked on, don’t ever let her name leave your lips again.”
Blackout (Lewiston Blues Series/Black Family Saga Book 2) Page 10
