We absorb ourselves in our respective tasks. After a while, I notice the strawberries I'm cutting are staining my fingers pink. This observation prompts the wheels in my brain to turn a little faster as I look out toward the dining room. I don't see the restaurant. I see, in my mind's eye, the contents of a bathroom sink.
Mess with my stuff, I'll mess with your stuff.
A smile turns up my lips as I transfer the cut-up fruit into a container. I set the knife down and spin around to face Lex. "Never mind…I know exactly what to do."
That motherfucker has no idea who he's messing with.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Giles
FOR ALL HER ATTITUDE and sass, Julia hasn't even tried to get me back for putting a breakfast condiment in her deodorant. I was sure she would and the days that followed were exciting and tense, as I waited for her response.
I've kept an eye out, careful to remember the way I leave my belongings so I can spot right away if anything has been moved. But so far? Nothing's happened and I'm starting to suspect she's opting to take the high road.
I have to admit, I'm disappointed. She doesn't strike me as the type that would let things go so easily. And though I've considered that she could be stewing up a plan, every day my own vigilance grows less effective with no clear signs of a genuine threat.
This morning, I use my shampoo without checking it first and freeze mid-lather, only to relax again when I'm certain it hasn't been tampered with. Of all mornings to deal with the unexpected, this one may be the worst. I'm interviewing for an internship with the UCSD Chancellor's office this morning. I've been looking forward to this opportunity for months.
This campus, like most university campuses, is like a small kingdom. Self contained, with its subjects and territories. Most people would think the university president is the king in this scenario. He isn't. He's just a face to represent the university, to sit at banquets and shake hands at ceremonies. The Chancellor wields the real power.
People with real power are too busy overseeing the turning pieces of their kingdom to pose for pictures. And that's what I'm interested in, real power. Not the illusion of it.
When I was younger, I would tell anyone who listened I was going to be a Marine, like my father. My mother, of course, hated the idea on principle, but my father would rub the top of my head and say to people, You hear that? My kid wants to be a grunt.
My dad was proud to be infantry but all I knew about his job in the Marine Corps was that he got to wear a cool looking uniform and, when he'd deploy, would send me pictures of seemingly giant trucks and impressive guns. I didn't understand the purpose of all that equipment, didn't grasp the death and destruction they evoked, both physically on the war zone as well as long after the marines returned home. I slowly caught on. I gradually saw the toll of deployments on my mother and the biggest toll of them on my father.
In my early teens, I decided I wasn't cut out for the military lifestyle. All I wanted was for my father to not have to deploy any more. But he lived for deployments, sometimes volunteering for them even when they weren't in his rotation. In my young mind, I saw my father being forced to answer to his duty. I saw the military life as one that couldn't afford me the power to change my family's situation. The Marine Corps is about following orders, selflessness, and sacrifice. None of those things seemed to be much help to keep my father home with me, out of harm's way. Away from the things that elicited his screams of panic in the middle of the night, waking me from my own sleep down the hall.
This internship is the first step in me reaching the type of influence I've craved since childhood. My ultimate goal is public office, but you have to start somewhere to gain the public's trust. This self-contained kingdom is as good a place as any.
I've got my eye on the Chancellor's chair. I want it. I just decided I did and now I've got to have it. Landing this internship is a long way from the top and it doesn't pay much, but it's a foot in the door. I'll wedge myself into that crack and blow it wide open.
By the time I get out of the shower, I'm energized beyond belief. I drag the towel over my body, soaking up the droplets of water, and check myself out in the mirror as I do so. Wouldn't mind Julia walking in and seeing this. I don't think she'd mind either.
Thinking of her makes me hesitate as I reach for my deodorant. I uncap it and, even though it's the right green color, I still give it a quick sniff to make sure there isn't anything strange added to it. It's fine. I put on the deodorant and reach for my toothbrush. Again, I feel the tug of hesitancy. I've been careful to hide my toothbrush over the last few days, but I accidentally left it out last night. Did she do something to my toothbrush? It looks fine and I doubt she'd stoop low enough to mess with it, but I can't be sure. Deciding I'm not in the mood for uncertainty, I throw it out. It's time to replace it anyway, so I grab an unopened one from the back of the vanity drawer.
Satisfied, I wet the brush under the running faucet and layer on a thick coat of the blue toothpaste. I doubt she'd mess with my toothpaste, the opening is too small to put anything in it without smearing the outside, but I give it a sniff just to be safe. Mint, pure mint.
My line of sight moves toward the closed door of the bathroom, as I start brushing my teeth. Wondering, as I do every morning, if Julia's retaliation lay in my bedroom. I'm less worried than usual, sure she considers herself too good to play these games. But as I refocus on my reflection, my jaw goes lax.
The toothpaste foam filling my mouth is blue. Bright, neon blue.
I wrench forward and spit into the sink. Blue, everywhere. Another glance at my reflection reveals what I fear. My lips, my teeth, my tongue. Blue. Everything is stained blue. I try to scoop water into my mouth, swirling it around and letting it out, only to see a stream of light blue liquid coating the porcelain and leaving a stain behind.
"Fuck!"
I slam my palm against the edge of the sink, feeling the burn of the impact on my skin. My interview is in two hours and I look like I just ate out Smurfette.
I tear out of the bathroom and storm into the kitchen. Julia is sitting at the table, just as I had been when I played the prank on her.
Surprise registers on her face as her eyes drag down my bare chest to where a towel clings to my hips. For a minute, I forget how angry I am because her eyes reveal an unrelated struggle I know she doesn't want to admit.
"Why so blue?" Her gaze turns down to the container of yogurt in front of her as if she might burst out into laughter at any moment.
My jaw tightens and I try to sound calmer than I feel when I say, "I have somewhere important I need to be."
I don't think she believes me. She shrugs, drawing a spoon full of yogurt up to her lips. Imitating Luke, she says, "Damn. That sucks, bro."
"What am I supposed to do now?"
Her hand flies to her mouth and she struggles to hold back a snicker. I can only imagine what I look like, bright blue tint all over my lips and teeth.
"Rub some cream cheese on it?" she offers, half laughing from behind her hand.
Ignoring her, I head into the kitchen and search through the cabinets until I find a box of baking soda. Washing my mouth out with this might be able to take out most of the color.
Instead of going back to the bathroom, I head in her direction, box in hand. She eyes my lips and even though I know it's because of tint, I get the urge to storm right up to her and kiss her, smearing her own lips blue. That would teach her.
I grab a chair and set it down right in front of hers. She eyes it with confusion as I plop myself onto it and lean toward her. I'm the one wearing nothing but a towel, but she's the one that scratches her nose and looks away.
"I'm impressed," I tell her.
She raises an eyebrow, but in a lazy way like she's thoroughly unconcerned by my praise. "How so?"
"For a minute there, I thought you were too pussy to get your hands dirty. But it's nice to know I have a worthy adversary. I never saw this coming."
"Too pus
sy? Really? Is that the weakest body part you can think of?"
"It's just an expression," I point out.
"How about this for an expression. Your weak balls can't handle it."
"Fine," I say, running my hand over my mouth and chin. "I thought your weak balls couldn't handle it."
She's smiling. "I can't take you seriously right now. You look…ridiculous."
I get to my feet and enjoy a new vantage point. Her sitting there, peering up at me, lips as tempting as ever, and my mind floods with images of what they'd look like taking me in between them.
"You look like you're enjoying this," I say.
"I can't lie, I am. But you'd better hurry." She nods, indicating the baking soda in my hand. "The longer you wait, the harder it will be."
The harder it will be, indeed.
I hold up the box as I walk backward out of the room. "Don't expect mercy from me."
Her lashes flutter with an eye roll.
"Bring it."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Giles
I'VE BEEN AVOIDING THIS trip for some time now, but I've officially run out of excuses. On a good traffic day like today, the drive to Bellefonte Assisted Living facility is forty minutes from campus. I park in the visitors lot and approach the immaculate front lawn, admiring the architecture overhead. The warm-toned brick building has white pillars framing its arched entryway. On either side of the large double doors runs a patio, lined by a short, wrought iron fence. I expected the facility to resemble a hospital, but this place looks more like a mansion.
Several gray-haired residents fill the patio chairs, some talking amongst themselves, others clutching their canes in silence and staring out over the lawn, contemplating. All eyes move to me as I approach. I return several nods of greeting and small smiles. My gaze sweeps the length of the porch, but I don't see my aunt out here. Ava did mention to me that the part of the building she lives in has its own outdoor space, contained and safe, not open to the road like this.
Once inside, I hesitate by the doors, not having expected to walk into what resembles a vast living room, adorned in an antique style that lends the perception of both comfort and opulence to its furniture, curtains, and carpeting. I wonder how much Ava has to pay for her mother's care here.
It takes me a few seconds to spot the front desk, which is straight ahead but set off to the side, most likely to avoid immediately disrupting the sensation that this building is someone's home. It's home to many, many people.
The fresh-faced receptionist eyes me with interest as I sign in to receive a visitor's badge. "You're a new face. First time here?" she asks.
Her innocent question trips my guilt valve. "Yes, it is."
When I tell her my aunt's name, she smiles warmly and says, "Oh, she's a sweetheart," then directs me down the hall to the right.
I'm surprised she used the word sweetheart in such a genuine way. I'd expect my aunt to be difficult in general, but especially in her condition. Then again, I've yet to really see her since it got bad, I only have Ava's anecdotes to go on and those have painted my aunt in a disturbing light. That's one of the reasons it took me months to come out to visit her. I've been afraid of what it will be like.
Past a heavy set of double doors, which require me to ring a bell and wait to be buzzed in, I reach a section of the building with its own sitting area and yet another desk. Once there, I am directed to my aunt's room.
From the outside, it looks like a hotel room. But when I step inside, the decorative style of the facility falls away to my aunt's own, personal style of decor. The room is reminiscent of what I remember her room to look like in her own home. Frilly bed covers, pictures hanging all over the walls, an assortment of products on her dresser.
My aunt sits in an armchair, facing a wide window, which looks out onto back gardens. She's reading a book and when I tap my knuckles on the doorframe to catch her attention, her gaze swings to me. At first, her brows furrow in confusion, but a slow smile builds on her face and she sets her book down.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, blinking a few times. "I haven't seen you in forever."
I just stare at her. First, I'm struck with the realization my aunt could likely be the youngest resident here. In my trip to her room, I didn't pass a single person, aside from employees, who looked under the age of seventy. My aunt, on the other hand, is in her early fifties, and takes really good care of her appearance. Her face is smoothed out with makeup and her hair is a vibrant strawberry blonde that doesn't show any signs of graying.
Seeing how healthy she looks surprises me. I didn't expect her to appear so put together. Something loosens over my chest, a pressure I didn't realize was there until this very moment. She waves me over and I sit on the edge of her bed, facing her.
"I only have a few minutes," she says, "but I'm so glad you came by. How are you?"
The beginning of her statement strikes me as strange, but I assume there's some scheduled activity for the residents coming up soon.
"I've been really busy with school," I say. "But I wanted to come and check in on you."
Her eyes remain glued to my face as I speak, taking in the details of it in a curious way. The longer I look at her the more I wonder if she even knows who I am.
"I'm glad you did. Tell me, what's new?" she asks, sitting up with interest.
"Well, I'm about to start summer session soon and I've landed an internship at the university, starting in the fall."
I leave out what a miracle that was, considering I still had a thin layer of blue tint on my teeth during the interview. No one at the chancellor's office asked about it or even so much as stared. I wondered if maybe I had acted so casually that they didn't even notice.
"But that's enough about me. Are you happy here? This place is really nice."
My aunt's eyes light up. "I love it here, the staff is great. Really, the most competent people I've ever dealt with."
"I'm glad. I'm sure it's a relief for Ava that you're happy."
"Ava?" she asks, with a dismissive laugh. "Ava's just a baby, do you really think she'd care?"
"Do you…?" I hesitate, not wanting to upset her. "Do you know who I am?"
She tilts her head at me as if I've just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "What sort of question is that, Finn?"
Finn. Finnegan Caldwell.
She thinks I'm her brother. My father.
Whatever was squeezing my chest before wraps its cold grip around my heart and tugs, and I'm on my feet before I even know why.
She looks at me, alarmed, then gets to her feet as well and takes a step toward me. "Are you all right? Finn, you look strange."
"I'm not…" I trail off again, remembering what Ava's told me. She's had to pretend to be someone else, because trying to convince my aunt that she was her daughter only upset my aunt and made everything much worse. I swallow, before fixing a smile on my lips and continuing, "I can't stay long, either. I just came to say hi."
"Oh good, my shift starts in fifteen minutes," she says, relieved.
Her shift? My aunt used to be a nurse. When she first started showing symptoms, Ava thought she could handle my aunt's care from home, but quickly realized she was in over her head when my aunt disappeared for twelve full hours. Someone found her wandering the streets at night, looking for a clinic that hasn't existed in twenty years.
In this facility, my aunt has round the clock care and a schedule full of activities to help keep her entertained and comfortable. It seems, though, her primary source of comfort might come from the delusion she works here.
She takes my hand and says, "For a minute there, I was worried you came to tell me you were deploying again."
"No," I say, "I'm not deploying."
"Good." She pats my hand then gives it a squeeze. "I worry about you, Finn. I know we don't always get along, but I do worry about you so much. God, every time you come back it's like another part of you has died back there. But you look good, today. Healthier.
"
A thick and uncomfortable sensation crawls into my stomach, seething there. There's a part of me that knows I owe her the truth of what happened to her brother and how he died. But what good would the truth do? It would just cause her pain and turmoil and confusion. She'd ask questions I couldn't answer because I don't have answers, either.
So, I nod, not knowing what else to do. "Don't worry. Don't worry about anything, okay?"
As I leave the room, it hits me for the first time that Ava's lost her mother. Not in the same way I lost my father, but in a way that leaves no room to mourn, or seek comfort from others. Because how do you mourn the living? How do you mourn the mother who doesn't even recognize you as her daughter, but is still alive and happy in her own way?
If there's something I've learned, it's that no thing or person can ever be a permanent fixture in your life. It's impossible when the only true constant in life is change. And the most powerful agent of change is death.
My father showed me how easily a person can disappear from your life, leaving behind nothing but the increasingly hazy memory that they were ever there in the first place. My mother showed me the same, in her own way. And the date representing both events looms closer and closer, like time is rolling down a hill and picking up traction with every day that passes.
From the deep corners of my mind rises a familiar itch. The overpowering urge to set my mind on anything but its current thoughts. The craving for a distraction.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Julia
OVER THE PAST TWO weeks, both Giles and I have grown more observant and suspicious, which has made pranking a little more difficult. There have been many close calls and near misses, where one or both of us have narrowly avoided what the other laid out. But we've only grown more creative, often having to resort to more subtle forms of pranking.
For instance, after failing to prank me for a few days, Giles resorted to hiding all of my towels in his bathroom. A weak move on his part, but I went with the flow and hid all of his shoes in the last place he'd look—the trunk of his car. A few days later, I was lost in thought, already halfway through applying my favorite scented body lotion, when the vague awareness of the texture became a crashing realization. Giles replaced half of all my body lotions with lube.
Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) Page 8
