by Skye Warren
But there’s also a deep sense of love. And in moments like this…
Happiness.
Paige is only seven, but that doesn’t slow her down at Monopoly. She knows the rent on Pacific Avenue with three houses without even looking at the card. She calculates the amount to return when we give the bank money for property in the blink of an eye. The longer the game goes on, the more focused she becomes. She works to gather monopolies, and once she has them, she spends all her money to build houses. It’s a smart strategy. She has less money than us right now, but all it takes is landing on her hotel once to bankrupt us.
Pretty soon she owns the entire left side of the board.
I could let her win. I wonder if that would make me a better uncle. Or a better father, a voice inside my head whispers.
Then again, she could probably tell if I threw the game. Why not give her a challenge?
She already owns the lower-cost side of the board, which I have to admit is the best position. It’s easier to build houses and hotels. And everyone passing Go is likely to land on something before they pass Free Parking.
So I focus on the more upscale properties, the yellows and greens. Soon I own an entire corner. I’m taking rent from the hand over fist with only a single house on each.
“You’re a tough landlord,” Jane says, mortgaging her properties to pay me.
“It’s a cruel world,” I agree, accepting the stack of fifties and twenties.
On the next turn, Jane lands on Baltic Avenue with a hotel. Paige’s property. There’s not enough unmortgaged property left to pay it, so she folds.
That leaves Paige and I battling it out.
There are moments it seems like she’s going to win, but I’m lucky enough to land on Income Tax instead of her hotels. Paying $200 is cheaper than her exorbitant rents. She manages to avoid the now-called corner of doom by landing in jail, sending her back to safety.
In the final moments, my battleship is poised to enter her side. It seems almost impossible that I’ll be able to get through safety another time. We’re both evenly matched, but our properties are stacked so high that a single wrong move will end the game.
Then it’s her turn. She’s still on the orange spaces, in relative safely.
She rolls. It’s a twelve.
Neither of us expected a pair of sixes. That carries her all the way to Pacific Avenue, where she has to shell out $1,400 in rent. That puts a dent in her cash. She also has to sell off some houses, but she’s still standing. I manage to avoid her spaces by landing on Community Chest.
Then she lands on the ultimate space—Boardwalk.
That wipes out most of her houses and requires her to mortgage some of her properties. With this much money in my coffers, the game is essentially over.
“You beat me,” Paige says, sounding more surprised than frustrated. There’s a kind of grudging awe in her eyes. “I usually win.”
“I know you do. You get it from our side of the family.”
“You did pretty good,” Paige says. “Did you and daddy used to play?”
“We were pretty competitive,” I say, which is an understatement. It was normal for our games to end in fistfights, the board pieces scattered as we threw punches.
“What about you?” she asks Jane. “Did you used to play when you were a kid?
I tense, wondering if the question will bother her. My childhood wasn’t exactly sunshine and cookies, but it’s nothing compared to hers. She lost her father and then got tossed around in a system rife with abuse. But she doesn’t appear bothered by the question.
“Yes, and I lost then, too,” she says, laughing. I would sit here playing Monopoly with her forever just to hear her laugh. “Wiped out. Flat broke. It’s just like in real life.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jane Mendoza
The iPhone is the fanciest phone I’ve ever owned. It feels both sturdy and incredibly breakable in my hands, even protected in its shiny new case. I can’t stop running my fingertips around the edges. It’s beautiful, honestly. Too beautiful for a phone to be. And it’s mine.
In my room at the inn, I have a few free minutes to spend with it. I didn’t want to take it out of the box at first. It felt too much like the clothes. Too much like stepping into someone else’s life.
Jane Mendoza can’t afford the latest iPhone with its sleek, considered packaging.
Even opening the box felt nice. Peeling back the protective film on the screen was an upgraded experience. Ten minutes with it, and it already feels at home in my hand. It’s easy to get used to this kind of thing. It’s made to be that way.
I curl up on the bed and reset all my passwords while Paige plays in her room. She likes to have a few minutes before we start the day. And my hours don’t officially start until eight.
It only takes a few minutes to log in to Facebook.
Notifications pop up the second the screen loads. Messages. For me. From Noah.
I haven’t heard from you in forever—are you okay?
Did something happen??
If you don’t answer, I’m flying to Maine to make sure you’re okay.
I’m dialing his number as soon as I read that last message. The last thing anyone needs is for Noah to fly to Maine in that state of mind. He’d find me in the inn, in clothes that we could never afford, and—
“Jane?”
“It’s me, Noah. It’s me.”
He curses, relief and frustration tight in his voice. The background noise crashes next. Someone shouting in the background. He must be at his warehouse job right now.
“Don’t hang up,” he says over it, his voice broken by the pounding. A voice in the background swings close, then fades away. The rest of the noise fades with it until I can barely hear the thrum through the speakers. I know just how Noah would look, stepping out into a muggy Houston morning, hands shaking as he pulled out a cigarette to smoke. “What the hell happened?”
“There was an accident.” Lie, lie, lie. It was no accident. Someone lit the house on fire while we were in it. It’s been confirmed by the fire chief. “A fire. I lost my phone.”
“What? What the fuck?” His breathing picks up. He’ll be pacing right now. Walking away from wherever he’s been. “Tell me what the hell happened, Jane. Tell me right now. Fuck.”
“I’m fine.” I’m not fine. Nothing is fine. The house burned down and I spend every day breathing in fear and frustration. “I’m okay. We all got out in time.”
“The whole house?” He’s horrified. “The whole thing came down?”
It came down on Beau first. Heat scorches my cheeks. His dark eyes had looked out at me from an ocean of orange. That beam pinning him to the floor. His fury, like a fire itself. I love you, damn you. He hadn’t had enough leverage to save himself but he found it to shield me from the ceiling coming in. Every breath I take feels hot. Tight. My lungs ache.
“Yeah. The whole thing, and I lost—” Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I’ve stayed focused on Paige. On Beau. On keeping it together while we’re here in this horrible in-between space. I haven’t let myself think of what I lost. The phone feels too slick in my hands. Too nice. I’d trade it to have my photo back. “I lost the photo, the only one I had.”
“The one of your dad?” he asks, his voice gentle. He knows what that photo means to me. What it meant to me, before it became a curl of scrap paper in a pile of debris.
“I didn’t have time to get anything out.”
Beau was in my bed that night. We were in my room. I could have grabbed the photo on the way out, but I didn’t. I could have grabbed my wallet, but I didn’t. I inhaled smoke and we left. I always thought, if I woke up in a fire, I’d have the presence of mind to take the only evidence of my dad with me. I was wrong. When the house is on fire like that, you don’t think. You just run.
“I’m sorry, Janie.”
“It’s not just that. It’s everything. My wallet. I don’t even have ID anymore.” Frustration feels better t
han grief. It can at least cover it up for a minute. “It’s a whole process to prove who you are. It’s like I’m nobody. I can’t prove who I am without proof of who I am. And I’m not sure who to trust around here, since whoever set the fire—”
Noah curses again. Hot embarrassment flashes over my cheeks. Cold dread in the pit of my stomach.
“Noah, don’t—”
“You have to be fucking kidding me.” His voice has dropped low, the anger not concealed at all. It’s only pitched to avoid detection by overzealous foster parents who don’t care for emotions. It shakes me to the core. “Somebody tried to get to you?”
“It’s not like—”
“And what was that rich asshole doing, Jane? Was he doing anything to protect you?”
Tears slip down over my cheeks. My hand trembles around the too-good phone. “It wasn’t his fault. Don’t be mad at him. Or me. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
It was someone’s fault. Someone set the fire. Part of me wants to accept some of the blame. Did I piss someone off from Beau’s past?
Noah lets out a breath on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But you get why I have to come out there. It’s not safe out there. These people with money get themselves in over their heads. They don’t care who they put at risk in the process. It’s a trap.”
“You don’t—there’s no need to come out here. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re crying. You don’t have any of your stuff, that damn house burned down…” Another deep breath. He’s barely in control of himself. He’s started pacing again. His footsteps echo on the sidewalk. I can’t picture where he’s at. Not very long ago, I’d have asked him where he was. Now it’ll only make me feel worse to imagine Noah walking alone on a street I used to know. “You need to come home.”
The word home makes me flinch away from the phone like he’s yelled into it. Where is home for me? Not Houston. Not anymore. Not this inn, either.
I thought I didn’t belong anywhere before the fire. Now it’s even more true.
I have none of the touchstones to remind me of who I am.
Of who I’m supposed to be.
Everything has been burned up and tossed around in the fire. I came here because I had a clear goal in mind. Do the job. Get the money. Go to college, become a social worker, and break the cycle that brought me here in the first place, alone and more than a little desperate for well-paying work.
None of this has played out the way I thought. I didn’t expect to love Paige as much as I do. I didn’t expect to fall for my boss. And for all of it to go up in smoke—
“I don’t know. Maybe I will.” He knows me. He’s seen me at my worst. On my darkest, most horrible days. It’s tempting to believe that Noah has the answers to the constant storm in my mind. Years ago, when I first met him in the foster home, I was sad about leaving my last place. He comforted me. People like you and me, we don’t stay in one place for long. If you leave early enough, you won’t miss them when you’re gone. “Maybe it’s a sign that I should come home. I really thought it was safe here.”
How could it have turned out to be less safe than a lifetime in foster homes? Every new address was another roll of the dice. I was supposed to have a better chance here.
“Come home,” he says again, and I want to give in. It hurts to think about giving in. It’s painful to imagine the scene with Paige. She might fold her little arms over her chest and turn her back on me, stone-faced and silent. Or she might break down with her red face and her frantic screaming. How can I walk away from that? I promised her I’d stay. I made a promise to her.
It feels like the two sides of my heart are being tugged apart by strong hands. Noah’s waiting on one side, and Paige and Beau on the other. A sob wrenches out of me. “Noah, I—”
“Just come home. We can figure things out when you get here. You don’t have to think about it. Just buy a plane ticket back to Houston.”
The alarm on my phone rings, cutting through our conversation. I have it set for eight o’clock every morning, though Paige usually comes and finds me before then.
I’m on the clock.
“I have to go,” I tell Noah.
“No. Jane. We need to talk about this. Don’t hang up. Don’t—”
I end the call and put the phone in my pocket, then go to find Paige.
She isn’t there. Her bed is empty. The door to her bathroom stands open, the small room dark inside. She’s not in her room, or Beau’s, or any of the other guest rooms.
I wipe away my tears with the hem of my shirt. My heart thumps with renewed fear at the absence of her. What if she’s wandered away? Oh, no.
We’re in a new place. You know how she likes to hide.
She’s not on the upper floor. I check every room and the linen closet. The only access to the attic is via a pull-down staircase, so she can’t be up there. One of my feet slips on the stairs going down to the first floor, but I catch myself on the railing.
Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. “Paige?”
No answer.
The inn has a finished basement, and I hesitate between looking outside and looking down there. Out or down? God, I don’t know. I have to do both, so I rush down the stairs at top speed. It’s cool and still down here. The sparse furniture is taken care of, like everything in the inn, but it’s not a space we’ve used.
She’s not in the main room, with its two couches and shelves stacked with board games.
I’m about to give up, to sprint upstairs and search the beach for her, when I hear the sniffle from the laundry room.
Next to the industrial washer and dryer is the exit for the laundry chute, covered by a door that can be pulled back with a knob. It’s open an inch.
I can see Paige’s toes through the crack.
She goes absolutely still when I pull open the door. Paige looks stricken in the dim light coming through a window high on the ceiling. Her cheeks are red. If she’s about to have another meltdown, I can handle it, but this feels different. I open my arms wide to her and back up a few steps to give her space.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
She hesitates for a painful few seconds. But then she scrambles out of the laundry chute and launches herself at me.
I go down to the floor with her and lean against the opposite wall. She rests her head on my chest, breathing hard.
Paige relaxes a little when I put my arms around her and lean us back on the pillows. I run my fingers through her hair, working out the little tangles that have accumulated over the course of the morning. I don’t say anything. Sometimes it’s better to nudge a person when they’re upset. Sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut. At least staying quiet gives me a chance to collect myself.
Paige takes a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to die.”
Oh, it hurts to hear those words in her voice. She shouldn’t be thinking about death this young, but she can’t help it. Her parents are dead. “You’re going to live a long, long time,” I promise her, even though I can’t promise it.
“Okay, but I don’t want you to die.” The quaver in her voice almost makes tears spill over again, but I’m not going to break down. She’s experienced too much loss already, and now she’s even more afraid. It’s awful. I have to be strong for her.
“I’m not planning to die anytime soon.” This is the truth, at least. I’m not planning on it. Right now I’m planning to live forever if it’ll mean making her feel better. I run a hand over her back. “Are you worried about it?”
“Yes,” she says in a small voice. “If you and Beau die, who will take care of me?”
A truly impossible question. I don’t know what Beau’s will says, but if he dies, it wouldn’t be me. I would go back to Houston, and I would once again become no one. “Someone will always be here to take care of you. But we’re both going to live a long time. Until you’re a grown-up.”
A pause. The wheels are going to come off my answers prett
y soon if she keeps this up. I really will cry. I don’t know how to explain the process of finding your own stand-ins for family. It wouldn’t be comforting to her.
“When I’m grown up,” Paige says, “can I still play at the beach?”
“Yes, of course.” Sweet relief. “You don’t have to wait until then. Should we play at the beach this afternoon?”
“Sand castles,” says Paige. “I want to make the towers.”
“I’ll make the walls.”
“Not too close to the water.” She takes a big breath and lets it out. “I don’t want the waves to knock it down before we’re done.”
“Not too close,” I agree.
It gets quiet between us again, and I smooth down her hair. Playing Monopoly with Beau and Paige yesterday felt like this. That’s what it would be like to have a family. She still hasn’t lifted her head from my chest. This is what it would be like to have a daughter. All these difficult, painful moments with impossible questions tucked in next to the sweet, innocent ones.
“Do you think she’ll come back?” Paige asks.
“Who?”
“The woman on the cliff. The one wearing the nightgown. She used to walk outside our old house, before it burned down.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Beau Rochester
Now that the former Coach House is no longer a crime scene, I’m forced to deal with the insurance company. I could just pay to have it replaced myself, but it’s complicated because the house is technically in the trust that’s in place for Paige. Then I deal with the contractors. I want the house rebuilt so I can get Jane and Paige somewhere that doesn’t feel so exposed. At the very least, I want the accusing rubble cleared off the cliff.
Phone calls eat up most of the afternoon while Jane and Paige are at the beach. The whole damn thing is an exercise in frustration. I hate sitting so long for phone calls, but my leg throbs when I stand or pace. The two of them come back from the beach with sun-pink cheeks. Jane’s quiet at dinner. The shadows in her eyes eat at me.
