Fireworks

by Sarina Bowen

  “Hey!” he practically shouts into the phone. “You’re not at work! And you’re always at work!”

  That is true. “They made me take two weeks off.”

  “I heard. But it still seems weird. The place is already falling apart. McCracken is complaining about your absence. Apparently nobody can edit scripts and fetch coffee at the same time, like you can.”

  I bristle. “I’m sure you could if you put your mind to it.”

  “I’m joking Skye.” He chuckles. “But come back soon, okay? This job is better when there are two dogs to kick instead of one.”

  I’m sure that’s true. “I need a favor. Could you do a search for a Vermonter named Sparks? I’m interested in arrest records, convictions, that sort of thing.”

  “Sparks. Just Sparks? Got a first name?”

  “Nope.” I should have tried to get that out of Benito. “But how common could it be?”

  He sighs. “You wouldn’t believe all the shit I’m supposed to do today.”

  “Five minutes, dude,” I prod.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  I actually gasp. “Are you kidding me right now? I saved your butt just last week getting you some research at midnight. Don’t be like that.”

  There’s a silence, and I feel self-conscious. I don’t usually stand up for myself at work. But I’m having a really intense time right now, and it’s making me raw. I have a lot less patience for this kind of malarkey than usual.

  “Listen,” he says. “I’ll look up your guy. But all you gave me was a single name. And they won’t even let me do the traffic while you’re gone.”

  Hmm. That’s interesting. “Who’s got traffic and weather?”

  “Smythe.”

  “Oh.” Smythe is slick in a way that Hooper isn’t. Hooper won’t get any on-camera work until he gets contact lenses, a better haircut, and learns a few things about personal hygiene. “Well. Maybe next week you too can draw a penis on air. Thanks for this favor,” I say stiffly.

  “Sure,” he grunts. Like I’m supposed to feel bad about this. But Hooper took ten days of vacation over the holidays and I covered his work without complaint.

  Maybe that was a mistake.

  Some days I hate people. I really do.

  We sign off. And I get busy with more research on the opioid epidemic. It keeps my mind off Rayanne. Somewhat. I glance at her phone every five minutes or so just to make sure she hasn’t texted.

  At about seven o’clock, there’s a knock on Benito’s door. And—damn it—tingles race up my spine. One scare and I’ve turned into the world’s biggest chicken.

  “Skylar?” comes a voice. It’s unfamiliar, but it’s also female.

  I walk over to the peep hole and look through. On the other side stands a tall, pretty woman with dark hair, and she’s holding a plate.

  Feeling sheepish, I swing the door open. “Hey. Sorry. I was just…” Cowering in a corner.

  She smiles at me. “I’m May Shipley. I live upstairs.”

  “May Shipley?” But this is a tall, smiling woman. Not the skinny little girl I remember kneeling in the grass picking apples. I give my head a shake. “Come in. Sorry—you look so different. I met you once a long time ago at your parents’ orchard.”

  “Oh yeah? I remember that, too. We didn’t speak, though. You were so beautiful and I was a little afraid of you.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Because that makes no sense.

  “It’s true,” May says with a friendly grin. “Can I give this to you?” She holds out the plate. “Benito just called to say that he’s hung up at work, and that you were here alone.”

  I take the plate, which is loaded down with spaghetti and meatballs. My mouth waters as the scent of homemade tomato sauce rises up to meet me.

  “We would have invited you upstairs for dinner earlier, but we didn’t know you were here. Did you eat?”

  “No! Wow. This looks great,” I say. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” And I do. Except now I’ll have to figure out some way to pay May back for this favor. I don’t really like owing anyone. Nonetheless, I grab a fork out of Benito’s drawer. “Can I, uh, offer you a glass of…” I open Benito’s refrigerator. “There is literally nothing in here except a half empty bottle of wine and a bottle of mustard. It’s a sad bachelor’s fridge.”

  May just laughs and pulls up a bar stool. “I don’t need a thing, and I don’t drink anyway. Recovering alcoholic.”

  “Oh!” I slam the fridge. “Sorry.” It’s amazing to me that May could grow up, abuse alcohol and then give up alcohol all in the time I was gone. I feel a little like Rip Van Winkle. I don’t know why I expected the entire state of Vermont to stay the same as it was while I was away.

  She shrugs. “No big deal.” She watches me take a bite.

  “This is really good,” I babble. I’d never make this dish for myself or even order it in a restaurant. It’s too carby. The camera adds ten pounds, and the producers at NYNS are ruthless when any of the on-air talent gains weight.

  But man, it’s tasty. Just this once, I tell myself. It’s okay. Besides, May is watching me.

  “I know you’re probably wondering why I’m just sitting here like a lump,” she says. “But we’re all terribly curious.”

  “Curious? About me?”

  She grins. “Of course! You disappeared completely. You didn’t even come to the last week of school. And Benito was heartbroken. He didn’t come to a single bonfire that summer. He just mowed lawns and waited to ship out for basic training. Everybody was talking about it.”

  I put more spaghetti in my mouth so that I don’t have to say anything for a moment. Heartbroken. There had been a time when I’d wished Benito had felt heartbroken when I’d left. But I knew he had Jill Sullivan to keep him warm.

  The memory makes me feel a little sick. So I change the subject. “What do you do these days when you’re not making excellent meatballs?”

  “I’m a lawyer. And I’m helping Alec start up another business next door. There’s a tasting room and a brewery for non-alcoholic beer.” She tells me a lively story about how it all came to be, and I keep eating spaghetti while I’m listening.

  And then I tell her about putting myself through college waiting tables in New York City, and sleeping on Aunt Jenny’s couch. “It took me seven years to graduate. So I’ve been working at the TV station for five years. Aunt Jenny retired to Florida, so at least I have a bedroom now. New York is super expensive.”

  I picture my apartment, dark and quiet without me. Although it’s quiet most of the time. I never have anyone over. This is the most social I’ve been in months.

  “You know, the Colebury housing market is a lot tighter than it used to be,” May says. “Alec and Zara are riding the wave of gentrification in the river valley. Their businesses make people want to live nearby.”

  “This spot by the river is really nice,” I agree. Then I remember that I hate Vermont.

  “Totally!” May says, standing up and stretching. “And it’s even better in the summertime. Hey—if you need anything, knock on our door upstairs. In fact, let’s plan a night out, the four of us. Soon.”

  The four of us. She makes it sound like I’ll be sticking around for a while. An unfamiliar wistfulness comes over me. “Thank you. That sounds like fun.” Although I know I’ll be back at my desk in New York soon enough. I have a job and a life.

  Okay—it’s a cruddy job and a quiet life. But a girl can’t just pick up and move to Vermont because everyone is suddenly more friendly than they used to be.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I add. “I really owe you one.”

  She waves a dismissing hand. “See you soon, okay? Maybe tomorrow at the thing for Audrey and Griff? Night!” She gives me a friendly smile and turns toward the door.

  I show her out, feeling wistful and unsettled. Then I go back to my plate and polish off every last drop of that dinner.

  Many hours later, I wake up slowly in the
gray light of dawn. I’m in Benito’s bed again. I’d fallen asleep here with the TV on, alone. I’d managed to stay awake until Raye texted with her nighttime check-in. Still here. Nothing to report.

  I’d tried a different tactic to get her to spill. You promised me a story. I could be working on it instead of doing nothing in Benito’s apartment.

  Hey, enjoy it, she’d said. And don’t be nosy. I see right through you. You’ll get your story, but not until it’s over. Stay out of it or you’ll be sorry. That’s not a threat, it’s just a fact.

  If you’re in trouble I’d take the risk anyway.

  She’d replied with a heart emoji. And nothing more.

  After that, it had been impossible to stay awake. My eyes had closed during a late-night talk show host’s monologue.

  Sometime in the night Benito came home again, turned the TV off, and fell asleep beside me. I can hear his steady, even breathing. Waking up beside him in bed ought to be weird. And lord knows I made it awkward yesterday by trying to sex him up before either of us was awake.

  This time, I merely roll onto my side so that I can admire him covertly. He’s lying on his chest, his face turned toward me. Those dark lashes fan out to nearly touch his cheeks. His muscular back rises and falls with each breath.

  He’s so, so beautiful.

  At sixteen, I’d always wanted to wake up next to Benito. When I fell asleep in my bed at night, I’d wished he was next to me. I would have followed him anywhere. But that’s not how it turned out.

  I watch his sleeping form, and I wonder why.

  Sixteen

  December, Twelve Years Ago

  Winter settles onto Vermont. There’s a Christmas dance at school. Skye has seen the posters and noted the date. It’s the kind of event she usually skips. The New Girl doesn’t ever have a boyfriend to take her to the dance, and she’s wary of boys who think the New Girl is up for anything.

  She can’t help listen to the gossip, though—who’s taking whom to the dance, etc. Griffin Shipley has invited Tiffany Douchet. It’s all over school, and Skye can’t help noticing that Zara Rossi looks even angrier this week than usual.

  Meanwhile, Jill Sullivan has been campaigning for an invitation from Benito, and it’s painful to watch. The girl’s unrequited eagerness reminds Skye of her own crush on Benito. Skye hides hers, though, whereas Jill is willing to position herself in front of Benito at every opportunity.

  If Jill’s strategy actually works, Skye will be crushed.

  On the afternoon of the dance, she sees Benito putting beer into the back of Damien’s cab. “Hey,” she says casually. Or at least she hopes it sounds casual.

  “Hey,” he says, flashing her a smile. “You going to this dance tonight? I get the car. Happy to bring you with me.”

  Her heart leaps for a second, but he hasn’t actually asked her to be his date. “Nah,” she says. “It isn’t really my thing. You?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. The dance itself will be lame. Bunch of guys want to have a bonfire later, though. Could turn into a fun night.”

  “Cool. I’m staying in, though. I have some TV to catch up on.” Also, Skye has no dress. She’s already worn everything in Rayanne’s closet, and there aren’t any dresses at all. Skye can’t spend her babysitting money on a dress, either. She’s saving up for a bus ticket to Aunt Jenny’s.

  Benito closes the trunk of the cab and then leans against the bumper. “Your mom working tonight?” he asks carefully.

  “No,” Skye says quickly. “She has the night off.”

  Benito nods, satisfied. “Okay. Good deal.”

  Skye’s heart gives one more flutter. That’s Benito for you. He won’t let anything bad happen to Skye. But neither will he make a grand gesture and invite her to the dance.

  Shy girls like her don’t end up with the Benitos of the world, anyway.

  Later, she spies out the window as he gets into the cab and starts the engine. He’s wearing khakis and a nice shirt under a leather jacket. He looks even more beautiful than usual.

  Benito drives away, and Skye tries not to feel bad about it.

  The following Monday, she eavesdrops on all the gossip. May Shipley got drunk at the bonfire and barfed, and her brother had to clean her up and leave early. But Griffin and Tiffany are dating now. They hold hands in the cafeteria at lunchtime.

  There’s a rumor that Zara hooked up with Tommy Boyer and gave him a BJ in the woods.

  Worst of all, there’s a rumor that Benito and Jill Sullivan spent some quality time together in the back of the taxi cab. Skye doesn’t know what to think of this rumor because Benito hasn’t really glanced in Jill’s direction since. Even more telling? Jill has been spreading the rumor herself. It smacks of wishful thinking.

  Whatever, Skye tells herself. It’s none of her business.

  And anyway, during Christmas break, Skye spends a lot of time with Benito. He invites her over for movie night a couple of times. Benito’s mom makes buttered popcorn and pigs in blankets, and they all crowd around the TV to watch DVDs which are fetched from the town library’s collection.

  It’s magical to hang out with the Rossis. Skye has always wanted a big family. They argue and tease each other. Matteo teases Damien. Damien teases Benito. Benito steals popcorn from Zara and Matteo.

  There’s nary a sentimental word spoken among any of them, but Skye still feels safer and happier right here than she ever does at home. And when the brothers call each other a “stupid goober” there’s no malice in it.

  Skye knows malice really well. In fact, the only true malice during movie night is from Zara, and it’s aimed at Skye. Even though Zara glares at her constantly from one end of the sofa, Skye still enjoys herself. Every time something funny happens on screen, Benito laughs, and the sound of it warms her frightened little heart.

  Luckily, Jimmy Gage works lots of overtime during the holidays, because the chief is on vacation. That suits Skye just fine. He also goes up to some cabin at Lake Memphremagog for ice fishing. She prays for him to fall through the ice and never come back.

  But he does come back, just in time for New Year’s. And that night her mom is on shift at the diner until midnight.

  Skye hides in her room, lights out, pretending to be both asleep and invisible. But Gage starts drinking and then ranting about something. Apparently rants are no fun without an audience, because he gets up and kicks her door. “Where’s the dinner?” he hollers. “Lazy little bitch like your mother. What’s a man supposed to eat? You in there?”

  Her heart begins to hammer in her chest. It’s eleven-thirty. Skye’s mom will be home soon, but plenty can happen in half an hour.

  She should have left through the window already. But it’s cold outside, and she thinks Benito is out for the night. The Rossi’s trailer is dark and quiet.

  And Gage is still standing there, yelling through her door.

  “You got a boy in there?” he asks, thudding the door again. “That why you don’t answer?”

  The door visibly bends under the force of his blows.

  “Let me hear you,” he says. “I’ll bet you’re a screamer. Maybe he’s fucking your face right now. Are you on your knees for him?”

  Skye curls up in a ball. If she moves around her room to put on warmer clothes, he’ll hear her. And the window will squeak if she raises it.

  “When is it my turn?” he rasps. “You know I’m gettin’ in there. You’re gonna scream for me, too. Sometime soon. You’re a dirty girl, Skye. Or you will be when I’m done with you.”

  He rattles the doorknob, and Skye can’t even breathe. Her throat is hot and her eyes are burning with fear and anger.

  “Open up, you little whore,” he says.

  And then Skye sees the telltale flash of light outside her window—the kind that comes from headlights turning toward the trailers at this end of the row.

  Please be Mom, she begs the universe. If her mother steps through the front door, Gage will back off.

  Ten heart-stoppin
g seconds tick by. And then her prayers are answered, at least for now. Her mother’s footsteps stomp up onto the tiny porch. She’s always tired after a long shift.

  Gage’s voice can be heard talking to her. He’s still complaining, but now to her mom, who shuts him up by handing over some diner food, if Skye has interpreted things correctly.

  She wipes her scratchy eyes and clutches her pillow, wondering how much more of this she can take.

  Seventeen

  Benito

  When I wake up to see Skye beside me in the bed, all I can do is smile. How many times have I slept alone, wishing she was there?

  Too many.

  “Hi,” she whispers, blinking at me.

  “Hi honey,” I rasp.

  One of her hands lands on top of my head, long fingers trailing through my hair.

  My body reacts as if she stroked my cock instead. Heat sizzles down my spine, reaching my erection, which is trapped against the bed. I let out a low groan of need.

  Her fingers freeze in my hair. “Everything okay?” she whispers.

  “Yeah,” I tell the pillow. Fuck. It’s going to be another long day of wanting her. “Coffee would help.”

  “If you had a coffee machine like normal people, I could have taken care of that for you already.”

  What else will you take care of for me? I roll over and smile at her. “I’ll buy a coffee maker today. What’s your favorite brand?”

  “Any kind, as long as it works,” she says, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning.

  God. I just want to climb on top of her and kiss her stupid. I glance downward. Even though I’m covered by both boxers and the bed sheet, there’s no mistaking my hard cock pointing up at her.

  Skye follows my gaze, and then her eyes heat and her cheeks pink up. Then she jerks her chin upwards, as if caught staring. “Can I jump in your shower?”

  “Can I jump in with you?” Whoops. That just slipped out. “Kidding. Go ahead.”

  She swings her feet off the side of the bed, but I realize I have one more thing to say. So I catch her smooth hand in mine before she can make her escape. Her hand closes around mine unconsciously. She looks down at our joined hands, and then gives me a hot smile that does nothing to calm my body down.