by Snow, Nicole
It’s unlatched, as usual. Even now, Grandma's a little too trusting. Or a little too sure she can handle anything that comes through that door.
She’s this weird mix of old-world stubbornness paired with this faith in humanity that I was never quite able to learn. Pushing the gate open, I head up to the back door and let myself in, almost tiptoeing, waiting for the interrogation about the man in the truck.
But all I hear are voices.
Voices raised in laughing conversation, coming from the dining room.
I peek around the kitchen door. Grandma Eva – as short as I am but more stout, with her iron-gray hair braided and then twisted up into a bun – sits at the table with a familiar figure, the neighbor from down the street.
It's Jim Appleroth. He’s like the neighborhood Mr. Rogers, slim and pleasant, always a kind word for everyone. Always a gentle way of treating people that goes above and beyond people trying to score social karma points.
I first met him the day we moved into our old duplex when I was just a kid. Just a guy from Grandma's cooking classes who'd volunteered to help when he heard she was moving. He saved me from a broken ankle when the heavy box obstructing my vision meant I missed the loose stone on the front walk and nearly went flying. He caught both me and the box, set us both to rights, and set about promptly fixing the loose stone himself with a bit of caulk and sealing putty.
When they moved into Jim's neighborhood years later, I was glad. He’s been a rock solid family friend ever since, and he’s probably the only thing keeping Monika from pulling a complete and total Ophelia.
She always lights up when he’s around, especially when he stops by with a fresh batch of baked desserts. I kind of get the feeling, sometimes, if Mr. Appleroth were a bit younger he might have just made a play for Monika.
Sometimes, I also get the feeling Monika cares less and less about age. Can I blame her?
Maybe after dating demon-losers like Harmon, sis kind of enjoys the male attention without any obligations or trickery.
If it makes her feel better, fine.
Let Mr. Rogers hold her hand all he wants.
Jim’s shoulders are drooping today, though, as he looks down into his coffee cup and sighs. “I wish I could do more,” he says. “Lord, if I’d just been a little more vigilant –”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jim,” Grandma says firmly and covers his hand with hers, reaching around the basket of fresh-baked apple turnovers sitting on the table, filling the room with their scrumptious scent. “It’s not your responsibility. You weren’t even there.”
No, he wasn't.
I was.
That ugly truth stings as hard as a slap, but I know she doesn’t mean anything by it.
Grandma doesn’t even know I’m standing here. But I only get about half a second more of secrecy before her German Shepherd, Eber, lifts his big head off his paws and lets out a ringing, joyous bark before practically tackling me backward into the kitchen.
I get a face full of wet dog tongue and over a hundred pounds of fur threatening to bowl me over. I brace my feet and stagger, but manage to stay upright, catching him in both arms and smiling as I ruffle his fur. “Hey, boy. Hey. Missed me?”
“Skylar!” Grandma nearly crows my name. “Get your sweet little rear over here. He’s not the only one who’s missed you.” She’s on her feet in a flurry, gently gripping Eber’s collar and coaxing him down. “Come on, now, baby. Down, down. Sit.”
Only my grandmother could call a dog the size of a teenager 'baby.'
I brush myself off, catching my breath, and flash Jim a smile. “Hey, Mr. Appleroth.”
“Skylar.” He stands and captures both my hands, squeezing them gently, and for a moment I almost crack.
It hurts my soul that there are still good men in this world while there's so many evil ones, bastards like Harmon.
Jim's like that guy who's everyone’s Dad, and I’m barely holding it together. I can’t handle gentleness, empathy, or the warmth in his eyes as he looks down at me with a kindly smile. “It’s so good to see you. When are you going to start calling me Jim?”
“Maybe in a few years,” I manage with a shaky laugh, squeezing his hands back and then letting go quickly.
Grandma clucks her tongue. “You won’t have that long, Sky, I'm afraid. Jim was just telling me he’s moving.”
I blink, propping myself in the kitchen doorway. “Moving? You are?”
“I was thinking about it. Been pushing back my retirement dreams forever.” He sighs heavily and settles back in his chair, curling his hands meticulously around his coffee cup. “I’m starting to feel my age. I've got family out in Montana – distant cousins, yes, but I think I’d like to be around my people. Always loved the mountains, the open sky, and the biggest darn fish you can pull from the rivers. A little country fresh air would be nice, too. A little quiet. Malta’s very far off the beaten path.”
I frown. “Malta? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Tiny place. Nothing but an Amtrak station and a couple thousand people. I think I saw it on one of those tourist shows once,” Grandma interjects, squeezing past me into the kitchen. “Sit, sit.”
She says it to me the same way she says it to the dog, and I bite back a grin. “I’ll pour you a cuppa Joe.”
“No coffee for me this morning, Grams. I’m just gonna head up.”
She stills, carafe like a rock in her hand, and gives me a long, measuring look. “She’s...”
I wince. “Worse today?”
“Wouldn’t even see Jim.”
God. Poor Monika.
“Now, now, I don’t want to impose on her,” Mr. Appleroth says cheerfully. “Monika doesn’t have to see me if she doesn’t want to.”
“Yeah, but she always wants to,” I whisper. Worry curdles in my stomach, but I keep it to myself and flash them both a fake smile and then head for the stairs. “I’ll be back in a bit. Give me a few.”
The grave silence that follows me upstairs says more than any words.
I know what I’ll see upstairs, but that doesn’t mean I’m not dreading it. Monika almost never goes home to her half of the duplex anymore, and pretty much lives in Grandma’s bed.
That’s where I find her: tucked under the covers like a Victorian heroine, pale and morose, just wasting away. The shadows under her eyes say she hasn’t slept in forever. Probably days.
Her mood pulls her between insomnia and putting her down like a bear in hibernation.
But she sure as hell snaps up the second I knock on the doorframe and lean in.
“Hey, sis.”
She rockets up in bed. Her hands are shaking claws clutching the blankets, and she looks at me with a sort of frantic, fixed desperation. “Anything?” she asks with no preamble. “Have you found anything new, Sky?”
Dammit, no. I haven't. Not enough. And there goes any hope of deflecting 'the talk' I dread every time I see my sister.
I sigh, stepping into the room, settling to sit on the edge of the bed.
“No,” I bald-faced lie.
The good thing about being as blunt as I am is that I can just blurt out anything and people will believe it’s fact. I’ll feel guilty about it later when I’m not trying to keep my sister from a nervous breakdown.
I'm not telling her about Harmon. No good will come of it. Not unless he's in police custody, or I've beaten the truth out of him myself.
I reach for her hand, pry it free from the covers, and curl it into mine. “I’d have called you if there was, ‘Nika. You know that. But I’m working on it. And the FBI might have something new, too.”
Yeah, right. Might.
The asshole working our case basically dropped it after the first forty-eight hours and always manages to be out of the office every time we call.
I saw him on the news last week looking smug over another case. He'd helped catch an infamous local serial killer.
I mean it’s great they caught the monster, but the agent’s still one of th
ose dicks who’s only in it for the praise and career advancement. He only cares about the cases that get him the most media attention and the best shot at a shiny book deal.
Fuck him. It's up to me to track down Joannie. I’ll solve this case myself.
But if I’m going to do that, I need to be sure Monika’s on an even keel.
I squeeze her hand tighter and manage a smile. “Hey. C’mon. I’ll take you out to lunch, get you out of this house. My treat.”
That gets a wavering smile out of her. “Bull. Your cheapskate ass never pays.”
“What can I say? I’m frugal.”
“You have enough money for a nice condo, and you still live in Dad’s old fishing shack. That’s not frugal, that’s skinflint.”
I smile faintly. We both know why I live the way I do.
I pay half of Grandma’s living expenses. A little social security and a tiny pension from the furniture factory she worked at for over twenty years aren't enough for California real estate.
Anything to get her out of that bullet-ridden rathole neighborhood we grew up in. Anything to give her a place for her garden, for Eber, for Monika.
She did so much for us, gave up so much.
It’s the least I can do to pay her back.
“Hey, listen, you want me to spend my money, so let me spend it on lunch,” I say. “Might be the last chance you get to squeeze a dollar out of these tight-clenched hands.”
She laughs shakily. “Sure, Sky. I’ll go just so you’ll stop making up weird excuses to get me out of the house.”
“Whatever it takes. Consider yourself lucky. Next I was gonna carry you out slung over my shoulder.” I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Pretty yourself up. Your boyfriend’s downstairs.”
She shoves me away, but she’s blushing faintly. “He’s not my boyfriend. Are you crazy? He’s too old.”
“But you like it when he tells you you’re beautiful anyway.” I laugh and ruffle her hair, then head downstairs. “I’ll go talk Grandma into coming. See you when you’re ready.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, but I can’t help smiling. For once, it's not fake.
It’s good to see a little life in her, and I’m feeling a bit lighter as I head downstairs to tell Grandma about lunch while we hang out with Mr. Appleroth for a while longer.
It’s a different Monika who comes downstairs, her hair freshly washed and her face glowing. Her deep-pink sundress brings out her tan and makes her dark hair seem to shine.
It’s not hard to tell it’s an act, especially with how thin she is and how little the makeup covers the bags under her eyes, but it’s something. Though her smiles are pale, weak, they’re still there as she flits over to kiss Mr. Appleroth’s cheek and let him flatter her with hugs and gentle compliments. He even manages to talk her into eating one of his turnovers.
Then we’re out the door, bidding Jim goodbye, and calling for a Lyft.
A real lift with Uber, not my so-called Louisiana bear of a ‘personal Lyft driver.’
The last thing I need is mixing up my high-strung, volatile family with Gabe.
I can barely see his truck around the side of the house, and I pointedly ignore him as we get into the nice, glossy Camry sedan that pulls up to the curb to take us out to my sister’s favorite beach-side crab shack in San Francisco.
We leave Grandma's car parked in the driveway. I try to avoid it when I go out with them, just in case anyone watching me takes note of the plates and goes after them next. A rideshare is safer.
The atmosphere at the crab shack is lively and friendly, and it’s not long before the familiar atmosphere has us relaxed and comfortable, until it almost feels like old times. The only thing missing is little Joannie in a high chair, waving around a tiny toy crab mallet and smearing Jell-O all over her bib.
I don't let the sudden breathless, gut-wrenching pang show on my face.
Not when Monika actually looks happy, and I can’t bring her down from that one rare moment. I look away quickly to compose myself, pretending I'm scanning for the waiter.
Then I catch a glimpse of rust-red color out of the corner of my eye, through the window. My head whips around just in time to watch a familiar battered Dodge come rolling into the parking lot.
Gabe.
Kill me now.
4
Don't Get the Wrong Idea (Gabe)
I have no idea how that little hellion survived in the military, when she follows orders about as well as a cat.
Lucky for her, I have every intention of sticking around like a loyal hunting dog, no matter how much she decides to claw me up.
It wasn’t hard to tail the car she called through traffic; harder was staying far enough not to be noticed, while keeping alert for anyone else who might have the same idea. I can’t shake the idea that if I let her out of my sight, someone’s gonna kidnap her – or worse.
My damn heart’s beating faster than it should, a jackhammer buried in my ribs, when nothing’s happened and nothing’s going to happen.
Especially now that I’ve got her within reach. Even if she's got a glare fit to skin me alive, and I’ll be lucky if I survive to sunset with the verbal – possibly physical – beating Sunbeam's got coming my way.
I remember when my old gramma had her face all up like that, she was five minutes away from telling me to go out in the backyard and pick my own switch…and if it broke while she was whupping my delinquent little ass, she was just gonna get a bigger one, and nail me twice as hard.
I must be going a little funny in the head, because something about the idea of getting switched by Skylar Szabo is both goddamned hilarious and goddamned hot.
Nothing like the idea of getting up close and personal with that woman. Having her under me, taking out that hot, volcanic rage in every stroke of her sweet pussy over my cock, suffering every jagged inch of her nails running down my back and –
Fuck. Enough.
I’m getting turned sideways.
I gotta clear my head, so I ignore my hard-on. I prop myself against the wall outside the slat-sided restaurant, next to the window, and fish my book from my pocket after a quick peek inside.
Just a second ago, I saw her laughing, tucking her hair behind her ear in a delicate gesture, before that laughter stopped as our eyes locked. Unclipping the pen from the spine, I uncap it and flip to the latest blank page.
Don’t even know what to write, really. I just need to do something with this tangled mess I gotta get out of me.
The glimpse I got of her said she was fucking furious.
Fucking beautiful, too.
Those big, blue eyes turn from ice to raging pilot lights when she’s hopping mad. There’s this way her mouth twists up and her cheeks flush, all this vibrant energy.
She’s got an aura, larger than life, that could fill up a whole football field.
And she’s got me caught up in it.
No way in hell I should be this worried over her giving me the slip to have lunch with her family. I’ve known her a single damned day, and this is just a job.
I shouldn’t be nearly sick to my stomach, picturing all these crazy things that could’ve happened.
What the hell? This isn’t like me.
It’s not like me to practically snap to attention like it’s still day one of basic when the door opens and she strolls out with her family a while later. There's an older, shorter, hardened iron nut of a woman with a sharp, savvy look in her eye and a pretty, breezy-looking woman who wears her cheer like a false cloak, her eyes flat and shallow with pretend happiness. That must be Monika, Joannie’s mother.
And then there’s Sunbeam, glaring at me like she’d snap my neck in two if there weren’t so many witnesses.
I offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” I mumble.
Her grandma stops mid-sentence and glances at me in puzzlement. “I’m sorry, sir, can we help you?”
“Think I showed up at a bad time. Didn’t mean to crash the party.” I offer my hand and scram
ble for the fastest believable lie. “I’m Gabe Barin. Me and Sky were stationed together in the Navy. I’m just on leave from deployment, and she invited me to hang out and show me around town.”
Goddamn, do I hope my Army tattoo ain’t showing past my sleeve right now.
Sky’s staring at me like a poleaxed polecat. Her sister’s blinking, glancing between us. But it’s the grandmother who has me pinned in place, eyeing me shrewdly, giving me a slow up-and-down look like she's sizing me up.
Hot damn. I’ve felt safer in dusty desert buildings with my arms tied behind my back and a whole table full of rusty tools just waiting for a bite of me.
But then the tension breaks as her grandma smiles brilliantly and takes my hand, shaking it with ladylike delicacy, but a certain no-nonsense firmness, too.
“Well, now. Skylar didn’t tell me she was working with such handsome young men.” She turns on Sky, voice like a blade, just a hint of an old world Eastern European accent. “Now, dear, why didn’t you tell us you’d made plans with your friend? We could have rescheduled brunch.” Then back to me, not even giving a stammering, red-faced Sunbeam a split second to answer. “How long are you in town, dearie?”
“Just a few weeks,” I tell her quick. “Plenty long enough. It's no trouble, really. I don’t want to take Sky away from you.”
“Don’t be silly!” Her grandma leans in and pats my arm. “I’ll have you know she could use a little taking away,” she murmurs conspiratorially.
Skylar goes redder, right up to her ears. “Grandma!”
But the old woman just laughs, fluttering her wizened lashes at me. “If Skylar’s too oblivious to see what’s right in front of her nose...” She smirks. “I’m Eva, by the way. Eva Szabo.”
I duck my head in a half-bow. “Pleasure, ma’am.” I glance at the sister. “You must be Miss Monika. Sky’s told me a lot about you.”
“Too bad she didn’t tell me a thing about you.” Monika elbows Sky with a sidelong look. “Why don’t you go show this guy a good time, sis? We can call another Lyft home on our own.”
I think Sky’s head is about to explode.
