See Through Me (Lose My Senses)

by Bright, Sera

  The only person who would conceivably have access to these pictures would be my father, and for all his faults, he wouldn’t do this to scare me. That would require giving a shit and putting forth an effort.

  A knock on the passenger door window startled me and I let out a shriek. Standing outside, a bedraggled man wearing a tattered olive-green military jacket jumped at my screaming. He clutched his chest while shaking his head and muttering something. His voice was garbled through the glass. I shook my own head back at him, not understanding a word he was saying. He walked away with a pronounced limp, carrying a black bucket filled with red roses. They tipped precariously with each lurch. It must be hard for him to sell enough flowers each day to eat.

  I put the truck in gear and met the man at the other end of the parking lot, near the sidewalk. He stopped walking when I pulled up beside him. Before I could apologize, he started talking.

  “Sorry for scaring you, miss. I wanted to make sure you were doing all right, sitting in your car like that. I didn’t mean nothing by it.” He lifted up the pail. “But I bet a pretty lady like you would like a pretty rose.”

  “No, thank you. But here—” Through my open window, I handed him a ten-dollar bill and a candy bar I’d found in my bag. “Sorry for scaring you, too.”

  “Thank you, miss.” He grinned, showing coffee-stained teeth.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and drove for a few minutes. Near the exit for the highway, I tossed the picture out the window. It didn’t tell me anything I needed to know.

  I returned home, determined to stay in my house. I wasn’t going to let some photographs scare me off. I had to sit down and deal with my father’s problem with the foreclosure, too. But instead of dealing with it, I wandered around the house for a couple of hours, trying to shake off the anxiety and finding small, useless tasks to distract me from calling the mortgage company or thinking about the photos.

  It wasn’t hard. I’d go into the kitchen and stare at my phone on the table, and then magically think of something else I needed to do—as long as it didn’t involve opening drawers or cabinets in case something was hidden in them for me to find. Mowing the lawn I had already mowed two days ago. Packing the books I wanted to take to college in the fall. Hanging clothes out on the line to annoy the neighbors. But when my hands started shaking from nerves when I opened the freezer to grab something to eat for lunch, I got a hold of myself. I snatched the phone off the table, and curled up on the couch. The old quilt lay spread out on the back. I dialed the number for the mortgage company. While waiting on hold, I found a loose blue thread on the quilt, and drew it out slowly.

  The elevator music was only mildly awful. A recorded message came on every twenty seconds to apologize earnestly for the wait. I heard the message over two dozen times, and began to say the refrain out loud to myself, when a real human being answered. He ran through a canned greeting in a bored tone, making “How can I help you?” sound like a personal insult.

  “Hi.” I grabbed the paperwork off the end table. “I need information regarding this account.”

  I rattled off the account information like a pro.

  “I’m sorry, but our records indicate the mortgage in question is in the name of a James Flynn. We would only be able to discuss the details with him at this time.”

  “But I’m his…” I hustled to find an appropriate lie to smooth this over. Admitting I was his daughter wouldn’t go far. “I’m his wife.”

  I pulled another thread out of the quilt, a yellow one that snapped before it came fully out of the cloth.

  “We don’t see you listed on any of the records, ma’am,” he said.

  “Look, I have all his information and want to find out if there is any way we can avoid losing the house. Maybe I can make a payment today?”

  The guy sighed, like he was doing me a huge favor and not his job. “What’s his birth date and social security number?”

  This was their whole big security process? I could be anyone with an Internet connection and minimal identity theft skills, but one tiny lie and a possible offer of money, and this guy was willing to spill. My chest began to squeeze as I recited the information for him, including my father’s social security number. I had memorized it by the time I was fourteen. It was that or have rotating utilities shut off on a monthly basis. Just a normal thing to expect your child to do for you.

  The guy came back on the line and the amount he quoted me was almost as much as I had left in my bank account. I twisted a purple thread around my finger, cutting off the blood to the tip. “Are there any other payment arrangements available?” I asked.

  Through the phone line, I heard the sound of fingers clicking on a keyboard.

  “No,” he said, injecting what had to be fake sympathy into his voice. “All extensions have been previously used, and unless we receive a lump sum payment within the week, we will forward this account to our legal department and continue the foreclosure proceedings.”

  I ground my teeth as I ripped out a red thread. If my father had applied for extensions before this, it meant the money issues weren’t new. It also meant he wasn’t quite as helpless as he pretended. I hung up the phone.

  I could pay it using the rest of the money he gave me. The same money he used to reward me for keeping his secrets. I could cross my fingers and hope my father really would pay me back, too. As if anything he ever said was the truth.

  If he didn’t pay me back, it’d leave me broke until I left for Michigan. I would have to work as many hours as I could get at the café, forcing me to spend the rest of the summer in Havenwood. And at the same time, it’d give me the perfect excuse to spend the rest of the summer with Ash. It would take the decision to leave him out of my hands. I wouldn’t have any choice but to stay.

  Whether or not I should stay was an entirely different question.

  I called my father’s phone number. The call went straight through to his voicemail, as I expected. Even when his phone was turned on, he rarely answered my calls. Because why answer your own daughter’s call? It’s not like I was important to him. I didn’t bother with a greeting.

  “I called the mortgage lender like you asked. They need almost ten thousand dollars by next week or the house is officially going into foreclosure. I’m not doing anything to help unless you show up on Sunday with the money to pay for it. It’s either that, or solve your own goddamn problems for once. Oh, and in case I don’t get a chance to tell you this to your face”—I balled up the papers and threw them across the room—”you’re a shitty father, you know that?”

  Then I hurled my phone at the wall, hitting one of his stupid cat clocks. They both broke apart in the process. I watched dispassionately as the pieces scatter over the hardwood floor. Without whining or complaining, I had done everything on my own. Took care of myself and kept silent about his “work trips.” And all I’d done was solve his biggest problem. Me.

  A pile of rainbow-hued strings covered my legs. Patches hung loose on the quilt, no longer sewn down to the backing. I brushed the threads off my lap and decided to go for a run before I found something else to rip apart or break.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday

  By late afternoon I had calmed down, and replaced my phone with a new fancy smartphone. Whatever happened next weekend, I wasn’t going to use my hard-earned money to save the house. It could burn down for all I cared.

  I parked in front of Jerry’s, between a row of rugged SUVs and sleek late-model sedans. The sun was already setting, and the shadows from the buildings and trees cast downtown into an early twilight. Jerry didn’t like his employees to park in front, but he would just have to deal. There was no way I was parking where I couldn’t see the truck, and I was definitely not using the kitchen door in the alley.

  The bells jingled as I pulled the café door open and made my way through the almost empty dining room. Mondays were one of the slower nights. I wasn’t technically needed tonight, but I didn’t mind coming in.
I wanted to spend time with Helen before I left.

  If I left.

  I stopped in the middle of the dining room and picked up some dirty dishes off an empty table. Within twenty-four hours I was considering flip-flopping on my one-week idea. It meant dealing with the issues Trevor was causing, the unlikely but always possible threat of Ash’s parents coming after us, and the bizarre photograph stalker. Those not-so-minor details.

  Going into the kitchen, I dumped the dishes by the sink and found my apron on the rack above the staff table, realizing the idea of staying around didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. Helen was nowhere to be seen, and the door to her cramped office was closed.

  Maybe Ash and I could figure out the rest together. All I had to do first was earn his trust back, then become brave enough to share my feelings and fears like a normal person, and then accept the fact he’d leave me at the end of the summer to go back to school across the country anyway.

  I fumbled tying the apron around my waist as my heart thundered in my ears. No, I was lying. The idea of staying with him terrified me, mostly because I sincerely, absolutely wanted the chance to see if I could do it and was afraid of failing as soon as things got too complicated. Again.

  Muffled raised voices came through the door of the office. Helen and Jerry must be going at it. I finished tying my apron behind my back just as my name was distinctly, loudly mentioned. Taking a few steps closer, I slanted my head in the direction of the door. It wasn’t eavesdropping when neither party made any effort to be quiet.

  I skittered back when the door was flung open. Jerry came stomping out, his mouth screwed up.

  He pointed a nicotine-stained finger in my face. “You need to learn to keep your damn mouth shut. I don’t care who your father is.”

  My eyes widened. What did my father have to do with anything? Better question, how did my father know Jerry? Jerry had come to town around the same time my father left for the oil rig job. Helen stepped out from behind Jerry, her hands on her bony hips.

  “Do you remember what I just said in there? Get out of here before I make your wildest dreams come true,” she said.

  Deep grooves bracketed her mouth as she stared him down. She rarely got truly mad—it was all bluster. But when she was furious, it was a sight to behold. She looked like she wanted to rip off his tiny head. Jerry huffed as he walked off.

  Helen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Katie, can you come into the office with me?”

  My fingers turned to ice. She had calmed down too fast. Sounded too polite. That freaked me out more than anything. Jerry’s jerk-off attitude was mostly for show. Helen didn’t feel the need to dance around others’ expectations. I admired that about her, how she was unapologetically herself, even when I knew it wasn’t simple. Life hadn’t been kind to her after she lost her husband and daughter in a car accident.

  In the closet masquerading as her office, I sat down on a folding chair. Her cheap metal desk was clear and uncluttered. I clasped my hands in my lap and willed them to stay put. She hated my fidgety fingers. I hated the idea of disappointing her. Helen settled down in her old office chair, the plastic parts whining in protest.

  “Take it easy.” She gave me a weary smile. “I’m not going to bite.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

  “No,” she replied. “And that’s what’s pissing Jerry off.”

  Cryptic. She was usually more direct.

  “There have been some complaints about your return,” she said slowly. “I don’t take these complaints seriously, but Jerry does and he wants me to fire you.”

  “What kind of complaints?” I already had an idea. I fisted the black canvas fabric of my apron in my hands. I could see Trevor wasn’t about to give up on his harassment campaign.

  “One of them is you’re not being as…”—she paused, twisting her mouth with annoyance as she emphasized the word—“nice to the customers as you should be.”

  I thought I had been rather pleasant to the asshole Trevor had sent my way. “There are limits to how nice I’m willing to be.”

  “Which is precisely what I told him.” She rested her arms on the desktop. “If the expectation of my staff is to provide an extra level of niceness, he can find someone more experienced in running a sex den than me.”

  “You threatened to quit?” She loved this job, despite having to deal with Jerry. But let’s face it, no one willingly wanted to deal with him unless they needed something from him. His connections were his real asset, not his winning personality.

  “Damn straight. I’m not here to put up with his crap.”

  My heart dropped. She couldn’t walk away from this job because of me. I was only helping out for the week. It wasn’t worth it. She needed the money and the security—I didn’t. I stood up and pulled on the ties of my apron.

  “What are doing?” she said. “Sit your ass back down.”

  “You can’t lose this job because of me.” I folded my apron into a square. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

  “No one is losing their job!” she yelled. “And I told you to sit back down.”

  My sense of self-preservation kicked in. I sat down.

  “Stop being such a martyr. I would have told him off for any of my staff he expected to whore for him. It’s about doing what’s right. Let me make it crystal clear.” She glowered at me. “You will always have a job here while I’m running this place. If you don’t want to work the rest of the week, I’ll understand.”

  “You don’t have—”

  She shook her head. “Just shut up and say, ‘Thank you, Helen. I appreciate everything you do, and by the way, you look gorgeous today.’“

  My hands gradually relaxed in my lap. She defended me just because she thought it was the right thing to do. It shouldn’t have shocked me as much as it did.

  “Thank you, Helen,” I dutifully recited with a small smile. “I appreciate everything you do, and by the way, you look more gorgeous than usual today. How do you manage to be so awesome and look fabulous at the same time?”

  “See? Now that’s how you suck up.” She preened, patting her close-cropped salt-and-pepper curls. “So what are your plans? Are you going to come in to work or to visit? Because if you don’t regularly visit me before you leave, I really will kick your ass.”

  She wouldn’t harm a hair on my head. She didn’t even kill spiders. Over her shoulder, a wall calendar of sexy postal workers hung open to the month of March, where a very muscular and nearly naked man balanced a brown-paper-wrapped package on his head.

  “I want to work tonight because I said I would…”

  The simplest way to avoid Trevor’s shit would be to skip working at the café. And if I stayed, I already had plenty of money to live on before I went to Ann Arbor in the fall. I wouldn’t need to work. I would be free to spend as much time as I could with Ash.

  “You in there?” She snapped her fingers in my face. “Answer my question before I die of old age.”

  I blinked at her and then grinned. “I’ll work tonight because I’m already here and it’ll piss Jerry off. But I don’t think I want to work the rest of the week, if that’s okay.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it wasn’t okay. You need to learn to listen, child.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I stood up to leave.

  “Oh, no. You did not just call me ma’am,” she said. “I’m going to get you back for that one.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” Laughing, I went into the kitchen.

  At almost the end of my shift, Ash came in and took a seat at the same booth he’d sat in the other night, back to wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt. And just like before, he pulled out a sketchbook and began to sketch. He lifted his head and winked at me across the room. Nothing was going on upstairs tonight, and the dining room was mostly empty. Helen sang to herself in the kitchen as she prepped for tomorrow morning. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear,
and returned his wink.

  One server worked on slow nights. Tonight it was an older woman named Meg who filled in the odd shift as needed. She went up to Ash to take his order, but he shook his head at her and pointed to me. He was definitely up to something. She came over to the counter and gave me her order pad.

  “That guy over there wants you to take his order,” she said, and then covered a yawn with her hand. Flecks of mascara dotted the bags underneath her eyes.

  I asked, “Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m good with anything that lets me sit back down and finish my own dinner.” She went back to the kitchen without another look.

  I walked across the dining room to his booth, grabbing the pitcher of ice water off the counter. He flipped the sketchbook over, hiding the newest sketch from me. Interesting. Unlike the other night, he didn’t want me to see. I set the water pitcher down on the table.

  “Now you’re expecting me to wait on you?” I fished a pen out of my black apron pocket. “Your ego knows no boundaries.”

  “It has to,” he said with an easy smile. “You’re determined to bring me to my knees any chance you get.”

  He reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist. His thumb rubbed a circle on the delicate skin. A glow washed over me and I think my toes curled. It was ridiculous how such a small thing made me so happy. And more than slightly turned on. I glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching us. The few customers didn’t seem to be paying any attention. He turned my arm over and exposed my dandelion. With a small, private smile of my own, I took my hand away.

  I tilted my head down, and said quietly, “People may talk.”

  And goad his parents into taking action if we openly flaunted our temporary relationship too much.

  “So?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  But, on the other hand, if they wanted to do something, they’d have threatened me by now. I doodled a heart around the letter A on his sketch pad, and then chewed on my cheek. It wasn’t a good sign when I resorted to junior-high-school-level mooning. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”