Like Kino’s pearl.
I set down my bags and sit cross-legged in the center of my new world. I’ll put a bookshelf there, a table in the kitchenette, a bed there, a dresser maybe…
I know I only have thirty-three dollars left, and I’ll need a blanket more than food, dishes or furniture. But those are concerns for later. Right now, I celebrate. My flute joins me in the middle of my home and we sing together.
Chapter 18
A secondhand store, less than two blocks away from my new apartment, is an amenity I didn’t expect. The sunny yellow comforter I bought makes me think of the walls in Leah’s house. It barely fits in the black lawn and leaf bag with the two matching decorative pillows and a stack books that were only a quarter each.
Yeah, they aren’t like Cori’s books—but who could resist a quarter? My own collection!
Another boon to my new place is that between the thrift store and my apartment is a Taco Bell. I awkwardly carry the trash bag in my left hand and three bean burritos in my right. Since I haven’t eaten all day, it was tempting to eat standing up by the hot sauce counter the minute they called my number but I restrained myself. Some things—like a first meal in a new home—should be done right.
The sky begins to dim as the sun lowers to the west. I pick up my pace. I’m curious if the sunset will be nice, but I would rather be safe inside before it happens.
There comes the sensation I’m not alone, that someone is following or watching me. I slide my shoes along the cement, making a great deal of noise. I don’t want to hear anything but myself.
Inside, I press my back to the locked door. My empty apartment seems to say, “Nice to see you again.”
The feeling is mutual.
The only window is the one that faces east so I won’t get to watch the sunset. If I had to choose again, I’d still pick sunrises over sunsets. It never was a decision living on the reservation, there was nothing to block your view in any direction. I don’t mind being hemmed in here, though, for the sake of privacy and anonymity. I pull the white metal blinds down, thankful they are there.
I eat my dinner slowly. Who knew freedom would taste so good?
Something scratches at the door. I freeze with my handful of dinner in midair just like I’m playing a round of red light, green light. Heavy steps sound on the stairs and then shuffling by the door. I tiptoe to the peephole and look out to a fishbowl image of two girls. They ring the doorbell to 2B. The door opens and several voices join in conversation before it closes.
I return to my floor picnic and finish slowly. Freedom is going to be a little scary.
A shiver creeps so I crank the heater up, brush my teeth and wrap myself into the comforter. It still smells like someone else’s detergent or perfume.
A car alarm trills and stops, a door downstairs opens and closes, a dog barks. Finally, the heater kicks on and muffles all noises. A car drives through the parking lot, and headlights sprinkle through the edges where the blinds don’t perfectly meet the window. It falls across the wall where it looks like a figure stands. A shadow.
I slide down into my human jellyroll, without taking my eyes from the wall. It seems logical that I can prove it’s not a shadow-person by watching it. It won’t move as long as I’m looking, so I don’t blink. Am I finally meeting my curse?
I think of my vow in the pawnshop, the day I found my flute.
“Someday I’ll come to you, Grandfather.” My voice breaks the silence, and it calms me to hear how steady it sounds. It’s irrational though, the one who gives the curse must be greater than the curse itself.
I focus my eyes on the wall and do not move. Later I awake and the shadow is gone. After a few deep breaths and a pep talk—I sprint to the bathroom, turn on the light and return to my comforter like it’s first base. I’ll never sleep with it off again.
Fatigue weighs on my skin from the restless night much like mud caked arms that have dried in the sun. I spent the day reading my thrift store books and ignoring my grumbling stomach. I’ll be about an hour early for work, but at about three this afternoon, it occurred to me that the TorchLight serves celery and olives in their Bloody Marys. Just picturing it makes me salivate.
As soon as I turn the corner, an amethyst gem reflects the afternoon sun—Hayden’s truck in the TorchLight parking lot.
“I don’t care who you are. You can’t park on private property.” Brody yells from one step behind a tautly restrained Carlos.
“Not a problem, Sir. I’ll wait on the street.” Hayden’s voice is calm and this seems to irritate Brody even more.
“The cops have already been called.” Carlos scares me more than Brody, because he’s as composed as Hayden.
“Hayden?” I call out. Three jutting chins point to me. “What are you doing here?”
Hayden leaves his truck and strides quickly to the edge of the lot. He holds a little box wrapped in silver paper. His hand almost covers it.
“I was waiting for you.”
“They think you’re a stalker.” I grip my backpack straps and shrug with my elbows.
He smiles and a light ray of sun sparkles off his golden stubble. I don’t want him to ask me why I left yesterday morning. I don’t want to tell him I agree with Detective Malcolm.
“You look horrible.” His skin doesn’t glow like normal. Did he sleep as little as I did last night?
“I was fasting—praying, since I couldn’t find you.”
He didn’t eat on purpose for two days? My whole day was consumed with my next meal and how I was going to get enough money to pay back Brody.
“Don’t go to work here.” His directness snatches my breath.
“Hayden…” I have less of a choice now than I did when Lorna first kicked me out. Now I owe.
“God loves you.”
How can he be so sure? “I don’t believe in love.”
We stare at each other. I’m trying to memorize his face. What’s he searching for?
“Don’t.” He shakes his head when he finally speaks.
A Reno P.D. car pulls up with lights, but without sound. Hayden doesn’t turn his attention from me, but I can tell he knows by the way his lips spread into a sad grin.
“We’ve run out of time, Hayden.”
He leans forward and whispers with that calm, reserved face. “There is always time.” His hands envelop mine and bury the box between my fingers. No one ever gave a gift with so little ceremony. His lips press to my cheek, but he does not kiss me. Goodbye?
If Hayden tells me to get in his truck, I will. I’ll never look back. We could drive north—find my grandfather. Hayden could hold my hand while we laugh at the curse together. I could forget everything I have ever known in Reno.
Hayden turns to face the approaching officer. Brody sideswipes me and acts like a rescuer—even though he didn’t approach until Hayden voluntarily left.
“When are you going to get a cell phone?” Brody looks at me like he’s frustrated with an errant child. “And a car, for that matter.”
I shrug off his arm, but consent to follow him until I notice the second officer standing to the side of the police car.
Clint? A cop? No wonder Brody acts like he doesn’t know him. I turn and study from the top of his bald head, to his crooked nose, down to the black-navy long pants and rugged black boots. His leather belt holds all the scary things that prove his city-ordained authority. The other cop and Hayden talk quietly, and Hayden nods then walks to his truck. He drives away with only the tiniest glance back at me.
“I’m glad you’re early.” Brody punches his same code into the back door and holds it for me. I glance one last time to the spot where Hayden’s truck had been.
“There’s going to be some changes tonight. I need you to work the floor.” Brody’s brows arch over placid eyes. Still, I feel reprimanded. “Don’t look at me like that, Baby. You’ll be surprised how much cash you earn tonight.”
I turn to the muted music and leave Brody without answering.
/>
“And we both know you need the cash.”
“Save a dance for me.” Clint says, from beside Brody.
I thought cops couldn’t be with strippers. Clint’s head is shiny-smooth in the afternoon sun. His shoulders tent out over his larger than normal chest. It looks like he wears a cardboard tank top under his uniform. His hands rest on the top of the weapons on his belt.
I turn away again.
The metal door latches, but doesn’t completely shut out Brody and Carlos arguing. I take a step back toward it. I can’t tell what they are saying. They go on for a minute, until Carlos says something quietly. When I hear the engine of the cop car start, I slip out of the hallway where I first met Clint and into the dressing room.
The paper on Hayden’s gift is torn. I peel it back from a dark jewelry box. Inside is a piece of paper and watch with a mother of pearl face.
How could he know what the pearl would represent to me? I unfold the paper.
You are always looking at mine. 303-3219
Oh, Hayden, you just left me. You drove away.
I put my hand to the cheek where he pressed his lips. It was so much easier yesterday when I thought I was leaving for his sake. It wasn’t final. There was still a chance he’d come for me.
When he did, it made me feel like Helen of Troy, like he would risk anything for me.
A sacrifice from someone good, like Hayden, really would make me Helen of Troy. Hayden’s world doesn’t want me. What was it the Greeks said about their sacrifice to retrieve Helen?
“Buying what we most detest with what we most hold dear.” And I didn’t come from Hayden’s world first.
In the end, both the Greeks and the Trojans hated her. She was not worth the battle. Better for all if I just stay and do what Brody asks. Whatever it means to, “work the floor.”
The soap doesn’t have any texture. The granulated kind that gas stations provide would work better. This is supposedly nicer. I rub the slime into my thighs and stomach.
“Hurry up in there.”
I’m not sure which girl is pounding at the door to the TorchLight dressing room bathroom. I’ve barely lathered up.
“Just a sec.” I call to her with one leg inside the restroom sink.
The problem with this liquid soap is not just that it doesn’t scrub, but that it hardly washes off. I use more paper towels. They blanket the floor beneath me, soaking up the runoff from my body. I splash water on my arms, the back of my neck. Everywhere. I don’t know why tonight was so different. That Lucky Signs guy, Travis, boasted that I’m his desktop photo during the whole dance. It was still just him looking at me…
“Brody says he wants you on the floor again, hurry up.”
I have another dance.
Shopping has become my routine after work. There’s anonymity in the aisles after midnight. No one seems to want to make eye contact at that hour. I typically spend everything I make, but my apartment is starting to smell like me, look like me. And you just can’t beat the price on lingerie. It’s even better than the gal who comes to the TorchLight trying to sell “marked-down” costumes.
“What do you need more discount trash for?” Cori wrinkles her shimmering nose. She still wears makeup. I washed mine off with a travel wipe in her car.
“I need a new teddy and I’m not going to spend more than twenty dollars on it.” The black and white number I found hangs from a plastic hanger on the edge of my cart.
“Seriously, I hate this store.” Cori’s arms snake an X over her chest.
“Thanks for the ride, but leave Walmart out of it.” Oh, this book cover is unfamiliar.
Cori pouts.“You bought that book last week.”
I hold the cool, smooth rectangle up higher to hide her disapproving face. “I don’t think so. I don’t even recognize the name of the author.” I tuck it under my elbow and reach for another.
“Stop hugging it. You can buy it if you want.”
“Do you need to get anything?” I set the book back down.
“Are you trying to get rid of me so you can be alone with your stories?” I know Cori isn’t as mad as she sounds. How can I explain to her—sometimes reading feels more like my real life. The TorchLight, this shopping trip, eating…they are interruptions.
“You keep putting this crap on your body and your skin will dry out. You’ll look twenty years older next summer.” She holds up my blueberry body soap. “With exfoliating micro-pearls.” She opens her hands and lets the bottle fall back into the cart.
“Sparrow?”
Leah Jones and a beautiful girl stand at the end of the aisle. Leah wears a denim jumper that reaches her calves. Underneath is a red, flower-printed, oxford shirt. Her brown hair is in a braid and several errant curls have escaped to create a halo around her innocent face. The girl with her is dressed slightly more trendy, but still modest in a T-shirt and jeans.
“It is you, Sparrow. How are you?” She walks right past Cori and wraps her arms around me as though we have a family bond. Cori’s eyebrows spike vertically over a smirk. Leah steps back and puts her hands on my elbows. “We’ve been praying for you. Hayden will be so glad to hear that I saw you.”
In three days, it will have been six weeks since I last saw Hayden. Since he left me standing next to Brody, his goodbye gift in my hand. My eyes act like there’s a tennis match between Cori, Leah and her beautiful friend. To settle them, I look down at Hayden’s watch. 2:13 a.m.
“You’re out late.” It doesn’t seem like Leah’s parents would approve.
“I’m staying the night with…oh.” Leah steps back and fingers a familiar handful of black and white lace crumpled in her right hand. “This is my friend, Marta.” She points back and forth, “Marta—this…” a theatrical pause, “This is Sparrow.”
“Nice to finally meet you.” Her wide, dark eyes are edged with long lashes. Marta steps forward like she wants to give me a hug, but stops before I have to hold my hand up. She also holds a piece of lingerie, but only Leah’s matches the one in my cart.
Leah giggles sweetly and grips the hanger, letting the dainty lace cascade. “We always go to breakfast at midnight after our college and career group and tonight our friend, Kellie, announced she was getting married, so we are shopping for her trousseau.” Leah takes an exaggerated breath and giggles again.
“Oh, that’s cute.” Cori untwines one arm and points at the lingerie in my cart, then to me. “Sparrow picked out the same one—but hers is for dancing on stage and stripping.”
There is a tiny gasp in response to Cori’s words. Leah turns into a candy cane: her face fades white, highlighted by blotches of red on her cheeks, neck and ears.
I’m confused by all the nervous chatter, because no one really seems to be saying anything. In the midst of the giggles and excuses, I get that Leah and Marta are leaving. I think I wave.
“You’re welcome.”
I’m not mad at Cori, it isn’t like she lied or anything. But thankful? No.
“Look, Baby.” She uses my stage name, as though I don’t remember who I am. “I did you both a favor.”
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.” I enunciate every word, mimicking her.
“When you were a child, you thought like a child, reasoned like a child. It’s time to put childish things behind you.” Cori laughs at what she obviously thinks is a joke. “I freed you both. You don’t want to be “prayed for” and “felt sorry for” at all their young women meetings, do you? You saw how Marta already knew who you were. You don’t need to be their project. You can move on, live your life, and she can dust off her sandals.” Cori pretends to wipe her hands in time to the last three words. Leah wasn’t even wearing sandals.
I picture the suitcase. It’s a symbol to me, what life could have been like had I not been sent off with a garbage bag and a door slam. This makes me think of Thom. I haven’t even talked to Thom in—at least six weeks, the day before Lorna kicked me out. You know, that really isn’t his fault, though. How
would he know where I work? Where I went? Maybe I should call him.
Cori stares at me expectantly.
“Leah’s a nice girl.”
“I’m sure your little Christian friend is nice. But nice girls don’t get their hands dirty. They aren’t there when you need them for a real mess.” Cori’s lips curl into a surprisingly bitter snarl. “You’re welcome.”
“Are you saying that you will be?”
Cori bites her lip, so I clarify.
“You’ll get your hands dirty, be there for the real mess when I need you?”
Cori’s face instantly relaxes and she looks hard at me, without distraction. “Yes.” But she turns away quickly. “Now go back to your stories.” She uses a trashy imitation of a Southern accent. “I need me, my stories.”
Somehow, I don’t believe her. I turn to the shelves of paperbacks and trace a finger along the cover of an author I have read but don’t really like. “Cori?”
“Yeah?” She drills her right fingers across the shopping cart.
“Does it ever get easier?” I don’t look at her, but instead concentrate on the shiny torso of an iconic hero about to shroud his female counterpart. All these books have the same covers—just slightly different costumes.
“You want this book, right?” Cori points inside my line of sight.
“Okay.” I have already read that one, but I can tell she’s using her teaching voice.
“I don’t want a book like that. It’s fantasy…fan-tuh-sicle.” Cori probably means fantastical. I nod to let her finish. “I wouldn’t buy it and I think you’re wasting your money. Yet, it’s a commodity.”
Oh, I’ve heard this tirade enough to finish it for her. “Just because someone doesn’t think sex should be sold because they wouldn’t buy it, who are they to regulate it?” I make sure to use a monotone recitation-type voice.
Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) Page 14
