by Lindy Zart
“I didn’t miss you,” I say into long, blond hair that smells like bubble gum. I awkwardly hug her back, her body lacking the curves I’ve come to expect when I hold a woman.
“Without lying.” She pulls back, her brown eyes sparkling in spite of the fatigue surrounding them.
“Trust me, I’m not.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers loudly. “Graham knows we’re friends. He’s okay with it. You don’t have to pretend like you don’t think I’m the coolest person ever.”
I lift an eyebrow at my brother.
“You look good,” Graham says, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He sounds surprised, like he was expecting to find me in a drug-induced stupor.
Except for the hint of worry adding lines around his mouth and the glint of exhaustion in his eyes, Graham is a picture of composure with his unwrinkled sea-green shirt that amplifies the green of his eyes and khaki shorts, the flip of his bangs exactly as it should be. My brother and I don’t look a thing alike, something that’s never bothered me until now. Everything about him is physically perfect—the same cannot be said for me.
And I wonder, as I take in the flawlessness that is my older brother, what Opal will think when she looks at him and compares.
“He does look good,” Kennedy agrees, her head tilted like she can’t figure out how that happened. Her eyes look me up and down. “For a pasty-skinned hermit dressed in gym shorts and a Mr. T shirt.”
“Your flowery words are touching.”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“I always look good.” I look at Graham. “Why are you here?”
“You were supposed to call me as soon as you got back,” Graham states, moving past me into the house.
“You didn’t call,” Kennedy adds as she follows her boyfriend inside.
I close the door and lean against it. I rub my eyes, focusing on the two people I never envisioned standing where they are. “Yeah. I forgot. Sorry.”
“You forgot,” my brother repeats slowly, his tone full of doubt. With the calm and grace only Graham can effortlessly have, he crosses his arms and levels his eyes on me. “How does that happen, knowing your concerned b—”
“Obsessive, perfectionist, melodramatic,” Kennedy happily interjects, beaming at her boyfriend.
“Concerned,” he emphasizes, his eyes drilling into his girlfriend’s. Graham looks at me. “How do you forget to return the many calls and texts from your concerned brother?”
“I was…distracted.”
Kennedy whirls around, a smirk on her face as she focuses on me. “By…Lori?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Don’t do that,” I say in a tone halfway between a demand and a plea.
“Don’t do what?” she demands, eyebrows half-raised.
I gesture to her face. “Your eyebrows. Stop.”
Letting her face fall into an expression of resignation, Kennedy moves toward Graham, grumbling as she goes, “Wouldn’t want to have any kind of fun around stone-faced, joy-hating, non-smiler Blake.”
“That’s right. We wouldn’t.” I move away from the door, turning to open it. “Well, now that you know I’m alive and well, you can be on your way.”
Floorboards creak above and Kennedy and Graham direct their eyes overhead. The water pipes rumble as the shower is turned on. Graham looks from the ceiling to me, his mouth opening to pose a question he never gets to ask, because Kennedy is way ahead of him. “What room was Lori in when we had that monumental window conversation?”
My jaw tenses, already knowing where this is going. “The bedroom.”
“Whose?” she asks like an owl.
I glare without answering.
“So…” She looks around and then offers a palm. “High five.”
“No.”
The thing with Kennedy is that she’s basically like a kid, and I tend to quickly become impatient with her. Because she isn’t a kid, no matter that she acts like one most of the time.
Dropping her hand, she shrugs and touches a bookcase full of knickknacks and books. “This is your grandpa’s place? Graham explained it all on the way over. Are you keeping it? I would keep it, turn it into a winery. Or, well, my own personal winery.” Kennedy smirks.
“Drinking wine isn’t the same as making it,” Graham tells her, smiling wryly.
“It’s just as important. I could be a wine taste tester. I have the qualifications.” Kennedy raises her eyebrows as she directs her attention to me. “So, what are your plans? Australia, college, or staying in North Dakota? All of the above?”
I shift my stance. There was an instant this past summer when I would have told Kennedy anything and everything about me and my history, but that fleeting moment was gone before it was ever really here. I only open up to a small percentage of people, and Kennedy is no longer an option. And that’s okay.
She and Graham make sense in a way I don’t understand but now respect.
“Speaking of plans, I brought wine. You know, necessities,” Kennedy trills when I remain silent, speed-walking past me to the porch where two pieces of luggage and a brown paper bag are set against the side of the house.
“It’s like she has total disregard for my addictive personality,” I tell Graham, feeling my muscles constrict with irritation. Asshole-ish as it may seem, I hope they don’t plan on staying here. I really, really, really hope they don’t plan on staying here.
“You know Kennedy,” my brother states with a wan smile.
Yes. Unfortunately, I do.
Graham steps outside, immediately returning with their luggage. Unsurprisingly, Kennedy has the wine. “We planned on staying for a day or two, if it’s all right. We left yesterday after work and drove all night. We’re both tired.”
“Really tired,” Kennedy adds, yawning into her arm. Then she looks at me. “But not so tired that I can’t meet your upstairs friend.”
My teeth grind against one another. “Best news ever,” I say faintly, stiffly moving for the stairs.
Graham pauses, studying me. “This could have been avoided if you’d simply answered your phone, or called me back. Knowing your plan when you got here was to confront our father, I was worried. Dad is unpredictable, and I didn’t know what to think.”
“I haven’t actually talked to him yet.” There he is, the older brother every guy wants, whether they’ll ever admit or not. I guiltily look down, away from my brother’s striking eyes. “I had the volume turned off. I was…”
“Distracted. Right. I remember.” His eyes move to the stairwell that leads upstairs as a thoughtful look claims his features. Turning back to me, he states, “It’s amazing how much this place looks the same as it did the last time I was here.”
“Yeah. Grandpa never liked change all that much.”
Graham nods, taking in the time-preserved living room. “I always liked John. When I came during the summer, he didn’t treat me like I was an outsider.”
I swallow with difficulty. It’s odd. I always felt like I didn’t belong, but Graham was experiencing it right along with me. According to Benson Malone, nothing we ever did was good enough. Our dad was living a double life for a time, with Graham’s mom, and with mine. Graham and I didn’t know what was going on, but in a way, we got punished just the same. Before he stopped coming altogether, Graham would visit for a few weeks each summer, and most of that time we spent here, if we were allowed.
Wine in hand, Kennedy plops down on the couch, cuddling the bag to her like it is her most favorite stuffed animal. It crumples as she situates herself on the couch, one arm protectively hugging it to her side. Her eyelids droop, and within seconds she’s out. Looking up, I find Graham’s focus entirely on her.
“This would make a great memory for the future Grennedy kids. Picture-perfect,” I say to my brother.
He smiles, his eyes locked o
n his sleeping girlfriend. He looks content, or delirious. If anyone asks, I’m going with delirious. “Always entertaining, that’s Kennedy.”
It’s interesting that he doesn’t even bat an eye at the implication that there will be future Grennedy kids. I knew it was serious between them, but I guess I didn’t realize how serious. My attention moves to Kennedy. Her mouth is slack, a trickle of drool gathering there. I can’t see her as a mother. I just can’t. She’d probably put wine in the baby bottles and feed them pureed pizza.
“She’s the one?” I ask, knowing it to be true.
Graham’s eyes flicker to mine and back to his girlfriend. “She’s the only one.”
Something thuds upstairs and my brother gives me a curious look. “When do we get to meet your distraction? Or is she going to hide up there all day?”
“Uh…” Rubbing the back of my neck, I aim my eyes at the stairwell, wishing there was a way to make Opal and me disappear, because it’s obvious my brother and his girlfriend aren’t going anywhere.
“I can already tell it’ll be interesting.” Humor gleams in his eyes.
“I know I’m looking forward to it,” I say with mock cheerfulness.
The thuds turn into pounding on the steps, but they’re too fast and heavy to be footsteps. It’s more like stumbling or falling. As I turn to face the stairs, I open my arms to flaying limbs, a rolling form, and enthusiastic curses.
* * *
Opal
I know I’m not beautiful. The best I’ve ever been called is cute. I am not the kind of woman men look at as I enter a room. I am not the one they fantasize about. And that’s all okay. I can’t change how I look. But when Blake looks at me, I feel like I am everything I never thought I was. I feel pretty, and desirable. It’s like he thinks I’m amazing just as I am.
And when I fall down the last of the stairs and just about smack my face on the floor, he is there to catch me, looking down at me with an expression that tells me he is concerned—that’s in the way his eyebrows lower; he is exasperated—that’s evident in the dark shade of his eyes, and that he’s fighting not to laugh—that is obviously apparent with the twitching of his lips. There. I see some form of adoration flitter across his face. That’s the look I want to see in a man’s eyes when they’re on me. Blake laughs as he rights me.
Using a tender hand, he smoothes wet strands of hair from my eyes. “Your anxiousness to reconnect with me is worrisome.”
“In your dreams,” I mumble, but I’m smiling.
“Every one of them,” he rejoins.
Blake’s eyes deepen with promises better unrevealed, especially since we have a mute audience. I can literally feel the shock in the air, and as I turn to face his visitors, I can see it too. Their mirrored gaping looks would be funny, if I knew why they were looking at me like I have two heads. I feel as if I’m blasted by two brilliant suns as I take in their tanned skin, blond hair, and symmetrical features. They’re too pretty to be real—the guy more so than the woman.
The woman gets up from the couch and slowly turns her head to meet the eyes of the man beside her. I find it odd that she’s protectively holding to her chest a brown paper bag that appears to be covering up a bottle of wine, but who am I to judge?
“Did you hear that? It sounded like laughter. Like, Blake laughed?” she asks through lips that barely move. Her voice sounds young, like a child’s was mismatched with an adult’s.
“Yeah. I think so. It isn’t like I’ve heard it all that often to be sure,” the man responds. “I think it was laughter. Or choking. It could have been choking.”
Blake sighs.
“True. He even smiled a little. I think.” She tips her head to the side. “Maybe it was a grimace. I can’t be sure, because, well, smiling for him so rarely happens.”
“It definitely could have been a grimace. Maybe a frown?”
“No.” Her blond hair sways around her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I think his frowns are supposed to be smiles. He just isn’t aware that smiling is actually something you do when you’re happy.”
“Happy,” the man repeats, as if he’s never heard the word used in a sentence about Blake.
It’s all very strange.
They both turn their gazes to Blake. His hands burn my waist where they rest, his eyes unflinching from mine when I focus on him. It’s as if he’s purposely avoiding looking at them. I study his features, not seeing any resemblance to his half-brother. Blake stares back, his jaw stiff. Waiting. I kiss the dent in his chin and his eyes soften.
They’re about the same height and have a similar build, but his brother is taller, and Blake is more muscular. Plus, his brother is too perfect. Blake is beautifully flawed. I tell him so with my eyes. His fingers tighten on my sides, and shocks of heat sweep through me.
“Are you going to introduce us, or are we all going to awkwardly stand around?” the woman prompts.
“I was hoping if I stood still long enough, you’d forget I was here,” is Blake’s answer. “And hey, at least you got your wine prop. That’s something—and by the way, not awkward at all.”
She sniffs, looking down at her arms. “You know the kind of relationship wine and I have.”
“An alcoholic one?” he guesses.
“Hiya,” I greet with more enthusiasm than I’m feeling. “I’m—” Blake’s grip tightens on my waist. I lift my eyebrows at the frown on his face. I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me, if anything. “—the housekeeper. Lori. I…clean…and stuff.”
Blake snorts, dropping his hands and stepping back. His expression says he can’t wait to see what story I come up with next. I’m flustered and confused. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be right now. Opal doesn’t seem right. Opal is private, for Blake alone to know. I look at his brother and his girlfriend. I’m not comfortable sharing the real me with them.
“Do housekeepers generally kiss their employers on the chin?” Blake’s brother asks.
I look at Blake and he looks back.
“Sure. Affectionate ones,” I reply, widening my eyes at him.
Blake winks.
“Affection and Blake don’t really mesh,” the woman states.
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering how she would know such a thing. And she’s wrong—he has been affectionate, with me. “Who are you?” I demand.
“Who are you?” she shoots back, looking pleased by her comeback that wasn’t really a comeback.
“Speaking of who is who,” the blond-haired man quickly intervenes as he steps forward, bringing his beauty close, and the scent of freshly laundered clothes. He offers a hand. “I’m Graham, Blake’s brother.”
I shake his hand, feeling calluses. The roughness says he’s a worker, and I respect that. He isn’t just pretty looks.
“And you’re Lori, the housekeeper.” He watches me as he continues to move our gripped hands up and down. Even the stubble of facial hair lining his jaw glints like gold. He’s too pretty—pretty people make me edgy. Graham’s expression is splintered between doubt and interest.
“Yes. That’s me. I know where the elbow grease is, and how to polish wood with spit—you know, all the tricks. I’ve been cleaning houses around the area since I was thirteen.” My arm feels like it’s going to eventually be pulled from its socket at this rate.
Blake clears his throat.
“Eighteen,” I correct.
“Let go of her hand, Graham,” Blake says, and Graham instantly drops it.
“I’m Kennedy, girlfriend of Graham, and all-around awesome individual. Just ask Blake. Or maybe not,” the woman tells me, looking hesitant to release her wine in place of taking my hand.
The noise outside suddenly quits, and the ensuing quiet is potent.
A tall man with scraggly gray hair and a lined face opens the door and pops his head inside, finding Blake with his eyes. �
�Hey, there, Blake. We got you all filled in. You’re good to go.”
“Thanks, Dan. What do I owe you?” Blake moves for the kitchen, pausing at Dan’s next words.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send a bill. Have a good day.”
The door shuts before Blake can answer, and then he turns to me. His face reveals nothing, but it doesn’t have to for me to know that he is not looking forward to sending me on my way. I will admit it to myself, and not another single soul—I don’t want to go either.
“The road is fixed,” he says unnecessarily.
I nod, my eyes locked so fiercely on him that they burn, and still I can’t look away. I forget about Graham and Kennedy. All I see is Blake, because I know pretty soon, I’ll never see him again. My throat is tight, and it is painful to breathe.
“I guess I should get my stuff,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound like mine.
“Do you see that?” Kennedy whispers loudly.
“See what?” Graham warily replies.
“I’ll, uh, take a quick shower while you get ready to go,” Blake tells me, turning to the stairs. “Make myself decent.”
I swallow thickly, only breaking eye contact when Blake is no longer facing me. I shift my attention to Graham and Kennedy, and quickly shift it to the stairwell I’d like to be on. They’re looking at us much too intently. It’s nerve-wracking.
“The way they’re completely ignoring us, like they’re more important than we are.”
Graham chuckles. “To their way of thinking, they probably are.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffs.
I hurry after Blake, absurdly glad to no longer be in his visitors’ company.
“You already look more than decent,” I whisper as I follow him up the stairs, staring at a thin, pink scar on his left calf muscle.
Blake glances back at me, a faint smile lining his face. “You sound really sad about that.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I admit once we crest the stairs.
He faces me, the skin between his eyebrows pinched. Blake opens his mouth.
“Don’t say anything back. I just wanted you to know. And…” I look down at my bare feet, remnants of pink nail polish lingering on a few of the toenails. “Thank you.”
