by Laura Brown
AFTER A BUSY night at the bar, my feet protested all movement as I exited my car and headed to my basement apartment door. All I wanted to do was change into Dev’s sweats, curl up in bed, and sleep. I pulled out my keys and jiggled the small metal piece into the lock. The key wouldn’t fit. The same slot that used to accept me with open arms. It refused to budge, insisting we no longer matched. Yesterday they left the note, and today my key didn’t work.
Fuck.
I shivered, the wind brutal against the low insulation of my trench coat, seeping inside to all the skin exposed by my miniscule cocktail-waitress getup. I checked my keychain, but I had the right set of keys. Why the hell didn’t my door work? I tried it again before pounding on it with both my fists. This couldn’t be happening. Not today, not now. Not when I was dead on my feet after a ten-hour shift.
The single-family house in front of me remained dark and quiet while I struggled with a busted lock. Or a changed one. I moved to the window. Too narrow, I’d never fit.
Inside, my studio was dark. Panic gripped me at being separated from my belongings. Yet I didn’t care about most of them. Only one item couldn’t be replaced: my memory box. Clothes, toothbrush, memories, all gone.
I looked at the dark sky and the moon hiding behind a shadow of clouds. A moment of peace and tranquility, even when life didn’t go as intended. At least I had my fallback plan, the same one I’d had in place since I was ten years old. As I headed to my car, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Dev.
Me: Need a place to stay. Do NOT type: I told you so.
Dev: What if I type it backward?
Me: I can read backward, same thing.
Dev: Damn. What happened?
Me: Don’t know. Key not fit.
Dev: Assholes. Come here, we’ll figure it out.
I shoved my phone back in my bag, a little warmth thawing out this messed-up cold night.
On my drive, I passed a car or two, but otherwise the night slept. Dark skies, dark road, my headlights lighting the way. I liked this time of night, when the world left me to my own devices. There was peace in the early hours of the morning. I imagined my father liked this time, could all but see him walking home, taking slow steps to enjoy the night sky.
And now my box containing the only articles I had left from him, mainly random small items, a few pictures and recipes, was trapped in a place I no longer had access to. Yet another landlord held my belongings hostage.
Anger bubbled up inside, and I had no one to blame but myself. I banged on my wheel, signing profanities into the air. I should have listened to Dev. If I had showed him the letter, we could have packed up all my belongings and brought them back to his place. Then my box would be safe.
The light ahead turned red, and I braked, resisting the urge to put my head on the steering wheel. Once before, I’d set the horn off by doing that, having no clue I’d disturbed an entire apartment complex. Another day in the life of Jasmine Helmsman.
By the time I made it to Dev’s place, rage had taken over. Every time, every damn time I managed to get one foot in front of the other, life pushed me back.
I stomped up the stairs in Dev’s building, wishing he was hearing and I could bang the shit out of his door. I could, if his brother was home or if Dev had his hearing aids on. Neither were a sure bet. I settled for pressing my thumb into the doorbell and holding it down, imagining the strobe flash and flash and flash.
The door flung open. “What the hell?” Dev signed before grabbing my arm and drawing me in. “Are you OK?” He looked me up and down, as if my physical appearance would change simply because my lock did.
“I’m fine,” I signed with more force than necessary.
Without missing a beat, Dev pulled me into a tight hug.
My anger vanished. His arms wrapped around me—my own personal blanket—while his head tilted until it rested on top of mine. Like I belonged there. No one hugged like Devon Walker. I buried my head in his shoulder, not caring that my curls were caught in his whiskers. Only his comfort reminded me of all my troubles, hitting me like a brick. Here I was, held by a guy who had more stability than I ever had. He’d always have a place to call home. I was homeless.
I pulled back before his warmth caused me to shed a tear. I didn’t cry, hadn’t for over ten years.
“You need anything?”
I dropped my purse on the floor. “Everything.”
He eyed my trench. “Bar clothes?”
When would I have changed? I popped the top button on my father’s old trench, not hard to do since it was barely holding on, and glanced down.
“I’ll get you some clothes.” He turned and headed for his room.
I ran after him and tapped his shoulder. “Do you have anything smaller than normal?”
I made it to his nose now, but I’d be below his chin once I took off my boots.
“Hasn’t stopped you before.” I laughed, and he put a finger to his lips. “Quiet, Blake’s got an early morning tomorrow.”
Dev had the type of family who annoyed each other but stayed close. I had the family who died or faded away.
I followed him into his room. He pulled out a tee shirt and tossed it my way, and I threw my trench over his chair.
“Any more letters?” He leaned against his dresser.
I froze with the shirt halfway to my head. He stared back at me with those cool blue eyes, completely unfazed. I pulled the shirt over my head—it covered me down to my knees, concealing my clothes. “How did you know about the letter?” I wiggled out of my tube top and skirt, tossing them on the chair with my trench.
“I found it this morning.”
Something didn’t add up. “And you didn’t say anything?” Dev was the type to find a problem and jump right into problem-solving mode. “Unless . . . ”
“They shouldn’t have changed the locks. They aren’t following appropriate protocols. You should be able to fight this—”
I raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m not going to fight for a crappy apartment.”
Dev’s jaw clenched. “The only other suggestion is staying with a friend.”
“Which is why I’m here.” I climbed into Dev’s bed and put my head on his pillow. This had to be temporary, like each time before when I needed a break from life or had been dealt crap like this. It did comfort me to know I had a place to go. He had my back, always. I never had to ask, the offer was open for me to stay when I needed, though I did my best not to abuse the option.
He sat on the edge. “You can still fight.”
“Not now, please.” I had no energy left for Dev’s desire to help others. And less energy to fight. If an apartment didn’t work, I left. End of story.
His shoulders tightened, but then he let go, and they relaxed. Small win for me. “What are you going to do?”
I stared up at his ceiling. “No clue. Put everything on hold and find another apartment.” I’d never find another with rent that cheap; my next one would cost an arm and a leg. I probably needed to consider getting a roommate, but I did best on my own.
The bed vibrated, bringing my attention back to Dev. “No. You can stay here.”
I sat up. “Where? You share a two-bedroom with your brother.”
His lips quirked. “You’re here a lot of the time, anyways.”
“Once in a while. Or has your love life grown sad?” I pouted, my bottom lip sticking out.
“Shut up.”
“What happened with Natalie? She lasted a full two and a half weeks. I think that’s a new record for you.” Dev had commitment phobia down to an art. I could never figure him out. He had a stable life and should be looking forward to settling down. Instead, he played harder to get than I did.
Dev shook his head, and I knew he wasn’t going to give me any answers. For a guy who helped everyone whether they wanted it or not, his own life was locked down tight. “I’m serious, you can always stay here. Blake seems happy with his boyfriend. I would guess they might move in tog
ether soon, anyways.”
Living with Dev had always been an idea, but he’d moved in with his brother when he started college, and I’d had my own path to take. I couldn’t explain the weird feeling in my gut at the thought of staying here. One that had nothing to do with my desire to support myself.
I shook it off and got out of his bed, heading to the bathroom to wash my makeup off before I transferred it to Dev’s clean sheets.
His room was dark by the time I returned. Didn’t matter, I knew the layout, same way I knew his covers would be flipped back for me. The streetlight sent slats of light across the room, enough to make sure I didn’t trip over anything. And then, there was Dev, face lit up from his cell phone, smiling at something.
He put his phone down as I slid into his bed. No matter how I climbed in, I always ended up at his side, curled up with him. It was habit.
I rested my head on his shoulder and tangled my cold toes with his for warmth. He fixed the blanket, then wrapped an arm around me. We didn’t sign good night, too heavy into our routine. My eyes closed as soon as my cheek made contact with him, the heat of his body warming me through his shirt.
Relaxation took over. Snuggled into him, I drifted, the comfort and warmth and caring lulling me into some of the best sleep I ever had. Only with him. Always.
Chapter Four
Devon
MY BACKPACK HUNG over one shoulder, weighing me down with textbook after textbook on accounting. I had a class in twenty minutes. And then two more after that. I needed to open the door and get into my car.
I stood still. Back in my room, Jas slept, curled up under my covers with her blond curls splayed out over my pillow. She had no home, no belongings, and here I was heading off to classes I didn’t give two shits about.
Screw it. I dropped my bag and pulled out my phone. I sent a text to my interpreters, letting them know I would be a no-show at class today. Call it some fucked-up signal crossing in my brain, but if a person needed my help, nothing else mattered.
And if that person was Jas, then all bets were off.
Keys in hand, I finally made it out of my apartment and into my car. I had purpose now, and that purpose involved hunting down Jas’s landlord.
I had my fingers crossed the guy would be home in the middle of the day as I pounded on his door. I strained my limited hearing for any sounds of life, but all I got were cars traveling on the street behind me and the frigid wind rustling against my microphones. I raised my fist to knock again when the door shifted open.
A little old lady stood on the other side.
I couldn’t hear little old ladies—something to do with pitch and my ears—but had been told my “accent” was pretty obvious. “Hi, my name’s Devon Walker. Jasmine Helmsman used to live here; I want to know what happened,” I spoke.
She looked me up and down with her little-old-lady eyes, nothing like the sugary-sweet grandma the media insisted all women grew into. She opened her mouth, and I caught the word game. That couldn’t be right.
“I’m deaf. Can you write it down?”
Instead of grabbing a pen and paper, she opened her mouth again and yelled at me. I plastered a smile on my face that I didn’t feel at all. I wanted to yell back at her for being an idiot, but I caught a few words, namely that she didn’t trust me.
“Why were her locks changed?”
She yelled some more, and I caught something about family needing a place. I ground my teeth. They could have told Jas, given her a chance to move, instead of this shit. But I bit back my anger. I pulled out my phone and wrote a message about how they couldn’t kick her out, not like this. It was illegal, regardless of whatever Jas thought about not signing any papers.
The lady pushed my phone away without reading and moved to close the door in my face. I shoved my shoulder into the jamb, holding it open. My window of opportunity was closing.
“I want Jasmine’s belongings. I’ll be in and out in fifteen.”
She crossed her arms across her housecoat. “Fifteen . . . cops in twenty.” Then she grabbed a cane, not waiting to see if I comprehended her or not, and hobbled around the building to the little basement apartment. She let me in, said something I could barely hear, and left me alone.
What a bitch. I thanked my lucky stars that Jas didn’t have much in the way of belongings. She lived simple and light, because shit like this happened.
If this apartment was legal, I’d have her fight them. But as it was, the place didn’t even have a full kitchen.
I found her duffel bag and unzipped it on her unmade bed. Her closet had no door, and her limited clothes hung in the open space—mostly small black outfits she wore at the bar, the rest jeans and tee shirts with a few sweaters. I collected them all in one fell swoop and shoved them in her bag. She’d complain about the wrinkles, but wrinkled clothes were better than no clothes. A canvas hanging shelf held more of her shit, including bras and panties. I unlatched the top of the shelves and collapsed them into the bag, hiding temptation from view. The duffel still had room, so I collected the rest of what I could find until the zipper struggled to close.
I brought the full duffel to my car, then grabbed the box I had hanging around in my trunk. Cranky landlady sat in a chair by the front door, watching me. She looked like the type to have a shotgun too.
Back in the apartment, I grabbed everything I could uncover, but still the box wasn’t full. I made sure to find the old shoe box—reinforced with pink camouflage tape. The one item she went back to get each time she was evicted.
That was who she was. She’d leave the laptop and clothes but take a few trinkets from her dad. It was part of the reason why I went for her necessities first.
I rounded the building and saluted the old lady, not bothering speaking. She nodded and headed back into her house as I climbed into my car. I drove away, knowing I’d done something more meaningful with my day than if I had attended my accounting class.
After dropping off her stuff in my room, I headed to Support Services for my volunteer day. I went back to the computer I used to update their website. It was mindless work, for me at least, but it helped out and made sure all the outdated information shifted to current.
I focused all my attention on the website until a little girl with hair in poufy pigtails ran over to me.
“Guess what?” She bounced as she signed. “They found an apartment for Mom. We’re moving! I’m going to have my own bedroom.” She grinned from ear to ear.
I turned away from my computer. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.” Ana lived at a women’s shelter with her brother and mother. I wasn’t aware of the full story but thought domestic abuse might have been involved.
“Me too! I have to pack. And paint the walls. I want pink.” She jumped and ran back to the waiting area, no doubt sharing her good news with others.
I got up and went to Katherine’s office, finding her there with Bea, Ana’s mother. “Ana told me the news. Congratulations.”
Bea smiled even wider than her daughter had. “Finally, a home for my kids.”
“Now they can fight out of view.”
Bea laughed. “I have already explained they can’t be loud and bother the neighbors.” Her kids were both hearing, and I had a good guess the noises I heard from the hall were related to them. “I think I need to find my old baby cry light, catch them yelling.”
I thought of the items I collected from Jas. They fit in my car, as she had next to nothing. A family of three would have a lot more. “Need help with the move?”
Bea reached out and wrapped a hand around my bicep. “Yes, he’s strong; he can help.”
Katherine stifled a smile. “The move is on Wednesday. If you’re available, it’ll have to be outside of your volunteer duties.”
“I’ll be there.”
Katherine faced Bea. “I guess you’ve found yourself some manpower.” She leveled me with the same look she used to get a client to agree to something important. “I want that application from
you.”
If only it didn’t come with a lot of family baggage.
Chapter Five
Jasmine
SOCIETY INFORMED ME that mothers were supposed to be warm and caring. Mine was a user. I should stay with her—after all, I sent her a check every month to help out—but I didn’t think my mental health could handle being under the same roof as her again.
Still, it was an option, and I was in no position to discount options. I stole another pair of sweats from Dev and headed to the next town over.
Mom lived in a subsidized apartment, on account of her miniscule income. The buzzer system was all sounds, not deaf friendly at all, so I had an illegal copy of her keys. Better than yanking on the door like an unwanted guest while waiting for the mysterious sound to alert me to it being unlocked. I let myself into the building and took the stairs up to the fourth floor.
I could knock, but Mom rarely got up, and I wouldn’t hear her tell me to come in. I found her where I expected, in her lounge chair in front of the television. Takeout from multiple restaurants covered the kitchen table. My heart went out to her, just a little. She’d been a shit mother after Dad’s death had thrown her into a deep depression, one no one could pull her out of. But she was still my mother.
I stomped and waved until she looked my way. “Hi, how you doing?”
Her eyes narrowed, her hair dull and lifeless against her pale skin, blanched by the harsh fluorescent lighting. “Why here?” Mom’s ASL wasn’t the best, lots of choppy movements and messed-up words, but she could communicate when she wanted to.
Okay, so it was going to be one of those days. I could tell her I came to visit, which I did at least once a month, but instead I cut to the chase. “My landlord changed the locks.”
She turned back to the television. “Not my problem.”
I tightened my fists at my side and signed to her back, “Dad would’ve helped.” Granted, our financial troubles were partly due to the debt Dad had. But he did his best. Always.
“He can’t help. He’s dead.”
Shit, she must have caught my reflection in the television.
