by J. M. Miller
After I loaded the boxes into the Escape, I jumped in and pulled around the driveway we shared with the groundskeepers. The main driveway for Stockton Mansion was strictly for the mansion’s parking lot, which accommodated employees and events. Today’s event happened to be a wedding that overran the parking lot. I’d caught glimpses of this morning’s courtyard nuptials as I cleaned the upstairs windows. The bride’s strapless gown was glamorous. Its billowing ruffles swayed with each step, floating her body over the stone walkway as she approached the courtyard’s iron trellis where her groom stood mesmerized. I thought the ceremony would’ve ended by now, but guests continued to roam the grounds. Some snapped pictures, others wobbled around while they carefully held cocktails. Most projected happiness through their smiles and laughter that I couldn’t hear through the Escape’s windows. I was glad I couldn’t. I wasn’t in the mood for happy.
I pulled out onto the main two-lane road, heading toward Lancaster and the large thrift store we’d passed during the last half hour of our cross-country drive. I knew I was better off traveling back to the bigger town than going into our new local town, Quarryville. They’d have to have a larger selection and more cash on hand.
The roads here felt like a cruel prank taped for some horrific hidden-camera show. There were roads with no signs, roads too small to fit opposing traffic, and roads with potholes the size of coupes. Luckily, when I finally found it, the Mega Thrift was open. I stepped into the store, greeted by a nineties grunge song and a moldy smell from the tattered carpet thrown in front of the entrance door. I checked in at the trade-in counter with a woman who appeared to be suffering with an all-day hangover until I dumped the first box in front of her. Her baggy eyes popped wide open, like Mom’s used to after taking a trip to the powder room for a quick bump.
“You guys offer cash, right?” I asked, double checking the information I’d read from a sign in the store’s window.
Her hands were already frantically digging into my clothes, searching for her own size no doubt. There was a chance she’d luck out. She was thin, possibly from unfortunate circumstances, or perhaps from similar habits of my mom’s that suppressed hunger instead of stimulated it. I was no longer naïve. I knew the probability for any normal person to be a user. After I learned my own mother was an addict, my views of people had changed considerably.
“Yeah, but you’ll have to give me a little while to count all of this up. I’m not sure how much you’re looking to get out of all of this.” She fingered more items, inspecting the material and reading each pristine label in awe.
I wondered if her eyes were too heavy to notice the different stitches on the jackets’ bottom seams. That’s where I’d implanted a slim, metallic letter L. It was my claim, my way to prove a theft. I knew it lessened their value, but that was something I never needed to care about. I never expected to sell them.
Tearing my eyes from the clothes, I surveyed the store. I had to finish this personality change before I lost my nerve. “I’ve got another box outside. Don’t worry though,” I added when her red eyes widened in surprise, “I’m shopping, too.”
She nodded, and when I returned with the other box she started sorting more items and tallying numbers on a notepad.
I retreated to the maze of metal racks, looking for the size that would fit my current level of squishy. My size’s row was overflowing with hangers and a slow sigh escaped my lips. I was so worried there wouldn’t be many choices, but I was happily mistaken. People donated, swapped, or sold here regularly. A majority of the clothes looked in fact “gently used” as another sign in the front window implied. I lucked out with several pairs of jeans and plenty of T-shirts and hoodies. I also grabbed a pair of combat boots ideal for mowing lawns and whatever else I’d have to do on the property.
When I finished shopping, the counter lady met me at the checkout. She listed her offered values as another girl entered the store. The girl was roughly my age, dressed in a basic button down and a high-end skirt from a few seasons ago. Her auburn hair was obviously dyed and a tad on the malnourished side, like mine. But she styled it nicely, swept up in a messy business bun. Her body moved purposefully toward the trade-in counter without even a sideways glance in our direction. She was focused on the prize. I could relate because I’d lived that shopping mentality. I hardly ever rushed for bargains, but I did rush to beat my best friend, Veronica, to the latest releases. There’d been a few occasions where blood was spilt over the same piece in a new collection.
The counter lady prattled under her breath about her being the only employee working today, irritated that the girl whom just walked in might stake claim on items she’d neglected to set aside for herself. She finished with the numbers, never noticing my signature implants in the jackets’ seams. I agreed to the prices then she deducted the amount of my purchases and handed me a fatter-than-expected stack of cash. The crinkled bills would feed us for a couple more weeks or possibly pay the first month’s utility bills.
The property was deserted when I returned home. I pushed through the heavy oak front door into the sounds of a high-pitched vacuum slaughtering the peaceful harmony of a Bob Marley song, both blaring from the living room. Gavin doesn’t listen to reggae.
Dad? Cleaning?
I walked through a set of double doors across the hallway from the office, smelling the sweetness of oil wood polish and the bitterness of vinegar combined. The room was identical to the office in dimensions, though its main décor was a leather couch and matching chair instead of a huge desk and table. There was also a flat-screen TV tucked inside a cherry armoire against the wall. A matching cabinet stood at its side, half its size. It was the source of the music. Speakers were built into the sides and its top was slid open, revealing two old analog radio dials and a vinyl record spinning on a turntable.
Dad stomped on the old vacuum’s foot pedal, ending the screeching motor’s misery. He grabbed a hot pink feather duster and stretched his arm high above the heavy cream curtains, scattering dust from the curtain rods. He turned around with his mouth open, mid lip-sync.
“Hi?” I said. There were so many questions tumbling inside my mind they pushed themselves onto my greeting, morphing it into a question.
“Hi,” he replied with an uneasy smile. His lips moved in silence, plotting his thoughts before he spoke again. “I know you were working hard upstairs this morning. It looks great.”
“Thanks?” The situation was so confusing it sent my mind into a frenzy. I’d never seen him clean. He was always too busy. But he was also never home. That’s why he didn’t object to me cleaning the old house. He’d thanked me before, even after canning a few maids on my obsessive behalf, but he never tried to physically help.
Dad began absently dusting the lamp on the table in front of him. “I didn’t want to sit around and worry about tomorrow’s continued job search so I decided to make myself useful. I also told Gavin to take the paintings down into the basement.”
“Great,” I replied, this time showing my own uneasy smile. I honestly had no other words. I wasn’t going to thank him, if that was what he was expecting. After all, he was the parent in this household. Though, I was a little grateful. It meant I wouldn’t have a ton of cleaning to do tomorrow after I finished working.
I turned to leave, but he spoke again. “I haven’t added you or Gavin to the bus routes so I’ll drop you both off tomorrow. I’m going to call sometime during the day to have Gavin’s set up. Just let me know if you want me to call for yours, too.”
“No, that’s fine.” I cringed at the thought of riding the bus. “I’ll try to figure something out.” I hadn’t ridden a bus since middle school, when I didn’t have friends or boyfriends with licenses. I pulled the cash from my pocket, keeping a twenty for myself, and dropped it on the end table next to the couch. “I had to buy some replacement stuff, but this should help with food.”
“You didn’t have to sell your clothes.” His eyes creased with sincerity, deepening the cr
ow’s feet and exposing his true age. “I never wanted you to do that. We should be okay with the money from Vegas until I land something in town.”
“Just in case,” I replied. “Plus they weren’t really fitting anymore.”
“Oh.” He nodded in understanding. “Okay.”
We stared blankly at each other for a moment with only Bob Marley’s lyrics passing between us. I supposed it was another opportunity to talk to him. Something that I’d wanted to do so many times during all the years he worked ridiculous hours. There were so many things I wanted to know about him, about Mom, about everything before and everything after.
About life.
I couldn’t remember the last time we shared a lengthy conversation, especially one that didn’t involve school or work, or Gavin. Anger used to be the only emotion I felt about our disconnection, and I appeased that anger by blowing every penny of my indecent monthly allowance. It was a habit that was nurtured by both parents, an acceptable Band-Aid for our broken family. It continued after Mom left, and it would’ve continued forever if Dad hadn’t lost his job. It was our normal. Now he didn’t have a job. And the man I once hardly knew I knew even less, if that was even possible. The anger over our nonexistent bond remained, though regret and sorrow have each taken a place inside my heart, especially in silent moments like this.
I nodded in response to our shared discomfort. “I’ve got to wash these for tomorrow.” I held up the bags filled with my new wardrobe. “See ya later.”
“Later,” he replied and turned his attention back to the curtains.
Gavin had done as Dad asked and placed all of the paintings in the basement. All the dreary wells stood at the foot of the stairs, leaning against each other in multiple stacks. He left the grocery bag of laundry items there, too. Clearly, moving things to a better, less obstructive spot would’ve taken too much time away from gaming. Figures.
The basement held a mild smell of wet dirt combined with laundry soap in a clean meets dirty, oxymoronic mix. The floor plan was open except for a couple of slim divider walls that mounted to ceiling beams and support posts. Janine’s stuff cramped the floor, shrinking the large area in half and making it extremely difficult to navigate. Extra furniture pieces, cardboard boxes, and oversized holiday decorations were some of the items that were placed without a discernible order. The washer and dryer butted up to the back foundation wall and were almost hidden by one of the divider walls, which had boxes covering every inch of its surface space.
I separated clothes and started a load, then retreated to my room without bothering to move the paintings. My motivation from the morning cleaning session was completely gone. I was ready to end the day, though not ready for the start of school tomorrow. The dread was palpable, and as my brain played out new-girl scenarios, my heart pounded in panicked response.
I was actually scared.
I felt alone. It was different than the type of loneliness I was used to. The loneliness I endured at my old school was among friends. I always felt like an outsider, like I never actually belonged. Even though I’d spent a lot of time shopping or gossiping at school with my friends, I didn’t attend parties as often as they had. That’s what put me on the outside, especially with my boyfriend, Mark.
But none of that mattered now. My plan for tomorrow was to blend. I wouldn’t seek anyone out, especially if they reminded me of my old friends. I wanted nothing more to do with popularity. I’d been burnt by the best, and I was tired of playing with that kind of fire.
Later in the evening, I glanced out one of my bedroom windows and noticed someone exiting the groundskeeper’s house.
Benjamin.
From what I recalled at the will reading, his grandfather was shorter with a much wider frame, so it couldn’t have been him. I watched Benjamin’s taller, slimmer body walk toward the setting sun until he and his elongated shadow disappeared around the side of stone barn. Within a minute, I heard a faint motor rev. It sounded like chainsaw and I wondered what kind of work he’d have to do on a Sunday evening. I was about to go skim through Gavin’s eReader, hoping to find a something other than a comic book, or go scope the selection in Janine’s office, until I saw a dirt bike tear out of the barn, zipping toward the forest.
Benjamin raced the bike around, testing gravity as he hit a few hills and jumped high enough to cause butterflies in my stomach. I couldn’t move. My sudden fascination was a bewildering mix of fear and admiration, wound in a tight ball of anxiety. Within minutes, he disappeared into the woods and I was left at the window, gazing at the trees highlighted with soft orange streaks from the setting sun.
For some reason, I pictured his cute dimples when he’d smirked at me. There was something intriguing about him. The way he acted yesterday was contradictory. Any normal guy would’ve politely left the room when discovering me in the bathtub. Any sleaze bucket would’ve hit on me repeatedly. He didn’t really do either. He looked shocked at first then possibly annoyed.
I shook my head. There were enough things on my mind without overloading it with thoughts of guys. This was literally the first time I’d been single since early freshman year. I’d dated three guys in three years, back-to-back. The relationships butted together like the racks inside the Mega Thrift. It wasn’t intentional; it just happened that way. The last one, Mark, wasn’t even officially over. At least, I hadn’t received a call or text saying it was over. I’d just assumed it was after he’d found out that I was broke and the bank was taking my house. I hadn’t seen him in three weeks. I hadn’t talked to him in two.
It was over.
I scanned the landscape of the property that I’d own before the end of the school year. It was peaceful, a huge change from the busy areas of Summerlin and Las Vegas. I was so accustomed to the loud sounds of the city: trains, planes, and sirens. The silence here would be difficult to get used to. It made me completely aware of myself, whether I wanted to be or not. Or maybe that self-awareness was internal. Either way, I was taking a hard look at myself for one of the first times, and I was ashamed.
A thicket of brush caught my eye before I left the window. It lined part of the wood’s edge behind the mansion’s courtyard, past the stone gazebo. The mass of knotted vines and bushes were sloppy compared with the rest of the groomed property. Through some thin breaks in the trees, I could see a roof that looked like the top of a well. The well.
“Benj! Where the hell have you been, man?” Sebastian, a.k.a. Spaz, called down the hallway in his usual I-don’t-give-a-crap voice.
I nudged through the sea of underclassmen exiting the cafeteria, parting them easily with my height advantage. Most of them had their noses buried in their schedules, searching for their next classes. Only a few eyes bothered to see who Spaz was talking to.
“Dude, I’ve been looking for you all morning. I thought maybe you decided to call it quits and drop out of this hole. Hey, ladies,” Spaz said, tossing a wink at a couple of girls walking beside us. They giggled at him and whispered to each other in response. Freshman.
I shook my head at him and pointed to the table along the side wall of the cafeteria. His blond hair was a spiked mess, like he’d spent a few extra minutes primping in front of his bedroom mirror, perfecting the I-don’t-give-a-crap look to match his voice. I’d never call him out on it because I understood. Most people wanted to start a new school year with a good impression. It made me glad to have short hair so I truthfully didn’t have to give a crap.
“So, spill. Did your street bike not start this morning or something? You could have called me for a ride,” he prompted after we dropped our books at the table and stepped up to the lunch line.
“I had that appointment to get the jaw wire pulled today. I told you last week,” I answered, dropping a few single-serve puddings on my lunch tray with a bottle of water. “They gave me some bands to keep it braced when I’m not eating. They said it looks good though, and they’re pretty sure the arch bar can come off next week.”
“Another
week? Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have been that close to you on the turn. I can’t trust my bike to stay together anymore. Stupid piece of crap. How’s your bike? Did you replace the front brake lever yet?” He grabbed a sandwich and chips that I stared at enviously while we paid the cashier.
“Yeah. It’s fine now. After I fixed it yesterday, I went for a ride. I couldn’t wait anymore. Pop got a little bent that I didn’t listen to the doctors, but I figured the full six weeks was a long enough wait.” When we got back to the table, I took a seat and grimaced at the three pudding flavors I’d get to enjoy for lunch.
“How’d it go?”
“Good. Great, actually. How about your bike? Did you fix the chain?” His bike chain had broken while we were riding, which caused the accident that broke my jaw. He was right to call his bike a piece of crap, but he was also gifted with an abnormal amount of bad luck. Something always ended up happening around Spaz.
“Yeah, thanks again for ordering it for me. My mom would’ve cut my nuts off if she knew what happened.”
“No problem. But that reminds me,” I said, thinking about his last trip to the property. “Simone said that you are never to park your truck in the main lot again. I guess the deer rack frightened a client. You’ll have to pull around my house from now on or she’ll probably cut my nuts off.”
“Who’s going to cut your nuts off?” Izzy asked, sliding her food tray on the table and scooting her chair closer to Spaz.
“Not you, babe,” Spaz replied and gave her a quick kiss between bites of his sandwich.
“Hey, Iz,” I said to her with a quick nod.
“Hey.” She nodded back at me then looked at Spaz with her neat eyebrows raised. She obviously wanted to give a good impression for school today, too. She normally skipped the makeup and girly stuff, but today her eyelashes were longer, her brown hair was shinier, and her lips were glossier. “I’ll cut your nuts off if I see you winking at any freshman again, Spaz.” Izzy’s squeaky voice wasn’t the least bit threatening, but Spaz acknowledged the message by groveling a little anyway, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear.
