by Jess Bentley
“Yes, please,” I call out, my voice reedy and weak in the large space.
And suddenly, I realize how ridiculous this is. Why am I here? I just show up on his door like an orphan? What must he think of me?
But in a few moments, he returns to the sofa with a tray holding a steaming mug of tea and a small plate with more berries on it. From the looks of him, so fit and strong, he is probably one of those healthy-eating people. I like that. I was raised that way, before I had to go into foster care and learn how to eat Cheetos and French fries as a whole meal. Berries and yogurt… roasted vegetables and cucumber salads and briskets… that’s the way I prefer to eat.
“Here… careful, it's hot,” he says as he hands me the mug then settles a safe distance away on the sofa. His eyes are hazel green, I notice as he peers at me intently. It's hard to look at them directly, but I sneak small glances, just to assure myself that he's not angry with me for returning so quickly.
“I’m very glad to see you again,” he finally mumbles, brushing away my remaining concerns. “I was troubled by your return to the sorority. That's not the right place for you. Did you say that you do not have access to campus housing?”
I shake my head slowly, realizing in hindsight what a mistake that was. I was happy to decline campus housing in favor of the sorority when I made my application. Now, the decision seems like a bad one.
“Do your foster parents live close by? Could you perhaps commute?”
I clear my throat. I'm not even sure I’m ready to talk about this, and I don't really have a plan for the future to discuss with him. My big plan for my life until an hour ago was to pledge Chi Rho Pi and make the Dean’s list, then program apps the rest of my life.
After finding out about the video, my revised plan consisted of marching my feet in the direction of this house. I don't know what happens after this.
But he doesn't seem like the sort of person who does anything without a plan, so I scramble in my mind, trying to put something together.
“Because I'm over eighteen,” I begin, placing the words together like beads on a string as they come to me, “I don't have a home to go back to. Once you're a legal adult, the foster system needs that vacancy, so…”
My voice trails off. He says nothing, just exhales slowly through his nose. But I feel as though he's working it out, puzzling a solution with a flurry of activity behind his calm exterior.
“I'm honored that you trusted me enough to return,” he says quietly. His eyes search mine as though calculating the risk he's taking me by telling me that. “What would you like to do next?”
My mouth opens and closes.
“I'll just…” I take a deep breath. I count to three, then to five. As I squint into my imaginary future, nothing materializes. It’s all just fog. “I just need a little time to think. I just… oh, this is stupid, isn't it? I should probably just go back —”
“Don't go!” he barks sharply, startling me. I push myself back further into the corner of the sofa and he advances, but only an inch or two.
He raises his hands, palms out, in a gesture of innocence. “I'm sorry, that came out wrong,” he admits. “What I meant to say is, I think you're doing the right thing. I think you should distance yourself from them. Going back there would be a mistake.”
“But I really don't have anywhere else to go,” I stammer, afraid that my voice will crack again, that I'll start crying again. “There’s school… all my friends… all my things are there…”
“Not a problem,” he shrugs.
I shake my head. It does not make any sense.
“What's not a problem?” I ask. Did not just tell him all my problems, literally?
He smirks as though he's figured out the answer to a riddle before I did. “I can have all your things here in two hours, would you like that?”
“I… really don't know what you're talking about,” I say cautiously.
“Do you remember my driver? Freddie? I’ll have him retrieve your things. It's not a problem.”
He nods, obviously pleased with himself. But I feel a little irritated, if I'm telling the truth. He looks just the tiniest bit smug about the situation.
“Okay, I don't know if I really need somebody to, you know… take over or whatever,” I start.
His expression darkens. “That's not what I'm trying to do,” he mutters.
I just let him think about it for a few seconds. His eyes focus on the back of his knuckles as his brow furrows for a few moments. Just by looking at him, I start to really wonder what's going on inside his head. There must be a whole room full of people talking in there. He seems to think quite a bit before he speaks.
Actually, I sort of like that. That's very different from most people I know.
“Tell me,” he begins again. “What changed your mind?”
I feel my cheeks get hot as I remember the video Serena showed me. Lizzie's face, twisted into a sneer. Those boys staring at me like I was some kind of a piece of meat. The one who slid his hand up my thigh…
I clear my throat. “There was, um, a video.”
He raises a hand, indicating that I can stop. He knows. I can see it on his face.
“Kita, I don't want you to be afraid. Not of me, especially,” he says earnestly, his eyes serious and intense. “And I know you don't know me at all, but I want to offer you something, and I hope you'll take it. May I do that?”
I take a moment to stare him over, looking at the small expression of the corners of his mouth, the way he's blinking, the way his body faces mine. My mother used to say that the small clues about somebody's real intentions were in their posture. Even if someone was trying to manipulate you or hide something from you, their body would give it away.
His body is revealing to me that he is telling me the truth. He's facing me directly, with a plain and honest expression.
And then I realize, I'm not giving him the same consideration. I'm holding this pillow in front of me like a shield, with my legs twisted away from him protectively. As a gesture of good faith, I take the pillow and stuff it behind me. When he bites back a smirk, I know that he recognizes what I just did. So he's trained to the same way. Military intelligence perhaps? That seems to fit.
“All right,” I say, meeting his eyes even though it's difficult to sustain that connection for more than a few seconds at a time. “I'd like to hear what you have to say.”
“That's a good girl,” he smiles with a relieved sigh. “I have a guest room… two, actually. You could have either one. I'll send Freddie to retrieve your clothes. You can go back to classes on Monday. You can borrow one of my cars. You can stay as long as you like. And if you prefer, you never even have to see me. It's a big house, and I don't intend on hovering over you.”
I pause for a few seconds, letting the thoughts rush through my mind. Stay here? Just like that?
Am I crazy?
And, do I have another choice?
“I mean,” he continues, now slightly uncomfortable, “as long as you don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be. Is there, um, a man in your life?”
I twitch back. I don’t mean to, but I do.
“I’m sorry, that’s none of my business,” he mutters.
“No, it’s not that,” I rush, “you just took me by surprise, is all. No, there’s not a man in my life. With college and everything else, I haven’t had, you know… time.”
“I’m sure you’re very busy,” he nods. His eyes are locked on mine, almost like he’s deliberately not looking me over. Suddenly I can feel how my skirt has shifted upward and bared my thighs. I should pull it down, but for some reason, I don’t.
“I have been busy, yes.”
“So then there’s no reason you shouldn’t accept my offer, right?”
“Actually, maybe I should be looking for a job.”
He nods as though he seriously considering what I'm saying. “Plenty of time for that later, after you have finished your degree work. What’s your major?”
> I clear my throat. “I mean… maybe I should look for a job now. Instead. Of everything else.”
His expression doesn't change, but the air around him does. I sense that he has quite a lot to say on the subject, but all he says is: “Kita, you're not quitting school. You don't have to do that.”
“Maybe I should? I mean, I need to take care myself and I don't know if —”
“Who keeps texting you?”
I shake my head, confused. “I don't know… you can hear that?”
He nods. I reach behind me and retrieve my purse with my cell phone inside it. It's been on vibrate this whole time. How did he even hear the text alerts?
But he's right. I’ve got twenty-three new messages, most of them from Lizzie. They start off nice, but end in a not nearly as nice way.
The last one is from Serena.
“Oh, Serena sent me a YouTube link…”
I tap the link automatically and the YouTube app starts. It's a different video of me, taken from a different angle. The camera swings around, illuminating the face of the guy who'd been touching me, then back to me again.
“This bitch is going to cost me extra, but she's totally worth it,” he is saying. “Did you see the pictures? Absolutely outstanding —”
“What is that?” Daniel asks me, his voice sharp.
“It's another video from the bake sale. I don't know who —”
“— another video?” he repeats. “Kita, are these public videos? Like on YouTube?”
I nod, pressing my lips together to keep from crying again. This is all so humiliating.
He reaches out, taking the phone from my hands and laying it face down on the sofa. Then he leans forward, gazing at me seriously.
“Kita, I want you to listen to me. I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but I want you to trust me anyway. You can't go back there. But you can stay here. I promise you will be safe here. Do you believe me?”
I nod, biting my lips together and holding my hands firmly between my knees. I don't know why, but I do want to trust him. There’s something so sincere in his eyes, and just being around him makes me feel safe. Safe as I can feel right now, anyway.
“And you agree to stay in school?”
“But —”
“Say you will.”
“But, Dad,” I say, then stop. My mouth falls open and goes dry. He looks shocked, but not in an entirely horrified way. “I mean… um, Daniel—”
He holds up a hand, stop. “That's the condition. Free room and board, but you have to stay in school, is that clear?”
Slowly, I nod. Apparently he’s not going to mention my weird slip-up just now. But I have to admit, he’s acting awfully parental. Some weird part of me kind of likes it.
“That's a good girl,” he tells me and breaks into a smile. I warm under his praise.“Just let me help.”
“But why?” I have to ask.
He purses his lips, scowling as he thinks this through. I find myself breathless, waiting to see what he will say.
“I see potential in you, frankly,” he says in a low voice. I lean in closer to hear better and his hazel eyes catch my off guard again. They bore into me intensely.
“You do?” I hear my voice squeak.
“Absolutely,” he nods. “I think you got a little thrown off track, but I see… something. Something good. Let me help you.”
I’m close enough to him that I can smell his woody, earthy scent. I breathe it in, suddenly hungry again. He really does seem sincere in everything he says. And I have to admit, I’m drawn to his strength in a weirdly eager way. Like, there’s a little kid inside me who just wants the big strong adult to take her hand and tell her which way to go.
“All right,” I say, finally letting myself smile back, just a little.
He smiles too, lines creasing around his handsome mouth. “Excellent.”
In a few hours, Freddie returns with neatly labeled cardboard boxes. Kita, top dresser drawer. Kita, sundries. Kita, closet shelf.
One by one, he brings the boxes into the guest room as I stand in the middle of the floor, helpless and unsure if I should help. I don't know how I would help, since he's carrying the boxes two and three at a time. I would probably just be in the way.
I'm trying not to imagine it. As soon as Daniel left the room, I heard the garage door going up. By my guess, Freddie must have taken one of the cars out of the huge attached garage and went to buy boxes, then to the sorority house. How did he get in? What did Lizzie say to him? Daniel made it sound like an operation that I didn't need to know all the details of, but it must have been something else.
It sort of plays out in my mind like a scene from a movie. Freddie is tall, over six feet. He has broad shoulders but he's thin and wiry. Like slender man, but not evil. When he brings the boxes into the room he doesn't look at me directly and he hunches his shoulders over just a little bit, as though protecting himself. He seems like one of those extremely polite southern boys, who have been raised with a very long list of rules about how they are supposed to act around women. And how they are supposed to act when in the presence of a big dog, which is what Daniel definitely is.
What have I gotten myself into? Am I insane?
Freddie brings up another box and slides it onto the top of the stack. It is labeled Kita, locker. That means that he was not just in my room, he was in the storage closet down the hall, where I also had a locker for valuables. Did he use bolt cutters to cut the lock? Wow. It's like they thought of everything.
I'm uncomfortable thinking about what Lizzie is doing right now. If Freddie knocked on the front door and politely asked to come in, she would have simply told him to go away. So he must have insisted. And then, what, asked for directions? Just walked around until he found of my door, which had my name in sparkly bubble letters?
What did the girls do when he brought in the boxes? Did anybody help?
Every drawer's contents was put in its own box. I guess all he did was go, assemble boxes, and then dump the contents. Efficient. Very military.
I appreciate that.
“That's the last of it,” he mumbles politely, shifting his eyes in the other direction. He has just had his hands all over my things including all of my underwear, my books, and every scrap of clothing that I own. He probably knows me better than just about anybody else in the world right now. But he's not going to make a big deal out of it.
“Thank you, Freddie,” I mumble sincerely.
“He's a good man,” he blurts out suddenly. He looks at me directly, his eyes a pale sky-blue. He seems haunted, as though addressing me like this is almost painful for him.
“Okay, well…”
“I mean, you're worried. I could tell you are worried. I just wanted to let you know,” he finishes in a rush.
Then he darts out of the room, closing the door behind him. I'm all alone with all my stuff, everything packaged and labeled for transportation.
Daniel was telling the truth; it only took a couple hours. Here is my very portable life, in some place new all over again. It comes with the same feeling of isolation, of not belonging anywhere. I hate this feeling. I don't like to be adrift. When I was young, I felt so comfortable and secure, it never even occurred to me there was any other way to feel. Now since everything has blown up, I only ever feel that kind of comfort in snatches, wisps of smoke that slide through my fingers soon as I try to latch onto them.
So is this insane? Am I here simply because I was invited, because I feel like I have to accept any kind of invitation anywhere? Or am I running away from the sorority girls?
Are either of those good reasons?
But Freddie's words bounce through my mind again. He's a good man. As the words flow by again, I reach out and grab them for comfort like a life raft. It's not much. But it is something.
Chapter 33
Daniel
Everything is just a little bit different now. Though I kept my word to not be hovering over Kita, her presence is hard to ignore
. Even when we are in separate rooms, I can hear her phone buzzing, her moving around, just the daily activities of another living animal in my nest.
Her being here has changed so much. My house smells different. We seem to eat the same sorts of things, that's good. I was afraid of allowing a junk food addict into the house but she seems to prefer whole foods like fruits and lean meats, just like I do. She cleans up after herself, and that's also good. I'm not complaining, but it is significant. I like to have everything a certain way and not have that process disturbed.
But still, even though she is not making a mess, she has a vibration. She has a scent. She has an animal presence that almost tints the air around her. She is like a color, or a song.
And it's getting harder and harder to forget about her.
I knew it the moment I saw her. Her small form, her athletic gestures. She was so helpless there in the bar, surrounded by those vultures.
But it was more than that. Her looks are definitely Slavic in origin, like the girls who use to haunt the American Embassy in Moscow, where I spent some time when I was in the military. I loved everything about them. Their strength, the song-like sound of their language, their easy laughs but cagey natures. It was as though everyone in the former Soviet Union knew that at any time there was the possibility of espionage. Of spy craft. They wanted to be friendly and personable, but also had a deep, cultural awareness of the suspicious situation between our countries.
When I was barely in my twenties, I didn't know anything about people, not really. How we are basically the same, no matter where we were born. How everybody believes they are doing their best, no matter which side they are on. I believed the protocols about staying arm’s length away from the Russians to be the best strategy. That was what we were instructed to do. Some of the guys had relationships with local Moscow girls, but it was frowned upon by top brass.
So I kept to myself, building more and more substantial blockades against interpersonal intrusions. From behind my mental fence, I could just watch them, eventually learning not too long for it too much. They got more distant, becoming like fairies of my imagination. Something I could see, but could not touch.
