by J. M. Miller
I rocked back on my boot, the weight of the “cons” pushing me toward the door.
Her eyes examined me further, replacing shock and anger with a quizzical squint.
“LJ?” I said, finally forcing something through my teeth. My confliction made her initials sound neither friendly nor hated. They came out more like a question and I had no idea why.
Why did I agree to this?
“What did you say?” I asked, suddenly realizing how naked I was under a slowly diminishing shield of bubbles. I crossed my legs, folded my arms around them, and gathered more fluffy foam to cover the top of my body as stealthily as I could. When I pulled the bubbles close, they were as high as my neck inside the deep tub, though I felt the tiny pops against my skin as more died, leaving me a little more exposed with each passing second. I hope he can’t see anything. I looked back up at him, waiting for him to speak again. Why isn’t he saying anything?
I watched his full lips repeat the words. “I said your name. LJ.” They pushed far out and wrapped widely around the syllables, revealing specs of silver and several wires behind their exaggerated movements. Is his mouth wired shut? I stared at the soft cleft in his chin while I reprocessed his voice in my head. LJ. That’s what he said. LJ.
“Why did you call me that?” I snapped, not meaning for it to tumble out so harshly. No one had used that nickname for me in years. Not even Gavin.
“Um,” he replied. His lips pressed together like he was humming, and his eyes darted around the room. He was wearing brown work boots that were caked with dried mud. Flecks of it dropped onto the bathroom tile─that I’d just swept─as he bounced one boot heel rhythmically, nervously. His jeans looked a size too big and his T-shirt wasn’t much better. Both were ripped in random places and smeared with grease stains and dirt, and there were streaks of something blue across his left shoulder, like he’d used it to wipe his fingers clean. “That’s what Janine called you. Your initials?” he finally answered through his teeth, though he sounded unsure.
Aunt Janine had called me that when I was little, but I hadn’t seen the woman for several years before she died. I wondered why she would speak about me to anyone. Then I remembered she was crazy enough to bequeath her house to me.
“And you’re Benjamin, right?” I asked, remembering him from the will reading. We’d both stood in front of Janine’s lawyer four months ago and signed papers that declared us future owners of this property. He’d worn a cheap pair of dress pants that day and a tie that was too short for his long upper body. I could tell he was uncomfortable wearing them, or maybe just uncomfortable being there. Either way, they were probably the only nice clothes he had, and possibly one of the only times he’d worn them.
He parted his lips to respond, but closed them again and simply nodded with confirmation. There was a thick, vertical gash on the right side of his bottom lip. It was mostly healed, with new, pink scar tissue. It wasn’t there during the will reading, and his jaw wasn’t wired then either. Had he been in a fight? He looked like a fighting type, rough and rugged, with broad shoulders and thick arms camouflaged partially by his baggy shirt. Guys at Summerlin Prep fought, but those fights usually ended quickly. I think they were too worried they’d mess up their pretty faces or get booted from the country club. Nevertheless, what they lacked in physical fights they made up with ego assaults and head trips: who had the best car, best girl, bigger dick. Who could nail the most chicks. The testosterone flowed from them whether they sparred with their tongues or their fists, and the damage was equally bad. They were as ruthless as us girls when it came to trash talking and could ruin reputations with one well-placed rumor.
“Well, Benjamin, what are you doing in here?”
He lifted the handle of a large wrench attached to his tool belt. “I was told to check the water. I didn’t think any of you were here. I mean, I knocked, and no one answered downstairs, so ...”
His voice was a little clearer this time, clear enough that I didn’t need to reprocess his words. I bit my bottom lip and glanced around the room, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He didn’t speak again, but he pressed his lips tight like he was contemplating something.
“So …” I prompted, deciding to interrupt whatever internal battle he had going on, or kill the possibility of him stalling to wait for more of my bath bubbles to pop.
He turned his back to me, sliding in front of the vanity, and began to check the faucet. He caught my eye in the mirror’s reflection and turned the corners of his lips up, revealing soft dimples hovering just above his scruffy jawline. It was like he snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in. He dropped his focus back to the faucet without a word.
Oh, he is being rude. “You already know the water works. The bath is full,” I snapped, this time fully intending for my voice to sound harsh.
“Yeah,” he replied and squatted in front of vanity. He opened the cabinets and peered at the pipes underneath. “But it’s my job to check.”
I gathered up more bubbles while he was turned. I didn’t want this perv taking advantage of the fact that I couldn’t get out of the tub. He was probably enjoying this torturous encounter. I wanted to say something mean, or scream at him to make him leave, but curiosity got the upper hand. “Why is your jaw wired? Did you get into a fight?”
Still crouched, he spun on his toes and slid the vanity doors closed behind him. He was at eye level with me, which was only comforting because he no longer had a bird’s-eye view of the tub. His brown eyes were easily the darkest I’d ever seen, and his pupils pulled them deeper still. They laced together, nearly indistinguishable. He reached a hand up to the side of his head, gliding his palm over his shaved hair, which was a lot shorter than it’d been at the will reading. He smirked to himself before looking at me straight. “No, not a fight,” he said simply. “I guess I’ll see you around, LJ.”
“It’s Lila,” I replied, irritated by his smugness, or downright disrespect. I couldn’t read him as quickly as I could some other guys. His mannerisms had literally bounced all over the emotion spectrum within the last few minutes, and it was difficult to keep up.
He stopped at the bathroom door and leaned against its frame. “What, you don’t like that nickname, LJ?” His voice was low, hypnotic. I was pretty sure he was teasing me, gauging me.
“Your last name is Shadows, right?” I asked, but I didn’t wait for the answer I already knew. “Since you like initials so much, maybe I’ll just call you by yours, BS.”
He cracked an actual grin, those mischievous dimples highlighting his amusement. “Fair enough. I won’t call you LJ anymore. I’ve got something better anyway.” He pushed the words through his teeth, then stood upright and backed out of the room. “I’ll see you around, Bubbles.”
I dropped my jaw, ready to protest, but he left before I could stutter a word.
“Whoa! What did you do to your hair?” Gavin asked when I stepped into the kitchen. He had his game propped steadily on the breakfast bar while his butt worked the swivel chair back and forth, repeatedly.
I scrunched my face at him. “I thought the black dye would make it pretty obvious what I did to it.”
“Whatever, but I think you might have a hard time finding new friends to shop with if you’re going Emo or Goth for the first day of school on Monday.”
“What makes you an expert on making new friends, huh? Besides, maybe I’m not interested in friends.”
“You? Not interested in being part of a group of fun-sucking, male-head-decapitating praying manti girls? Yeah, right.”
He knew my habits too well. Back in Summerlin, when I wasn’t watching out for him, I was shopping with my friends or spending time with my boyfriend, Mark. The same people who hadn’t called, sent a text, or emailed in at least two weeks. Most of them dipped out of my life a couple of months ago when Dad gave us the news about losing his job and our money. They wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with someone who was now considered second class. Friends? Yeah
, right.
“It’s praying mantises. It doesn’t have the same plural form as cactus.” I shrugged the rest of his words off, not wanting to explore the topic further. I was already tired of thinking about all of it, most of all the parts about starting over. We were lucky Aunt Janine left me this place, and even luckier that Simone, the manager of Stockton Estate, let us move in before my eighteenth birthday in April when I’d legally claim the property. I’d hate to think where we’d be otherwise.
“I got pizza,” Dad announced, walking into the kitchen with two boxes stacked in his hands.
Typical. We should’ve used that money to help stock the refrigerator and pantry with essentials, but his first purchase was a quick pizza.
He set the boxes on the extended breakfast bar then shook his gray head of hair. Tiny droplets of water scattered from the short strands. “It’s starting to rain out there. I guess we all need to get used to more of that, huh?”
Gavin snagged a piece of pizza as soon as the box hit the counter. “Thanks,” he said, ignoring Dad’s latest moving-away-from-the-desert quip.
“No problem,” Dad replied with some deflation before he turned to me. “Don’t worry,” he added when he caught me staring down the pizza box like it was a human head instead of dinner. “I’m going out tomorrow to check up on some online job ads so I’ll go to the store and get everything we need before I come back.” His brow creased at my silence. “If you don’t trust me, make me a list.”
Trust you? Right. I should trust you. Just like I trusted you to save our house? Or trusted you to protect the savings accounts from your lovely drug-addicted wife? “I’ll make a list.”
I ignored his frown as I moved around him to get to the refrigerator. I didn’t really need to do an inventory. Everything we had was small enough to fit into the crammed car with us. It basically amounted to a box of cereal, a cooler of drinks, some chips, and trail mix. I usually shopped for the house so I knew he’d have his hands full tomorrow. Even though I’d love to see him stumble around while he searched for all the items on my list, I was sure he’d have no trouble navigating the small-town grocery store.
I grabbed a pen and paper from inside a drawer and started the list, thinking about the things we needed versus the things we’d love to have but could no longer afford. At least he was searching for a job right away. Well, of course he was. That’s all he knew. Even if we had the money for him to stay home, he’d search for a job anyway. Before he lost his all-mighty six-figure entertainment management position at The Illusion Hotel/Casino, he was never home. He was foreign to us. Being around him all of the time now was brand new, like a new person entered our family … a new person that couldn’t wait to get back to work to get away from us.
“Didn’t you talk to that Simone lady about working over at the event house?” I asked while turning the corner into the mud room, checking for additional cleaning supplies. Going by what I’d used from the upstairs storage closet, I’d need more soon. I planned to flip the house on its roof and shake it out tomorrow. Then I’d bleach it all, twice over.
“Oh, yes. I had quite a chat with Simone.” Dad’s voice was snippy.
I traveled back into the kitchen and leaned against the countertop near to the sink while he finished chewing a bite of pizza.
“She’s a piece of work. I tried to negotiate with her, but she wouldn’t entertain my ideas at all. She didn’t even offer me a part-time position. I don’t think she likes me much,” he said then took another bite of pizza and flipped though the local newspaper’s want ads.
“I doubt it’s just you,” I replied, staring at the well painting perched behind the square dining table. I stepped over to the painting─numbered twenty-four─pulled it off the wall then looked at the groundskeeper’s house through the double window. “I’m guessing no one really expected, or wanted us to move here.” Benjamin’s mannerisms were an indication of that, too. He was offish, but I was also naked so that could’ve had something to do with it.
“I suppose not,” Dad said, rubbing his hands together to rid them of pizza crumbs, effectively spreading the crumbs all over the counter I’d be cleaning tomorrow. “But I explained our situation to her when I arranged for us to move in. Even if she doesn’t like us being here, she didn’t have to be so discourteous. She didn’t even offer a tour. I had to troll around myself, after she basically kicked me out of her office over there in the event house, or whatever they call it.”
He was bothered by the whole ordeal. I’d watched him during all the low points─Mom’s addictions, Mom leaving, losing his job, losing the house─and usually he kept his feelings to himself, quietly wallowing in a cesspool of misery separate from the one Gavin and I struggled in alone. Either everything was wearing him down or he was opening up to us. If it was strictly the latter, the attempt was a little late. He should’ve opened up when we needed him the most, not now when he happened to be stuck sharing the same airspace with no job to run away to.
I grabbed a dish towel from the sink and wiped the counter in front of him, irritated by his lack of concern and emotion for the mess he’d created, both in life and with pizza. He lifted his arms and closed his green eyes in a squint, silently questioning me. I ignored him again and wiped up the rest of the counter. One less thing to clean tomorrow.
“The event house is cool, Lila. You gotta go check it out,” Gavin said, without tearing his eyes off the game. “It has a huge ballroom and a big kitchen. One of the employees was spying on me so I couldn’t really explore anything else. I’m sure it’s got some more creepy crap just like this place.”
“Did you find the well?” I asked him, finally taking a slice of the pizza. I leaned against the sink and stared at the painting behind the dining table while I chewed. Its gray tones were weirdly captivating like all of the others, blending together in a way that made the painting hazy and surreal. The brush strokes of the surrounding trees were long and fluid, swirling around the well like invitations to peer inside. Thoroughly depressing invitations. I wondered if Aunt Janine had painted them or if she’d bought them all from some hack who took advantage of her illness.
“Nope,” Gavin replied before he stuffed the remainder of his pizza slice into his mouth.
“There’s a well?” Dad asked. He was partially paying attention to our conversation as he circled some ads inside of the local paper.
“There has to be one on this property,” I replied in a snarky tone.
He glanced up toward the painting and smiled. “Yes, you’d think there was. It does seem very odd to have all of the paintings without an actual well. Lucky for you, you’ll get to explore outside more on Monday.”
I turned to look at him. “What does that mean?”
He straightened up in his chair. “Well, Simone denied me a job, but she said you are to start working on Monday.”
“She denied you a job, but she gave me one?” I repeated, somewhat confused.
“Yes. I don’t think she has a choice about your employment since you’ll own this place soon enough. It’d be a major error on her part not to show you the ropes first. She does get to choose where you start, though.”
“And where’s that?” I asked, my mind already curious about the woman who had my father, the once assured and pompous casino entertainment manager, irritated.
“She said that any new owner would benefit greatly by learning the basics of the property, which means that you will start at an entry-level groundskeeper position after school on Monday.”
“Of course,” I said, shaking my head. I could schedule, prioritize, and possibly book events using minimal brain cells, yet I get to go outside and mow the grass and plant some flowers, things I’d never done before.
Gavin laughed toward the screen of his game, but I knew the hack-’em-up game he was playing wasn’t a comedy. “Lila’s gotta get her hands dirty,” he mumbled ever so softly.
“I’m sure they have some work gloves,” Dad reassured me with a hesitant smil
e.
They both knew I leaned toward the obsessive/compulsive whenever cleanliness and order were involved. This would be a new concept, though. I’d never worked outdoors. That was one of the perks of living in a golf club community; they did all of the yard maintenance.
“Sounds fine,” I said to shut them both up. At least I’ll have a job.
Harper seized my dreams last night. She twisted into every fiber of my brain, and I woke with the clearest image I’d had of her in a long time. Three years had passed in a quick blink, stealing most of my thoughts of her along the way. The few physical pictures I had of her had already changed my mind’s depiction, replacing most of the candid memories with a few generic images. I was losing her, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But after some dreams, she’d come back for a while, visiting like she’d never left, canceling the stale pictures and recalling a lost reality. This morning, I could almost smell her coconut shampoo, taste her cherry lip balm, and feel the heat from her face, radiating so much life whenever her lips were pressed to mine.
I rolled out of bed and raked my hands over my face. The dream left my head spinning, as they usually did, bringing back all of the good as well as everything I’d rather forget. It drained me then forced me to stare into the pile of shit that had taken the place of my heart. I was relieved it was Sunday so I didn’t have to face the first day of school like this. Not that my investment in school took much effort, but I did favor having a clear head while I coasted through the motions.
Morning light bled through the navy blue sheet tacked above my bedroom window, tinting the room with an under-the-sea glow, though I’d rather it portray the darkest depths of the ocean by fully blocking out the rays instead. One of these days I’d actually invest in some black-out curtains so I could sleep until noon whenever the hell I wanted.
I grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of work jeans from the closet, kicked yesterday’s dirty clothes into the laundry pile while I dressed, then picked up the empty beer bottles I’d used as a sedative last night and tossed them in the trash. The house was perfectly silent when I left the bedroom. Days were continuously filled with movement, and at night the old house settled, but in the mornings everything was at rest. That particular silence was the only benefit to being up this early, especially on Sundays. Stockton Estate reset Sunday mornings, jumping back to its simple beginnings.
