Split

by JB Salsbury

  How does anyone survive without Wi-Fi?

  I drop my cell to my side on the bed and groan. Stuck in my old room surrounded by frill and dusty eyelet curtains and I’ve got nothing to do. Even the crickets have gone silent, mimicking my boredom.

  I’ve raked through my boxes and pulled out my mountain-friendly clothes for the week. It’s not much, but with a few tank tops and some old flannels I found hanging in my closet, it’ll do.

  After the long day I had, I came back to my dad’s place where he made Cody and me another meal consisting of the only two food groups he’s ever acknowledged: meat and potatoes. If his intention is for me to pack on some pounds, a few more meals like that should do the job.

  Tonight was the first family dinner I’ve had since my brother and Dad came to Flagstaff for my graduation. But tonight’s dinner was not as awkward as that last. After all, my dad hated the fact that I gave up Jennings Contractors to go to college. It’s not that he begrudged my getting an education as much as he despised that I wanted to do it in another town. Away from him, my mother’s memory, the Jennings legacy. What’s more, it drove him nuts that I refused to take his money for the five years I was gone.

  Momma used to say I was like a dog with a bone. Once I had my sights on something, I went for it. It would have to be pried from my cold dead grip for me to let it go.

  Which is why crawling home begging stings like a bitch.

  I roll to my side, shove my hands under my pillow, and stare at the doorway. Even with the door closed, I can see my mom standing there. She’d lean a hip against the wall, tilt her head, and listen to me complain about the stupidest shit. She was vibrant, opinionated; she’d yell using her hands and laugh with her whole body. But those are the memories I have to dig for. As soon as I find them, they morph into haunting images of the end. Her useless arms curled into her body, her regal Native American cheekbones overly pronounced and standing out against her sunken, pallid cheeks. Her skeleton protruding beneath paper-thin skin. Heat burns my eyes, but not a single tear falls.

  “Knock knock…” Cody raps twice on the door. “You decent?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I sniff and sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Come on in.”

  He cracks the door and peeks inside. “I’m takin’ off.”

  “Game’s over?” I push up off my bed.

  “Yeah.” His eyes narrow. “You all right?”

  I shrug. “Sucks not having service out here.” I snag my phone off the bed. “This thing’s useless,” I mumble.

  He purses his lips and for a moment I see Momma. Cody got most of her Navajo genes—darker skin, black hair, and compassionate eyes. “What’s really bothering you?”

  I hold up my phone and give it a weak shake, avoiding Cody’s stare. “Trevor’s annoyed he can’t get in touch with me…”

  “So? That guy’s an idiot.”

  “…could be getting e-mails back from all the résumés I sent out, but I can’t check…”

  “Not sure that matters at ten o’clock at night.”

  I huff out a breath.

  “Come on.” He rolls his hand through the air. “We can do this all night or you can spit it out.”

  I sag in on myself, knowing he won’t give up until I fess up. “Just hard, ya know, being home.”

  He drops his gaze and nods. “Yeah.”

  “I just…I see her everywhere and I don’t see the healthy her, but—”

  “The sick her.” He pushes into the room and props a thigh on my old desk. His massive leg, dirty denim, and a sheathed hunting knife clipped to his hip are laughable against my pink desk covered in hand-painted butterflies. “Me too.”

  “How do you do this, Code? How can you stand coming here to this house or even living in this town? Everything reminds me of her.”

  “Easy.” He swivels and jerks his head in the direction of the living room. “I do it for him. Whatever we went through, he went through worse. He sheltered us from the worst of it. Nobody sheltered him. He held her when she lost the ability to talk but needed to scream. Talked to her when everyone else treated her like she’d already gone. We may’ve been her life, Shy, but she was his life. That’s a lot of burden for one man to carry.” He shrugs. “Can’t leave him. I’m all he has now.”

  I cringe at the truth in his words as guilt ravages my gut. “He has me too.” It comes out as a defense, which only intensifies the grip on my stomach. Fact is, I ran as soon as I was old enough to do it legally. I went against everything he wanted and did what I could to save myself. It was selfish, but it was survival. I had to get away from the hurt.

  Fuck, it’s been over six years since she died, and being here is still torture. But did I ever stop to consider how badly my dad was hurting? He’s the bravest, strongest, most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I figured he’d be fine. Eventually.

  I lean against the desk next to Cody. “How’d you know about all that? He never talked about it.”

  “We’ve had a few father–son talks over a case of beer.” He wraps an arm around me for a quick squeeze. “I don’t blame you for leaving, Shy. You act tough, but it’s just to cover up all your mushy insides.”

  I tilt my head and study my brother’s dark eyes that have flecks of gold just like Mom’s did. “I’m your big sister. I left you behind when you needed me.”

  His lips curve up a hint at the ends. “You might be older in years, but I’m way more mature.”

  I rock into him with my shoulder and he chuckles.

  “It’s good to have you back.” He stands and moves to the door but turns before passing through it. “When these newspeople call and start offering you your dream job, do us a favor this time and stay in touch.”

  “I will.” I drop my chin, unable to hold my brother’s eyes as the pride and sadness in his gaze tightens my throat.

  “Good. G’night.”

  The old door closes with a whine that matches my own. I never really stopped to think about how badly my dad was hurting after losing Mom. So lost in a tornado of emotions, I couldn’t see beyond my own grief. But still, why stay here in this house of death when he could be living in Mom’s dream home surrounded by memories from when she was healthy and they had their entire lives ahead of them? To allow it to be lived in by a stranger, someone who has no idea what a privilege it is to be so close to the last thing that was important to her. The thought makes my muscles tense.

  If anyone deserves to live in that house, it’s me. And with my open-ended stay, there’s no way I can stay in this house indefinitely.

  Dog with a bone, right?

  I’m getting my momma’s house back.

  Lucas

  “Come on, Buddy. Aren’t you hungry?” I hold a handful of dog food on my palm.

  He recedes deeper beneath the deck and growls.

  “Okay. It’s okay.” I toss the kibble back into the plastic bowl and push it deep beneath the porch. “It’s yours. I won’t bug you.”

  Despite my best efforts to lure him from his hiding spot, he hasn’t left since he first showed up almost a week ago. Every night I get back from the job site, I peek down to see those terrified brown eyes peering back at me. I have to assume he comes out while I’m gone, or maybe while I sleep, but when I’m here, he tucks away in his shelter.

  My guess is he’s been hurt before and struggles with trust. I don’t want to push him and scare him away. It’s actually been kinda nice to have someone to take care of again.

  I take a seat at my table and open my sketchbook. It’s nothing fancy, just a pad of blank drawing paper, the kind they sell to kids. Even if I had a television, I don’t like to watch. Fearing a story on the evening news or a few minutes of a crime show will trigger a blackout. I have a stack of comic books, but I’ve read them over a dozen times each, so sketching is how I pass the time.

  My hands hurt from putting up drywall all day, but it’s not enough to keep them from moving over the page. With quick strokes and some gentle shading, an eye takes shape.
Wide but turned up at the edge, followed by eyelashes, thick and the color of coal. The irises stay light, only a touch of blended lead to illustrate powder blue.

  Shyann.

  The girl has been stuck in my head since we first met. She’s at the job site at least once a day, usually to drop off coffee for the crew or to swing by and have Nash sign something important. I’ve come so close to walking up to say hi, but my nerves make it impossible, so I do the next best thing and try to ignore her. But even my best attempts can’t keep my gaze from searching her out.

  Those first few days I’d catch her watching me. She’d smile and her show of friendliness would send me deeper into my work. Yesterday I caught her glaring at me, as if my refusal to acknowledge her conveyed my disinterest. Little could she possibly know she’s all I think about anymore. For someone like me, obsession can be dangerous.

  Today was the worst, though. She never even looked my way, acted like I didn’t exist. And that hurt, which is stupid because I hardly know the girl.

  Outside of what she looks like naked.

  My fingers clamp the pencil tighter.

  I also know Shyann has an explosive temperament and as much as that scares me I can’t keep myself from imagining what it would be like to know her better. But I’ve never been friends with a woman before. Never had the opportunity to even know a woman. The females I’ve known in the past were heartless; all of them seemed to want something from me. Something I was never able to give. So they’d take it by force, or try. I shake my head and drag myself back to the page only to find the image of Shyann’s naked body sketched in pencil.

  This is exactly why it’s best for Shyann Jennings to ignore me. I’m not like other guys and she’s the type that’s probably attracted to friends who’re confident. Safe. Stable.

  Every single thing I’m not.

  Nine

  Shyann

  “Thank you for your interest but the position has been…”

  “Fuck.” I slam my phone down on my desk and bite back a string of colorful curses. “Filled.”

  It’s been almost two weeks since my stellar fuckup, and after sending out my résumé and applying for every job I could find, from field reporter to research assistant, at every news outfit in existence, I’ve got nothing.

  Trevor said I’d most likely get blackballed after I assaulted my cameraman. “You were emotionally volatile. It’s a class-A no-no in the world of broadcast news,” he’d said, but I didn’t think every broadcast business in the country would’ve gotten wind of it.

  One mistake. One assault— Oh, who am I kidding?

  I’m stuck in Payson for the foreseeable future. Until I figure out how the hell I’m going to pay off the fifty-thousand-dollar education I can’t use.

  I could claw my way out of my skin I’m so mad. I hoped for another chance. I don’t want to come home to the house my mother died in after working a long day as a secretary at the family business to watch NCIS reruns with my dad every night.

  In the short time I’ve been here, all I’ve done is fall back into the day-to-day I lived my senior year in high school, but with fewer friends and a much more depressing future. I’d been speeding toward my goals and now I’m stuck in the sludge of discouragement that looks an awful lot like Payson dirt.

  I bury my hands in my hair and squeeze. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Good.” My dad’s gruff voice is beside me, and I glance up just as he shoves a purchase order in my face. “Get out of here and pick this tile up.”

  “Tile?” I snag the yellow paper from his hand. “This is a lot of travertine.”

  He shrugs. “Client insists on having the entire house done. I need someone to drive the flatbed down and bring back the pallets. Besides”—he runs a finger along my desktop until it squeaks—“you’re dustin’ holes in my furniture and Windexing the Windex bottle.”

  “It was dirty.” Like it’s a crime to keep cleaning supplies clean. Okay, even I can admit that’s a step too far.

  “There’s nothing left for you to clean.” He nods to the purchase order. “Need some air, pick up some pallets while you’re doin’ it.”

  I stand up and grab my purse, thankful that I’m wearing a comfortable pair of worn jeans and soft NAU T-shirt that’ll be perfect for a road trip to the warmer Phoenix temperatures.

  “I’ll go. Where’s the flatbed?” It’s usually being driven from job site to job site and rarely parked idly at the office.

  “On its way.” He turns to trod back to his desk. “I’m sending someone with you.”

  “What?” I follow on his heels. “Why?”

  My quiet time to reflect will now be monopolized by country music and the methodical spat of chewing tobacco.

  “Two reasons. One, not safe for a woman to travel alone with that Shadow guy on the loose. Two, might need some extra muscle with those pallets.”

  I blow out a long breath, praying for patience. Number two is total bullshit. The pallets are loaded by forklift and tied on with ratchet straps. Knowing my dad, it’s all about number one.

  “It’s broad daylight and the Shadow only hits at night. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  He lifts a brow. “Never said anything about you being babysat.”

  “Then why not let me go alone?”

  The rumble of the diesel-fueled flatbed sounds from the open window.

  My dad pushes past me and I follow him out and into the sun. My eyes adjust in time to see the driver’s door swing open and two long, denim-covered legs extend from the truck cab followed by a faded red T-shirt and a baseball hat.

  Is that…?

  “Lucas!” My dad waves the guy over and I smooth the front of my shirt, wishing I’d worn something a little nicer.

  It’s not because Lucas is ridiculously good-looking, which he is. Or that he’s built like a man should be built, not overly swollen with muscles sculpted in a gym but lean and strong from hard work. Wide shoulders, cut biceps, and narrow hips. It also has nothing to do with the way he acts like I don’t exist, all but throwing up the challenge for me to prove to him that I do. And it certainly isn’t those rough hands that can create delicate works of art as well as swing a hammer. Even if those are the kinds of things that are bound to bring on the butterflies, they’re not it.

  It’s just, we share something. The loss of a parent. That kind of mutual experience makes me feel exposed when we’re fifteen feet apart, let alone locked in a truck together.

  Lucas adjusts his blue ball cap and closes the distance between us in long strides. “Mr. Jennings. Sir.” He tilts his head my way but avoids my eyes. “Ma’am.”

  “I’m sending Shyann with you.”

  Lucas’s frame goes rigid. He’s inconvenienced by the sudden company. Why the hell does that piss me off?

  “She has the purchase order and will handle everything. You make sure those pallets are secure.” My dad fishes a credit card from his pocket and hands it to me. “For gas and lunch.”

  I nod and shove it into my purse. “Great.”

  “You two keep me posted. We need that tile on-site first thing in the morning, so do your jobs and don’t fuck up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lucas pivots and climbs back into the truck.

  “But it’s okay for you to say fuck.”

  His lips twitch. “Get gone now. Be safe. Don’t be too hard on my boy there. He’s fragile,” he says under his breath.

  “Whatever.” I drag my feet to the passenger side of the truck and climb in.

  The cab smells like soap with a hint of spice, sawdust, and diesel fuel. Lucas has his eyes forward, his hands fisted on the steering wheel. “Want me to drive?” I try not to stare at the scar on his neck.

  He reaches down and fires up the engine by way of answer.

  “Suit yourself.” I prop my feet on the dash and scoot down in my seat, making myself comfortable. If I were the type who could sleep while my life was in the hands of a virtual stranger, I would just to make things
less awkward. Unfortunately I’m not.

  We ride in silence for a good fifteen minutes and the strain grows between us with every passing mile. I reach forward and fumble with the radio dial, hoping sound will dull the roaring stillness. Everything is static coming down through the mountains, so I give up quickly and adjust the AC vents to blow on my suddenly heated skin.

  “No radio.” I drum my fingers on my thighs. “So…listen, this trip is going to be hard enough; we may as well get to know each other to kill time.” His head is covered by his hat, and all I can see is thick hair the color of weak coffee that peeks out around his ears and neck. He’s in desperate need of a haircut. His mouth is set in a tight line, and his jaw ticks ever so slightly, but he remains silent. “Where did you learn to draw?”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, ma’am. Just always could.”

  Man of few words.

  I slap my palms on my thighs. “Where are you from?”

  The muscles in his forearms jump. “Why?”

  “Just trying to make conversation.”

  He clears his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobs in those few seconds of silence as he contemplates his answer. “San Bernardino.”

  “California. Very cool. Okay your turn.”

  He plays statue, his jaw hard.

  “Ask me a question. Anything you want.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Oh come on, just throw something out there.”

  His hands flex and release on the wheel.

  “First thing that comes to your mind.”

  He chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. “What is…uh…” More silence and I wonder if he’ll clam up on me and I’ll be stuck staring out the window for the next hour and a half. “Your favorite, um…color?”

  “Green. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  I swear I can see the side of his mouth lift in a grin. “No, ma’am.”

  “Why do you insist on calling me ma’am?”

  He looks over at me, and for a moment I’m stunned to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re gray. Dark gray like storm clouds. But I don’t get a chance to look deeper, as he goes back to the road. “I…”