by Louise, Tia
Shaking my hands, I start up the stairs. I have to put all that behind me and finish my work on the master suite. I’ve got wallpaper to hang and painting to do. The plumber is coming Monday to finish the tub, and I want to have the bathroom finished this week.
Changing into a pair of ratty sweatpants and an old tee, I jog downstairs to pour my coffee into a Yeti insulated mug and then back up to get started.
My hair is just long enough to be pulled back in a tiny ponytail, I cue up the Xanadu soundtrack on my Spotify, and focus on manual labor and not yesterday’s road trip and what happened afterward.
Wallpaper isn’t hard to hang, especially the peel and stick kind. The hardest part is lining up the lines so it looks like a real drawing. My mind is focused on cutting straight lines and hanging it perfectly, so I don’t even notice it’s after lunch until my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.
“I just made Ma’s famous pimento and cheese.” Sly is on the line. “Take a break and come eat lunch with us.”
A quick check in the mirror says I’m not that big of a mess. “Okay, but just for a half-hour. I want to finish this wallpaper today.”
“Stay as long as you like. We won’t be offended.”
“And I’m in sweats and your old high school PE shirt.”
“Where did you find that old thing?”
“Just saying.”
“No worries. Only family here.”
I’m halfway down the stairs when we disconnect, giving Cosmo a scrub around the ears. He bursts into loud purring, and I hesitate, giving him some longer scratches and chatting at him in my cat-voice.
“Who’s the biggest cat in Fireside?” I lean forward, rubbing my nose against him. “Who’s the biggest cat?”
Aunt Regina’s new house is close enough to walk—like everything in Fireside. The town only has one traffic signal, one main street, and one historic neighborhood, in which the bed and breakfast occupies a prime location.
Her new house is more Tudor style with white stucco lined in dark wooden slats. It reminds me of a ski lodge, and I hear voices yelling in the back yard as I approach. I wonder if Sly found another little boy to play with Oliver.
“Sly? Aunt Regina?” I don’t knock as I enter through the front door.
The house is grand, even more like a ski lodge on the inside with vaulted ceilings and dark wood lining the white walls. An enormous, two-sided fireplace sits between the living room and the kitchen, and the place seems to be deserted.
Sandwich fixings sit on the bar in the kitchen as I skip through to the back door, pulling it open without even looking.
I should’ve looked because all the noise is a pretend football game with Scout running across the yard holding Oliver in his arms.
“And he runs it in for the touchdown!” Scout yells in an announcer-style voice. “The crowd goes wild!” He air-cheers, and Oliver squeals.
“You did it, Ollie!” Sly yells, jumping up and down and clapping from what seems to be the sidelines.
“Do it again!” Oliver bounces on Scout’s hip.
“Again?” Scout rolls him forward like a rocket, running back across the yard and swirling the little boy around as Ollie clutches a toy-sized football giggling the whole way.
It would be cuteness overload if I weren’t standing at the top of the steps looking like a sad little orphan girl in paint-covered sweats and a tee so old it has holes in the armpits. Maybe if I slowly back-step through the door, nobody will even notice I’m—
“Daisy! You made it!” Aunt Regina calls to me from the wrought-iron lawn chair where she’s sitting.
“Daisy!” Sly waves when she sees me.
“Hey…” I swallow the knot in my throat, doing my best not to look at Scout.
So what if he’s here playing with Oliver instead of checking in with me like he said he would. I don’t care. I was dreading it, actually. It would’ve been super awkward after last night.
“Look who I grabbed off the street.” Sly loops her hand through Scout’s arm, dragging the two of them to where I’m standing, wishing I could slink inside or at least fall into one of the bushes to hide.
“Hey, Daisy.” Scout’s voice is low, quiet.
Our eyes meet, and a flash of embarrassment hits me right in the stomach. I blink away fast. “Hey… Well, everybody’s here.” Turning, I start to go inside. “Anybody else want a sandwich?”
“Here, let me help you!” Sly jogs up the stairs, and I hear Oliver talking to Scout.
“Have you ever made a touchdown?” His little voice is fast and breathless, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at them.
“A few times.” Scout’s holding him in his arms, and the little boy is looking at the football like it’s a rare treasure.
“Can we do it again?”
“How about you run down the field and I’ll throw the ball to you? That’s called going long.”
“He is so good with kids, I swear.” Sly opens the door, leading me into the arched, white kitchen as she laughs, “Probably because he’s just a big kid himself.”
I follow her, stealing one last glance at Scout in his usual jeans and a tee, muscles rippling in his arms as he gently tosses the ball underhanded to the little boy running with all his strength across the yard.
“Look up!” Scout calls, but Oliver doesn’t even try to catch it. He seems to have forgotten he was supposed to do something more than run away.
“He’s not a child.” My voice is quiet, remembering the words Scout said to me at the Tuna Tiki. Tinkerbell… Peter Pan.
A few seconds pass, and I realize my cousin has stopped talking.
Sly’s watching me with a knowing grin, and a flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. I hate how easily I blush.
“I guess some things haven’t changed.” She rounds the bar and pulls out five plates.
Brightening my tone, I go to the bar and start pulling out slices of bread. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How much do we need? Is everybody having a sandwich?”
She takes out a serving spoon. “Twelve should be enough. We’ll make two for Scout, although Oliver probably won’t eat much. He probably won’t let Scout eat much either. He’s completely in love.”
“At least he’s talking now.” I nod towards the door. “What’s the story?”
“One of my massage therapy friends is a single mom. Ollie’s dad showed up on Friday, and she’s afraid he’s going to try and take her son away. She was having a bit of a meltdown, so I offered to keep him this weekend. Kind of get him out of the mess.”
“Poor little guy.” I put pairs of bread on each plate, and a stack of four on Scout’s. “Have you heard from her since you got here?”
“No.” She exhales heavily. “And he’s such a sweetie. I’m glad he seems so happy now. Scout really helped me. When I stopped him, he took one look at the little boy and jogged home to get a football. I guess he has a million of them hanging around.”
We prep the sandwiches, and Sly pours lemonade into a pitcher, grabbing five silicone cups as I head out the door. “Come and get it!”
Scout scoops up Ollie and walks towards us, giving me a hesitant smile I feel all the way to my toes as he closes the space between us. His eyes run all over me, and I wish I’d at least thought to put on some lip gloss. I could strangle my cousin for not telling me he was here.
“Sly said the house looks amazing.” Aunt Regina takes the cups and pours everyone a drink. “Maybe I can come over and take a look this afternoon? You know I’m dying to see it.”
“Mm!” I shake my head, covering my mouth as I quickly chew and swallow my bite. “I’m finishing up the master suite now. I’ll give you the grand tour when it’s all done.”
She exhales a frustrated noise, but she’s smiling as she leans back in the chair holding her sandwich.
Sly trades the double plate for Ollie with Scout. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He takes the plate, grabbing a sandwich and eating almost half
of it in one bite.
“Making him smile. And laugh!” She leans forward, and the little boy squeals, taking the sandwich and studying it. “Try it. It’s cheese. You’ll like it.”
He takes a hesitant bite then eats more. Clearly, he worked up an appetite.
“Scout has always been great with kids. Remember when he protected you from that Shetland pony, Daisy?” Aunt Regina laughs. “What was that silly horse’s name?”
“Whistle Britches.” Scout chuckles.
“Yes! I think they called him that because he had the vapors.” My aunt covers her mouth as she laughs more. “You were so scared of that pony, Daisy.”
Scout’s dimple appears, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at me. It makes my stomach all fizzy and hot.
I look at my sandwich. “Shetland ponies are known to bite.”
“You weren’t much bigger than this guy.” Scout’s voice is warm, and his hesitation is gone.
Oliver looks up with cheese on both his cheeks. “Do you have a pony?”
“I don’t.” I smile at him, taking the last bite of sandwich. “I’m sorry, but I’d better take off if I’m going to finish that wallpaper.”
“So soon?” Aunt Regina frowns, and I walk over to kiss her head.
“I have less than two weeks left.”
Oliver climbs into Sly’s lap, and she rubs his back. “Somebody’s ready for a nap.”
“Here.” Scout’s on his feet, collecting everybody’s plates. “I’ll walk you back.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m just hanging wallpaper.” Holding out my hand, I take a step backwards and my heel slips off the brick pavement. “Oh, woah!”
I throw up a hand and almost fall. Scout lunges towards me and almost drops all the plates, but I catch them and his arms.
“Yes, you’d better go with her, Scout.” Aunt Regina’s tone is wry as she stands and takes the plates from Scout. “I don’t like her over there working alone. If something happened, it would be a while before we knew.”
“That’s really not necessary. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Come on.” He catches my arm, and I’m very aware of his strong grip on my skin.
“Fine. You can sit and watch as I hang wallpaper.”
“Make sure she doesn’t fall off any ladders,” Sly quips.
“On it.”
I roll my eyes and stomp off towards the street. My family is so ridiculous, and now I have Scout with me for the rest of the day. It feels even more dangerous than falling off a ladder alone in the house.
Six
Scout
“Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” Daisy says the words, standing on a step ladder and holding the top half of a strip of self-adhesive wallpaper to the line at the ceiling.
I guide the bottom half to meet the wainscoting, so it doesn’t curl and stick to itself.
“It’s a nice one, but it’s so overused.”
I’m glad we’ve made it past the potential awkwardness after last night. When I saw her at her aunt’s house, I could feel her pulling away, and I hated it. I knew it was my fault. I’m sure remembering Whistle Britches the flatulent pony helped.
Last night, after jerking off in the shower, I fell asleep to visions of her cute little ass in those cutoffs. Today, she’s all covered up in gray sweatpants and Sly’s ancient high school PE uniform shirt, and she’s still cute as hell.
Searching for a distraction, I told her I’d always wanted a motto or guiding principle, but I’d never been able to find one. We’ve been testing out different ones, but none feel right.
“An optimist believes the future is uncertain.” She tries again.
“What does a pessimist believe?”
She snorts. “He will never find a motto.”
“Gah!” I lift her off the step stool, and she falls over my shoulder laughing.
“Stop, you’re going to mess up the wallpaper!” She slaps my back, and I take a turn before putting her back.
“Maybe we should give it a rest.”
She runs the plastic, half-moon-shaped tool down the length of the wall, smoothing out any bubbles. “You said you’d check in today.”
It’s not really a question. In fact, I’d almost think she was offended if she had a tone.
“I was on my way here when Sly stopped me. I didn’t know she was back in town.”
“She just got back this morning.” Her eyes meet mine briefly, and she steps down from the stool to get another strip of wallpaper.
It’s a minimalistic design, blue line drawings on an off-white background. It reminds me of those Asian vases everybody has.
“She didn’t know what to do with Oliver, so I ran back to grab one of the footballs Dad has for Jesse.”
“J.R.’s little boy? He’s only a toddler.”
“Gotta start ‘em young.” I give her a wink, and she rolls her eyes as she climbs on the stool, ready to press the paper against the wall.
Tearing my eyes away from her ass, I catch the bottom of the strip. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“It’s okay. You probably would’ve been disappointed anyway.”
That pulls me up short. “I seriously doubt that.”
“I’m not very good at it.”
Cutting my eyes at her. “You mean you’re not a virgin? Daisy Sales is a slut.”
“I’m not a slut. I’m twenty-three. Stop acting like that.”
“It’s a joke. I’m not surprised.” We fasten the ends, and I step back as she smooths the paddle down the wall again. “I’m sure you’ve had guys interested in you. It’s the other part I don’t believe. Who said you weren’t good at it?”
Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth, and she hesitates.
I poke her ribs. “Tell me.”
“Braxton Peterson.” It’s so quiet, I almost don’t hear it.
“Who?”
“It’s not anybody you know. It was a guy from Greenville, before I moved here.”
“Wait… You haven’t slept with anybody since you moved here? That was… five years ago. What the fuck?”
“I told you. I’m not good at it. It’s too embarrassing.” Her voice goes lower as the red in her cheeks flames higher.
“Nope. Not buying it.” Shaking my head, I hold her hand as she walks down the stool.
“I’m telling you. That’s what he said.” She picks up another piece of wallpaper and holds it up. “Last piece.”
I wait as she peels the backing off and climbs up again to catch the end. “So this dickhead Peterson had sex with you, and after he got his rocks off, he said you sucked at it?”
“Worse.” She starts smoothing the paddle down the wall. “He told his friends, and after it circulated around the school, the word got back to me.”
Now I’ve got fire in my belly. I’m seeing red. “Mother fucker. Where can I find this guy?”
She exhales a sad little laugh. “I have no idea, but I’ve never been so happy to leave anywhere as I was when I left that school.”
“And you haven’t done it with anybody since?”
Her lips press together, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got the answer.
She steps down the ladder and crosses her arms, and we both look around the bathroom. It looks pretty damn good.
“Tomorrow I’ll paint this wainscoting white, and then all I’ll have left is the plumber.”
Glancing towards the window, it’s dark out. We’ve been working several hours, and she leans her neck side to side.
“Here.” Stepping behind her, I put my hands on her narrow shoulders. She’s like a bird, and I press with my thumbs into her shoulder muscles, making small circles without being too forceful. I don’t want to break her.
“Mm…” Her head drops forward. “That feels good.”
I keep doing it, and she lets out a low moan that has my cock perking up. Sliding my hands lower, I massage the muscles along her spine, and she makes another sex no
ise. I clear my throat and take a step back. We’re venturing into dangerous territory again.
“I’d better take off, but I can help you paint tomorrow. If you want me to.”
“That’d be great. I could use the help.” Turning around, she blinks up at me, and her brown eyes are relaxed and happy.
I imagine her freshly fucked by me, flushed and sweaty. It’s hot.
And I’d better go.
She follows me down the stairs, but when we get to the back door, I can’t leave it that way. Stopping at the door, I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Listen.” She stops, her brow furrowing over her eyes as she looks up at me. “I’m a pretty good judge of potential performance, and I’ve kissed you twice now. If some dickhead said you were bad at it, either he has issues of his own or he didn’t do it right. With the way you’ve kissed me… I expect you’re very good at it.”
Her eyes blink faster with every word and that pink fills her cheeks. I lean down and kiss her forehead before heading out the door. This kind of talk is bound to lead to the bedroom, and I’m still not sure where that would end up.
I’m halfway down the back steps when she calls after me. “Thanks, Scout.”
I do a little wave and take off.
“Now every year on May 17, I lose my voice.”
Daisy’s sitting on the floor in the master bathroom painting the baseboards and trim white while I roll the bottom half of the walls. Her Spotify is playing the new Taylor Swift album, which I think is too sad, and it’s almost eleven-thirty. I’ve been here since nine. She had coffee waiting, and then we got started.
“How long does it last?”
“A day at least, sometimes longer. Aunt Regina says it’s just allergies, but a few years ago, I started tracking it in my calendar. It’s the same day every year.”
“May 17,” I repeat. “The day your mother left.”
“The very day.”
I finish my last roll and carry the tool to the pan of white paint on the floor. “It’s pretty strange. It makes me feel like I’m not mourning my mother right.”
