Asher shook his head. “I’ve never heard of you.”
She shrugged, unsure what to say. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” She turned to leave, her blonde, blue-tipped ponytail hanging down between her shoulder-blades. Just beneath the strap of her bra, he could make out a tattoo of some kind.
He looked down at the key, “You’re a bit young, don’t you think?”
“Excuse me?” She turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder. He noticed another faded tattoo behind her left ear.
He was standing with his one hand in his pocket, fumbling the blunt and wondering if she had been the supplier. She sure fit the profile. Her glare hardened on his, and Milla felt a sting of disappointment at his prejudice of her.
She loved the Blossom family, and hoped their older brother would be as accepting of her as they all had been. Guess she was wrong.
Asher cleared his throat. “You seem a bit too young to be a babysitter,” he admitted with a light shrug. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on school?”
Her eyes shifted to the garden, burying the hurt, then back to him. School, if only! She thought for a moment what that would be like – to live a normal, suburban life. Her eyes stayed on Asher. His hair was so dark it almost matched the black of his jeans, and he carried those beautiful blue blossom eyes that all the family did. She half turned toward him, eager to give him a piece of her mind, feeling her nails dig into her palms as her agitation grew. Now she looked harder, she saw his blue eyes were flecked with gray, a little darker than his t-shirt. And just like that, her anger dissipated, her resolve waned.
“Yeah, I guess. I get that a lot.” She said before walking off and crossing the road.
Asher watched Milla walk smoothly, and silently down the dusty garden path, despite her heels. He rubbed the back of his neck. Staring at the house, he felt a twinge of embarrassment but, honestly, he felt more mortified at his attitude towards the girl. He reasoned with himself, that it wasn’t that he was being an asshole, he just hated being kept in the dark about his family. Perhaps more taken back by the resemblance of Amanda. It was bizarre that considering the fact they spoke to him nearly daily, none of his family members had mentioned Milla, not once.
What else had they not told him? Was he such a terrible person, his family had to hide things from him? The nasty thought entered his mind again. If he blamed himself for his parent’s death, why should they not? If only he had buckled up that day. Perhaps not insisted on taking the scenic route back to their Bed and Breakfast, his parents, and the love of his life, would still be alive today.
Two
A hot shower gave Asher a much needed reprieve from his tired, over-travelled body. Getting into his last pair of clean undies, he slipped on his jeans and gathered his laundry from off the dam bathroom floor. On the way through the house, he peeked into the twins room. Caleb’s side of the room was neat, a poster of JK Rowling’s latest book stuck on his wall above his desk. He remembered sending that to him just a few months ago - signed by the author herself. Cloe’s side was a mess of clothes’ socks and shoes, all scattered across the seat of the bay-window. He crossed the room and nearly tripped over the skateboard protruding half way from under her bed. Her desk littered with model planes, cars, half-opened paints, and gold medals acquired through her baseball games. His chest swelled with pride. He noticed one of the draws were open, a phone charger slung over the handle. As he pulled it out of the draw, he noticed a necklace with a locket caught up in the wire. His mother had given it to Cleo on their last family trip together. She was so tiny back then, he mused to himself. His chest now ballooned with hurt and anger at the memory, at the thought that the twins never really knew their parents, Wiping a tear, he took out his phone and plugged it into the wall socket to charge. He placed the key shaped locket back into the drawer and closed it. Grabbing the laundry basket, he shoved all the clothes into it with the intention of starting operation tidy-up.
One of the pillows on the daybed had ketchup spilt all over it and he dumped it in with the laundry. Something about the ketchup on the pillow seemed almost familiar, de-ja-vu, if you will. Outside, he heard the slam of a car door and peeked out through the window to see Uncle Octavius’s white station wagon parked along the sidewalk. Asher watched as his uncle got out and opened the back door, allowing the twins to spill out. They were arguing loudly about something.
Rushing down the stairs, he met them as they came tumbling in through the doorway. Their fighting immediately ceased and they dropped their bags, running to Asher with open arms. Wide, teary eyes stared up at him.
“Asher!” they both shrieked.
He dropped the laundry, ignoring it as it toppled over and rolled down the stairs. He grabbed both kids in each arm and hugged the crap out of them.
“You guys are so big,” he said, pretending to buckle over. “And heavy,” he added.
Both of them giggled.
Asher’s eyes went to the door where his uncle stood full handed, lunch boxes, books, and what appeared to be a school project made out of cardboard. “Uncle,” Asher said.
“We were not expecting you until much –” Octavius looked at his watch. “Never mind.” He shrugged. “It is later.” He ended with a hesitant grin on his face. “Glad you made it to us safely, boy.”
The twins jumped from Asher’s arms. “Tell us about the bomb.” Cleo’s sweet voice shouted out. “Did the CIA really quarantine your flight’s passengers?” she continued. “Did they find the terrorist?” Her long lashes flicking wildly as she spoke.
Asher rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting toward his uncle who threw all the kids’ stuff onto the antique console table beside the door.
“Wow, you were not kidding about the imaginations of these two,” Asher chuckled and kissed Cleo on the head.
“It was not as bad as it seemed. He reassured them. “And no, the CIA were not involved in any way.” He smiled down at them. “I thought I might treat you all for a late lunch at Maxi’s.”
The twins pulled a face. “Gross.”
“That was our place?” Asher protested.
“No.” Caleb adjusted his glasses. “That was your place.” Then tilted his chin up as he said to his older brother. “And we were four, we didn’t know any better.”
Asher smirked. “Okay, so where would you like to go, your majesty?” Asher bowed in front of his little brother.
“Amuse,” Cloe shouted, jumping up and down, her hands clapping together in excitement.
“Not this again.” Caleb turned away, grabbing his school bag.
Asher vaguely took in the sound of a motor bike nearby. “Where are you going?” Asher called to Caleb as he left the entrance hall and went into the living room.
A voice came from the door. “Did someone say, Amuse?”
Asher’s eyes took in the shadow of a tall girl with her hair pinned high above her head. Hues of auburn burned as the sun shone in from behind her.
“Brooke?” he asked, unable to reconcile this image of a beautiful woman with his annoying, younger sister. Had three years really been so long, he hardly recognised his own sister?
Brooke stepped through the door, she was now almost as tall as he was. Her lips were blood red and thick black eyeliner framed her big brown eyes.
“You can’t go to Amuse without me. I have an afternoon shift, can we do dinner instead?” Brooke asked. She kissed Asher on the cheek, then her arms encircled him and they hugged for a long time.
“Wow,” he said into her hair. Her perfume was strong but delightful. “I didn’t even recognise you.”
She looked just like their mother, he thought. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair with hints of red when the sun caught it at the right angle.
“I missed you, too, bro.” She patted him on the shoulder.
“You can count me out!” Caleb shouted from the living room. “Amuse is for trendies, hippies, over-priced and over-crowded.” His voice resounded from the living room.
“Were you just dropped off by a guy on a motorbike?” he asked Brooke, unable to hide his edge of disapproval.
“Relax,” she said, climbing the stairs. “I was dropped off by a girl on a motorbike.” Brooke looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows alternating up and down with amusement.
“It was the motor bike part that has me a little worried, not the rider.”
“No need to worry, silly. Raven rides professionally.”
A strange noise emanated from Asher’s throat.
“Breathe through it,” Octavius said, working through a pile of post. An unlit cigarette hung from his lower lip. “I’ve found it best not to fight it.”
“Amuse, here we come!” Cleo shouted, appearing at the top of the stairs. She’d changed into a cute little skirt and top combo. Her hair was out of her braid where it hung loosely to her waist in waves.
“Wait, you were just… How quickly did you get dressed?” Asher stared at his little sister in utter bewilderment. He could have sworn she was in jeans and sneakers just five moments ago, and right beside him! Perhaps he was more spent than he realized.
“A lady is always prepared. Amuse here we come.” Cleo flung her wrist out.
“After work!” Brooke yelled from her room.
“It will be bedtime by then.” Caleb left the lounge, his arms crossed over his chest defiantly. “You can’t make me go,” he said.
“You can stay with Milla for all I care,” Cloe interjected as she made her way down the stairs.
“No one stays with Milla tonight.” Nor ever Asher thought to himself.
“Worst way to start my weekend,” Caleb mumbled.
Asher rolled his eyes, his head dizzy from the chaos. He grabbed the laundry basket from the floor, chucked the escaped laundry back in, and stomped toward the washing room.
“Welcome home, Asher,” he muttered. “When everyone has comes to an agreement, you know where to find me,” he called back over his shoulder.
Cleo turned to her twin. “You see what you did, you little brat!”
“Stop that,” he yelled at her, taking a punch.
“Now, now children, play nice,” Brooke said, coming down the stairs, dressed in her work uniform.
“He ruins everything,” Cleo whined.
“And you’re spoilt. You always get your own way.” Caleb tugged on Cleo’s hair and ran.
“Come back here. I’m going to kill you!”
She ran after Caleb, her little steps echoing loudly throughout the house. Brook made her way down the stairs, shrugging her jacket on. She noticed Octavius not taking notice of anyone again.
“I’m off to work,” she said, her eyes staring at him from the reflection of the mirror.
“Aha.” He replied, his face buried in a letter.
“I’ll be late. I have to go bail Raven out of the local police station, apparently she’s being charged with murder after her dad failed to pay her any attention.” She said, testing her uncle’s attention.
“Sure.” Octavius half- smiled, not looking up from the letter. “Anything you need sweetheart,” he added.
Shaking her head, Brooke quickly checked her makeup in the mirror then passed him with a light peck on the cheek. Brooke slipped on her work shoes, which were stashed in the shoe box beneath the coat rack, and gave him one more glance, curious as to what it possibly was that had his full attention.
“I’m leaving for work,” Brooke called into the living room, more for the kids’ benefit before taking the keys from the bowl by her uncle. From over his shoulder, her eyes scanned the letter, a symbol in the right hand corner of the institute he kept on ignoring. But this time, at least he opened it.
“Did you even hear a word I said?” She moved to stand in the doorway right behind him.
“No, did you need me for something?”
She shook her head again. “Not today.”
“Drive safe,” he called out after her.
He walked toward the staircase still reading the letter and then stopped. Asher came into the foyer, his eyes taking in his Uncle who was paused at the foot of the stairs. Asher was distracted by the sight of Brooke at the door, stretching up onto her toes, arms in the air, searching above the door frame. He noticed her far-too-short black dress riding up her thighs and huffed loudly to gain her attention, and show her his disapproval.
Immediately, Brooke let go of her search and smiled sweetly. “See you tonight?”
“You leaving already?”
She nodded. Asher frowned.
“Is that standard uniform?”
His big brother eyes raked over her short, figure-hugging black dress, and stopped at her red high-heels. He wasn’t happy about this. She looked… he shook his head – never mind what she looked like, he didn’t like where his thoughts were going.
Her hands went to her hair. “Standard for a hostesses in a high-end restaurant, yes.” She tucked her hair into a neat bun behind her head, pinning it with a chopstick she found in the bowl on the table. One loose curl hung over her shoulder.
“Perhaps we should eat at your place for a late lunch,” He gave a sarcastic smile. “So I can check if it’s suitable.”
She in turn smirked. “You can’t afford us.”
“Ha.” He lifted his wallet from his pocket. “I have pounds.”
“Be sure to make a reservation,” she retorted.
“Surely you can do that for us,” Asher proposed.
“I’ll check the reservations.” She grabbed her purse from the hanger next to the mirror and ran awkwardly in her heels across the porch, down the stairs and to the car.
Asher studied his younger sister, deep in thought, his hand digging to his pocket where he took out the joint and noticed the red lipstick at one end. He sighed. It was hers, no doubting that, he’d practically caught her looking for it. At that moment, the twins came running and screaming out of the living room, and he quickly slipped the blunt back into his pocket. He’d address the matter with Brooke later.
“Hey!” He grabbed each twin by the arm to stop them as they ran past. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
“He started it.” Cleo scowled at her twin.
“No!” Caleb whined. “Queen Bee always starts it.”
Crouching, he said to them, “Have you lot gone barmy?”
He stared his youngest siblings in the eye. The perfect male and female version of each other he thought. Right down to the gray-blue eyes and mole just above their upper lip.
Both twins stared at him blankly. Even the strange look on their faces matched.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“Bloody hell?” Cleo mocked.
“Barmy,” Caleb snorted, stifling his laughter.
“No, you don’t get to swear. You are seven years old, young lady,” he said to Cleo.
Both twins burst out laughing.
“Rightio chap,” Caleb said, putting on his best British accent.
“Caleb, go to your room and finish your homework,” he said in a clipped tone.
“I haven’t got any,” Caleb replied.
“He’s lying.” Cloe started, her hands on her hips in a show of dominance over her twin.
Asher wiped his palm over the side of his face, as if the act alone could summon some kind of patience. This was not the homecoming he had imagined in the many hours of his flight home. He hadn’t been foolish enough to think it would be the Waltons, but when had his family become so crazy – and it wasn’t like Uncle Octavious was being much use, either. The whole place was going to rack and ruin – inside and out. Things were going to have to change – and quick.
“Just stay awa
y from each other for a while, please. I’ve had a long flight, and I am way too tired for this,” Asher pleaded.
“Yes, Sir,” Caleb said, saluting him.
“Whatever.” Cleo looked up at Asher as he rose back off his haunches. With the swish of her skirt, she turned on her little black-booted-heels.
Caleb wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smelling the strong sent of fabric softener. For a strange moment the scent reminded him of this very moment, as if he’d lived it before. “Where is Octavius?” he called after Cleo, as she marched from the living room into the kitchen.
“His secret lair,” Caleb bellowed from the living room.
“I thought I told you to go and do your homework,” Asher growled, walking into the living room.
The place was a complete mess. The Television had been pushed into the corner of the room and Caleb was sprawled on a sofa-bed in the middle. A pile of books, knee high on each side, made up his bedside-tables.
“You sleep in the living room now?” Asher asked.
“Stay.” Cleo corrected him, a peanut-butter sandwich in her hand, the syrup dripping from the crust onto the carpet.
Asher spun around, once again in utter surprise at the speed with which she moved.
“Please use a plate.” He motioned to her messy sandwich.
“Whatever.” She took another bite.
“Attitude.” He called after her as she took the side entrance toward the kitchen.
“Welcome to my life,” Caleb mumbled from behind the pages of a book.
“Right.” Asher rolled his eyes.
“Would you be so kind as to behave, please.” It wasn’t a question.
“You don’t have to worry about me.” Caleb flashed a smile.
“Thank you.” Asher said. Both of the twins giggled as he stepped out of the room.
Asher marched down the hall with the plan to interrogate his uncle about how the house had got so messy, and about Brooke’s smoking habits. He stood outside the study taking a breath. Perhaps it was his own incompetence that was working on his nerves. He’d been away from home for so long that he had no idea how to handle the household. He turned the door knob, deep in thought of all the things that he had no control over in the house. It was locked.
Blossom Blood Page 2