Shameless

by Maya Rossi

  “Don’t lie to me,” I say roughly. Her head jerks up as our gazes collides. “You don’t want to talk about it, fine. But don’t think I’m stupid. You don’t visit Lizanne out of the blue after twelve years for nothing.”

  Olivia bows her head in apology. I stare at the downy hairs at the base of her skull, the smooth skin of her nape and her hunched shoulders. The show of submission makes me ache, leaves my mouth dry.

  “I’m sorry,” she says without raising her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s fine,” I mutter, still feeling out of sorts. Dropping to my haunches, I sort through some books to give my hands something to do. The silence pulses and vibrates like the belly of my pregnant goat before she delivers. Between us, the distances cackles like a living thing.

  “So where did the name Lizanne come from, you’ve gotta admit it’s an unusual name,” the words come from her in a twisted rush. She keeps her eyes trained on a book, reading the blurb. Only, it’s turned upside down.

  “It’s just a name, like some of my shirts,” I quip.

  She gasps, “Get out of here. You can’t name your shirts.”

  Her shocked reaction pull a reluctant laugh out of me. The eddy currents in the living room settle and all is right again. “Come, let me show you.”

  Olivia challenges me to a race up the stairs to my room. It’s childish, unnecessary and liberating. I let her win. She is bouncing on my bed and grinning wide in victory when I reach her. With her black skin glowing in good health, her natural hair in a twist atop her head and her breathless laughter, declaring herself victor, Olivia is light.

  This is the time I would have gotten a slap for my troubles. A stupid boy shouldn’t be gallivanting, especially since he has a lot of catching up to do.

  “What’s wrong?” Olivia asks, startling me.

  “If your parents want to force you into college--”

  “My parent, Richard’s not my parent.”

  Walking further into the room, my eyes never leave hers. They are blank but hard with determination. “Right. Whatever you’re here for, do it. Don’t allow anyone force you to be or to do something you don’t want.”

  “Okkkkay,” she breathes, watching me like I can slay a thousand dragons for her.

  “Come see the shirts.”

  Soon, I have her giggling and making silly faces, as I explain how my work shirts — all seven of them are named after the days of the week I wear them. She doesn’t think it’s stupid because she does the same with her shoes. It helps them last longer since she won’t wear her favorite twice no matter how much she wants to.

  “So, Lizanne,” she pants slightly, “tell me about the name or say, Olivia, mind your business.” She growls the last bit in a bad imitation of my voice.

  “I don’t talk like that, my voice is not that deep,” I protest.

  “It is so,” she taunts. “Now, Lizanne.”

  Pulling my feet up so the lower half of my face is in shadow, I will my tongue into submission. “It’s named after my sister-in-law.”

  “Where’s she now?”

  “Dead.”

  Olivia reaches for my hand, squeezing quickly and pulling away. “I thought this farm has been in your family for generations. What was its name?”

  “Brodigan,” I shrug, “our surname.”

  “So you got it and renamed it.”

  “Yeah.” I rise, brushing off the stains from my jeans. Silently, I debate whether to clean off the dust I introduced into the house now or later. “I still got a lot to do,” I mutter. “Grif, no more gallivanting.”

  “Who says gallivanting?” Olivia wrinkles her nose. “Besides, we were taking a break, not gallivanting.”

  “Who’s using gallivanting now?” I tease.

  She shudders, wrinkling her nose adorably. “I’m coming with you!”

  An uncertain middle

  Chapter nine

  Olivia cradles Rose’s head, murmuring soft words, running her hand over the thatch of fur on the goat’s head. I lean the rake against the wall of the barn and walk over to caretaker and her charge. The air is cool, the breeze from the high windows sifts through Olivia’s hair like a plow through a corn field. She has her natural hair up in a knot at the top of her head. As I watch, she presses a kiss to Rose’s head, muttering what sounds like prayers and commands to get better.

  I sit across from them, taking out my phone to check the program for her treatment. The vet, Maddie promised to check on Rose on her next visit. It’s been a gruelling week for Rose. Despite the course of antibiotics and vitamins, she isn’t getting better. Her breath rattles like a key in a lock, dredging up mucus and liquid Rose is too weak to cough up. On her menu today is an antibiotic and vitamin mixture.

  A glance at the medicine cup at Olivia’s feet confirms, she’s taken care of it. How do I pry her away from Rose? Yesterday and the day before, she spent the better part of the afternoon and evening with Rose. My eyes rove from Rose to Clark, who sits faithful and concerned by Olivia’s side. Like a gift concealed in the darkest, unreachable corner, a tiny region of my heart makes a thump. It’s frightening and heady.

  I gather a pile of hay, making a pallet for Rose to rest on. Also, I make a mental reminder to set the alarm. Without it, I won’t be able to check up on Rose at night. I don’t bother talking Olivia into letting go of her charge, I gently lift Rose from her lap. My fingers brush the smooth skin of her thighs, her breath hitches, brushing against my face as I move with Rose.

  She needs new pairs of well-worn jeans and fast.

  Olivia follows us to the pallet. I’m partly amused but also humbled as she takes charge, rearranging the hay to make sure Rose is comfortable. Placing the drugs, mashed grasses and some water by her side. Her face has aged a week with anxiety, worry lines bracketing her mouth and eyes. She needs a break. She catches me looking.

  “What?”

  “You’re good at this,” I say, not hiding my surprise at that assessment.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “You’re a city girl.”

  “I was.” She runs a careful hand down Rose’s side. “Is she going to make it?”

  The hard uplifted line of her chin and jaw tells me how much the question costs her. Rose can’t die, I realize in that second. But I can’t give her false hopes either. Olivia is not a little girl.

  As if to confirm my thoughts, her forehead furrows in thought. “If her lungs doesn’t clear up soon… and the antibiotics aren’t working….”

  “Let’s go to bed,” I rise, holding out a hand for her, “things will be better in the morning.”

  She tips her head up to meet my eyes, unmoving, unflinching and strong. “You think so?”

  “They usually are, mostly because we can face our problems with fresh eyes and better perspectives.”

  Olivia takes my hand, her fingers small and dainty in mine. It’s a powerful contrast with her curvy body. As we make our way out of the barn into the dark night, Clark bounds out ahead of us. But I notice he stops, waiting for Olivia to catch up.

  I run a hand over Lex, scratching behind his ears as I focus on adjusting the stirrups. It’s some ways to the main house. About five minutes on horseback. It’s usually a ride I enjoy. There’s something about running over the fields, seeing the result of my hard work.

  But I’m not alone now. Olivia will be in front of me, my hand under her breast, brushing against my arm on every bounce. It’s a torture and and temptation I don’t need. It leaves me uncomfortable. And we have to take this ride everyday.

  I lift Olivia straight from the ground onto Lex, savoring the awe and pleasure she doesn’t hide. I get in behind her, letting her nervous chatter and fill the silence, easing the tension between us.

  At the stall right beside the storage room, I brush Lex down with Olivia’s help and take care of some chores. We’re done much quicker than when it’s just me. I don’t think too much about that.

  We head for the house
. “Wait,” I say, taking a detour to the storage room.

  Clark runs forward, taking a lick at my face. So I hold him back one-handed and roll the gate up with the other.

  “God, you’re strong,” Olivia breathes in awe, “Peter and Rick huffs and puffs to get that thing open. Why did you use such a strong gate, anyway? It’s not like anyone will come in here.”

  I run my touch through the room, not expecting to find anything. I don’t. The last time I found a package here was months ago, Rick’s late delivery.

  “Why do you check every night knowing you won’t find anything?” Olivia asks.

  “Why did you name the goat Rose?” I shoot back.

  “Why did you not name her at all?” she counters.

  My heart seizes like a cracked disc tape. I stand there, flashlight in hand, her question having literally stopped the routine that is my life. Clark licks at my fingers and barks softly.

  “Grif?” Olivia moves in front of me, catching my biceps and squeezing hard.

  I blink and take a step back, drawing in air into my starved lungs. “We should get back,” I say unnecessarily.

  Olivia’s face falls. With the flashlight pointed at the ground, I don’t need it to see the disappointment in her oddly up-tilted dark eyes. “You’ll never know why I called her Rose.”

  The awkward attempt to lighten the air and put me at ease, I find incredibly adorable and frustrating. Shouldn’t I be the adult here? This is why my parents forsook me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I don’t think.

  But Olivia doesn’t ask that of me. She only wants to know whatever I’m willing to tell her. With her, there’s no pressure. I can be stupid or nothing. She doesn’t care. If I have learned one thing about Olivia this past week, it’s her impulsiveness and decisiveness. Yup, those two words don’t belong together but it’s true. Take her decision to stay here at Lizanne rather than attend college. I know Lily has tried calling to persuade Olivia otherwise but she won’t hear of it. She’s stopped taking her mother’s calls. It’s the impulsiveness that drove her to Vetty’s rather than straight here that first day. We still haven’t talked about why she was at Vetty’s. But there’s no pressure.

  She steps back. “Have you gotten in touch with Maddie? She better be here at seven sharp.”

  I smile, shaking my head at the force and dark warning in her voice. “You know I’m not the only farmer she sees, right?”

  She pouts and I have to look away from the wet jut of her full lower lip. “She better come here first, Rose is a priority.”

  We leave the storage and I head them to the stream not the house. It’s Rick’s and Olivia’s spot these days. But at night, when I have heavy thinking to do, I find my way here. I have to hold Olivia, leading her across out-jutting cross to the water. The waterfall is some ways off, cutting at the edge of the boundary with the next land. From this angle, it’s a hum rather than the disturbing noise it would have been.

  We stop, the breeze is colder, lighter and pleasurable. It rejuvenates some of my lagging strength. Olivia sits and Clark runs over to place his head on her lap.

  “I lost my twin brother, my parents, my brother’s family and… you and Lily.”

  She doesn’t say a word. The silence is comfortable. There’s no pressure to explain, to measure up to something I’ll never be. It’s… I’m grateful for it. But I can’t say it out loud.

  When I’m about to suggest we head back, her small, dainty hand wrap around my jean clad leg.

  “I’m here,” she says.

  “Everyone leaves eventually. I’m never enough.”

  Not for my parents, not for Eric. My twin brother, my rock and I wasn’t enough for him.

  Olivia’s hand tightens on my leg. “You don’t have to be enough for me, just be. Besides,” she continues lightly, “I’m here and you have Clark and Lex.”

  Clarks barks in affirmation.

  Chapter ten

  My jaw cracks wide open in an unladylike yawn. Only in Lizanne with Grif will I get away with some things I take for granted, like eating whenever and however much I like. The best part is how much weight I lose running around the farm doing chores with Grif during the day. Also, I don’t have to dress in the latest fashion or worry about Dana’s reaction if I repeat clothes.

  Lizanne is fucking great.

  I close the Linda Howard romance that’s kept me up for the past three days. There’s no question Grif is a fan. Every single shit the woman ever wrote, he owns. Even her earlier books, he has them all. And after reading two of her books, I can see why. Her writing is beautiful and the sex scenes super hot.

  I honestly don’t know how the woman do it. How can words on a page leave me aroused? Closing my eyes, a particular sex scene in After the night comes to my mind. The protagonist, Guy was so big he hurt the woman going in. The words she used to paint the lovers chasing their pleasure… Suddenly, I’m back at the dark alley behind Vetty’s, on my knees with Grif’s huge length, hot and hard in my hands.

  He would hurt me if we ever made love.

  The thought is like an ice water poured over my hot, tingly skin. Fuck, what’s wrong with me, fantasizing about a man mom is still in love with. Plus, the poor man is still traumatized by our time in that alley. It won’t surprise me if he’s erased it completely from his memory.

  With a sigh, I pull on a spaghetti top and bum shorts. As I push my legs into my boots, I check the time on my phone. It’s only a few minutes after midnight but I need to see Rose. For the past three days, I’ve been slipping out of bed to check on her. Grif will kill me if he finds out. At the top of the stairs, I stop to take off my boots, taking the stairs on bare feet.

  Grif’s home is a masterpiece. It’s a home not a house built and decorated to show up the neighbors. The evidence of the work and love he poured into it is everywhere. It’s in the electric lighted candles in the arched windows I absolutely love. It’s in the ancient but unique clawed bath tub in the bathroom. The playroom for children, library, living room for a family and the well-tended garden and porch.

  The home answers the question of Grif wanting a family some day without a word being spoken about it.

  Clark is waiting at the foot of the stairs, tongue rolling and smiling. Before Lizanne, I didn’t know dogs smiled. I didn’t know a lot of things. The stairs don’t creak-- Grif doesn’t joke with his house so I’m safe on that front. I don’t put on my boots until I’m outside.

  “You know Grif will murder us right?” I mutter as I lace up my boot.

  Clark barks. It’s soft but loud enough to get my pulse racing. I hug him to my chest, waiting to see if Grif’s giant form will come barreling out of the house. I know he sets an alarm to check on Rose during the night but he’s always so exhausted he never makes it out.

  I don’t breathe easy until we are well away from the house. From the house to the barn is a fucking distance, but with Clark it’s bearable. By the time we get to the barn, my top is soaked and sticking to my skin uncomfortably. The barn door is heavy as I found out the first time I tried pushing it open as casually as Grif does.

  Grif rises early by six without fail. I can’t believe the amount of work it takes to maintain a farm of this size let alone make a profit. My teeth makes a dent on my lower lip as I think up ways to help out. I help care for the animals but I know it’s not enough. I will offer to do the cooking but I’m a disaster in that department. Maybe Grif won’t mind teaching me. I take a seat beside Clark to shore up my strength before tackling the door.

  After five minutes, I head to the door with a sigh. It takes an embarrassing number of puffs and huffs and a whole lot of wearing before I manage to get the door open enough to squeeze through.

  “Traitor.” I ruffle Clark’s fur for nothing since he just watched me do all the work.

  The moment my eyes light on Rose, I know something’s wrong. “No, no, no,” I murmur like a prayer, rushing to the bed of hay Grif prepared for her. When I put her head on her lap, she doesn’t open he
r mouth. Her breathing is fast and labored. She’s going to die.

  Sobbing, I take my phone out and call Grif. He doesn’t pick up, probably dead to the world with sleep. “Please, please,” I beg, calling his number again. It rings twice before he picks up. “Rose’s dying. Do you hear me? Call the vet, Grif. Oh, God, Rose’s dying.”

  I hear bed sheets rustling. Then Grif’s reply came in a heavy grunt. He’s struggling to put words together. I snap, “Fucking wake the hell up, Grif. Rose is dying!”

  “Where the hell are you?” he asks, sounding wide awake. Thank God. A door jams closed and I realized he probably went to my room first.