by Andi Teran
“No offense, but Josie sounds like an ungrateful jerk.”
Emmett did his half laugh, half snort. “She’s complicated.”
“How much time do we have left?” Ana asked.
“Couple minutes, whenever you’re ready.”
Ana bent down and began unlacing her boots. She pulled off her socks and sank her feet into the cold sand. “Un-freaking-real,” she said. She wriggled her toes in and out of the sand and walked farther down toward the waves, debating whether or not to stick a toe into the receding water.
“Water’s cold,” Emmett said, coming up to stand next to her in his own bare feet. “But you might as well do it if you’re here.”
Ana took a few steps forward while Emmett stayed back. The water crashed away from her before another wave rolled in, and though she wanted to run, she forced herself to hold steady as the chill rolled right over her feet.
• • •
Darkness surrounded them, both from the edge of the forest on one side of the road and the expanse of ocean on the other. The truck rambled on before making a sharp turn down Tidal Road.
“I’ll help you carry some of the boxes to the door,” Emmett said with a stitch of concern unraveling the corners of his mouth, “but I’ll leave you to do the knocking and conversing with whoever answers.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to presume, but it feels like there’s something about this place that unhinges you.”
“Unhinges?”
“Ruffles. Unnerves. Tears open. Makes you want to rip things apart. I don’t know, you seem angry.”
“It’s nothing,” Emmett mumbled. “Just look at this place.”
They drove through heavy iron gates and up a one-lane road dappled with light from the house in the distance. As they got closer, the road brightened and gave way to a circular driveway fanning out like an upside-down smile in front of an enormous house ablaze in lights, its multiple chimneys pumping plumes of smoke into the night sky.
“Holy—I mean, it’s . . .”
“A monstrosity,” Emmett said as they passed the driveway and turned down a smaller road around the back of the house. “No one needs a house this size.”
“It’s grotesque, but kind of in a compelling way,” Ana said, staring up at the height, which she imagined must be three stories, wondering which window was Cole’s.
There were several cars parked in an adjacent lot, but Emmett bypassed it and pulled in near a side entrance per Abbie’s instructions.
“Let’s make this quick,” he said, jumping out of the truck.
Emmett stacked the heaviest boxes and crates on a wooden bench near the door while Ana kept the flower bundle and fruit box in hand, not wanting anything to crush them. He instructed her to wait to knock until he was back in the truck, so she did, watching as he pulled up the collar of his coat and switched on the stereo. She didn’t expect the door to swing open as quickly as it did, a petite woman in a tight but tasteful dress standing there, her dark hair swept up and away from her face, presumably to show off crimson lips and ears dwarfed by diamonds.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked with a terse smile. “Come in immediately.”
Ana turned to motion to Emmett, but only the back of his head was visible through the truck window, the sounds of Bruce Springsteen drowning out any chance of shouting for his attention. Ana followed the woman into a small room painted a seagull gray, rows of shoes and boots lining the floor, dozens of coats hanging along the wall above them. She couldn’t help but notice the pairs of muddy racing boots and motocross gear that had been given its own dedicated corner.
“Right this way,” the woman directed.
They made their way through a small hallway, Ana’s shoes squeaking along the shiny hardwood floors, until they reached the largest kitchen she’d ever seen. Aside from the high ceilings and chandelier—a chandelier in a kitchen—there were marble countertops, walls of cabinets, and multiple ovens currently being tended to by a bearded man dressed all in white.
“That’s Pascal,” the woman said, pointing to the man in the pristine apron and hat. “He’ll set you up and get you out on the floor. We’ll be serving soon, so if you can change immediately that would be wonderful.”
“But I have the delivery from Garber Farm . . .”
“Excellent! So glad she finally dropped it off. Just set it down there and one of the kitchen staff can help you bring in the rest. Again, if you can change right there, please,” she said, indicating one of several doors. “There are uniforms and a place for you to hang your clothes. You can start with a tray of canapés passed around to the guests in the study, please.”
Ana watched as the woman breezed out one of the kitchen doors, the clicking of her pointy beige heels fading away along with a cloying perfume neither floral nor powdery, more an exotic blend of black musk. Ana set the box on the counter.
“Excuse me?” she said to the man in the hat, who put up a hand as if to say “Wait,” his other hand pulling fresh rolls from the oven.
“Jonno,” he said to a slender man using tweezers to place microgreens on small squares of a gelatinous substance. The man looked up at Ana, clinking the tweezers down on the marble.
“I’m here with a delivery from Garber Farm,” she said. “But the woman said I’m supposed to get changed? I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
He rolled his eyes and leaned in. “Mrs. Brannan thinks everyone here is some sort of help,” he said in an indeterminable accent while inspecting the box on the counter. “Ah, fantastic. Pascal! All is good,” he said, turning to the man at the oven then back to her. “You have other boxes?”
“They’re out the door.”
“I get them in a minute. Can you take that box to the pantry for me on the way out?”
“Sure. Wait, who did she think I was?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Waitstaff? Cleaning? Dog sitting? All of the above?”
He went back to his work, so Ana picked up the box and made her way out of the kitchen, mentally kicking herself for not changing out of her farm clothes before they left the house. She opened a door to head back down the way she came, but found herself in a different hallway altogether. Not wanting to bother anyone back inside the kitchen, she continued walking, figuring the pantry must be behind one of the several doors lining the hall. There was a humming noise coming from farther down, so she followed it to one of two doors, choosing the larger of the two, which she pushed open gently with her foot.
“That’s the laundry room,” said a voice behind her. “The kitchen is over—”
She turned around, startled. “Hi,” she said, glass jars in the box wobbling.
“Hi,” he responded with confusion.
“Why are you always sneaking up on me?”
“I’m not. This is my house. What are you doing here?”
“I’m making a delivery but got lost in your castle.”
Cole’s face broke into a faint smile, his eyes intense. An old soul, she thought.
“This is so weird . . . seeing you in my house. You haven’t really spoken to me much at school.”
“I know, it’s even weirder for me. Your mom seems . . . in control of the party.”
“You met my mom?”
Again his face shifted. Ana couldn’t tell if it was amused horror or composed rage.
“I did,” she said. “She asked me to put on a uniform.”
“She what?”
It was definitely composed rage, Ana decided. Cole looked down the empty hallway and then walked past her and pushed open the door leading into the laundry room, holding it open for her to follow him in. For some reason, her feet shuffled forward, even though her head shouted that she needed to go, needed to get back to Emmett and the truck.
/> “Cole, I’ve got to—”
“Wait,” he whispered before shutting the door, taking the box from her, and putting it up on a counter. They stood in the bright white room, a washing machine moaning between them, neither one of them saying anything. “My mother told you to put on a uniform?” he asked, his voice teetering on the edge of explosion.
“Um, yes.”
“Okay, I’m confused, though as you can see, I’m also wearing a uniform.”
She looked down to his striped tie and buttoned-up shirt tucked into tailored black trousers, his normally messy hair combed slightly to the side. It was the opposite of his dark jeans, gray T-shirt, and faded jacket look. Still, he wore it well.
“You dress like this at home?” she asked.
“Only on Thursdays—kidding—just when my mom is having one of her cocktail parties, and usually only when I’m in trouble. Don’t tell anyone at school I’m wearing this tie.”
“Or what? You’ll tell people your mom tried to hire me as your butler?”
Cole’s hand reflexively floated up to his face, and his fingers, covered in scratches, squeezed his forehead. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry,” he said, barely making eye contact, walking to the other side of the small room. “My mom is a lunatic.”
“It’s fine—”
“No, it’s embarrassing and wrong and typical.”
“It’s an honest mistake.”
“Is it, though? She has a way of putting everyone to work, so don’t take it personally. But really, I’m just . . . I’m so sorry. I apologize on her behalf.”
“It was worth it just to get to see this house, which is . . . well, it’s resplendent. But I’m sure you know that. Where do you keep the dragons?”
“Tonight they’ll be released into my mother’s lair,” he said, tilting his head down to meet her eyes. “Where have you been, Cortez?”
“Around.”
“You’ve been avoiding me at school, and I haven’t seen you in the enchanted forest.”
“Enchanted?”
“I’m running with the theme here . . .”
“I told you,” she said. “I’m not supposed to be back there.”
“I kind of hoped you’d go anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not supposed to go back there either, but I went,” he said, taking a step closer, “hoping you had too.”
It may have been the confined space or the size of the washing machine spinning at full speed, but Ana had to remind herself to breathe.
“I thought we were maybe becoming friends,” he continued.
“I have a friend, her name is Rye; you have a friend and his name is Jim. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
He sighed. “What did Rye tell you?”
“Nothing. But what’s going on between you two? Seriously. And what’s the deal between your family and the Garbers?”
“It’s a long story . . . two different long stories. Minor tragedies, really.”
“I want to hear them.”
“If I tell you, you might not want to . . .”
“To what?”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. She’d had no time to react, so she gave in. It was a soft kiss, both of them holding back and surprised by what was happening.
“Sorry, I had to,” he said, pulling away.
“Stop apologizing,” she whispered, pulling him back.
The door swung open, hitting the wall, grazing Ana’s shoulder.
“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?”
They both turned around, shocked at the sight of Nadine Brannan, eyes wide and mouth agape in a silent scream.
“Mom, don’t freak out.”
“Excuse me. What are you doing in here, young lady? I specifically asked you to change and head to the study. This is unprofessional and intolerable behavior. Please get your—”
“Mom, please. She’s a friend of mine from school . . .”
“She’s our employee for the evening, Cole. You I will deal with later.”
“Ana!” Emmett called from down the hall. “Ana Cortez!”
Nadine backed out of the laundry room looking as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Emmett.”
“Nadine.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.
“Dropping off Abbie’s delivery. Now I’m looking for Ana,” Emmett said.
“Who’s Ana?”
“My friend you just tried to put to work,” Cole said.
“I’m here.” Ana squeezed past Cole and Nadine into the hall.
“Where have you been?” Emmett asked.
“They’ve been in my laundry room,” Nadine said.
“Hello, Mr. Garber.” Cole extended his hand. “We’ve never met before, but I’m Cole Brannan; I think you already know my—”
“I know exactly who you are,” Emmett said, softening his voice in a way Ana thought odd and brimming with unspoken meaning. Even though there was visible sweat pulsing at his temples, he took Cole’s hand and shook it. “What’s going on?” he said, turning to Ana.
“It’s just a misunderstanding. I was making Abbie’s delivery, and I think things got mixed up in the kitchen.”
“Indeed,” Nadine said, looking at Emmett. “Does she belong to you?”
“She works—she lives with us, yes. We need to get going, let you get back to the party. I hope all is . . . I hope you’re doing well,” he said, putting his baseball cap back on. Ana was amused to see he’d removed it, as if in a holy place. “Abbie sends her best. Ana, shall we?”
Ana followed Emmett, but paused in the hallway.
“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Brannan,” she said, even though Nadine continued to glare at Cole. “Your house is spectacular.”
“Mm-hm” was the only reply.
“Again, we apologize,” said Cole. “I’ll walk you out.” He started toward her, only to stop with the squeeze of his mother’s manicured hand.
The washing machine buzzed.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
• • •
Emmett remained silent on the way back to the farm. Bruce Springsteen filled the truck with a quiet lament. Ana couldn’t figure out what was louder or more “on fire,” The Boss or her boss. Impulsively, she turned down the music.
“I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done to make you mad. I didn’t have a choice. When I walked in she—”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“If you’re mad about Cole and the laundry room, I can explain—”
“No need. Nadine made it clear as will I. There will be no more of that. I asked you to make the delivery and come straight back to the truck—”
“But I got lost—”
“I know I’m not your parent, but you are our responsibility while you’re staying with us. We will not tolerate that kind of behavior in our house, as I’m sure Nadine doesn’t allow it in hers. I’m not sure what was going on and, frankly, don’t care to, but I don’t want you seeing that boy again.”
“That’ll be tough since I see him at school every day . . .”
“Ana,” Emmett said, raising his voice and making no effort to tone it down. “I think you know what I mean.”
She kept her mouth shut, staring out the window at the dark trees.
“No retreat, baby,” Bruce sang. “No surrender.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was a late-September morning, everything still covered in dew. Ana rubbed her hands together and angled her headlamp back up into the tree as she continued clumsily picking the figs off the lowest branches. She couldn’t seem to find a rhythm like she did on other trees, her mind seesawing from her troubles catching up with schoolwork to being igno
red by most of her fellow classmates. And try as she might to control it, her mind continually wandered to Cole Brannan, reliving the kiss over and over until she barely remembered the details. It had been too quick, she decided, as compared with the only other kiss she’d had more than a year ago in one of the group houses. She hadn’t expected that one either, nor had she reciprocated.
She glanced at the watch Abbie lent her, squinting at its worn face.
“He terminado, I’m finished,” she said, shaking the basket full of picked fruit, eager to get back to the house and get to school. She waved to Vic and Rolo, who were on a ladder working higher up in the tree, their usual conversation on mute. She walked across the fields to Manny, who waited at the sorting tables under the tent, his breath visible in the lone overhead light.
“How’s that tree looking?” he asked as Ana heaved her basket up onto the table.
“Almost clean. I think they’ll have it stripped within the hour.”
“Good. How are your hands?”
“I’m surviving. I don’t know why you guys think I can’t handle it. It’s not like it doesn’t get chilly in Los Angeles sometimes and it isn’t like this is an arctic tundra.”
Manny gave her a look.
“Yes, my hands are fine,” she said.
“How’s school? You never talk to me anymore, always running here, running there. I know you’re busy, but how’s everything going?”
“Well, I think.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“That’s all you’ve got? I know there’s more swimming around in there. Don’t tell me you’re keeping only Vic and Rolo in the loop.”
“I’m doing what you all told me to do—diligently doing my work, going to school, paying attention, doing my homework, keeping my mouth shut, coming back to do more work, going to bed early—on repeat.”
“Those boys still bothering you?”
“I told you, I’ve got it under control.”
“And when are you having any fun?”
“Fun?” she gasped in mock dismay. “Fun isn’t allowed in the vicinity of Emmett Garber. You and I both know that.”