Edgewater

by Courtney Sheinmel

  “I do love a good gazpacho,” she said. “I’ll plant some bell peppers—red or yellow ones but not green.”

  “Of course not green,” I said. This was insane.

  Gigi stood and pressed her hands against the glass pane. She looked out across the land she intended to conquer. I turned away in disgust and thundered up the darkened back stairwell to my room.

  SLEEP ELUDED ME ALL NIGHT LONG, AND I WAS awake when the sun rose and the birds began chirping like it was any other day. I went into the bathroom and turned on the sink, twisting the knob around more than usual to get the water running. Finally I smacked my hand against the faucet, giving up. Either Gigi hadn’t paid our water bill, or the water pressure was tied to the electricity, or both. I brushed my teeth with just toothpaste and the spit in my mouth. A shower was clearly out of the question. After I got dressed, I retrieved the brown paper bag that I’d hidden in the back of my closet and dumped its contents out onto my bed, surveying the collection. I fingered each piece of my grandmother’s silver, wondering which utensil was the first she’d acquired. This spoon? That knife? The little fork to get the lobster out of a claw? And which of them were among those bought in bulk once Grandpa had hit it big?

  The pieces were no longer tarnished; at least Brian was good for something. I used the end of my nightshirt to get little remnants of polish out from in between some of the tongs on the forks and in the teeny-tiny petals of the flower at the ends of the handles. Then I gathered it all back up, put it into the bag, and headed out to Oceanfront.

  ORION MUST HAVE HEARD ME OPEN THE DOOR AT the end of the corridor, because when I got to his stall, he was waiting for me, his sleek Hershey-bar-brown neck hanging over the door. It was still early; no one else was there, nor would they be for a while longer, so I didn’t have to feel even vaguely conflicted about spending the next hour with my horse.

  Orion knew what the sound of my undoing the latch meant, and he stepped back to let me enter. Chivalry was not dead, not even if you were a horse. I hugged him hello, and he lowered his muzzle to match my affection. I led him to the corridor and tacked him up. Ten minutes later we started out on the path behind the barn that went down toward the ocean, the path Orion and I had been riding together for years. We walked to a clearing where deer were grazing. They raised their heads and regarded Orion and me. We stood silently. Orion didn’t so much as flick an ear. I think he was as mesmerized as I was.

  When the rustle of wind in the trees sent the deer running, I gave Orion a little kick, and we were off. My horse’s hooves beat against the ground. I felt his power as if it were my own—my own energy, my own strength, my own fury, pounding and pounding. We flew over a tree that had fallen across the path as if it was nothing. Branches arched above us, a few low enough that I had to duck my head to the space between Orion’s ears. He cantered along the bend that led to a view of the water. From the vantage point of the top of a horse, it felt like being on the edge of a cliff. I couldn’t see the ground in front of me, just the roaring ocean below. Once, I read that humans have a natural urge to jump off bridges and cliffs and other high places, as if something is pulling them in the direction of disaster. I wondered if that was what the freak was feeling when he stood at the Point that night—a surge of excitement and adrenaline at the realization that it would be so easy. Just one more step.

  Would Orion do it, if I kicked him in the side and pressed forward? Did horses have the same urge that humans did? Even if Orion didn’t, he wasn’t green anymore. He trusted me, followed my lead. Would he follow me over the edge, if that was where I led him?

  As if he’d sensed the thoughts in my head, Orion took a few tentative steps backward. I let out a deep breath and pulled to turn him around and head home.

  Orion was more subdued on the walk back to Oceanfront, and so was I. Once at the barn, I clipped him into crossties, removed his sweaty tack, and hosed him down to cool him off. Then I used the sweat brush to sweep off the excess water and set him out to pasture. After he was settled, I headed into the bathroom, closed myself into one of the shower stalls, turned the dial, and marveled at the miracle of actual water pressure. Hot water! Cold water! As much water as I wanted! It’s true what they say: You never realize how much you love something until it’s gone. And I loved that shower. I stayed in extra long, letting the shower stall steam up around me. I hadn’t felt so good since Charlie had showed up unannounced, and without even thinking about it, I wrote his name in the condensation. I traced the letters again and again as the water pounded around me.

  CHARLIE COPELAND. And then I palmed out his name so no one else would see it.

  WHEN I WAS DONE AND DRESSED, IT WAS JUST about nine o’clock and time to get on with the chores of the day—the ones I was paid to do. I turned out a half dozen horses and cleaned out their stalls. I was feeding a blue-black mare, Cobalt, a flake of hay when Lennox stopped by.

  “Hey,” I said, ducking out of the stall.

  “‘Hey’? That’s all you have to say?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Claire said she met Charlie here yesterday—because he was visiting you.”

  “She did, indeed.”

  “Holy shit, Lorrie! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  “I don’t have a phone,” I reminded her.

  She shook her head. “I know. It’s really cramping my style.”

  “Yours and mine both,” I said glumly.

  “Okay, listen. I don’t have much time, because I have to meet Claire for lunch.”

  Lunch. The word made my gut twist. I’d scoped out the break room that morning and found an apple. Probably meant for someone’s horse, but I ate it anyway. I was hungry again.

  “But I need to be brought up to speed on this.”

  “He came here yesterday to meet Orion and watch me ride.”

  “And?”

  “And not much else happened, on account of Claire interrupting us—and Altana and Jen, too.” Lennox gave a sympathetic eye roll. “But a little more happened the other night.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lennox said. “The other night? You’ve seen Charlie twice since the Fourth of July? I’m sorry, but this is essential information, and there are a thousand ways you could’ve gotten in touch to tell me. Brian’s phone.” I made a face. “Or the phone in Naomi’s office. Or you could’ve stopped by the house. Or sent a carrier pigeon.”

  “Next time I’ll definitely send a carrier pigeon,” I told her.

  “Good. That’s settled,” she said. “Now spill.”

  “He called me at the barn a couple days ago, and I went over to his house.”

  “You went to his house?”

  “You’ve been there, too,” I reminded her.

  “That was different. There were a thousand people there, and I happen to know there wasn’t another campaign party, because Julia’s out in the district. I’ve been following along online.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “I haven’t seen much about the senator, though. Kind of a double standard, don’t you think? Julia was always at his side when he was the one campaigning. But anyway, we’re way off-topic here—back to you and Charlie at his house. How’d you end up there, anyway?”

  “He called me here and invited me over for dinner,” I said. “The chef made a quiche. It was unlike anything I’d ever tasted before—there were shrimp in it that must’ve been marinated in some sort of pepper-lemon concoction.”

  “Who cares about the shrimp?” Lennox said. “Did he kiss you during dinner?”

  “No, we just talked,” I said. “And here’s a Copeland snippet you’ll like. Charlie asked what the best thing was about my day. He said his dad used to ask him that. The weirdest thing is, my mom used to ask us that, too.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, it’s been a long time.” I leaned back against Cobalt’s stall door. The mare hung her head out next to me.

  “You okay?” Lennox asked.

/>   “Yeah, of course. Anyway, after dinner we walked down to the beach and took our shoes off and sat in the sand.”

  “And then he kissed you?” I nodded. “God, this story is such a cliché. And if it wasn’t you, I’d be so jealous right now.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?” Lennox asked. “Are you going to tell me that Charlie Copeland is a sloppy kisser?”

  “Not sloppy at all,” I said. “He’s sort of gentle and strong at the same time.”

  Lennox let out an involuntary ah.

  “But then Victor Underhill interrupted us and started asking me a bunch of questions.”

  “God, that guy,” Lennox said. “I’m so dying to know what his story is.”

  “My impression of him is that he’s not a hornet’s nest you’d want to kick,” I said. “And it was like he knew I had things to hide. About my family.”

  “I’m sure you’re being paranoid,” Lennox said. “The way you always are about your family.”

  “Something he said was strange.” I shook my head.

  “What?”

  “Charlie told me his dad’s doctor’s appointment was in New York, and then when Victor came up to us on the beach, he said the senator was calling Charlie from DC. And Charlie jumped up like it was a code.”

  “Code for what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe: Get away from this girl.”

  “Oh, come on, Lor. Clearly that’s not the code. He showed up here to see you after you went there for dinner.” She paused. “And there’s something else you’ll want to know, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He called my house this morning to get information on you.”

  I did a double take. “Charlie called your house? Now who isn’t telling who things?”

  “Serves you right,” she said. “But it turns out that Charlie Copeland went online to find my blog, and then he found out my last name, and he called me.”

  “What kind of information did he want?”

  “He asked me if I knew whether you’d be home tonight,” she said. “And he asked for your address so he could stop by.”

  My stomach was a fist. “Oh God,” I said. “You didn’t tell him where I live, did you?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t give him your address or your phone number or even your last name—Lorrie Hall.”

  “Thank you.” I paused. “I just want to keep the fantasy going for a little bit longer.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a fantasy, Lorrie,” she said. “You need to face your fear that this could actually go right.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not afraid of that. It’s just . . . everything is so hard right now.”

  “Well, I made this part easier for you,” Lennox said. “I told him you definitely wouldn’t be at your house tonight because you were coming to a barbecue at mine, and I invited him to join us. So I scored you a date, and you’ll be miles away from Edgewater.”

  “Plus, you’ll get to see Charlie and pump him for further Copeland info.”

  “I got a Google Alert this morning—a blogger claiming that Charlie’s dad has a drinking problem.”

  “Really? My dad had a drinking problem,” I said.

  “You don’t corner the market on alcoholic dads,” Lennox said. “But I don’t buy it, because if it was true about Franklin Copeland, it would’ve been uncovered before, and this guy didn’t even offer up any evidence of it, other than that some unnamed source saw the senator laughing loudly and carrying on in a restaurant. My guess—it was probably some political opponent trying to start a rumor.”

  “You’re not going to ask Charlie about it, are you?”

  “No, don’t worry,” she said. “Unless it comes up. Then all bets are off.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “And you won’t blog about me and Charlie?”

  “I swear, your love life will never appear under my byline,” Lennox said. “Listen, I’m late to meet Claire. She said there’s a new Theory store on Main, and obviously I need the perfect thing to wear tonight. You should come with.”

  “I have a job,” I reminded her. “Some of us need to work for a living.”

  “Just for now you do,” she said. “Just until the trust fund gets sorted out. And I can’t wait until it does, because I don’t get to see you nearly enough.” She paused. “But at least you love it here. You’ve always loved it more than I do.”

  I was pretty sure she’d said that last part to make herself feel better. She pulled out her phone and mumbled as she texted: If you beat me to the resto, order me the La Scala salad.

  The La Scala salad was twenty-six dollars on Declan’s lunch menu. Chopped iceberg lettuce with salami, provolone, tomato, and garbanzo beans. Hardly worth the price tag. I’d started cataloging things that were wastes of money and thinking what I could do if I had that cash. With nearly thirty bucks I could eat for a week. My stomach grumbled at the thought. “Sorry,” I told Lennox, cheeks reddening.

  “Guess it’s lunchtime for you, too.”

  “I forgot to bring any today.”

  “Granola bar?” she asked, pulling one out of her purse.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” she said. She reached out and tapped Cobalt on the nose. “I told Charlie seven o’clock, because I figured that would give you time to come over first and clean up.”

  “Yeah, I’m off at five,” I said. “I just have to run an errand first, and then I’ll be there.”

  “Cool. I’m going to say hi to Pepper. I’ll see you later.”

  She headed down the corridor. I wolfed down my granola bar and then continued with my chores, feeding who needed to be fed. When I got to Pepper’s stall, Lennox had gone. But there was a pile of fresh manure in a corner.

  Jeremy was in the feed room measuring grain when I arrived to retrieve the wheelbarrow and pitchfork. “Do you ever wish you could just hit the pause button for a bit, for like a half hour or so, so that everything you cleaned up would stay cleaned up?” I asked him.

  “Let me guess: dump duty.”

  “Yeah, Pepper. Major Code Brown.”

  “I thought I just saw Lennox,” he said. “Second time in one week. I figured she’d be here more this summer with you around.”

  “She just came by to say hello.” I paused. “She hasn’t ridden Pepper much this summer, has she?”

  “Nah,” he said. “But I don’t mind. Gives me an excuse to take Pepper out now and then. He’s a great horse.”

  “Do you get tired of it?” I asked. “I don’t mean Lennox, but just generally: Do you get tired of riders who have horses here not because they actually like horses, but because they like the idea of having them? And they have us to clean up after them?”

  Jeremy dropped the grain scooper into the bin and shrugged. “I don’t really get caught up in it,” he said. “The truth is, people make careers off of doing things other people don’t want to do or don’t know how to do themselves. I don’t know how to give myself a tetanus shot or wire my house for cable, but I do know how to train a horse. We all do different things. It’s what makes the world go ’round.”

  I heard Beth-Ann Bracelee in my head: It takes all kinds of people for the world to function. But she’d meant it in a different way.

  “Listen,” he said. “It’s no secret that I can’t afford a horse of my own. So here I get to ride some pretty quality ones, and love them, and sometimes even show them. And cleaning up horse shit isn’t that big of a deal to me.”

  “I don’t think Lennox knew about it,” I told him.

  I didn’t want to think that Lennox had left it there for someone else to clean up. Though, truthfully, I’d done the same thing myself in the past; that’s what you paid for when you boarded your horse at a barn like Oceanfront. And though Lennox knew I was working here, if she had seen it, she probably hadn’t made the connection that I’d be the one to clean it up, right?

  And what did
I care anyway, cleaning up Pepper’s shit, after everything Lennox had done for me?

  I took the wheelbarrow and pitchfork and made my way back down to Pepper’s stall.

  17

  IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME

  I DROVE ACROSS TOWN TO THE AREA BY THE railroad tracks where Brian Beecher’s parents lived. Searching for the trust had been fruitless so far. We were drowning in unpaid bills, and so it had come to this. I got out of the car and clutched the brown bag of my grandmother’s silver to my chest as if it was a baby, glancing to either side of the road. A black sedan with dark tinted windows passed by and stopped right in front of me. My heart was pounding, and I held the bag tighter, as if whoever was in the car was about to reach out and grab it from me.

  But then I noticed the stop sign. Of course. That was why the car had stopped. After a moment it turned right. I took a deep breath and crossed the street to the Scully Farms Pawnshop.

  Inside the store were dozens of glass cases showcasing rings and vases and other flotsam and jetsam that was surely once treasured by its former owners. I walked down the center aisle to the counter in the back, where a bald man with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth told me to dump the silver out onto the counter. He reached out with thick, dirt-smudged fingers, gruffly spreading the pieces around.

  “They’re from Tiffany’s,” I said. I had to ball my fingers into fists to resist the urge to swat his away. “My grandmother started the collection right after she got married.”

  The man grunted in response. He’d waited too long to flick his cigarette, and flecks of ash fell onto the silver. “Two thousand,” he said.

  I knew that two thousand dollars was a lot of money. More than I’d ever held in my hands at once. But then I started my list in my head: the phone bill, the electric bill, the credit card bills, Orion’s shoes, his food, his board. Two grand wouldn’t even stretch the month, and it certainly wouldn’t get me back to Hillyer in the fall.

  The man opened up a lockbox and began to count out the amount in hundred-dollar bills.