Surreal Estate

by Jesi Lea Ryan

  Things were just getting heated when Nick’s cell phone rang. He ignored it and bent to explore my chest with his tongue. A moment after the ringing stopped, it started up again. Nick swore against my skin.

  “Answer it,” I groaned. “No one calls this early unless it’s important.”

  Nick reached over the side of the mattress and answered his phone with a gruff “Yeah.”

  The sheet slipped, exposing his wide back and the top swell of his ass. What I wouldn’t give to spend all day in bed exploring him inch by inch. Unfortunately, given what I could make out from the one-sided conversation, today wouldn’t be that day.

  “Are you kidding me? That’s going set the schedule back at least another week . . . No . . . no, I’ll be there soon.”

  He rolled back, phone still clutched in his fist.

  “Rain check?” I asked.

  “It’s one of my paying jobs, and I can’t afford to blow it off, no matter how much I want to.”

  I placed a soft kiss on his shoulder. “It’s okay. What time is it?”

  “About seven. I need a shower. I’d invite you in with me, but it’s barely big enough for me to fit.”

  “No problem. I’ll shower at home. I don’t have any clean clothes here anyway.”

  “Mmm . . . bet we could both fit in your shower.”

  “Yeah, but if I had you naked and soaped up, no way would either of us make it to work today.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled, sitting up, then he descended the ladder before stalking off naked toward the bathroom.

  Grinning like an idiot, I crawled into my clothes. Remembering that the bed had been made when we’d gotten into it last night, I did my best to straighten the covers. I’d heard somewhere once that successful people always made their beds. I didn’t know how true that was. If they were successful enough, they probably got other people to make their beds for them. But in any case, I made sure to set mine to rights every morning. I balanced from knee to knee on Nick’s mattress trying to minimize the wrinkles, which wasn’t easy. By the time it was good enough, Nick was back, dressed in his typical jeans and T-shirt, his hair damp.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  In the truck on the way to the house, Nick laid out the timeline for the day’s work.

  “You can continue stripping the doors this morning. That should keep you busy until I can get back. My friend Jeff is coming over this afternoon to measure the place for tile. With three full bathrooms to do, I don’t have the patience for it. Best to subcontract it out. You should see the deal he got us on discontinued travertine for the master.”

  I let him ramble on, loving how excited the planning made him. If he could pull off half of what he wanted to, it would be amazing. The guy had vision, that was for sure. Different from my visions, but a wonder just the same.

  After he dropped me off, I took a quick shower and changed into work clothes before heading to the garage. I was prying open a can of turpentine when my phone rang. Another unrecognizable number. I sighed and answered, “Yeah?”

  “May I speak to Sasha Michaels please?” asked a high-pitched voice.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m calling from St. Luke’s Medical Center. We have your mother here. She’ll be all right, but she came in this morning in a lot of pain, and we’re admitting her.” The woman continued to explain how my mom had been found by a neighbor walking his dog in her front yard beaten and unconscious.

  I was already rushing back inside to get my wallet. I’d have to call a cab. A bus would be too slow. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell her . . . I don’t know. . . tell her I’m on my way.”

  Wallet, keys, and phone in hand, I barreled out the door, nearly mowing Damien down as he came up the porch steps.

  “Whoa, hold up!”

  “Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly. “I’m in a hurry.”

  “I can see that. What’s wrong?”

  I scrolled through my phone, searching for the number of a cab company. “My mom’s in the hospital. I need to get a cab to take me over.”

  “She gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, someone roughed her up. I don’t know too many details yet. They said she’s stable, but they need to keep her for observation.”

  “Want me to take you?”

  A ride would be nice, but I didn’t want him to feel he had to sit with me at the hospital. It was bad enough that Nick had seen the shit-show of my family life. I didn’t need his brother exposed to it too.

  “No, I don’t want to take up your time. A cab is fine.”

  “Do you have a license?”

  I leveled a gaze on him like he was stupid. “Of course I have a license. But I don’t have a car.”

  Damien fished his keys out of his pants pocket and handed them to me. “Take mine. It’s parked in the driveway. I’m going to be working around here most of the day, so I won’t need it.”

  Jesus, these Cooper men were nice. “Any other time I would say no, but I really do need to get to the hospital. Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. Call me if you need anything.”

  Nick phoned while I was driving to the hospital, and I filled him in on what I knew, which wasn’t much. He wanted to meet me there, but I downplayed the situation to convince him to stay put. His timeline was tight enough without taking a day off for my mother’s bullshit.

  The initial panic I’d felt when I got the call had faded into anger by the time I got to St. Luke’s. Anger not just at whoever did this to her, but if I were being honest, at her too. Not that I blamed the victim. She didn’t deserve to be beaten up by anyone, no matter what. But I was pissed because her shitty life decisions were going to kill her one of these days, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  In the hospital, the receptionist directed me to a room on the third floor. With a deep breath, I knocked and poked my head inside. My mother lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her face was purple, one eye completely swollen shut. She had tape stuck to her face holding the set of her broken nose. Her right arm was in a sling, resting against her chest. She didn’t look at me as I pulled a chair up beside her bed and sat down.

  “Hey,” I said, needing to speak, but not really knowing what to say. “How’re you feeling?”

  She rolled her one open eye and didn’t answer.

  If it were anyone else in the bed, I’d probably hold their hand. But my mother and I didn’t have that sort of relationship.

  “Jerry do this to you?”

  She sighed like a sullen teenager. “I’m not pressing charges. Don’t need cops in my business.”

  “I never asked you to. I asked if Jerry beat the shit out of you and left you on the front lawn.”

  Her silence was answer enough. My fingers longed to wrap around his scrawny little neck.

  A knock on the door warned us a moment before a nurse walked in. “Hi. You must be Sasha. I’m Alice. The nurse who called you.”

  “Yeah . . . thanks for that.”

  “I have to get your vitals again, Rina. This will only take a minute, and then I’ll let you get back to your visit.” Her cheery tone sounded out of place in the tense room. “Blood pressure’s good. How do you feel?”

  “Nine.”

  My mother’s answer confused me until I noticed the pain scale on the wall. Nine out of ten. That couldn’t be good.

  The nurse checked the IV that dripped clear liquid into a tube in my mother’s arm.

  “What’s in there?” I asked.

  “Just some fluids. She was dehydrated when they brought her in. We’ve also put her on a low dose of morphine for the pain.”

  “Bet she’s loving that,” I muttered.

  Mom glared at me.

  I kept my trap shut after that until the nurse left the room. Once she was out of ear shot, I asked, “So give me the damage. I see your nose is broken. What’s up with the sling? Did he break your arm too?”

  “It’s my shoulder. Torn rotator cuff.”

  Ouch. I was
n’t a hundred percent certain what the rotator cuff was, but it sounded bad. “Does that require surgery?”

  “Physical therapy.” She pressed the button on her bed to raise herself up. “They’re making me go to rehab.”

  She wasn’t talking about rehab for her arm. My mother had tried the rehab route twice before. Neither time stuck. The first time had been shortly after I was born. I was born with drugs in my system, and she would have lost me if Zayde hadn’t stepped in. The social worker from CPS agreed to let me go home with him if my mom would commit to getting clean. She was on the state health insurance because her income was so low. It had only paid for her to do an outpatient program, which meant she still had her loser friends hanging around. She’d done okay for the first few weeks, but then it must have gotten too hard. The lure of the high was too tempting. That was the first time she split, leaving me with my zayde. I was eight weeks old.

  The second time she went to rehab, I’d been thirteen. Justin and I had come home from school to find my mom on the floor of Zayde’s bathroom in the middle of an overdose. The whole time we waited for the ambulance to come, I held her convulsing head to keep it from banging the floor and prayed she would pull through. I had thought for sure this would be the wake-up call she needed. Zayde had too. He’d immediately begun looking into an inpatient program for her. The one everybody recommended had been called Woodland Acres—a secluded place in rural Tennessee. A representative from the program met with us in the hospital waiting room while Mom was detoxing. I’d flipped through the glossy brochure with pictures of manicured gardens with tree-covered mountains in the distance, while the man had explained the program to Zayde.

  “We believe in treating the whole person. Addiction is not just a psychological condition. You can’t heal the mind without healing the body as well. In addition to our therapists, we employ world-class personal trainers and nutritionists. It’s a very holistic approach. We have an open bed, so if Rina will agree, I can drive her down when she is released.”

  “And how long is this program? Thirty days?”

  “We prefer not to place a time limit on the program. Each guest works with an addiction counselor to create an individualized plan with attainable goals based on their specific needs. Most guests stay sixty to ninety days. Then we help coordinate aftercare treatment for when the patient returns home.”

  I glanced up from a picture of a smiling group of people doing what looked like yoga on the lawn in front of an ivy-covered building to see Zayde’s eyes shining with hope.

  “This sounds perfect for Rina. She needs to be away from Milwaukee for a while. How much is this program? She only has the state health care.”

  The man gave a sympathetic frown. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, since ours is a private clinic, the state care won’t pay anything. She would need to pay for it out of pocket, but really, when it comes to your loved one’s health, isn’t it worth it?”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars per month.”

  All hope sucked out of the room, and Zayde lowered his eyes. “I see.”

  “I understand Rina may not have that kind of money. Most addicts don’t.”

  “So how do they pay for it? Is there some assistance she can apply for?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. Ours is a private facility, so we don’t get government subsidies. Most of our guests’ stays are covered by their relatives. How is your financial situation, Mr. Michaels? Are you able to take out a second mortgage on your home maybe? Or perhaps you have a 401(k) savings plan that you could borrow from?”

  Zayde’s face was ashen, and I could tell that he was struggling over his desire to help his only child and mortgaging his retirement away. “I must think on this.”

  It was a dismissal, but the rep didn’t take the hint. “How about your other family? Sometimes a group of family members will pool their resources to lessen the financial burden.”

  “There is no one else.”

  Zayde stood and left the waiting room, leaving me with the suited representative. I cleared my throat and handed the brochure back to him. “I don’t think we’re going to be needing this, mister.”

  The man gave me a sad smile, one that he must have practiced in the mirror for times like this. “You keep that, son. Woodland will always be here if your mother needs us.”

  Mom had ended up coming home from the hospital under the condition that she had to attend Narcotics Anonymous meetings in the basement of a neighborhood church. She’d gone for about two weeks before she was caught snorting Adderall in the bathroom with one of her former dealers and was asked not to come back.

  Looking at my mother all battered and bandaged in the narrow bed, I really did want to see her get better. I just didn’t have a lot of faith that the types of rehab available to her would get the job done. The way she was going, she would either have to wake up and work the program or end up dead before she reached fifty.

  I said at last, “That’s good, Mom. But you don’t have health insurance anymore, do you? How are you going to pay for it?”

  “The social worker said I can get in on a state program for battered women. Since I’m on probation already, I either go to rehab or jail. Not like it’s gonna work anyway.”

  I had my doubts too, but it would at least give her time to dry out and heal from her injuries before she went back to her old ways.

  We talked for a few minutes about the rehab program. It would be a thirty-day check-in, with the option of longer as needed. They were going to keep her in the hospital overnight to monitor her concussion, and the social worker would drive her out to Waukesha in the morning for rehab.

  “Sasha, baby. Can you do me a favor?”

  If she was going to ask for money, she could forget it. I couldn’t give up any of my meager stash. “What is it?”

  “There’s a spare key under the mat on the back doorstep. Can you make sure Jerry’s gone before I come back?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “He’ll be out of the house today.”

  “I think I might be bisexual,” I announced as I burst into Steven’s office.

  A sputter of diet soda escaped my brother’s lips, showering the papers on his mahogany desk. He snatched a couple of tissues from a holder and blotted them. “You’re what?”

  I sat in front of him. “I’m bisexual. I think. I mean, I’ve always sort of been attracted to guys—watched gay porn a couple of times, and it was hot enough—but I figured if I never acted on it, I was straight, right? Well, now I’ve acted on it. I’m bi, and you’re the first person I’m coming out to.”

  Steven did that annoying one-eyebrow-raise thing. “Sasha?”

  My knees bounced with pent-up energy, and I had to grip the armrests to keep from jumping up and pacing. “Yeah, man. It was fucking amazing. Well, we didn’t do much. We only—”

  He lifted his hand to stop me. “I really don’t want to know the details.”

  “You don’t seem surprised though?”

  “I’m not.” He sighed. “You could hardly take your eyes off him at dinner last night. I know you loved Melissa, but I never saw you look at her that way. Though I figured it would take you longer to come around. And don’t think I forgot the time I caught you whacking off to that Jean-Claude Van Damme movie.”

  “Hey, I was thirteen. I whacked off to everyone then.” Hadn’t we all? I wasn’t so sure now. Maybe that should have been my first clue I was bi. I studied Steven’s face; a deep crease crinkled between his brows. Steven didn’t do creases. “You’re not happy for me?”

  He rubbed his forehead with a groan. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m happy for you. You know I only want the best for you, and Sasha seems like a nice guy. I’m just distracted.” He paused. “Tod left last night.”

  I swallowed down a whoop of joy. “Dude, I’m sorry. Is this a temporary thing?”

  “No. That little show he put on at dinner wasn’t about Sasha at all. He’s been acting like an ass since
he came back from California. We had it out in the car on the way home, and he admitted that while he was out there, he went to a party, got high on X, and let a couple of guys fuck him bareback. Of course, he tells me this after sleeping with me, and we’ve been off condoms for years.”

  I shot out of my chair like my knees were springs. “I’m gonna kill him!”

  “Sit down. I got tested this morning, though if I am infected with anything, it might be too early to know. But HIV came back as negative today. I’ll have to get tested again in a few months.”

  I started to pace. I couldn’t help it. I’d gone from excited to pissed off in seconds, and if my body stopped moving, I’d have to put a fist through something. “Jesus, Steven. Tod’s a dick, but how could he be so stupid? How could he risk your health like that? Or his for that matter?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, his tone full of defeat. “Things have been bad for a while. I think some part of him did it on purpose to force a clean break.”

  “What’s wrong with ‘Hey, I’m not feeling it anymore. Let’s break up.’?”

  Steven leaned back in his chair and stared at a spot on the ceiling. I took to pacing again.

  My brother and I had always had a complicated relationship. Even though he was only a year older, he bossed me around constantly. Not surprisingly, I’d resisted. We’d scrapped over his bossiness so many times as kids, our dad had given us boxing gloves for Christmas when I was eight. But fuck if I was going to let someone shit on him like this. I clenched my fists, envisioning Tod’s neck in their grasp.

  “Whatever you’re working yourself up to, stop it.” Steven stood and rounded the desk. “Don’t worry about me. This breakup has been a long time coming. I don’t want any drama. I just want him to get the rest of his belongings out of our place, so I can work on getting on with my life.”

  “But Steven—”

  “No. I appreciate your outrage on my behalf, but seriously. Let it go. You have this great new thing starting with Sasha. Enjoy it.”

  My neck and shoulders relaxed at the thought of Sasha. The guy really did have some sort of hold on me. Maybe I was gay? I pictured the old Claudia Schiffer poster I had on my bedroom door as a teen: tight jeans, lace bra, parted lips. Boobs. God, I loved boobs. No, definitely not gay. Then I pictured Sasha as he was last night while straddling my hips. Bare chest, lean muscles, parted lips. Bi, then. Definitely bi.