Junk

by Komal Kant

  “Mom, I’m fine,” I assured her, still gazing around the room in awe. “It was nothing. My car’s being fixed at the salvage yard as we speak.” I left out the part about my car being in the hands of my mortal enemy who I’d tried to run over. That probably wouldn’t go down very well. “And I tripped and fell in some mud.” And some asshole.

  Those lines of worry deepened as she looked me over. “I-I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. Today of all days.” Her voice trembled.

  “Well, your life would probably suck being stuck with a son who eats sunflower seeds for dinner and talks in yogi quotes,” I joked.

  “Blair,” she chided, sniffling a little.

  “Mom, I promise, I’m not hurt.” I gave her a small smile, really looking at her. “You have enough going on today without worrying about me.”

  Mom returned the smile, giving my hands a tight squeeze, just as Michelle and Ray Welsecky approached us.

  Now that they were close up, I could see the resemblance amongst the family. Cole was identical to his dad, although Ray’s blond hair was greying now. Delilah and Wade resembled their mom, who was slender with dark hair and cobalt eyes.

  “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Blair who used to pinch my best sunflowers from the garden,” Michelle greeted me in a drawl, her expression quite serious.

  “Sunflowers? Me?” I asked, squinting at her.

  It was becoming clear who Wade had inherited his brusque personality from.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said sternly. “You’d tear through that garden like a little tornado, squashing all the blooms in your hurry to get away from me.”

  At the stunned look on my face, Ray guffawed. “Yeh were damn scared of Chelle back in the day. Looks like nothing’s changed.”

  Mom laughed, patting me on the back. “Ray and Michelle are only kidding, Blair. Although, the part about the sunflowers is true.”

  “Oh.” I gulped, staring up at Michelle who, despite only having a few inches on me, appeared quite formidable in that moment. “I’m so sorry. About the, um, sunflowers.”

  Michelle’s stern mask cracked, and she gave me a smile. “It’s nice to see your pretty face, Blair. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Welsecky,” I said quickly, not wanting to rub her the wrong way.

  Michelle Welsecky was clearly a woman not to be messed with. Even though I couldn’t remember her, I could imagine myself being terrified of this woman as a child.

  “Lila told me yeh had some car troubles,” Ray remarked. “Did yeh take it up to Wade?”

  “Yes, I did,” I answered quite briefly. Anything beyond those three words was going to end with me on a Bearded Jerk rant.

  “I opened up that place when I was barely twenty. Built it from the ground up with nothing but a penny to my name,” he told me, pride crowing in his voice.

  “It’s a lovely junk yard,” I said politely.

  Ray’s thick brows knitted together. “’Nuff of that panderin’ nonsense. I know the yard looks like a truck crapped all over it.”

  Cole snorted, and even I couldn’t stifle my laughter at that. These Welseckys were something else, each and every one of them.

  “Ugh, Krystle’s coming this way,” Cole groaned just then.

  A few feet away, she approached with slinking steps—the same overdressed woman Delilah had pointed out at the funeral. That green dress clung to her like a second skin, emphasizing every curve, hump, and bend of her body. Black strappy heels wound around her ankles and her makeup was so vibrant, I was sure she’d reapplied it.

  Did girlfriend think she was going to get some action at my grandmother’s funeral reception?

  Ray made a face at the mention of her name. “That’s my cue to leave. I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to swap words with her.” He glanced over at his wife. “If yeh need me, I’ll be at the bar guzzlin’ down rum and cokes for as long as my liver will allow it.”

  With that, Ray ambled away, while Michelle rolled her eyes at his retreating figure and turned towards my mom.

  “Erica, the Durantes were asking about you,” she told her. “James actually helped out with the catering.”

  “Oh, yes, I should thank him.” Mom’s eyes drifted in my direction, conveying how she very much didn’t want to talk to any more people. “Will you be okay, Blair? Can I count on you to stay out of trouble for ten minutes?” Her teasing tone told me that most of her concern had faded.

  “Yeah, I promise I won’t go mud wrestling any time soon.” I glanced down at myself in dismay.

  Looking like a swamp creature, dripping in mud and sweat wasn’t how I’d planned to attend my grandma’s funeral reception, but that was the funny thing about life; even if you had a plan, life could still come along, rip you out of your safe place, and throw you headfirst into the unknown.

  There was question in Mom’s eyes about my sorry state, but she shook her head instead and followed Michelle. They made their way through the crowd of mourners and disappeared.

  Before I even had a second to get my thoughts together, a small, pudgy hand adorned with long, fake nails in an off-white shade was thrust at me.

  “Krystle Banks,” she introduced herself with a smile that somehow managed to teeter between sweet and snarky. “You’re Blair Fonseka, right?”

  “Right,” I said with a nod. “Nice to meet you, Krystle.”

  “Yes, same here.” Krystle looked me up and down, a sneer on her pretty face. “Did you make a detour to one of the farms?” Despite her light, teasing tone, I could tell she was trying to talk down to me.

  Even though I wanted to comment on her street corner outfit, I chose to take the high road. Never say that Blair Fonseka didn’t have her moments of tact and restraint. Sure, I probably should’ve exercised it an hour ago, but at least I’d learned from that incident.

  “Oh, no, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and, um, fell right into a stupid tree stump in the cemetery.” My story seemed to change with each retelling of it. “Yeah, the stupidest, most annoying, obnoxious tree stump-” Catching myself, I pulled it together. “Just a tree stump.”

  Cole cast me a curious look.

  Krystle arched a perfectly plucked brow. “Right. Well, I just wanted to quickly offer my sympathies. Lois was such a colorful lady.” I didn’t like the way she said that. “I can’t wait to get to know her granddaughter. I expect you’ll be at the bonfire tomorrow.” It rolled off her tongue like a challenge.

  Bonfire? I glanced at Cole in question.

  He’d been quiet for most of the conversation, like he was hoping Krystle wouldn’t notice he was standing right there. “Uh, yeah, I was going to tell you and Drew. It’s tomorrow night at nine. Now that you’re sticking around, you have all the time in the world to come hang out.”

  “We’ll see,” I said simply, not sure if I wanted to run into anymore rude Krystle characters.

  “You have to,” Krystle told me with eyes that glittered brown. She turned her cool gaze to Cole. “How’s that brother of yours, Cole? I figured he’d be here.” There was interest in her voice which surprised me.

  Maybe the options here were so limited that grumpy men like Wade were hot commodities. Even if he had a more than, um, adequate sized junk area.

  “No idea,” Cole lied breezily. “Maybe he’ll show up.”

  “Hmph, okay. Maybe I’ll just have to pay him a visit,” Krystle said huffily. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Blair. Stay away from tree stumps.” With fluttering fingers, she slinked away.

  A strange uneasiness coiled in my stomach at the thought that she might go and see Wade, dressed like that. Were they hooking up? Was she his type? Did he act differently around her than he did around me?

  Not sure why I was even thinking about him, I pushed the ridiculous feeling away. It wasn’t my business what—or who—Wade did.

  “Please tell me I wasn’t friends with
her as a kid,” I said, leaning into Cole’s broad frame.

  He laughed, his eyes dancing as he studied me. “Nah, you have better taste than that.”

  MY BOSS WAS A NINE-HEADED bitch, a straight-up Medusa, whose greatest joy in life was to crush the happiness out of people’s souls.

  Today, I was the unfortunate victim.

  “Another week?” Wendy Deng said in the posh accent she’d adopted to sound superior to everyone else, even though she was from Queens and everyone knew it. “Darling, I’m not running a charity here. If you want to keep this job then you need to be here doing it.”

  Considering I’d been working for her for three years now, she made it seem like I hadn’t earned my position at the company. Ruthless was Wendy’s middle name.

  The woman had built her business from the ground up—with a small, six-figure loan from her millionaire father. With that money, she’d started an online-based magazine that had garnered a six-figure monthly circulation.

  My job was to cover events and conduct interviews, but I also occasionally contributed written content for the monthly magazine. Either way, I was one of her best reporters, able to juggle print and media jobs, so her demonic intimidation tactics weren’t going to work on me.

  Not today, Satan.

  “I hadn’t planned on staying in Pine Bluffs for more than a couple of days,” I told her, meeting my mom’s hazel eyes of concern in the rearview mirror.

  My mom had kindly volunteered to drive Drew and me around town, showing us landmarks of interest, which I was quickly discovering were few and far in between. After showing us the movie theatre and consignment store, I was pretty sure our tour had peaked.

  “Where is this place again?” Wendy asked in a bored tone, even though I’d told her multiple times before leaving Chicago.

  “Wisconsin,” I answered, rubbing my temple as I stared out the window, watching trees and farmland fly by.

  “Wisconsin,” she repeated snidely. “It sounds exactly like the kind of place you’d vacation in.”

  It took all my self-control not to throw my phone out the window. That nasty, catty bitch! She knew very well that this wasn’t just some vacation. It wasn’t like I was off in the Hamptons sipping on a Mai Tai while someone massaged my feet. I had barely managed to get a grease monkey to fix my car.

  “Listen here, Wendy, this is not a damn vacation.” Bringing my fingers up, I twisted them in my hair, frustrated. “My grandmother was put into the ground yesterday, and now my car is a wreck and sitting in the junk yard of a man I almost murdered.” My voice rose volumes with each word. “I’ve worked for you for three years, pulled overnighters, never taken time off, never missed a deadline. The least you can do is give me a week off!”

  Silence.

  Mom’s colorful eyes grew large in the rearview mirror.

  Oh, crap. Had I gone too far? Wendy was a fire-breathing dragon on a good day. This was far from a good day. I was screwed.

  “Hmmph,” she said, sending my heart into a flurry of razors. “Take the week off, Blair. But if you’re not back here by next Monday, I’m giving your job to Larry.” Ugh, not grubby hands Larry. “Just remember, you’re replaceable.”

  With that, the phone disconnected, subsequently killing the sharp pains of anxiety I’d felt only moments ago. I had just survived a battle with Wendy Deng and lived to tell the tale.

  Relief overwhelmed any former frustration I’d experienced, and I couldn’t help but feel proud that I’d stood my ground.

  Blair Fonseka wasn’t one to be bossed around.

  “That Wendy woman has the worst coming to her!” Mom snapped, as she drove us around the city park for the fourth time. “She’s been giving you hell for years.”

  “It’s her single greatest joy in life,” I responded, unable to keep the glumness out of my tone. “But at least I have the week off.”

  Drew, who was lounging in the front passenger seat with his sandaled feet propped up on the dashboard, turned his head just enough so he could lock eyes with me.

  “I don’t know why you don’t look for a new job, Bee,” he said, and this is where his tone turned serene. “For your worth will never be appreciated until you appreciate your own worth.”

  “How about you take your worth and find a job?” I sniped at him.

  His response was to chuckle as he shook his shaggy head at me. “Oh, Bee, when will you learn that for some people a nine-to-five will never be enough? That some of us seek to learn from the earth and uncover the mysteries of the unknown.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, and some of us seek to learn how to do our own laundry so our mommy doesn’t have to do it for us.”

  “Bee, stop pestering your brother and look out the window,” Mom told me, slowing down as we passed a connected set of cottage-style buildings on our left. “That’s where you went to school until the third grade.”

  Although small, the school looked as though it had been recently renovated. It was hard to imagine myself attending it, since my memories of my school in Chicago were so distinct. And yet…

  Senses niggled at my mind. Laughter and blurry faces. And a woman with cobalt eyes and chocolate hair…

  “Wait!” I cried, leaning forward in my seat. “Did Michelle Welsecky teach here?”

  “Yes, she did.” Mom seemed surprised at my memory. “She used to be your third-grade teacher.”

  “Really?” I leaned back in my seat, considering this. “But Cole said she owns real estate.”

  “Oh, that was a long time ago, before their fortunes changed,” Mom explained, which wasn’t much of an explanation at all.

  I didn’t get to dwell on it further because Drew suddenly pointed at a large building that was looming up on the right. “What’s that thing?”

  The building was one of the most modern ones I’d seen in this town yet. It looked much newer than the businesses around it—a random Chinese place with faded paint and a seedy looking gun store with thick bars on the windows.

  In contrast, this building was red brick, with wide, tinted windows, and a well-manicured lawn that housed a silver sculpture of what looked to be a film reel.

  Mom paused for a beat before replying, “That’s the Harlen Walker Museum.”

  Despite her soft tone, the words hit me like daggers.

  “Excuse me?” I managed to choke out, staring at the back of her head in shock. “Excuse me?” Oh, wait, I’d already said that. The shock had put me on repeat.

  Mom’s calming eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Yes, many years ago, Harlen Walker was born in Pine Bluffs, Wisconsin. They built this museum five years ago to honor him and his accomplishments.”

  Harlen Walker? As in, snobby, movie star Harlen Walker? This had to be a freaking joke.

  That was a name I never wanted to hear again and even as I had that thought, I flashed back to an unwanted place I hadn’t visited in a long time.

  ***

  No, no, no, no.

  Gasping, I backed away so fast I slammed into a brick wall.

  Except that’s not what it was.

  Spinning around, I came face to face with a firm chest and shoulders so broad I had to step back to bring them into perspective.

  Harlen Walker’s icy gaze drifted down to me. To him, I was probably nothing more than a human insect; I could tell from the laziness in his smirk and the way he seemed to look right through me.

  I didn’t even know why he was out here. The rest of the crowd was inside by now, watching the movie, yet here he was, alone.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said in an offhand way, lighting up a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “Bear Fonzkicker, the stuttering girl.”

  Bear Fonzkicker, the stuttering girl.

  His words clung to me like spider webs, and regardless of how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake them off.

  For a moment, I wanted to tell him what I’d seen. I wanted him to know the truth. But why should I? I didn’t owe him anything.

  A woman l
ike me was insignificant. Not worth his precious time.

  So, with every bit of dignity I could muster, I simply ignored him and walked away, surprising even him.

  “Hey!” he called out after me, as though he needed affirmation that he could still influence a nobody like me.

  But I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back.

  I would be more than just the stuttering girl.

  I would be the woman he never forgot.

  ***

  And now I was here, back in my hometown which was apparently also his hometown, standing outside a museum dedicated to the man I both hated and pitied.

  For all his wealth and fame, Harlen’s life had fallen into a rather unfortunate hole—his supermodel wife, Penelope, had cheated on him with a younger, up-and-coming actor—the next Harlen Walker, from what the media said.

  After the news of her infidelity broke, Harlen went on a downward spiral. Drugs, alcohol, too much partying—he was hitting up all the L.A. hotspots with all kinds of women. That’s when his life took an even worse turn.

  During one of these nights, he’d lost control of his red Lamborghini Veneno Roadster and run right into a pole. After a brief stint in rehab and some court-appointed community service, he’d left Hollywood for a life of seclusion in his French chateau.

  It was startling that this was the birthplace of someone like him. How he fit in here, I didn’t know and never wanted to know.

  “Keep driving,” I told my mom, shivering a little despite the clammy air.

  Harlen Walker was a ghost of a man, and he brought up memories of a past I’d rather forget.

  Edgars Monroe was trying to break my door down.

  “Come on, Wade, open up!” he yelled, pounding on the wood with so much force, I was sure he must’ve left a dent on it by now. “Don’t make me go down to the station and get a warrant! You know I will!”

  Achilles was going psycho, leaping up on the door with his giant paws, about to do some serious damage of his own. The scratch marks already ingrained in the wood from previous jump-on-the-door sessions were growing deeper with each leap.