The Space Between Us

by Jessica Martinez

  “It’s complicated,” Bree said, leaning back into the pile of throw pillows on the couch and folding her arms. “It’s just important to me to pay for school by myself.”

  “But . . . ” I stopped myself. He was already paying for everything—apartment, clothes, food, and who knew what else. Either way, she was what Grandma would call a kept woman.

  “So when do we get to meet Richard?” Charly asked, unzipping her boots and reaching for one of my boxes.

  “Don’t even. You know they’re too big for you,” I said, pulling it away from her.

  “He’s got business in Victoria all this next week,” Bree said, “but he said he’ll probably make it back by next weekend.”

  “He’ll stay here, then?” I asked.

  “Well . . . he’s got some rental property a couple of blocks away that’s vacant right now. He could stay there if you guys are, you know, uncomfortable with him staying here.”

  “This is his place though, right?” I asked. “Doesn’t he mind that we’re here?”

  “No.” She looked away from me, over to Charly. “He knows this is a big deal.”

  “We’re not uncomfortable if he stays here,” Charly said.

  Bree smiled and Charly looked like a stroked cat.

  “Amelia?” Bree asked, as if it mattered.

  “No, of course. It’s fine.”

  Theoretically, it was. What did I care if Bree was living in sin? Technically, though, it was one more person to share the bathroom, and an old man at that. He’d better not wander around in his underwear.

  Charly finished sifting through the bags of stuff Bree—no, Richard—had bought for us: silk long johns, lip balm, wool knee socks, and cable-knit sweaters. She stood, wandered over to the kitchen, and opened the fridge like she owned it. Bree, sprawled out on the couch, didn’t even seem to notice.

  “So, is he hot?” Charly asked.

  “Richard? No.”

  I gave Bree a glance. She had a sort of delicate-punk look I’m sure plenty of guys went for. And she seemed like the kind of girl to fall for the beautiful bad boys. The ones who flirt with everything female.

  “You’ll like him,” she continued. “He’s really sweet.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me just helping myself,” Charly called from inside the fridge.

  “Of course not,” Bree said, and turned on the TV to CSI.

  “Oh, I’ve seen this one,” Bree said. “It’s the one with the guy with the horse fetish who murders jockeys. You seen it?” she asked me.

  I shook my head. “Would I be able to use your computer? I just want to check my email.”

  “Go ahead. We should leave in about an hour, but you’re welcome to use it until then.”

  “Leave? Where are we going?”

  “Lake Louise. Ezra said he’s off work at eight thirty, so if we stop by then he can take us through the lost and found.”

  “Oh. I forgot.”

  I sat down at the writing desk in the corner and turned on Bree’s computer. Or Richard’s computer. My inbox was exactly what it had been a couple of days ago: American Eagle coupons, an iTunes receipt, a Sports Authority sale notice. My old retail world had no clue what’d happened to me. It was just piling up like nothing had changed.

  There were only two real emails, one from Dad and one from Savannah. I clicked on Savannah’s and read the first line.

  Hey Girlie U okay??? Miss ya

  soooooo bad!!!

  Crap. I’d forgotten she emails like she texts. Communicating solely like this for the next six months was going to be brutal.

  I skimmed the rest. Sebastian got a job bagging groceries at Winn-Dixie, her mom fired their housekeeper for stealing Vicodin, somebody plowed over the Thompsons’ mailbox in the middle of the night, yada yada. No mention of Will.

  I leaned back in the chair and the words became fuzzy. In Tremonton time was ticking steadily onward without me. It hurt. And for whatever reason, Savannah’s gratuitous emoticons felt like salt in the wound.

  The email from Dad was to both of us. He missed us already, he was proud of us, and he hoped we were being the well-behaved young ladies he knew we were. It moved from generic praise to generic advice—this email wasn’t for me and it certainly wasn’t for Charly. It was for the stereotypical daughters in his head. It ended with the address and phone number of a Methodist pastor in Canmore, a Pastor Frank Header. He was expecting us to call.

  I stared at the screen. If there was just a single sentence that sounded like he’d been thinking of me when he wrote it, I’d have kept it. I’d have called Pastor Frank Header and introduced myself as instructed, borrowed Bree’s car, and dragged Charly to church with me in the morning. I reread it. There wasn’t. Delete.

  • • •

  It took us forty-five minutes to get to Lake Louise. Unfortunately, that was long enough to hear The Pedestrians’ punk rendition of the Evita soundtrack twice.

  “This is incredible,” Charly shouted over “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” being screamed, double-time. “I love it!”

  I loved when it was over, but then they just moved on to the next song. Unfamiliar but equally painful.

  Charly sat shotgun again, which was perfect—I didn’t have to lie about how amazing Bree’s vocals sounded since they couldn’t hear me anyway. Instead, I fogged up the glass with my breath, then rubbed it clear with my fist, over and over. Still there. That jagged line where white mountains met indigo sky couldn’t be rubbed away. It looked like fractured glass, sharp enough to draw blood if I slid my finger over it.

  Sharp. That was a good word for Canada. The cold, Bree, the mountains. It was a miracle I wasn’t bleeding yet.

  “Did you hear that, Amelia?” Charly shouted from the front seat.

  I shook my head.

  Bree turned down the volume at the same time as Charly turned around and yelled, “I said I’ve decided I’m going to school!”

  I blinked. Bree was watching me in the rearview mirror. I could feel her big round eyes on my face.

  “On Monday,” Charly continued at normal volume. “With you.”

  I was stone. No emotion here. “Okay.”

  “You think Grandma is going to freak out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell her for me?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Just kidding.” She turned back around.

  Bree reached out and put her hand on Charly’s shoulder. “It’ll be tough, but I know you can do it.”

  I didn’t know whether Bree was talking about doing high school pregnant, or telling Grandma, but she sounded like she was playing a part in a movie. Either the sympathetic guidance counselor or the all-knowing big sister.

  Grandma was going to prune the life out of her rosebushes when she found out. Defiance from a whole country away—that would drive her nuts. She thought Charly should be locked up to marinate in her own shame. Flaunting her sluttiness in public, and at a school of all places, was disgraceful.

  I didn’t want to agree. But I didn’t feel like being reduced to the pregnant chick’s sister either, which was all I’d ever be if Charly walked into Banff Public High beside me. I’d already given up on the possibility of real friends—I was a foreign, last-semester senior in a small-town school. A snowball in hell would have as much chance for social fulfillment. I just didn’t want to be a pariah.

  The song changed. “Do you recognize this one?” Bree asked Charly.

  Charly gave a nod, then grinned like she didn’t have a care in the world and turned up the music.

  • • •

  We took the turnoff for Lake Louise, and drove and drove and drove up the mountain, then parked in a loading zone at the base of the lodge.

  “He said he’d be coming in from his shift at about eight thirty, so he should already be there,” Bree explained, and led us into a side entrance marked Employees Only.

  She stamped the snow off her boots onto a mat by the door. I did the same, then nudged Charly
till she did it too.

  “Hey, Taylor,” Bree called down the long hallway.

  “Bree! Long time no see!” A girl with two French braids and suspendered snow pants waved and started toward us. She was eating a banana. “Where’ve you been, girl?”

  “Studying.”

  “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. How’s nursing school?” She took a swig from the bottle of orange Gatorade in her other hand. “Sorry to be rude. I’ve gotta refuel.”

  “No problem. School’s hard. Really hard. I’m still working at McSorley’s, though. You should come by sometime.”

  “I will.” She glanced at Charly and me for the first time, her eyes catlike and deep green. “I’m assuming you guys aren’t here to ski?”

  “No,” Bree said. “Oh, these are my nieces, by the way. They’re from Florida but they’re living with me till summer. Is Ezra here?”

  Taylor shook her head and the auburn braids swung too. “He’s pulling someone in. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  So we’d come all this way for nothing.

  “Shoot,” Bree said. “Ezra picked these guys up from the airport for me last night and said if we came by he’d let them look through the lost and found.”

  Taylor looked us up and down, her gaze suddenly critical. She stuffed the last bit of banana into her mouth and chucked the peel in the garbage. “Seriously, it’s like that boy is trying to get himself fired.”

  Fired from a volunteer position? Scary.

  Bree wrinkled her forehead. “Should we not be here?”

  “Oh, no, you’re fine.” Taylor said. “Ezra can do no wrong in Jake’s eyes. Now if I dipped into the lost and found before the end-of-the-season sale, there’d be hell to pay, but Ezra . . . ”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten Jake was running things down here.” I tuned out as Bree nattered on about people I didn’t know or care about.

  I glanced at Charly, who shrugged. Did Ezra even remember telling us to come by? I couldn’t say I was surprised he’d flaked. He had too-spacey-to-be-trusted written all over him. Probably smoked a lot of pot.

  And as for Taylor, she seemed about as interested in making friends with Charly and me as I was in building an igloo.

  “Why don’t you guys come with me,” Taylor said, bringing me back into the conversation with an earnest nod. Apparently the conversation with Bree had softened her up.

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Bree said.

  “Friends of Ezra? Not possible. Boy Wonder’s got special status.”

  “Are you two still together?” Bree asked.

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “Depends who you ask. Not really.”

  Charly poked me with her elbow and I considered hip checking her into the wall.

  I gave Taylor a closer look. Her features were either unusual or stunning, depending on the angle. Wide cheekbones, creamy skin, guarded eyes.

  “I missed your names,” Taylor said as we passed open doors on the left and right.

  “Oh, sorry,” Bree said. “I should have introduced everyone. This is Amelia and this is Charly.”

  “Amelia and Charly. You guys know you’ve got it backward, eh? People go south for the winter.”

  “Yeah,” I said, and paused. Was it worth even giving her the tidy version? Telling her that we were here to get to know our dead mother’s sister seemed like more than we owed a complete stranger, but maybe we’d be seeing her around occasionally. It was hard to tell.

  “Charly’s pregnant,” Bree said without warning.

  It felt like a kick to the gut. I wasn’t breathing, my heart may not have been pumping, but somehow I was still walking—we were all still walking down the hall like Bree had updated us on the weather and not the status of Charly’s uterus.

  “They came here to, you know”—Bree waved her hand in the air—“get some space.”

  Any reservations I’d had about hating Bree evaporated instantly. She was pure evil.

  Charly kept her chin tucked into her coat so I couldn’t even see her face.

  Taylor turned around and walked backward, looking back and forth between us. Then it hit me: She couldn’t remember which of us was Charly. I jerked my thumb in Charly’s direction.

  Taylor gave her a weak smile. “Um, congratulations?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Charly said, still looking down.

  Taylor turned back around. Swish-swish, swish-swish, swish-swish. The sound of her snow pants did nothing for the awkwardness. It was like one of those horrific dreams where you’re at church and you suddenly realize you’re naked at the same time as everyone around you does. Except we weren’t going to wake up. Charly was just going to get fatter.

  I concentrated on Bree’s feet in front of me. She was close enough to trip. If I had a field hockey stick, I could just snake it between her legs, hook the ankle, and yank. Did she have Tourette’s syndrome? What next, screaming obscenities? There’d been no reason for that little outburst. It was like we were a tragedy arranged especially for her to show off.

  We reached the end of the interminably long hall, then followed Taylor down an echoey stairwell to another hallway. Bree had gushed about how gorgeous the Lake Louise Lodge was, but the grey cement floors and cinderblock walls looked less than impressive.

  Taylor opened a closed door and flicked the lights on. “Welcome to the treasure box.”

  Several rows of overflowing wooden shelves stretched out before us, cluttered with huge plastic bins. Someone had gone nuts with a label maker: GLOVES/MITTENS, TOQUES, GOGGLES, NECK WARMERS, JACKETS.

  “This isn’t what I pictured,” Charly whispered. “At all.”

  I was still too mad at Bree to speak. Charly was right, though. What I’d pictured was a box of mismatched socks and ratty scarves that smelled like bad breath.

  “It’s amazing the things people leave behind, isn’t it?” Taylor said. “Most of it’s expensive too, and barely worn. What are you guys looking for?”

  “Everything,” Bree answered for us.

  A half hour later we were outfitted for nuclear winter. Mittens, gloves, scarves, neck warmers, ear bands, break-and-enter style face masks Taylor called balaclavas, toques, heavy jackets, and snow pants.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked. The mountain of clothes combined with the mountain of new clothes at home was too much. We must just scream charity case.

  “Do you guys need ski gear?” Taylor asked, as if she hadn’t heard me at all, holding up a pair of goggles.

  “I don’t ski,” I said.

  “What about you, Charly?”

  Awkward silence.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, the words coming out harsher than I’d meant them to. But how many pregnant women could she possibly encounter on the slopes?

  “Oh yeah. Sorry.” Then she turned to me again. “Are you sure you don’t want to learn? I’m an instructor here too. I could teach you.” She put the goggles over my head and the world turned orange.

  I pulled them off and stared at her. I didn’t want to hate her. She was probably very nice. She had one of those big sincere smiles and the look of someone who had a dog, something lovable like a Lab. Under different circumstances, I was sure we could have all eaten cookie dough and watched Top Model marathons together.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  • • •

  “That was so humiliating,” Charly hissed.

  I sighed and rolled onto my back, then scooted back over to my side of the bed. She’d been downstairs talking with Bree for the last hour. The least she could’ve done was get in bed quietly.

  “I know,” I said. Thanks to Bree and her fat mouth, the entire experience had been every shade of awkward. We’d left the lodge with a duffel bag of winter wear and zero dignity, actually relieved to get outside into the cold. And Ezra hadn’t even showed up.

  “What is the matter with you?”

  I sat up. “Me? Bree puts you on display like you’re a traveling freak show and y
ou’re pissed at me?”

  “Shhh!” She pointed over the edge of the loft, like I’d forgotten we only had three-and-a-half walls.

  “She closed her door,” I muttered. But the last thing I wanted was Bree worming her way into a fight between Charly and me. I lay back down. “You’re seriously mad at me?”

  “Why do you have to treat everyone like you can barely stand them?” She was whispering, but her proximity to my ear canal made it sound more like really quiet screaming. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else! Bree bought us all that stuff, and you treat her like crap, and then Taylor, who doesn’t even know us, was super nice and you treat her like crap too! You’re like some crazy rabid dog, just waiting to bite somebody’s arm off.”

  “Nice. Thanks.” I turned away so she could continue griping at my back.

  “I know, you’re miserable here. Your life is over and it’s not even your fault, so fine, go ahead and feel sorry for yourself, but would it kill you to consider that it could be worse? Because it could. You could be me.” Her voice cracked. I refused to turn and confirm tears. “So just stop being so obnoxious to the people who are actually trying to help me. They aren’t the reason your life sucks.”

  “I know that. You are.”

  “Whatever.”

  “No, not whatever,” I said, bringing my legs up to my chest and hugging them to me so I wouldn’t turn and start pulling her hair. “You caused this! You want me to feel sorry for you because you screwed up? How about taking a little personal responsibility for once in your life?”

  “I am! That’s why I’m going to school Monday.”

  “That has nothing to do with taking personal responsibility. That’s just getting bossed around by Bree.” I wanted to growl just thinking about the look on Bree’s face when she’d asked me if it was what Charly really wanted. Like that was relevant. Like I was the worst kind of sister rather than the one who was trying to protect her. “Think about it, Charly. In a few months you’re going to be a whale, no offense. People are going to treat you like you’re contagious. Do you really want that?”