by Megan Hart
"Answer my question, Allie."
Allie settled back on the raft, though she hooked a foot against her sister's to keep them from floating away from each other and to keep Jenni from tipping her. "About Chester?"
"Noooo. About Galina's new husband." Jenni rolled her eyes.
"I dunno. He seemed okay at the wedding. He's been nice to us so far." Allie shrugged.
Barry Malone had married Galina before any of them had barely known she had a serious boyfriend. It had kind of fucked up Ilya. Then again, Ilya was kind of fucked up in general. Jenni looked across the water to where he was laying on the outcropping of rock where they kept their towels. On his back, shades protecting his eyes from the sun, probably napping. Even at this distance, she could see the defined muscles of his biceps. Imagined his abs. She shuddered and hated herself for wanting him.
"Theresa's okay, I guess,” Jenni said, forcing her attention from Ilya to the girl reading next to him. His new stepsister, Barry’s daughter, a bit younger than all of them. She’d fallen into their little group easily enough. "Can you imagine, though? Having to actually live with those guys?"
"At least she doesn't have to share a room," Allie said.
"No shit," Jenni agreed with another grin. "Sharing a room totally sucks."
Allie laughed and shoved Jenni's tube with her toes, but Jenni was too fast and grabbed Allie’s ankle so she didn’t tip. Also so the force of Allie’s shove didn’t force them apart. Jenni dug her nails in a little too deep, though.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry,” Jenni said.
They floated in silence for a few minutes. Chilly water lapped at Jenni’s toes. Her butt was getting numb, not just from the temperature of the water but also because of the way she had to contort herself to fit inside it. She had a fat ass, she thought lazily, but knew it wasn’t true. Even though she’d started eating pie after every shift at the diner, she wasn’t anything close to fat. Thinking of the diner now, she also thought of Barry.
“You’re a natural at this,” Barry had told her.
Barry had been selling his own shit for some time before she met him, but recruiting Jenni had been a smart move. Men would pay a pretty girl more than they would give another dude, even if they didn’t realize it. More money for him. More money for her. Jenni was all about more money, since the more she had, the sooner she could get out of this place. Get away. Far, far away.
And then what?
“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up,” Jenni said suddenly, aloud. She wanted to bite the words back at once, but too late. There they were, out in the world.
Allie didn’t open her eyes. “Who says you have to?”
“Everyone has to decide at some point, Allie. You can’t just screw around forever. You have to decide.” Jenni shook her head and then let it fall back so her hair draped into the water. Weighting her. She imagined Chester the goldfish coming for a nibble, tugging her backward, out of the tube. Under the water.
How long would it take for her to drown?
“But not right now.” Allie sounded sleepy. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get a sunburn. “It’s not like the world will end if you don’t.”
“Easy for you to say. Nobody’s counting on you to make them proud.”
The sudden splash swamped them both, nearly tipping them. Niko had swung out on the rope and dive-bombed them. Shrieking, both girls kicked at him as he tried to swim closer. Laughing, Niko shook his dark hair as he treaded water.
"Nice going, jerk!" Allie said as he splashed at her.
“Bitch,” Niko said around a long spurt of water.
Jenni laughed, but Allie flipped him the bird. For a second he made as though he was going to swim closer and tip her off the raft; she squealed and kicked at him. He gave up too easily. That was suspicious and meant he’d get Allie back later. The two of them had a competition, kind of but not exactly like the one Jenni had with Ilya. For the briefest second, Jenni looked again at Ilya, then at her sister and finally at Niko, who was swimming back to the shore. Allie and Niko? Nah. That would be too weird.
They floated again in silence, nothing but the wafting tickle of summer songs from the portable radio on the rock outcropping. Jenni didn’t know what time it was, but she probably ought to think about heading home to take a shower and get ready for work. She liked the night shifts at the diner because they gave her all day to fuck around, she could sleep in, and the night time was the right time, as the saying went. But not for love, she thought with a small, tight smile that hurt a little like she was twisting her mouth. Night shift at the diner meant truckers who were ready to take it easy for the rest of the night, parked up the road in the spot where they all slept overnight. Truckers who liked the pills Jenni passed them along with their receipts in exchange for the extra large “tips.”
She was thinking about Barry again. He’d promised to get her a new supply of the drugs Galina lifted from her job in the surgery unit at the Quarrytown hospital. Good stuff, he’d said. Premium.
"He must have a big dick," Jenni said suddenly.
Allie choked a little. "What? Who? Nikolai? Ew, Jennilynn!"
"No, not Niko. Gawd, Allie, don't be stupid." Jenni used her hands to paddle in the water, turning her in the tube so she could get her head closer to her sister's. She shouldn’t even talk about him. She shouldn’t mention his name. It was weird of her to do it, she was going to give herself away, but she couldn’t help it. "I meant Barry."
"Gross, Jenni."
"I bet they screw like rabbits," Jenni said in a tone of secret glee, trying hard to poke her little sis.
Why? It was fun. Again, she knew she shouldn’t talk about stuff like that, but it was a compulsion she didn’t understand. Imagining Barry fucking Galina. It wasn’t like she wanted to fuck Barry herself…but she didn’t mind knowing that he might want to get in her pants. Married or not, Barry was a guy like they all were. She’d caught him looking at her ass, that fat-not-fat ass. All at once, Jenni’s throat closed tight, squeezing, like she was trying not to cry.
Allie grimaced. "Yuck."
Jenni spun, kicking gently. "I bet they do. I bet they do it every night. They're newlyweds, right? Isn't that what they do? I'm going to ask Ilya if he ever hears them. You know his room is right next to theirs."
"Jenni, no. That's..." Allie made a gagging yuck sound.
Teasing her sister always chased away the dark thoughts. Laughing, Jenni started to float away, out of Allie’s reach. That was when Niko jumped off the rope swing again, this time landing much closer to them. The water swelled, tossing Allie off the raft. Jenni’s tube flipped, sending her into the water too.
She’d drawn in a huge breath on instinct as soon as she knew she was going under. Her lips pressed tight, but for a moment, Jenni almost opened her mouth and breathed in, not out. It would be so easy to let the water take her. Wouldn’t it?
Something moved in the water between her and Allie. Something orange. Fins tipped with black. It was gone so fast that Jenni couldn’t even be sure it had ever been there, but the sight of it had her legs kicking, pushing her up and out of the water. Chester, the carnival goldfish, alive in the quarry? It couldn’t be. Jenni laughed, spitting out water.
“Where’s Allie?”
Niko had been treading water close to the overturned raft. Jenni’s tube had started making its way out toward the center of the water. Jenni spun by kicking and paddling.
“Shit,” Niko barked out, “she’s still under.”
He dove, for a moment his red bathing suit showing above the water’s surface. He splashed and resurfaced, hauling Allie with him. She was clearly panicked, almost fighting him, but Niko pulled her with strong, smooth strokes toward the small patch of ground that made up the shore. Out of the water, Allie heaved up a gush of water but didn’t puke. She swung and punched Nikolai just below the eye, making him fall back.
"Where's Jenni?" Allie demanded.
"I'm right here. Hey. I
t's okay. You're okay, right?" Jenni gave Niko a worried look.
Her own fantasies of drowning vanished, faced with the real fact that Allie could have. Her sister fell back onto the dirt and weeds and closed her eyes. She looked so much younger with her wet hair plastered over her face, and Jenni remembered how it had been when they were little. How Allie had followed her around, bugging her all the time. How things had changed over the years. But she still loved her sister, Jenni thought. That wasn’t different, even if everything else felt like it was.
“I’m sorry, Allie." Niko sounded anxious. "I was just getting you back for scaring me the other night. Hey, Allie, look at me. I'm sorry."
His apology didn’t stop Allie from being pissed off. She sat and tossed her hair out of her eyes. "You're such a giant asshole, Nikolai!"
"I said I was sorry." He grinned.
Jenni looked between the two of them, assessing it. They didn’t even see it. Attraction. The tension twirled and tightened, neither Allie or Niko acknowledging it, but Jenni felt it as clearly as if it had been a spiderweb strung with dew that she’d walked into.
Assured her little sis was okay, though, she left the two of them squabbling at the base of the steep slope and made her way up the rocky hill to the boulder outcropping. Theresa had gone, taking her book and towel. Ilya was sitting, his knees pulled to his chest.
“She okay?” he asked.
Jenni nodded and hesitated before sitting next to him on the towel. The rocks were hard under her butt. She and Ilya sat close but not touching. Still, she felt the heat radiating off him. Hotter than the sun.
“I need to leave for work soon,” she said.
Ilya lowered his voice, his eyes searching hers. “Let’s go back to your house. Your parents won’t be home yet.”
“Riiiight.” She let the word draw out and rolled her eyes. “And what would we do there?”
He shot her a grin. “Whatever we wanted?”
She unfolded herself to stand over him. The sun behind her, her body cast him into shadow. Even so, he shaded his eyes to look up at her.
“I don’t think so.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted to give him, but the last time they’d fooled around, he’d gotten so bent out of shape about it all that it didn’t seem worth it.
Anyway, she had a date, of sorts, later tonight, and what was she, some kind of slut? Ilya didn’t know about the date, and he wasn’t going to. She didn’t owe him an explanation about anything. He was just the boy who lived across the street. Just because she loved him, that didn’t give him the right to own anything about her.
“Another time?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jenni repeated.
His face looked like she’d kicked him in the nuts. He’d curse her now. Call her names. Some of them, she might deserve. She braced herself, but Ilya only shrugged and rolled over onto his stomach. Ignoring her.
She watched him for a few seconds, thinking she could change her mind. They could go back to the way things were. They could pretend together, at least for the hour or so they had before she’d have to shove him off her and get in the shower so she could get ready for work. They could pretend life had not moved on.
Except it had.
Chapter 11
Tristan
Then
Tristan’s father had not been home for the past five days, and for all Tristan knew, would not be home for another five. He always figured that one day his dad simply wouldn’t bother coming home at all. That wouldn’t be terrible, except that of course Tristan would be left with all the bills for the duplex, but he was already over eighteen and if that happened, he’d just up and head out of town. College wasn’t an option at this point, or at least he hadn’t bothered to apply to any because there wasn’t any money for tuition. But he’d work somewhere. Do something.
It might not be a bad idea to do that anyway, without waiting for Steve Weatherfield to fuck off into the great wide yonder. Tristan would graduate from high school in a few months, and after that he could pack some things and simply…go. Stay with his mom and her new husband for a bit, the way she always claimed she wanted him to. Visit his grandparents in Colorado. He had lots of relatives scattered all over the country, and some of them might be persuaded to let him couch surf for a little while.
The thought of all this put a small grin on his face for the first time all day. The school day had been long and full of suck. He had no plans to see Rebecca tonight, which was the only time he could, because in school they were still both pretending they didn’t even know each other’s names.
He told himself he liked it that way. Rebecca Segal had money and parents who gave a shit about things all the time, not just every once in a while when it seemed like it might get them something they wanted. She had a future, far away from this town, and Tristan, for all his imaginings only moments before, knew that even if he did pack up and go, his future would never match hers. She wasn’t the girl for him, not long term, and if something couldn’t last, why should he let himself get all caught up in it now?
A knock at the front door got him off the couch. “Hey, Dereece.”
Dereece Washington had lived in the other half of the duplex since before Tristan was born. His wife had died a year ago, and since then he’d been making dinner for Tristan a few times a week. At first, Tristan hadn’t wanted to hang out with the old guy, but Dereece had been a professional chef for most of his life, only retiring a couple years back. The dude could cook.
“I made a nice penne pasta with a pesto sauce. Ha, that’s almost like a poem.” Dereece grinned, showing straight white teeth. “Your dad’s not here?”
“Nope.”
“More for the two of us, then.”
It was kind of a joke. Even when Steve was home, he didn’t ever go to eat next door. Tristan’s father might not admit aloud he was a racist son-of-a-bitch, but he was. He’d always hated sharing the duplex with the Washingtons, but since he and Tristan’s mom had been the ones to buy the other half long after Dereece and Regina had been living there, he had no choice.
Next door, Tristan urged Dereece to sit at the impeccably laid table so he could serve. The older man’s arthritis had been bothering him more and more, and it was getting harder for him to lift heavy pots and pans. Tristan would clean the dishes for him later, too. It was worth it, for the food.
“Pour me a little of that red,” Dereece said. “Some for you, too, if you want.”
Tristan hadn’t developed a taste for wine, but he took a small amount. With Dereece, it wasn’t about getting drunk. It was about how the wine paired with the food, the entire culinary experience of it. They clinked their glasses. Sipped. Dug in.
“Good pasta,” Tristan said.
They didn’t talk much while eating. Not in a bad way, like how it was the few nights when Tristan’s father was home and at the table with the sports pages and the little betting book he kept next to the phone. A six-pack of beers, dirty dishes, belches, and regular complaints about the shit quality of the meal Tristan had put together or they’d ordered for takeout. No, Tristan and Dereece had a comfortable silence, broken by noises of appreciation for the food. Sitting and eating with the older man was more than comfortable. It was comfort.
The thought struck him, and his mouth twisted. It was deep, emotional, embarrassing. He looked up to see Dereece giving him a quizzical look.
“You look like something’s got you going in there.” Dereece tapped his own temple with a finger, then pointed at Tristan.
“My English teacher was talking about introspection and the inner narrative in school today. I guess I just realized I have an inner narrative.” Tristan grinned to cover how awkward it felt to say that out loud.
Dereece chuckled and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin he insisted on instead of paper. “Don’t we all?”
“I don’t think so. No.” Tristan meant his father. He doubted that guy had an internal anything going on, but if he did, it was probably just a b
unch of four letter words and dirty jokes.
“What’s your inner narrative saying? Well, I guess if you tell me what it is, it won’t be inner, anymore.”
“I just was thinking that…” Tristan cleared his throat. Dereece looked expectant. “I like dinners with you. That’s all. It’s nice to sit and have a good meal with someone at a nice table. And it’s okay if we don’t talk. It’s just nice.”
Dereece took a second before nodding. He lifted his wine glass toward Tristan. “Cheers, son.”
It wasn’t until later, after Tristan had helped the older man clean up his kitchen and then had gone home to his empty, quiet house, that Tristan realized how much it had meant for Dereece to call him that.
He answered his phone on the first ring. “Hey.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
Tristan grinned, leaning against the wall in the kitchen, and closed his eyes to imagine her face. “Nobody else would be calling here this time of night.”
“It’s not too late, is it?” Rebecca asked in a low voice, sort of hesitant.
“No, not too late.”
He took the phone upstairs to his bedroom as she told him about her day. Closed the door, then again when the faulty lock on it allowed it to swing open. Tristan settled himself on the bed, propped on the pillows. Rebecca had been silent for a few seconds.
“What are you doing right now?” she asked.
“Nothing. Talking to you. Thinking about laundry.”
She laughed. “What about it?”
“I need to do some.”
“You do your own laundry?” She sounded shocked, not impressed.
He furrowed his brow. “Yeah. Don’t you?”
“No, the housekeeper does it.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Tristan said, “Do you even know how to do laundry?”
“Of course I do, I mean…sure. Of course.” Now she sounded both indignant and embarrassed.
“Want to come over and do mine?”
“You’re kidding.” She laughed.