A Taste of Silver

by S. B. Roozenboom

  “The first day he was,” I answered sourly, then repeated the story that I told Joe. When I finished, Paul was glowering.

  “I can’t believe that,” he hissed. “That’s not ok with me. Has he done anything like that since?”

  I shook my head. “He ignores me and I avoid him.” Thoughts of his Myspace profile came back to haunt me. His unfriendly description, his disturbing photos… I shuddered. “Let’s change the subject, please. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Paul cleared his throat. “So, what are you doing for Halloween?” “Halloween?” The new subject caught me off guard. “Oh. I—” I couldn’t even finish before my cell phone vibrated against my thigh. Startled, I growled before ripping it out to see who dared interrupt this perfect conversation. It was probably dad going, where are you?

  But as I looked at the screen, I didn’t recognize the number.

  “I’m sorry, Paul, hold on. Hello?” I answered. No reply. “Hello?”

  The line was quiet. Derek’s image popped into my head, but then I realized that if it was Derek calling there would have been guffaws or crude remarks coming my way. Not shallow breathing sounds.

  Then there was a huffing noise and the line went dead…

  *

  It was dusk when I arrived home, half hour before dad was due. I had a feeling we still weren’t on speaking terms, so I was nice and made his favorite—spaghetti and meatballs—to see if I couldn’t at least make our silence a slightly more comfortable one. I even stopped by the bakery down the road and bought some fresh French bread.

  I was watching the comedy channel and biting into a fat slice of bread when his car pulled in. He was late this evening. That’s odd. Dad was almost always a timely person. The front door opened just as I was putting my plate in the sink.

  “Hey, Rosie,” he called, fumbling in the closet. The sound of shoes hitting the cubbies filled the air, the clang of hangers on the rod, but something else. The crunching of… a paper bag?

  “Hey, dad,” I replied, returning to the couch. So much for thinking we weren’t talking. Why did he sound so happy?

  He popped his head around the corner, then stepped into view. He was hiding the source of the paper bag noise behind his back. I caught a glimpse of black and white—like a Saks Fifth Avenue bag—when he moved. But what on earth would he be doing with one of those?

  I stared at the spot where the checkered bag had swung. “What’cha got there?”

  “Oh, not much.” He sauntered towards me. “Just a little present for you.”

  “For me?” Ok, surprised was now an understatement. “Since when do you just—”

  He pulled out the bag and dropped it in my lap. It was indeed a Saks Fifth Avenue bag, complete with tissue paper and a, thank you for shopping, card that the high-class boutiques were really getting into giving with customer purchases.

  I gaped at the gift, then at him before slowly pushing tissue paper aside. Removing the last piece, I gasped while pulling out a beautiful lavender bag made of soft leather. It had two gold-belted pockets on the front and an adjustable strap—my favorite.

  “D—dad,” I stuttered in shock. “When did you get this?”

  “Today.” He was already in the kitchen, staring at the pot on the stove. “Ooh, you made spaghetti! Thanks, honey.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the bag. Dropping the delicate thing in my lap, I pulled up the tags. It was Marc Jacobs. Last spring’s edition I knew (I was a frequent online shopper) but must’ve still been expensive. These things ran fivehundred to three thousand dollars, but I couldn’t tell the price for this one. Dad had scribbled it out. It was unbelievable to know I was holding it, owning it. It was so magnificent, so perfect, so expensive, so… suspicious.

  “Dad, my birthday was almost a month ago. And Christmas isn’t until December,” I stated.

  “Does a father need an occasion to give his daughter a gift?” He set his plate at the bar and swiveled his chair around to watch the television.

  I observed him as he chewed a bit of bread. Dad wasn’t the kind of person to randomly buy his daughter a gift unless there was an occasion. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was that he just didn’t think about it. So if it wasn’t Christmas, and it wasn’t my birthday...

  That only left one option.

  I scrunched my shoulders to my ears, narrowing my eyes. “You did something,” I whispered. “Something big…”

  “Like what?” He laughed.

  I thought about it. Observed. “Something at work. You did something while I wasn’t there today, didn’t you?”

  He stopped chewing and glared. He was trying to give me this unimpressed I-can’t-believe-you’re-accusing-me look, but his eye twitched—something it only did when he was staring at the computer… or when he was trying to hide something.

  “I saw that!” I declared, straightening up in my seat.

  He swallowed slowly, not breaking eye contact. “You know, it’s starting to creep me out how you can do that. Your mother used to always do that whenever she thought I’d done something wrong—”

  “HA!” I jabbed a finger at him. “So you did do something!”

  “Wha—no, you think—but I didn’t—”

  “Oh, you can’t deny it now! What did you do? Tell me! What are you up to?”

  The sweat was visible on his brow. I crossed my arms, unblinking, waiting. He inhaled loudly. “Ok! Alright! Fine, you caught me,” he surrendered, hands up in the air. “But remember, I just bought you a six hundred and eighty dollar purse and—”

  “Six hundred and eighty dollars?” I shrieked, leaping to my feet. “You’re busted! I demand you tell me right now, right fricken fracken now, what you’ve done! What, are you going to jail? Are you dating someone behind my back? What?” Dad cowered, leaning away. “No. No I’m not seeing anyone, and I’m not going to jail… unless they caught me speeding through that red light downtown or something.”

  “Then what is it?!”

  He put his fork on his plate and took a breath. “Ok. So Joe was gone for the second half of today—his mother’s in the hospital getting hip surgery—and since I can’t get Race or Preston or Greg out to work the front counter with Hayden, I had to do it.” Short pause. “So we talked a little today, me and him. He was a bit hesitant at first, but after a while, he warmed up. He’s quite nice after he learns it’s ok to speak and—”

  “Dad.”

  “Right. Right, sorry. Off the subject.” He cleared his throat, picking at his noodles. “So we were talking and we got into a conversation about quads and motorcycles—no surprise—and I asked him if he’d ever ridden in San Bernardino country. He said no, he hadn’t been out there since—”

  I let out a dramatic gasp and covered my mouth. My insides lurched like those of a pregnant woman about to have morning sickness, and I slowly backed away. “Oh. My. God. You invited him on the trip!”

  “Ok, ok, Rose? Calm down. Take a deep breath and—”

  “Calm down?! Calm down, are you mad?” I started pacing circles in the carpet. What a traitor! I couldn’t believe it. “No wonder you made sure to get me an expensive purse! You know I can’t get angry when you buy me expensive gifts like that! Ugh! You did the exact same thing to mom when you spent your guys’ anniversary money on a gold Rolex watch!”

  “Rose, please,” dad begged. “It’ll be just fine! Nothing is going to change, or be more or less complicated by him being there—Rose. Rosie, come on, don’t be like that!”

  I had stomped over to the couch and gathered up the bag, tissue paper, and the purse before starting out of the room. At the corner I stopped and gave him one last look. “Thank you for the purse. It is very pretty. I like it a lot. I will use it tomorrow.” Then, flipping my hair over my shoulder, I headed to my room.

  “Rose, come back! It’s really not going to be—”

  I shut the door on his voice, dropping the purse and its remnants on my bed. Expelling someth
ing like a snarl, I glanced over at the bag I’d started packing last night. All that was left to do now was throw my gear in the car and have dad load my quad. We’d be out of here by noon.

  Noon tomorrow, I thought. Just hang in there a little longer, Rose. I’d be riding in San Bernardino in less than twenty four hours. I’d be roasting marsh mellows over a campfire and listening to the last of the season’s crickets while sleeping in a tent under the stars. These were all helpful thoughts. Comforting thoughts… thoughts that assisted me in believing it would still be fun even as creepy convict kid was now riding along.

  *

  The sun shined overhead the next morning, highlighting the neighbors’ lawns as I returned from picking up Cheyenne. She was quiet in the passenger seat, eyes zipping around the property.

  “Will you stop?” I snapped while parking on the other side of the street. Our side was currently packed with trucks, campers, and cars—an unusual sight even for the outskirts of LA. Dad had already gone to the shop and picked up the truck that he kept in the garage (our home garage was too small) and was having Joe help him load quads onto the trailer.

  “I’m sorry, really,” Cheyenne apologized, but didn’t stop scanning. “I just want to see if what Chanel said was true.”

  My brows furrowed. “If what’s true?”

  “That your dad hired a hot new employee.”

  I scuffed. Gal damn it, Chanel. She hadn’t even seen him face to face and she was gossiping. It was crazy. Trying to keep my friends off a hot guy, even if that guy had been involved in a crime, was like trying to keep starved wolves off fresh kill: unwise and in the end pointless.

  I approached the yard with caution, joining Cheyenne in keeping an eye and ear out for Hayden’s existence. Only difference was, I was searching in hopes of not finding him. If I was lucky, he wasn’t here yet, or at all. Maybe he’d canceled. Or got sick and wasn’t coming. Or chickened out.

  Of course, it was that hopeful thinking that resulted in nearly giving me a stroke as I circled around an RV. The tall figure and dreadlocks were what caught my eye. Hayden’s back was turned to me as he loaded a heavy generator in the RV for the middle-aged, tubby man known as Carl.

  I had to brace Cheyenne for support as we stood in the yard, too close. He didn’t seem to notice us. Good. “Oh my—is that him?” Cheyenne whispered excitedly.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, yeah, come on.” I pulled her along the perimeter of the yard, far from him as possible. One might think I was avoiding someone with a contagious disease.

  “Hey, Rosie!” Dad greeted as we stopped by the garage. “Just tightening down your quad, then I’m ready to get out of here.”

  “Did you get my bags out of my room?” I asked.

  “Yup. They’re in there. If you’ve got anything else you want to bring, throw it in now.” He jumped off the trailer. “Help me go through the checklist, will you?”

  I nodded, then started naming everything we might need for this weekend out of civilization. “And then you’re going to stop at Cheyenne’s house to get her quad, right?”

  “Already been taken care of,” dad cleared. “I sent Race down with his truck to pick it up.”

  “Race?” Cheyenne went starry eyed, worse than when she saw Hayden. She clasped her hands together near her heart. “He really went to pick it up for me?”

  “Yeah. He and Preston should be back any time.” Dad looked at the street expectantly.

  She let out a sigh and grinned at me. I snorted, rolling my eyes. She’d had a crush on Race for some time now, but the last time she saw him was over a year ago, when he’d first started working at the shop. I’d almost forgot.

  “Rose!” A voice cried.

  I whirled at the calling of my name. A petite girl with ginger hair and earthy eyes came darting forwards at full speed. She bolted right into me, nearly knocking me to the pavement. “Kinzie!”

  “I missed you!” The girl squeaked, squeezing my midsection.

  “I missed you, too.” It’d been almost a year since I’d seen my family friends, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until now. If only we lived closer to each other. We went on gossiping about school and social lives until Cheyenne noticed two other girls approaching. Sami and Cassie looked so similar, I used to mistake them for twins. Both had ribbons of blonde hair and wore name brands like Fox Racing or Roxy. The only difference between them was their height… and the fact that Cassie was thirteen—three years younger than her sister.

  “What’s up?” Sami greeted as she joined our circle.

  “Hey, girls.” I smiled, happy to see them, too. “How are you?”

  Cassie flashed a grin. “Sami was just admiring your new friend back there—”

  “Cassie!” Sami hissed, playfully slapping her sister’s arm.

  Cassie laughed. “Well, you were!”

  “It’s alright. Everyone seems to think he’s something.” I spared Hayden a reluctant glance. He was watching Todd tighten down Kinzie’s four-wheeler on their trailer now.

  An old blue Chevy pulled up on the curb just then. Race hopped out of the truck and started walking up the drive. He did a double take in our direction and Cheyenne waved, grinning like a clown. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called, “Wassup?”

  “Hi, Race!” We all replied in unison.

  “Y’all ready to go?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Good.” Preston came jogging around the side of the truck. He had a red bandana tied around his head, a diamond sparkling in one ear. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

  Race squeezed himself between me and Cheyenne. I thought she was going to start foaming at the mouth. “Ladies,” he greeted, looking pleased that he was surrounded by a pack of high school girls again. He’d told one too many stories about his crowd of girlfriends before he graduated. He clearly missed the attention.

  We started discussing who was riding in whose truck. We’d begun to disperse from the garage front when an awful screeching noise filled the air. I covered my ears, jerking my head in the direction of the racket just as it died.

  The sound had come from Joe’s truck. He stuck his head out the window and growled a string of cuss words, then tried to start the engine again. The awful noise rang loud and clear.

  “What is that?” Cheyenne cried, plugging her own ears.

  Curious and a little worried, I trotted over to investigate. “What’s up, Joe?”

  “No bloody idea.” He got out and strode to the front of the truck, fuming. “This thing has given me so much crap lately, I’m starting to see why it was so cheap at the auction! Stand back, Rose. With my luck, she’ll spit at you.”

  I obeyed, scooting away as he went to lift the hood. At first, we couldn’t see anything. All looked well. Then, as the hood was lifted all the way, a cloud of opaque smoke billowed into the atmosphere.

  “Holy sheet dip!” Dad came jumping up behind me. “What happened?”

  Joe was coughing, waving a hand as he staggered backwards. “No idea. Thing just blew! Maybe it has something to do with the starter. This happened about a week ago when I tried to start the engine.”

  Once the worst of the smoke had cleared, dad tried to peer inside. “I can’t see a thing,” he determined. “Great. That’s not good. Really, really not good.” He frowned at his watch. It would be a long drive to the campsite in San Bernardino, and we really needed to get going if we were going to reach it before dusk.

  “Dad, don’t sweat it,” I said, trying to be the calm one. “We’ve got room in your truck. Cheyenne’s riding with Race and Preston. Joe can ride with us.”

  The old man spared me an amused look. “She wants to ride with Race and Preston?”

  I nodded, giving him a look that said: I don’t know why, either.

  “Ok, well…” His face got all tight as he glanced between me and Joe, though I wasn’t sure why. If me and him were going to be the only ones in the truck, th
at still left two perfectly suitable seats open, and I was sure that was more than plenty for Joe.

  “What’s the big deal?” I asked, circling Joe’s truck. “We’ve got room for Joe’s bags and his bike and—” I cut off.

  In the back of the truck beside Joe’s old red Yamaha was a yellow bike I didn’t recognize. My eyebrows formed a line. I didn’t recall him owning two. “Hey, Joe, whose dirt bike is that?” I asked.

  Dad bit his lip, staring off behind me. Joe seemed to shrink a little himself.

  “It’s mine.”

  A shiver ran up my spine, turning my insides to mush. The voice that had claimed the motorized vehicle had not come from Joe or my father, but behind me. I forced myself around, promising whatever the sight, I wouldn’t freak.

  Hayden leaned against the box of Joe’s truck barely two feet away. His muscles were visible through the sleeves of his black Quicksilver shirt, face rough as our eyes grudgingly touched each other.

  I wanted to melt into a puddle of mud.

  “Oh,” I whispered, then moved swiftly to dad’s side.

  Hayden’s eyes didn’t leave me until he stopped beside Joe and took his turn to look inside the hood. He squinted through the smoke before leaning closer, the billows screening his face and chest. It didn’t seem to affect him. “You might have a coolant leak. The smoke’s really white.” He bent down and looked under the truck. “As for the screeching sound, I don’t know.”

  “Well, what does that mean?” Joe asked, the frustration plain in his tone. He didn’t know much at all about cars. Ironic since he knew a good deal about recreational vehicles, but it was wise not to bring that point up unless he was in a good mood.

  Hayden got up from the pavement, hands on his hips. “It means you probably need something replaced.”

  Joe slapped a hand over his face. “Of all the days for this to happen! This is just my luck.”

  “Don’t worry, Joe.” Dad came up and clapped his friend on the back. “Like Rose said, we’ll just load your guys’ stuff into our truck. We’ve got room.”

  It was at that moment that reality dawned on me. Oh, hell no. I bolted up to dad and grabbed his arm before he rounded the truck. “Wait a second! Who’s Hayden riding with?”