I look over at him. I know I should say, “You,” but he’s looking at me, those green eyes intent on my face, and there’s something in them I can’t read, that I don’t recognize but that makes my breath catch.
“Questions,” I say.
“Okay, I won’t ask any more. Now can I please drive you home?”
I stop walking. I still can’t read the look in his eyes but I like it. It makes me feel—I don’t know. Safe, somehow. Which is stupid, because I’m not safe with him.
I know that. I do, really, but I get in the car anyway. And when he smiles at me and says, “Now, this isn’t a question, but if I was going to listen to music, would you have any preferences?” I smile back.
19
When the house comes into view I figure his reaction will be like Mom’s. I mean, I can see that the house is small and dark, built so it’s all sharp angles. You can’t not see it. I think I love it because it’s like that. It’s what it is and you can’t cover it up.
He stops the car and doesn’t say anything.
I look over at him after a minute. “Don’t like the house, right?”
“Actually, I do. And it seems…it seems completely perfect for you. You must love it.”
“I do,” I say, surprised. “Mom can’t stand it, but I think it’s great. The side of the house facing the water is almost all windows and in the morning, when the sun rises…it’s amazing. I could live here forever so easily but—” I break off, aware I’m babbling. Why is it that I don’t talk about any of this stuff with Mom, who wouldn’t really listen but at least isn’t a cop?
“How about sunsets?”
“What?”
“You know, when the sun sets. They must look pretty amazing too.”
“I haven’t really noticed. Mostly I just get home from work, make dinner, and then pretend I’m going to clean up and fall asleep on the sofa.”
“I could make you dinner.”
I look over at him. He’s fidgeting with the steering wheel. “I mean, if you wanted. Just as friends, I swear.”
“You want to make me dinner?”
“Well, I thought I did. But now with the questions starting again…” He grins at me. “Yeah, I do. And okay, I also want to see this great view you keep talking about too.”
No one’s ever cooked for me. Mom sometimes brings food home and once she hooked up with a chef who made eggs in the morning before she kicked him out. Or maybe it was waffles. I don’t really remember. It was a long time ago.
“Okay,” I tell him. And so it ends up that not only does he drive me home, I willingly take him inside.
He likes all the things in the house I do: the furniture, the pictures the owners left behind, and he spends a couple of minutes staring out the living room windows.
“Wow,” he says. “It is an amazing view.”
I thought it would be weird having him here, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels nice. I’m having…I’m having fun.
“Oh, hey, the kitchen’s got a nice view too,” he says, walking in there. “I can look at the—oh. Pile of rocks—while I cook. Okay, what’s the deal with the rocks?” He points out the kitchen window.
“I know,” I say. The owners have some weird stone formation on the front lawn. “When Mom signed the lease, one of the things on there was that we had to promise not to disturb the…whatever it is.”
“So they make one side of the house all glass and then pile up stones to block the view? You know what? People are weird.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He laughs. “Yeah, and right back at you.” He starts opening cabinets and pulling out stuff. “Okay, what have we got here?”
“You know, you don’t really have to make anything. There’s peanut butter and bread and I normally—”
“Hey, I can cook.”
“I’m sure you can. It’s just—”
“Believe me, between my mom and my brothers, I had to learn. My mom can’t cook and my brothers are totally worthless in the kitchen. My dad always did the cooking. I used to help out sometimes and then after he…after he died, I just ended up doing all of it.”
“Brothers?”
“Yep. Two of ’em. One older, one younger. Do you have a colander?”
“No.”
“That’s all right.” He grins at me. “I’ll improvise. You want me to call you when I’m done?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, okay. Want to watch a master in action, huh?”
I laugh. He grins at me again. “I should have known. Afraid I’m going to poison you, right?”
“No. I just want to watch. No one’s ever—no one’s ever made me dinner. It’s…I don’t know. Nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You really do have a pretty smile,” he says, and then turns away, starts opening cans and turning on the stove. I watch him work, nervous and happy and all mixed up inside.
He makes spaghetti and serves it with green beans and garlic bread.
“You’re a miracle worker,” I tell him as I start on my third piece of bread. “Seriously. I know I saw you do it and all, but still.”
He laughs. “You’re a lot nicer about my cooking than my ex-girlfriend.”
“You had a girlfriend?”
“Thanks. Really, that did so much for my ego.”
“No one should dump anyone who can make something like this. Hell, even though you’re a cop, I think my mother might…” See? Why do I do this around him?
“Well, it was more than my cooking. She wanted to get married and I…” He shrugs.
“She wanted to marry you?”
“Again with the ego bruising. But yeah, she did. Or said she did. I don’t think she really wanted to, but we’d been going out since high school and it was like—it was like all we’d known was each other. I think she knew trying to push us into something more would be what we both needed to move on. Plus, she said my spaghetti sauce sucked. How about you?”
“How about me what?”
“Oh, right. Questions. Sorry. Here, take this last piece of bread.”
I do. God, it’s good. “Okay, you can ask me a question.”
“Really? Wait, don’t count that. Hmmm. I know. Did you go to high school around here?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I would have remembered you.” He grins at me. “So where did you go?”
“No, I mean I didn’t—I never went.”
“Never?”
I shrug. “Nope. Sometimes I wish I’d had the chance to go, but Mom always said she could teach me more than—” I break off. “I was…home-schooled, I guess you could say. What about you? Are you in college or anything?”
“Not really. I mean, I take classes when I can, but at the rate I’m going I’ll be a hundred before I’m done.”
“They have cop college degrees?”
He laughs. “Sort of. I could get a criminal justice degree or something, but I’m taking social work classes. See, after my dad and…everything, Mom sent me to see this social worker friend of hers. A counselor. I was really pissed about going at first but she was—she helped me. So I figure if I can help someone like that, I’d like to.”
He clears his throat. “How about you?”
“How about me what? College?”
He nods.
“I can’t go to college. Not with everything—I didn’t even go to high school.”
“So? You could get your GED.”
“And then go to college?”
“Sure, why not?” The way he says it, like it could be so easy, makes me think for a crazy second that I could. And then I remember who I am.
“Because.”
“Oh, okay. Great reason.”
“Look, I’d like to go. I mean…” I trail off. I would like to go. But it will never happen. “Right now things are—I have to work.”
“I get that. What did you do before you started working for Stu?”
W
ell, recently I was with my mom in Pennsylvania, where we spent a couple of days getting ready to rob a house. We did, and then we came here. “You know, crap job kind of stuff. And now there’s Stu and—” I gesture at my uniform. “I think this thing would glow in the dark.”
He laughs. “How about your mom? What does she do?”
I get up and start taking dishes over to the sink.
“All right,” he says, getting up and bringing the rest of them over. “I get it. Over the question limit, right?”
“What does your mom do?”
He grins at me. “You’re really good at answering questions with questions, you know that? She’s a teacher. Middle school, earth science. You ever want to know anything about rocks, I’m the person to ask.”
“Really?” I grin back, take the dish he’s holding, and put it in the dishwasher. “So if, say, I wanted to know—” My cell rings, startling me. “Hold on a second. Hello?”
“Baby, do you still need a ride?” Mom’s voice, brittle and very tense. Things with Harold must not be going well.
“No, I’m home already.”
“Do me a favor and make some coffee, will you? I’ll be there in a little while.”
“Okay,” I say, and she hangs up. She wants coffee. Home early and wanting coffee means things with Harold went beyond bad, and she’s going to be in a horrible mood because of it.
“You’ve got to go,” I tell him. “That was my mom on the phone and…” I take the plate he’s loading into the dishwasher out of his hands, motion him toward the door. “Look, I’ll finish that.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s—look.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Wow, you must really want me out of here.” He’s still grinning but it seems forced and there’s something strange in his gaze.
I open the front door, and he leaves without saying anything, not even good-bye.
What if he’s mad? I can’t let him leave mad because I…because he’s a cop.
“Look,” I say, and head outside, catch up to him. “My mom”—hates cops, would kill me for having one in the house—“she’s strict. But I—thank you for making me dinner. Really. I had fun.”
He looks at me and I realize what the something in his eyes was. It was hurt. I realize that because I see it fade, watch him smile at me for real, a smile that lights up his face.
“Me too,” he says, leaning in toward me, and I can’t move, can only stare at him, startled. He brushes a thumb across my cheek, a nothing touch, but the look in his eyes is so serious, so—so not a way anyone has ever looked at me.
When he goes, I watch him drive away.
20
Things with Mom and Harold aren’t that bad after all. Mom came home in a horrible mood, but that’s because she had to get mad at Harold during dinner. She could tell he was getting ready to pull a “you seem too good to be true” speech—with three marriages come and gone, he’s a little gun-shy when it comes to women.
Anyway, it pissed her off because she says, “I thought he was stupider than that, baby. And so now I have to be extra careful with him. It’s annoying.”
After I make her a couple of cups of coffee she calms down and leaves a fake tearful message on Harold’s voice mail saying she loves him and wants him but things are complicated and maybe they need a break. He calls back later that night, but Mom doesn’t answer. She listens to the message he leaves, though.
“Nothing like shaking them up,” she says as she turns her phone off, smiling at me. “Tell them you love them and then run away—makes them crazy. I bet you I’ve got the security code for the alarm system at the house down in Florida by the end of next week.”
“Maybe we won’t be here next week. I mean, after I go back to the Donaldson house we won’t need to hang around.”
“We’ll see.”
I know what that means. I’m not happy about it, but what can I do? Once Mom decides she wants something, there’s no stopping her. “I’m going to bed. I have to spend all day tomorrow cleaning up people’s crap. And I do mean crap.”
She looks at me. “It’s what you have to do. And if you get the Donaldson house, you—”
“I know, I’ll call.”
“Good.”
In the morning Mom is so tired that she actually stops on our way out to the car. At first I think she’s checking her cell for messages, because she’s looking at it, but then I realize that she’s just standing there.
“Mom?”
“I’m coming. I think that stupid fish Harold insisted I try was bad. I feel like shit.”
“Make sure you take it out on him when he calls, then.”
She grins at me. “Good one, baby. Feel like breakfast?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Fine, we can stop on the way and get you, I mean me, a donut.”
Work is the same as always—long, boring, and filled with Joan nagging us for gas money—but when we get back to the office at the end of the day Allison is waiting outside, sitting on the decorative bench Stu has warned us to never sit on. It’s okay for there to be maids in Heaven but we’re not supposed to actually be seen. She waves when we pull in.
“Isn’t that the Donaldsons’ daughter?” Maggie asks. “What’s she doing here?”
“Who cares?” Joan says, but looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I think she’s waving at you. What did you do, steal something from her?”
I laugh and after a second Shelly joins in—she’s one of those people who hates to think she’s missing a joke. Joan gives me another look, then shrugs and lights a cigarette.
I say hi to Allison when we’re on our way inside, very aware that everyone is watching us, even Joan (though she’s mostly trying to suck down as much smoke as possible before she goes inside).
“Hey,” Allison says. “I was going to call you but then I realized I don’t have your last name so I couldn’t get your number. So then I figured I’d…”
“So you came here. Look, I’d love to hang out but I’m still at work and we’ve got this meeting…”
“I can totally wait.” Allison smiles at Maggie and Shelly, who finally stop gawking and go inside. “I’ve been dying to talk to you! We have to go eat ice cream or something completely fattening because my mom is obsessed with losing, like, a pound before the party and so there’s nothing to eat but some disgusting things that look like candy bars but so aren’t and plus—” She leans over and grabs my arm. “Brad! We’re dating! Like, for real! Oh my God, I’ve finally said it out loud.”
I should be alarmed that she’s tracked me down, but I’m not. It’s nice someone wants to hang out with me. I just wish I could.
“It might be a while. We usually get a lecture on some exciting new cleaning product before we’re allowed to go and—”
“I don’t mind waiting. There’s some stuff—” She breaks off, looking a little unsure, and I wonder what she means. I don’t get a chance to ask, though, because Stu comes out and clears his throat, my cue to go inside. I do, turning my cell off as I sit next to Joan and listen to him outline an exciting new way to clean toilets—like that’s even possible.
When he’s finally done, I go meet Allison.
It’s not a big deal, seeing her. Not really. After all, I know what I’m doing.
I think.
Allison and I get floats at the ice cream place. I notice people looking at my uniform—the tourists kind of curiously, the rich summer people with eyes that go vacant as soon as they see it—and I figure Allison will probably be embarrassed by it, be embarrassed by me. But she doesn’t seem to care at all and even introduces me to everyone who stops and says hi to her.
“I think you’re freaking people out,” I tell her after I’ve just shaken hands with a horrified-looking man dressed in a polo shirt with the collar turned up. If you ask me, I’m the one who should have looked horrified.
“Please. Everyone around here has such sticks up their asses. Be
sides, did you see what he was wearing? He should be thanking us for talking to him.”
I laugh. “That’s what I was thinking.”
We talk for a while more and even though I know Mom is waiting for me I’m not in a hurry to leave. It’s nice, just sitting around talking to Allison, and for a while I’m able to pretend we’re friends, real friends. She tells me about going to the beach with Brad. I tell her about cleaning the crazy demon spawn lady’s house.
“I guess you must be totally ready to go back to school then, right?” Allison asks.
“Pretty much.” And just like that, all the fun I was having totally disappears. I can’t pretend I’m just sitting here talking to a friend anymore. I’m not a college student, never will be. And Allison—I’m not her friend. She doesn’t know my last name. She doesn’t even know my real name.
“Look, I should—” I say, and then break off because she looks nervous like she did before. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, it’s just…okay. I’m glad I’m going to school, but Brad is—I really like him, you know? I don’t want the summer to end. And then I find out…” She pauses, looks down at her cup. “You know how he was acting weird for a while? I knew—well, I thought James might have said something to him.”
“Why?” I’m sure he said something. James reminds me of Mom in a lot of ways, and she would have said something.
She turns her cup around in her hands. “It’s just how he is. And then, yesterday, Brad told me he and James ended up at the same party a couple of days after we got here and James told him I didn’t really like him, that I thought it was funny to have some beach guy chasing after me.”
“Maybe he was joking. Brother-type stuff, you know?”
“Yeah,” she says slowly, and I can tell we both know it wasn’t a joke at all. “Maybe.”
“So,” Mom says that night, after she’s done giving me the silent treatment. “What’s going on with you?”
I’m lying on the sofa trying to sleep but when I hear her voice I rub my eyes and sit up. I knew what was coming the moment I got in the car and she didn’t say a word about how late I was, but I also knew I’d have to wait. Mom does things her own way and in her own time. She always has.
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