Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  With no job experience.

  I looked up at her then, her face full of hope, laced with fear and longing, touched by a shadow of desperation. And there were only two things to do.

  I packed away any notion that I might ever be able to be with her and asked, “When can you start?”

  Annie

  “I got the job!”

  Everyone in the living room smiled—even Mama, a smile that was real and genuine even if it was a little scared—and Elle and Susan stood to congratulate me with hugs and kisses on the cheek.

  “The bookstore is amazing,” I said as I pulled off my mittens and coat. “It’s huge, full of romance novels and comic books, and the bar is a coffee shop too. The ceilings are a mile high with all the pipes and everything exposed, and the floor is brushed concrete with swoops that make it look like the pages of books. Oh! And they have coasters with literary quotes, and they do these singles’ nights where they try to hook the comic-book boys up with the romance girls,” I rambled. “I mean, what an idea. Books and booze and baristas. Genius. But I’m such a klutz. I tripped right into the manager and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me. I can’t believe he still hired me!”

  “Ooh, a boy!” Meg teased, waggling her eyebrows.

  I rolled my eyes and ruffled her sandy-brown hair, ignoring the rush of adrenaline I had at the thought of Greg—tall, handsome Greg with the nice smile and striking blue-green eyes who was way too old for me. “Psh, he’s my boss, and he’s old. He’s got to be almost thirty.”

  Mama let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snuffle. “Practically ancient. Was it his cane or his bifocals that gave him away?”

  “Ha, ha,” I sang. “They want me to start tomorrow! I can’t even believe it.” My cheeks so high from smiling, they ached a little. I barely noticed. “A real job. I’ll be working the cash register at the coolest bookstore I’ve ever seen.” I sighed and dropped into an oversized armchair.

  Mama watched me, her face full of pride and trepidation. “I knew you’d get it. They’d have been crazy not to hire you.”

  “Thank you, Mama, for giving me your blessing.”

  She let out a sigh of her own, and it was anything but dreamy. “It was time. And this sounds like a nice sitting job, one without too much physical effort on your part. Did you tell them? About your heart?”

  “I didn’t think explaining Ebstein’s anomaly to my new manager during an interview would get me any points, so no, Mama, I didn’t mention it. But I will, if I need to.”

  “When you need to,” she corrected.

  I looked to Aunt Susan, who had been quiet for the longest stretch I’d ever witnessed. “What have y’all been doing all day?”

  She smiled, her eyes meeting mine for only a moment before turning back to the embroidery in her hands. “Oh, not much. Meg has been informing us of the wonders of Egypt.”

  Meg lit up. “Did you know King Tut died because he was inbred, not in a chariot race like his sarcophagus said?”

  My brows rose.

  Susan laughed. “We’ve had nothing to do and spent the day rolling around in the luxury. Congratulations again, Annie. I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better. I know moving here hasn’t been easy for any of you, and I’m sorry if I’ve made it any worse than it had to be with my constant blather.” She paused, considering her words. “I’m one of those odd people who laughs when bad things happen—my children never found it amusing when they skinned their knees—and I tend to cover up my sadness with humor and happiness, sometimes when it’s not appropriate.”

  Guilt slipped into my heart. “Aunt Susan, your cheer has been one of the best things about coming here.”

  Her cheeks were pink and merry, but her eyes were sad. “I’m glad. And we’re glad you’re here.” She moved her embroidery to the small table next to her. “Emily has been telling me all day about how lovely your piano playing is, but I haven’t had the courage to ask you to play. Do you think you might like to? I would so love to hear.”

  And I smiled, partly at the thought of Susan not having courage for something and partly out of sheer pleasure at the prospect of playing for an audience. “Of course.”

  When I hopped up, my heart jigged dangerously in my chest. Black spots danced in my vision, my breath shallow and thin. Elle was on her feet, catching me as I teetered, staggering forward.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, her concern weighing her voice.

  “Yeah, I…I just stood up too fast; that’s all,” I answered with what I hoped was a comforting, believable expression on my face.

  But I held on to her arm as we walked through the double French doors to the grand piano.

  I took a seat at the piano bench and opened the lid, the toothy smile of the keys comforting, calming my heart, bringing my breath back to a steady rhythm.

  “What do you want to hear? Mozart?” I made a snobbish face, my back ramrod straight as my fingers drummed the bouncing opening to Piano Sonata No. 11. “Tchaikovsky?” I banged out the dramatic ending of Swan Lake. “Maybe a little light Beethoven?” I dum-dum-dum-dummmmed the dark opening bars of Symphony No. 5.

  Meg rolled her eyes so hard, I couldn’t see her irises. “Boring classical. Play Elton John!”

  I laughed, my fingers finding the keys without looking, plinking the ivory to the ragtime rhythm of the bouncing saloon opening of “Honky Cat.” I sang—it was impossible not to sing along to it—roistering about the city lights and my redneck ways and just how good the change would do me.

  Meg sang along, and everyone joined in but Elle, who was convinced she couldn’t sing (this was a lie; I had heard her on occasion when she thought no one was listening, and her voice was quite lovely). But she swayed. She swayed and she smiled, her eyes twinkling like Mama’s.

  I made a big show as I broke it all the way down with the rolling, wild ending. And when I finally gave it up for good, they cheered.

  I laughed and curtsied invisible skirts as they shouted Brava and Encore!

  Aunt Susan was smiling so wide, I could almost count her molars. “Annie, that was wonderful!”

  “Why, thank you.” I bowed deeply this time with the sweep of my arm. “I’m here all week. Try the prime rib!”

  “Do another!” Meg bounced. “Do Bowie!”

  So I did. I played “Oh! You Pretty Things” and The Beatles’ “Rocky Raccoon” with a little “Killer Queen” for good measure before I finally called it.

  They clapped, and I stood for a final bow.

  We chatted as we turned for the door to the room, but Mama touched my arm.

  “May I talk to you?” she asked, her voice low.

  Everyone kept walking out, not having heard her.

  “Of course, Mama.”

  We moved to the armchairs where I sat, and she pulled up next to me, her face drawn.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong; that’s the thing I’m trying to keep in mind. Ever since you were born, I’ve been afraid. In fact, I can barely remember what it’s like not to be afraid, and I can’t recall what it’s like not to feel guilty. You’ve missed so much, and it’s my fault.”

  I reached for her hand. “Mama, I—”

  “No, no. Let me finish. You see, every aspect of my job as your mother falls under one of three cardinal rules: to love you, to protect you, and to respect you. Sometimes, to do one, I have to betray another. In my effort to protect you, I haven’t respected what you want. Baby, I’m happy you’ve found a job. I want for you to find independence and a life outside of me, outside of us. But I’m scared, too, and fear is a beast not easily slain. Sometimes, it’s not even a beast you can look in the eye.”

  “I know,” I whispered, squeezing her hand.

  Her gaze dropped to the carpet and through it. “It doesn’t make it any easier that I’m not myself. I don’t even know what that means anymore—myself. Who I was is gone, and I’m left a stranger to myself. I wake u
p every day with a glimmer of who I used to be hanging on to the edge of my mind like a dream, and I live the rest of my day chasing that vision. But it’s impossible to catch, and that impossibility is almost more crippling than my ruined legs.” She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Being here is easier though, isn’t it? When every little thing is different, it feels like a fresh start. If we were back home, I don’t know how any of us would get out of bed in the morning.”

  “I’m glad for the distraction, and I’m grateful you’re all right with my working.”

  “Well, you’re an adult, as hard as that is to believe.”

  I snorted a laugh. “I don’t feel like an adult at all. Six months ago, I was taking chemistry finals and getting ready to graduate from high school. And the second I had that diploma in my hand, I crossed the threshold into adulthood with no idea what I was doing.”

  “Well, let me give you a hint, Annie.” Mama leaned in, her smile small and conspiratorial. “None of us knows what we’re doing. Nine out of ten people you ever meet are faking it.”

  The thought was comforting.

  “I really am happy for you,” she said. “Just bear with me if I occasionally lose my mind.”

  I moved to hug her, hooking my chin over her shoulder, her glossy blonde hair against my cheek and her arms around me.

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  “I love you. No matter what, no matter where, no matter how, I love you.”

  I sniffled and stood.

  “Well,” she started, hands on her wheels, “I think I’ll go see after lunch. You coming?”

  “I think I’ll head to my room for a bit.”

  She nodded and backed up her chair, turning it toward the door. “Let me know if you want a plate made up.”

  “I will,” I said, and we parted ways in the hallway.

  Once in my room with the door solidly closed, I let out a sigh that felt like it aged me. The afternoon sun cut into the room in a wedge, diffused by the sheer curtain. The wooden princess set my father had made stood in its beam on the desk, the sunshine gleaming off the shiny varnish of each piece.

  He’d made it for me when Mama was pregnant, carving each piece with the same gentle hands and love he later gave me. The castle was made of blocks that fit together, and he carved little figures to live there—a princess and knight, a king and queen, a dragon and cave. They were the only things I’d packed besides clothes and the stuffed animal I’d slept with since I was in a crib. The rest of our possessions wouldn’t get to us for a while, but this, I didn’t want to be without.

  I picked up the princess, running my thumb over her wavy hair and the details of her dress, imagining my father with a half-carved block of wood in his hand and his face scrunched in concentration. I’d seen that look a thousand times in my life; one of my greatest fears was that I’d forget the sight.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, the princess in my palm, but my mind turned and looked back down the broken road I’d traveled in the last month.

  No matter how much I’d thought about it, it still felt like a dream. The ringing of the phone. My sister’s voice carrying the words that would forever change me. The smell of the hospital, stringent and sterile. The sight of Mama, unconscious in the hospital bed.

  They’d been on their way home from our family’s store where Daddy sold the furniture and art he made. The man who hit them had dropped his phone, speeding and swerving when he reached for it.

  Daddy died on impact. His truck was left a snarling twist of metal.

  I didn’t even know how Mama had survived; every day, I woke with gratitude that she had.

  She had been confined to her hospital bed, unable to attend his funeral. I was of little use, and we had no other family; our paternal grandparents had passed on, and our New York family were strangers to us. So Elle handled every detail with stoic grace while the rest of us unraveled, hour to hour, minute to minute. I spent those days at Mama’s side in the hospital, Meg with Elle where it was easier. When the doctors determined the extent of the damage to her spinal cord, things moved quickly. Because there was no therapy to speak of, no recovery to plan. Only the transition into the reality of her life and her loss.

  Every day for two weeks, a nurse would spend a few hours at the house, teaching us how to care for Mama, teaching her how to care for herself. We had to learn to transfer her in and out of her wheelchair, how to turn her every few hours when she was confined to the bed, how to look out for signs of sores. And those were the easy tasks.

  There were so many more that stole bits of her dignity, and there was no easing into it, no little by little. It happened all at once with staggering suddenness. It was in the emptying of her ostomy bag—or worse, the changing of her ostomy bag. Her inability to shower on her own or cook for herself. She could reach nothing, couldn’t see the stovetop from her wheelchair. She needed constant care, and we had no way to help her but with our own hands.

  It was Uncle John who convinced her to come to New York. They had come for the funeral, and John spent several long afternoons in the hospital with Mama with one mission: persuade her to accept his help. He had the room for all of us, the funds to eradicate the medical bills and pay for nurses, and the desire to do something.

  Her acceptance, as much as she hated it, was the best thing that could have happened to us. Because John had saved us from an uncertain future. We were indebted to him in a way we could never repay.

  He’d given us hope when hope was lost.

  And now, everything had changed, and it was going to be everything we needed, everything I needed, everything my father would have wanted, and everything that would patch up those perilous holes in my heart. Because even though they’d never mend on their own, I could endure them and honor him by living every second with every single part of me.

  So I would.

  I would live out loud.

  Sweet and Salty

  Greg

  The pavement rolled beneath the wheels of my skateboard the next morning, my hands buried in my coat pockets and beanie pulled down over my ears, while I did my best not to think about Annie.

  I’d tried to forget about her all yesterday afternoon when that yellow coat and pink hat crossed my mind, unbidden. And at home with my family last night when I’d replayed her running into me and stopping my universe for a breath. And this morning when I’d worried a little too long about what I’d wear today.

  I’d settled on a black-and-white-plaid button-down, cuffed three-quarters to leave my tattooed forearms on display. I wouldn’t admit that with a gun to my temple, but it was the truth.

  Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t like I’d been obsessing about her or anything. I hadn’t thought of her much. But, out of nowhere, she would invade my mind like cigarette smoke. I’d wave thoughts of her away with a dour twist of my lips, all while jonesing for just one drag.

  You’re just attracted to her. That’s normal, I told myself as my sneaker hit the pavement, propelling me on.

  She was cute and innocent, different from New York girls. But she couldn’t even drink, for Christ’s sake. Not for nearly three years.

  She was practically jailbait, which meant she was off-limits. This probably made things worse—the knowledge that I couldn’t have her.

  But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.

  The fact was that we were at completely different places in our lives; she was figuring out who she was, who she would become, and I had done that ten years ago. She was experiencing life for the first time; everything was speeding up for her while I found myself slowing down.

  It would never work, and that was the heart of the matter. Nothing about pursuing her made sense.

  But I thought of that moment when she’d fallen into me, and I’d looked into the depths of her eyes, felt her body pressed against me. And, if the last twenty-four hours were any proof, I knew she wouldn’t be so easy to forget. The knowledge that it was chemical, that it had no depth or roots, didn’t
matter. Something in me recognized something in her, and that was that.

  Hoping it would blow over was probably futile. I’d do my best to ignore it all the same.

  The last few years had largely been spent devoted to my family. When lupus had finally confined my mother to her bed, my siblings and I’d moved home to help out. And when she died, we couldn’t bear to leave our father. He needed our help—not only with his loss, but with the crushing weight of medical bills.

  I’d tried to date, but the result was a long string of failures. I did the dating-app thing long enough to figure out that people were really strange. The only date that actually worked out was with Rose, one of the owners of the bookstore. We ended up going out a few times—until she admitted that she was still in love with her ex.

  I’d sworn off dating websites after that.

  More recently, my failed dating experience was thanks to a pack of well-meaning, meddlesome friends and family.

  My family was one culprit. My sister brought home her friends from Columbia all the time, parading them in front of me like show ponies. The fact that they were all so close to my baby sister in age was a negative, the nature of which seemed to be lost on her.

  Work was the other source of badgering, and Cam was the lead offender.

  Matchmaking was a quirk of hers, a hobby fueled by compulsion and good intentions. She’d tried to set me up with at least two-dozen girls since we started working together, and none of them worked out, much to her frustration. In fact, she once went so far that we’d made her swear she’d stop.

  It was a lie we all pretended to believe.

  She wasn’t the only one though. My two head bartenders, Harrison and Beau, loved to bring in girlfriends of chicks they were seeing. Even Rose had been working on me, introducing me to a tattoo artist who worked with her boyfriend. Once, she’d even had her roommate, Lily, bring me a ballerina she danced with at the New York City Ballet.

  I was everyone’s favorite project, probably because I wasn’t interested in participating. I put my energy into my family and my job, and both areas thrived. It was my source of happiness. And even though I wanted to meet someone, it needed to be on my own terms. It would happen—and not by enduring a hundred uncomfortable setups.