“Awesome,” I said, my voice snarling with sarcasm.
“You love my tattoos.”
“You're gross.”
“Hey, Aubrey, wanna know a secret?”
I was trying to watch the TV, but he wouldn't let up, so finally I said, “What?”
“That's you,” Derek said. “Spreading your legs for my son.”
“Fuck you.” I turned back to the TV and pretended I wasn't bothered by what he'd said.
He laughed and muttered something under his breath. I heard “sweet sixteen” and “virgin.”
Though my heart was pounding, I stayed right there on the couch and pretended nothing was wrong. I wasn't going to let him get to me. I wanted to pick up the nearest thing and smash it into his stupid face, but I just sat there, quietly pretending to watch the TV.
He went to the kitchen to get another drink, and he called out to me, as if we were buddies, asking if I wanted a beer or something else.
I wanted to yell and scream at him to die, just die, but instead I called back, “No thanks! I've got my Diet Coke and I'm fine.”
For the last two weeks, Damion hadn't been coming to visit me. About a month earlier, Derek had started looking at me funny, like he knew. I'd asked Damion, who swore he'd never said a word, even though the two of them hung out all the time. Damion even looked me right in the eyes, but it was like he was looking through me, to the back of my head, and I knew he was lying.
I hated Damion for using me, and I hated Derek for making me feel worthless. I hated them both, and I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Someone was talking to me.
He repeated himself, saying something about darts.
The man seated at the bar was not Damion. I drifted back to reality, and I knew it was real because everything was so heavy. My head was heavy, and I was so tired. And cold.
“There's no space for darts,” he said.
The man with the dark hair stared at me with his dark eyes. His mouth didn't have a cruel edge now that he was talking.
I wasn't back at that trailer. I was free of that old life and all the hate, in my new life now.
The man looked at me like I was a real idiot.
“Um. No, sir, we don't have darts,” I said.
“What's your name, little darlin'?”
I held up my left hand, flashing the gold band his way. I hadn't worn the ring when I was out with Sawyer, but I didn't forget to wear it to work.
“My name's Mrs. Braun,” I said.
He chuckled. “Well, sheeee-it.” He rapped his knuckles on the bar. “Ain't life a big steamin' bowl of too-bad. I hope he treats you right.”
My phone buzzed with another message from Sawyer. When I looked at my phone, it kept getting blurry from the tears that threatened to fall out of my eyes. I couldn't understand why I felt so overwhelmed.
For the rest of my shift, I was constantly falling behind and missing things, but Lana was an incredible partner. She seemed to know exactly what I needed, which was space and time to breathe.
She suggested I go take a break outside and bum a smoke.
I nodded and went out. The first puff made me cough, and burned more than I remembered. By the end of the cigarette, I had that nausea cigarettes always gave me. I used to love that feeling, because it was at least something, and kept the hunger pangs at bay. Tonight, it made me glad I'd quit smoking.
But I did feel better.
I went back in, just as we were getting busy. Busy was perfect, because it fattened up our tips and made the time fly by.
Back at the apartment after my shift ended, I found my grandmother snoring on the couch. Bell sat next to her, transfixed by the TV. It was past nine, and Bell should have been in bed hours ago, but they did look awfully cute.
In her relaxed state, my grandmother seemed smaller, not much bigger than Bell. Her white-streaked dark hair fell back from her temples in soft curls, and with her head tipped up against the back of the sofa, the lines of her face disappeared. She reminded me of my mother, only I knew she was just napping, not passed out from one of her gin and lemonade parties.
I whispered to Bell, “Has she been asleep for long?”
Without getting up or moving, my grandmother muttered, “Just resting my eyes.”
“So, you weren't having a little nap there?”
“Tea,” she said, her eyes fluttering open. She wiggled the tip of her nose and sniffed, sounding congested. The skin around her nostrils and upper lip was red and chafed from her cold, and as she sat up, the creases returned around her mouth.
“You sure you don't want to get home and to bed?”
“Brew us a cup of tea and tell me about your day. Everyone who has a day at work should have someone to tell about it.”
I couldn't argue with that, so I put on the kettle, and we made some tea. She'd tidied all the dishes after dinner, and the kitchen looked cleaner than it had been in days.
Bell insisted on having some tea as well, though hers was mostly milk and sugar, served in her tiny cup.
I made her change into her pajamas, and we set her up on the couch with all her blankets. I didn't want to start a bad habit, but I had a feeling she'd be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
She fought sleep valiantly, her eyes wide open and staring at the tiny television set. We didn't have a cable package, but there were four or five local channels, and Bell enjoyed watching each for five minutes and then changing channels.
My grandmother and I sat at the table, and I was struck by how normal everything felt in that moment. We were just family, discussing our day, like people do.
The conversation shifted away from how things were at her son's bar, to areas I was less comfortable talking about.
Quietly, she asked, “Do you think she believes you?”
We both turned to look at Bell. The kid had a remarkable ability for knowing when she was being spoken about, but this time the television provided cover.
My grandmother restated her question. “Does she remember your mother?”
“She calls her Pretend Mother, and she asks about her sometimes.”
“What if she comes back? Someone knocked on the door at the house the other day, when I wasn't expecting anyone.”
My pulse surged in my throat, my skin tingling. “Oh my god.”
She waved her hand. “No, no, it was just someone wanting to clean the carpets.”
We both took a deep breath at the same time.
Bell had been so young when we ran away. The first time I told her I was her mother, she was more interested in the dogs at the park than in what I was saying. I kept repeating it to her, though, because I trusted that repetition would make it true.