Chapter 1: march 14th
Summary:
She pulls down her hood and wonders who she’s turned into. Standing like that in front of him. The voice in her head sounds like her aunt, her father. She’s been down this road before and it led her here. Can’t make that mistake again. There’s a gust of wind on her bare legs. She’s not bold like that, not really. She pulls up the collar of the coat until it’s brushing her lips. She doesn’t think there was anything sinister in his eyes, but that’s what she sees, if she thinks about it. She’s never good at these things, at judging intentions. His eyes were green. A slow wave of heat washes over her. She hurries home.
Chapter Text
Despite herself, she just can’t bring herself to go swim in the creek. Barely a week out here, and she’s already failing at being a country girl. Sue her, she’s not cut out for it. Honestly, she doesn’t like the idea of fish up against her legs, cold and slimy. Actually, she’s not sure what fish would feel like, but when she thinks of finding out, she feels a little sick.
That’s another thing; she went to go meet the old fisherman today. She figured it would be nice to meet a friend of her grandfather’s, some connection to that side of her family. His friendship with Willy was one of the few things she was able to learn about his life here. But when she made her way down to his cabin, the whole time, she felt disconnected from it. A grandfather she barely remembers, stories she had little to do with. A sense of obligation around the whole thing.
And then he gave her that fishing rod, the one her grandfather apparently was always eyeing in the shop. Why he never got the chance to buy it, she’ll never know. But now, it’s sitting in the corner of the farmhouse, taunting her. Another thing to check off the list, a present for her with a mournful smile and some fond memories the two of them shared out on the water. Swapping ghost stories and life’s regrets. She’s not going fishing. Too much time alone with her thoughts.
When her aunt, her mother’s sister, was floating the idea of selling this place, she really had the idea that some manual labor would be good for her. Just a change of pace, a chance not to think. As if she was moving mountains at her old job anyway, but she felt a need to get away from it all. Like salmon swimming upstream, not a clue where to go but some need burning inside of them. She felt some desperate desire to uproot everything and go somewhere no one in the world had seen her. Reinvent herself.
All she’s really done is spend the days hacking away at the weeds covering the property, inhaling dust from the old shed, and staying as far from the phone as she can.
She’s in bed with the scratchy quilt draped over the backs of her knees. Wondering if there’s anything to do out here or if she should just go sit in the saloon like she belongs there. If she were back in Zuzu, she’d go out with her coworkers, to that same little bar on the corner they always went to. Watch her friend Michelle as she found a guy she couldn’t stand and messed with him a little. What does it mean, she wants to do the same thing over here?
She’s not quite at reinvention yet.
The sweat starts to dry on her skin under the creaking fan. A steady rhythm that makes her want to go to sleep. When she was working, she’d come home every evening, the sun already starting to dip low in the sky, and lie in her bed, thinking about all the things she could have been doing. She could feel the hours slipping by.
So she finds her faded blue one-piece, that first training suit she bought on her own when she thought she had the time for it, and locks the door tight behind her. She used to be a swimmer, really. Her strongest memories are of practice in the cold; her down coat zipped up over her suit, mad dashes to the car before the wind hit. In the summer their parents would dump them at the pool to while away their days, but in the winter they would push and push towards the next meet. But it’s spring now and that’s not the least of what’s changed since then.
The health club is quiet even now. There aren’t real hours posted on the door, but the door gives when she tugs on it. She wonders if anyone ever uses this thing; the girl at the desk is nearly done with her book, so she has a feeling not. There’s a heavy chlorine smell in the air the second she walks in, and she relaxes, breathes a little earlier. She takes her time setting up her locker, folding her clothes into her bag, trying to recall those high school days when this was all second nature.
The cool water is soothing to her skin, her muscles tightening as she slides in. There’s that initial shock and then the way the water starts to feel good the more she moves in it. When she slices through the water, it’s punishing, and she’s gasping for air by the time she slaps her hands to the wall. A couple of laps of freestyle and she’s already panting—she’s out of practice. She bites down her frustration and turns herself around, leaning back into the far wall of the pool, the edge digging into her back. She’s already tired from the work, and this isn’t helping.
Through the fog of her goggles, she catches a glimpse of movement. She’s not alone. She shoves her goggles up to her hairline.
The man who’s entered nods, that boyish sort of acknowledgement. He’s young, maybe younger than her. She can feel herself frowning. He crosses round to the other side of the pool, dumps his stuff on the bench and steps to the edge. Jumps in without hesitation, clean, only a little splashing.
She goes through her motions, keenly aware of his presence, the laps back and forth. Unaware if he’s watching her and unwilling to find out. She’s tiring, her muscles already overworked, but she pushes through it, switching over to backstroke, the curve of her stomach rising out of the water. She lets herself steal a glance at him, at the easy way he glides to the wall, reaching for his bottle to tip some water into his mouth. He catches her eye and she tilts her head away quick, eyes on the ceiling. She should go home, she really should, before she falls asleep in here.
She makes her way back to the shallow end and braces her hands on the concrete, pushing herself out in one go. At least she can still do that, she thinks with some satisfaction. She gets to her feet, legs still wobbly.
“Hey,” he calls out. When she turns around, he’s at the edge of the pool, arms folded up on the drain. The water sloshes back and forth around him. She’s caught there as he’s watching her, her skin pebbling in the cool air. She’s uncomfortably aware of the water dripping on the floor. "Whoa," he says, half to himself. She grits her teeth. Resists the urge to cross her hands over her chest.
“Yeah?”
“You moved into the old farm, right?”
She shifts back on her feet, lets her hip curve out. Waits for him to look. And when he does, like she knows he will, she grabs her towel from the bench. "See you."
"Don't have to leave because of me." She looks back. He hasn’t moved. She leaves. Forgoes the towel and gets her coat from the lockers, zipping it up over her wet suit. She doesn’t stop moving til she’s outside, leaned up against the brick wall of the building, where the HVAC is rattling loud, and she wrings the water out of the very tip of her braid. Tries to calm her pulse. Her sandals slap the ground behind her as she walks home, that wet rubber sound that lets everyone know she’s coming.
She pulls down her hood and wonders who she’s turned into. Standing like that in front of him. The voice in her head sounds like her aunt, her father. She’s been down this road before and it led her here. Can’t make that mistake again. There’s a gust of wind on her bare legs. She’s not bold like that, not really. She pulls up the collar of the coat until it’s brushing her lips. She doesn’t think there was anything sinister in his eyes, but that’s what she sees, if she thinks about it. She’s never good at these things, at judging intentions. His eyes were green. A slow wave of heat washes over her. She hurries home.
Chapter 2: march 15th
Summary:
Alex wakes up still thinking of the woman he saw. The way she cut through the water, like she was meant to be there. No sense that she was an intruder; he felt like the one trespassing, even if he’s been going for years. Mainly, he thinks about the way she looked at him when he entered the room. Like she didn’t trust him. It sat heavy in his stomach: guilt for something that hasn’t even happened yet.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Alex wakes up still thinking of the woman he saw. The way she cut through the water, like she was meant to be there. No sense that she was an intruder; he felt like the one trespassing, even if he’s been going for years. Mainly, he thinks about the way she looked at him when he entered the room. Like she didn’t trust him. It sat heavy in his stomach: guilt for something that hasn’t even happened yet.
She certainly didn’t seem to be impressed with him. Not the way she stood there on the pool deck, staring him down. The light reflecting off the water rippling across her body. Which he really shouldn’t have been looking at, but she looked good. And with that look on her face—no-nonsense. Gramps says Gran used to be like that, though Alex has a hard time believing it.
She’s got to be the old farmer’s granddaughter. He couldn’t really pick up on any family resemblance, but why else would someone show up out of nowhere? He spits his toothpaste into the sink and washes up.
His grandmother is at the table when he gets out, her recipe cards spread out before her. She looks up at him over her glasses. “Morning, sweetheart.”
He comes around to give her a kiss. “Morning, Gran.” He glances down at what she’s got. There’s a card for radish sandwiches. She hasn’t made those since his mom died, he thinks with a twinge. The two of them used to go to the clinic with boxes of them, but she never had the appetite anymore.
“Lasagna, huh?” he says, grabbing the card and flipping it over.
“I want to take some food,” she says. “Out to the old farm.”
“You want to see what she’s getting up to out there,” Gramps calls out.
“It’s called being neighborly, George.”
“I think you mean nosy,” Alex teases, and she smacks him on the wrist, barely anything.
“It’s been a week,” she says, “and I still haven't met her.”
“She’s from the city, isn’t she? Maybe she’s just not used to everyone knowing her business.”
“Hmm.” She sighs. “Well, I certainly don’t want to stress her.”
“I’m sure she can take care of herself.” He roots around in the fridge, hoping for some orange juice.
She turns back to him. “You seem to be full of assumptions today.”
The carton is empty. Great start to the day. “Well, I saw her,” he says. “At the pool.”
He can just imagine what Gran’s face looks like. “You what!” He fights back a smirk.
“Okay, I didn’t really talk to her or anything.” Not quite true. “But it had to have been her.”
“Then you take the food over.”
So once he’s finished with his sets, Alex finds himself down on the old farm, cooler bag in hand. He and Gran packed the glass boxes full, with that lasagna, an asparagus bake, another with some rich chocolate cake. The farm is a real mess. Weeds overgrowing everything, though she’s made some progress by the front of the house, enough for him to make his way up to the porch without tripping and falling. He doesn’t know why anyone would want to take something like this on, especially not someone with a whole life they left behind. There has got to be something seriously wrong with her. He knocks anyway.
When she sees him, her eyes widen. Her blank expression is almost funny.
“Hi again,” he starts.
“Uh, hey.” Her eyes dip down to the bag.
“I’m Alex. My grandma just wanted me to bring these over,” he says. He lifts up the bag. At the mention of Evelyn, the farmer seems to soften a little.
“That is really nice of her,” she says, making no motion to take the food. Alex nods. “You can come in,” she says after a moment. Feeling like he’s passed a test, thanks to Gran, he follows her into the house, the floorboards creaking underfoot. It’s full of dark wood accents, and what little furniture there is is heavy and foreboding. A bunch of stuffed and mounted moose heads would fit right in. He sure hopes she doesn’t hunt.
“Wow, this place is creepy.”
“Shoes off.” He looks back at her. “Can you take your shoes off?” she amends. Alex obeys, leaving his sneakers at the door and grimacing at the thought of his socks getting grimy. “It is pretty creepy.” She glances around. “I had to sleep with the lights on for a day or two.”
"Hey, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Last night."
"Well." She crosses her arms over her chest, then stops short, looking at him. It’s different here. In this house, in the daytime. Like the house isn’t big enough for the two of them.
“It’s just that we haven’t seen you in town. My grandma was worried about you. So… food.” He lifts the bag again.
“Oh,” she says. “That’s really nice.” She laughs. “No one would have done that in Zuzu.”
“Well, no one ever moves here.” He shrugs. “So she’s excited. I’m sure you’ll see the whole town freaking out over you.” It’s been years since Leah and Elliot and Harvey came in, and he knows the town still sees them as outsiders, just a little bit.
She nods slowly. “Well, I’ll come by and meet her then. Thank her for the food.” She starts to unpack the bag and smiles when she sees what’s inside, particularly the cake, which she immediately sets to work on. It’s the kind Alex really shouldn’t be eating, but he misses anyway. You can lift the frosting away from the cake in one motion. “Here,” she says, plating him a chunk off the side.
“Oh.” He blinks. He’s been good, and he lifted already. And he has a run lined up for tomorrow. But still. “I’ll have a little piece,” he decides, putting some back. She shrugs, already fiddling with the corner with a piece of paper on the kitchen counter.
“So what do you know about this dance?”
He takes a look at the paper. Lewis’s classic clip-art strikes again. “It’s an old town tradition. I don’t know how long it’s been going on. My grandparents used to go together, at least.” She seems to consider that. “You going?”
“I don’t know anyone,” she says.
“You know me.” He smiles, going for charming.
She sets the paper down, fixing him with a look. “Do I?” It’s like he’s in school again, caught for not paying attention. She sighs. “Thanks for the food.” She pushes herself back from the counter to walk him out.
“You know,” he starts, bending down to tie his laces. “If you like to swim, you should go down to the beach.”
“You go there often?”
“Sometimes,” he says. “Not too crowded in the mornings. It’s nice to go running down there.” She nods. “I think you’d like it,” he adds. “Get a cold drink, take the day off. Get in your bikini.”
She scoffs. “Charming.” He shrugs.
"You have to bring the containers back," he says. "So I'll see you then." He knows he's smiling, and so it doesn't surprise him much when she closes the door on him, backing him out of the doorway.
Gran doesn’t even give him a minute when he gets home. The air smells like sugar and butter, and she pushes a plate of cookies toward him. “Well? How is she?”
“A little rude,” he says, grabbing an apple off the table instead. The crunch echoes in his mouth, but it’s not as good.
“Alex.”
“It’s true!” he defends.
“Chew your food,” she says pointedly. “Pot calling the kettle black.” He blushes.
"I've never known you to have a problem with a pretty girl," Gramps says.
“How do you know she’s pretty?” he teases.
“Hmph. Guess I don’t. But she’s got you paying attention, ain’t that something.”
He can think what he likes. Alex thinks it’ll be a miracle to still be talking to her a few weeks from now.
Notes:
No real posting schedule for this, as I'm trying something new and writing as I go :) I have a lot pre-written but have been wanting to change things up from how I normally write with this story, so hoping that this will keep me motivated. Anyway if you've made it this far, thank you for reading!
Chapter 3: march 20th
Chapter Text
She wakes up late, with a sharp anxiety in her stomach. There’s too much sun in her bedroom. She can see the dust floating above her face, little speckles swimming in slants of light. She pushes herself upright, blankets tangled around her legs.
When she was in the city—what, a month ago? She was used to waking to the muffled shapes of her dresser, her closet, just barely distinguishable in the dark. Wake up early, go to the gym, or prepare to lie about going to the gym, try to get herself into a lucid state before work, do her makeup, paint over her tiredness, and spend far too much time on the highway in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
There are no meetings here, she reminds herself. No briefs to read over, no lunches on the company card full of men talking over her. No magazine spreads and billboards for Joja crushed down her throat. Somehow that knot still sits heavy in her stomach.
Laila eats her breakfast on the porch: the remaining piece of Evelyn’s chocolate cake straight out of the container. There’s still a chill in the air, no hint of humidity today. The sun is out, but it’s not harsh. She licks a little frosting off the side of her thumb. When she looks out over the field, she sees it for what it is: a rundown bit of farmland that has given her delusions of grandeur. The sort of place that could make for a wonderful summer house if she hadn’t quit her job and stopped answering her aunt’s calls.
Shit, she thinks. Why did she ever think this was a good idea? She wraps her hands around the edges of the container. She could go inside, set up her computer and start hunting through job postings. It’s only been a month, and she did quit, she wasn’t fired. Even if she was probably inching towards it soon enough. Plan how to sell this place and get back on the track that’s been set out for her.
Instead, she does the dishes.
The Mullners live in a little house down past the saloon, blue linoleum siding and a little window up where the roof comes to a peak. She hasn’t come out into town much, so she checks the address Alex gave her twice before she walks up to the door, rings the bell, and pushes the toe of her sneaker into the dirt.
When the door opens, she barely sees the woman before a little brown snout is trying to push past her into the world. She takes a step back on instinct, her foot catching against the step. She's not good with dogs, and she never has been. Wasn’t allowed to go near them growing up. Someone told her once they can smell fear. She imagines they see it clinging to her like a film, thin and tacky.
"Back, Dusty." His loud voice drifts out to her. The dog turns back in without a second thought. She takes a deep breath. She clings tighter to the bag she packed with the containers, scrubbed clean.
“Are you frightened of dogs, dear? We can put him inside.” The woman has wide, watery eyes, almost pleading as she looks Laila over.
“No,” she says. “No, it’s okay.” She climbs up the steps, half expecting the dog to come barreling out at her again. But she doesn’t want to impose. People get worked up about these things.
“It’s so good to meet you. Come in, come in.” She’s shepherded into the narrow hallway, her coat taken and the bag placed on the dining table. There’s another girl sitting there, a blonde with her laptop out on the table; when Laila appears in front of her, her expression quickly resolves into boredom. The ceilings are low and the walls each have a simple framed print on them, little sketches with faded ink. Some flowers, a cabin. She stands awkwardly to the corner, feeling trapped in the small room and unsure what to do with herself.
“You can call me Evelyn,” the woman tells her. She has a pair of readers hooked on the neck of her sweater and wears blue jeans that are rolled up at the cuffs.
“Laila,” she offers. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Nothing at all,” Evelyn says. “Haley, Laila just moved in on the old farm.”
“I believe that,” Haley says, casting an eye over her tattered shorts, loose around her thighs and all the way to the knee. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and faces Evelyn instead.
“You make wonderful food,” she says, and Evelyn laughs. “I mean it. It was nice enough not to have to wash a bunch of pans, but that cake—” She shakes her head. “Could I get the recipe?”
Evelyn smiles. “I’m afraid that one’s a family secret.”
“All of Gran’s best recipes are family secrets.” Her stomach twists as Alex comes into the room, his shirt damp with dishwater. He grabs the bag and offers her a smile. There’s something smug about it; she turns away. Dusty stays, making circles in the corner of the room.
“Sit down,” Evelyn tells her, and like the dog, she sits. Evelyn just looks at her a moment, a smile soft on her face. Laila’s just about to call it uncomfortable when she moves, smoothing her hands down her thighs. “So, how are you settling in? How is that old house? My, it’s been a while since I was down there.” She sighs, the sound light and thin.
“Uh, I’m settling in okay. I just managed to get the dust out of everything, I think.” Still has an ache in her sinuses from the clouds of it.
“Not too bad, I hope. That grandfather of yours ran a tight ship.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” At her look, she continues. “I didn’t see him much growing up.”
“And you still decided to come down here?” She jumps, but it’s just Alex back in the doorway, leaned up against the frame. He smirks a little when he realizes she’s startled.
“Yeah,” she says. She hesitates over her next words. “I mean, he and my dad weren’t close. No one else was going to take care of the farm. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“You have spirit,” Evelyn says, leaning into Laila as if it’s some sort of secret.
“Spirit,” echoes Haley. Laila can’t tell if she means it as a compliment or not.
“Oh, George must have fallen asleep.” Her voice softens when she glances past Laila to look at her husband, the television still murmuring.
“I’ll take him to the bedroom,” Alex starts, but Evelyn is already rising from her chair.
“No, I’ll do it, sweetheart. You keep her company.” Alex looks at her, the dishcloth stretched between his hands. She stretches her own fingers apart on the faded tablecloth. It’s patterned with flowers and fruits, white on red.
“So, what is there to do around here?” she finally asks.
Haley scoffs. “Absolutely nothing.” Alex frowns at this. She leans back in her chair. “And the buses are out of service half the time, so you can’t even leave when you want to.”
“Hales.”
“I’m just saying that it’s really weird she chose to live here.”
She drums her fingers on the table. “Should have told my grandpa to die somewhere else, then.” Haley smirks at this, which makes her feel like she’s won at something.
Alex leans over the back of a chair. “So. Are you bored out of your mind yet?”
She looks at him. “What, you don’t think I’m working hard over there?” She doesn’t know why she has to be so defensive with him. Probably because he’s a little too pretty. She's never been good with people like that, either.
“Okay, don’t take it the wrong way,” he laughs. “But—I mean, do you know anything about running a farm?”
“I’m not running a farm. I’m just trying to clean that place up a little. I can figure the rest out later,” she says, breezy. And that is the plan, though it seems to shift every day; hole up here and meter out her savings while she figures out what she could possibly do next. Not a lot of work for lawyers in this town, she imagines. “I just had to get out of there. Life in the city’s not that great.”
He and Haley exchange a glance. “Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that.”
That feeling from before washes over her, that knot in her stomach. Like she’s misstepped somehow, hasn’t thought things through. Cars on the street beneath her apartment, view from the corner office, the way everything seemed so far away from her on the plane. A sense of distance from the moment she’s in. It’s a relief when Evelyn comes back in the room.
“Listen, Evelyn, I’m sorry, but I have some errands to run.” She pushes her chair back, wincing at the sound.
“Oh!” she says. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. You let us know if you need anything. I’ll send Alex right over.” She laughs politely at the thought, refusing to look at Alex himself as she gathers herself and walks out to the hall. “Now, we’ll see you at the dance. You can sit by George and me.”
Laila pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame. She glances back at Haley and Alex, one watching her with raised brows, the other looking away. Her and Evelyn and George, the life of the party.
“Sure,” she says. “Why not?”
Chapter 4: march 23rd
Chapter Text
After twelve years in the Valley, Alex should be a pro at dancing. Really, he should be a pro at a lot of things, but dancing is the one he’s not so bitter about. But something’s got him mixed up today. He knows Haley can tell. She keeps shooting him looks from under her crown. Thanks to all the pins she had him put in it, the flowers sit perfectly in her shining hair despite the wind. Windiest dance in years, Lewis keeps saying, fiddling with his suspenders. Windiest dance in years. Gran said wind always meant change, something big coming up. Lewis looked worried at the thought and then they dropped it.
Laila has come, in fact not spending her time with his grandparents, but circling around the other outsiders. Her skirt is made of something shiny and it’s plastered to her legs in the wind. She stands at the edge of the clearing, at the edge of every conversation. Awkward in a way that makes it hard to look at her. But he keeps glancing back.
“All that talk about spiking the punch,” Haley grumbles. “Wish she’d actually go through with it.”
He blinks. “Huh?”
“Where the hell’s your head at?” she mumbles, but it’s still fond. The two of them never can stay mad at each other for too long. He bumps up against her, his feet uncooperative. “Alex.”
“Sorry,” he says, and she goes quiet then. Haley knows how he is with apologies. “Spiking the punch—who?”
“Abigail,” she says. He snorts.
“You know she’s just chicken.”
His eyes stray away again, but he spins Haley around before he can stare.
“I mean, who would even care? Sure, Lewis would have her ass for it, but what could he really do without pissing off Pierre?”
He nods. “The perfect crime.”
“I’m just saying. She could get away with a lot. It’s going to waste.”
“Well, what would you do?” he asks, and Haley narrows her eyes in a way that has always frightened him. He spins the other way, tension in and out of the arms. Years of Haley’s dance coaching have drilled it into him.
“I’d play a bunch of tricks on people. Little things, try to scare them. And then I’d make it seem like the town was haunted. Could actually be a tourist thing.”
He blinks. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”
She gives him a flat look. “Of course it is. We need something actually big to happen here. Culture. Not a stupid town festival we’ve been doing since everyone was a little kid.” She tosses her hair back. “Something people care about.”
Alex thinks briefly of all the plans they had in high school, how they all circled around getting out of this place. He wonders when that changed.
“You know, she probably got up to all kinds of stuff before she came here,” Haley continues.
“Abigail?”
She looks at him, unimpressed. “The new girl.”
He follows her gaze to the woman, currently chatting with Maru. The younger girl seems to have trapped her—the two of them have been talking for the whole time he’s been dancing with Haley.
“She said it herself, the city’s not so great.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “People just say that to be humble or whatever.”
She catches his eye over Maru’s head. Before he knows it, the both of them have turned away. He rolls his eyes. She waltzed down here like it was easy. She could have gone anywhere in the world, and she chose to come here, and for some reason it pisses him off
“What’d you even do to her?” Haley asks, and he looks down at her, disbelieving.
“Why do you think I did anything?”
She smirks, before drawing back. “If you step on my foot one more time—”
“I really am sorry.”
“Whatever,” she sighs, tugging on his tie. “I‘m gonna get some punch.”
As Haley walks away, his eyes drift back to Laila: she’s moved, now listening intently to something Harvey is saying. Laila, seated on the grass with her legs tucked under her. As if she is trying to hide them. He snorts.
Out at the snack table, Alex tries to pace himself, placing careful portions on his plate. A handful of chips, one piece of a brownie. Robin, with her hair coming loose from its knot and her feet propped up on the chair Demetrius has abandoned, catches sight of him. She’s holding her plate down to the tables, the tablecloth flapping noisily.
“Hey, Alex.” She nudges another chair out with her free hand, and Alex hesitates. But Sebastian is all the way on the other side of the clearing, so he takes it. On the way in here, Alex offered his awkward nods to the others, all their little cliques the same as in high school, and made his way straight to Haley, same as every year. He just doesn’t have it in him to deal right now. She glances over his plate, and he bites the inside of his cheek.
“Do you want to try one of these rolls? I know you like the cinnamon.”
He knows Harvey couldn’t have told her anything, but she always did check in on him, even after he stopped hanging with Seb so much. So he pushes down his annoyance and takes the roll, putting it safely to the side of his plate. “Thanks.” He pops one chip in his mouth.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“I guess so,” he says. “I feel like I’m tripping over my feet today.”
“Well, now that you’ve brought it up…” He snorts, and she grins. “This wind’s got everyone mixed up. Would it kill Lewis to reschedule this thing?”
“You know, I think it actually might.”
“So, how have you been?” she asks. “I haven’t seen you around the shop recently.”
He fiddles with the edge of his plate. “Yeah, I’ve just been busy.” He didn’t think Robin would really notice, honestly. There was too much around the house to do and he thought he could save a few bucks trying to do it on his own. The roof, which he did okay on, and the washer, which he only made worse. And the television, a blessing in disguise. The Tunnelers had their draft and he couldn’t stand to watch it.
“Well, if you ever want to try, I could find more work for you.”
Briefly, he wonders what Robin even thinks of him. He shouldn’t have spent so much time bragging when he was younger. It’s like he was asking for trouble. All he ended up with was a busted knee, and he spends his time doing odd jobs around town for cash. And she wants to give him something more? She’s crazy, he thinks, or she feels sorry for him.
“I don’t know where to even start with that,” he tells her. “Building things and all.”
“I’ll teach you,” she says simply.
And unfortunately, Alex knows, he literally cannot afford to go without her pity.
“I’ll think about it, Robin,” he says. “Thanks.”
She waves him off. “Don’t mention it. Just stop by.” Her eyes drift past him, and she laughs. He glances in that direction. Across the field, Jodi’s dancing with Vincent on her feet.
He and his mom never got to go to the dance together. He has vague memories of her dressed up for services, tying his tie, the two of them at the church in the town they lived in before. He only goes for Gramps now, but he used to love those days, just for the two of them, without him.
The sight makes something hurt in his stomach. It is instinct for Alex to bite off a chunk of the roll, vanilla icing seeping out from the bread. It’s all he really tastes as he chews, the motions mechanical. Chew and chew until the end.
“Good?”
Slow down. Slow down, actually taste it. He breathes in through his nose, jaw going slack. And then swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.”
“I’m all for Gus’s experiments, but I don’t know if he can ever top these.”
He glances down at his plate. “Robin?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Did you always know you wanted to be a carpenter?”
She tilts her head, a bit of hair dropping down by her ear. “Huh. Well, I guess so. Grew up doing this work with my dad.” She narrows her eyes. “Guess I couldn’t imagine anything else.”
“Yeah, but like. What if you couldn’t be a carpenter?”
He really does hate how her eyes soften then, just a little bit. “Alex, things are always changing. I could hurt myself tomorrow, and I wouldn’t get to be a carpenter anymore. And I would just have to find something else to do with my time.”
“So you don’t know.” She gives him a look, the kind of look he’s used to. Like he just doesn’t get it.
“What I mean to say.” she continues, “is that nothing is forever.”
He glanced over at his grandparents. To his surprise, Laila is standing next to Gramps. No talking. Just the two of them, silent, by each other’s sides.
“I have plenty of stuff to fill up my time,” he says. She glances at him.
“It’s more than that,” she says. “Something to drive you.”
He had something. He nearly says it. He wants to blame it on his knee so bad. But maybe he wasn’t driven enough, disciplined enough. Wasn’t made for it. Does it make it any better if it never would have happened, no matter how many practices he pushed through?
Alex loves football. That’s all he knows. And he knows exactly whose voice he hears when he starts thinking like this. So he bites his cheek and keeps his eyes open and tries his best not to think of it, and then not to think of anything at all.
It’s a beautiful day, he thinks, offering Robin a smile goodbye. Better not waste this, too.
Chapter 5: april 2nd
Chapter Text
Laila lies on the living room floor, propped up on her elbows, her laptop in front of her. Scrolling through used car listings. Pages of Corollas and Civics and the occasional Jeep. She narrows her eyes at one, a Liberty without a transmission. But the A/C works fine, the listing says. Her back is starting to ache, just a little bit, and so she pushes herself up to her knees and switches the tab back to Facebook, still logged in to Leah’s page. Before she can think too hard about it, she sends the friend request she’s been hovering over. She closes the computer and she still feels restless. Leah’s an artist, she’s here to focus, she probably won’t even look at it. When she looks up, the sky is starting to darken. She blinks.
She opens up the side window and leans out until the sill presses into her stomach. The ground really isn’t so far away but she still doesn’t look down, so she can pretend she’s still in that little apartment in Zuzu. Her only escape the framed square of sky she could see through the window. Except when she takes a deep breath, the air smells clean. It smells clean in that cold sort of way, the last vestiges of winter, and the sill makes her shiver as it presses into her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. The clouds are getting heavy now. She keeps her elbows pressed tight to her sides as she leans a little further out, waiting for the rain to start, to strike her face.
Her computer chimes. She pulls herself in and bumps her head on the window. Rubbing the crown of her head, she sees that Leah actually did accept. There’s a message. She looks at the screen, blinks once, twice. Opens it.
Hi! I was just thinking you should come out with us tonight!
She glances over her own profile. Leah would probably drop her immediately if she knew the full extent of what she used to do for Joja, she thinks. It was the first thing she deleted. Her wall is now full of posts at high-end restaurants and themed rooftop bars. The most recent one is a law school friend’s birthday at some place that tried to mimic the underwater, or perhaps just the feeling of drowning. The lighting gave her a headache, she remembers, and the drinks were just fine, but it was the place to go, that’s what they all said. And for the night, while she was there, she felt like she was somewhere else entirely. Floating outside herself. Laughing a little too loudly, not quite sure what she was saying, but hoping everyone was too plastered to hang on to it. Her own kind of networking, letting words drift by her until something stuck, some little secret she could hold onto. Appeasing that shark that lived inside of her. She was a good lawyer, she thinks, something twinging inside her. She had an eye for details.
Sure! Just tell me when and where :)
There’s another little notification that she barely notices. Request from Evelyn Mullner. She blinks. She opens it up. and it really is Evelyn, her hair cut close to her chin in the photo. The picture is taken a little too close to her face, and just a little blurry. Like she’s laughing, and she probably was from the way she’s smiling, her mouth open, her eyes bright. Laila wants to be in on the joke. The rain is coming down now, slow and easy. Still, she dresses herself in a dress she never would have worn in the city, something Michelle would no doubt have called prudish, pulls her jacket over her head, and gets herself down to the Stardrop.
The owner, Gus, smiles at her when she walks in. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, in that way that always puts her at ease. She thought she was so good at judging people before. “Beautiful weather, huh?” he calls out. She smiles and shakes out her coat before closing the door.
Elliott’s the only one there so far, in a corner booth, hunched over a notebook.
“Do you always have that with you?” He looks up, and when he notices it’s her, his face relaxes into an easy smile.
“Of course. Inspiration could strike at any moment.”
He’s pretentious in the way she used to hate in undergrad. She can kind of get it now. It’s his thing. She doesn’t have a thing, so who is she to judge him anyway? She slides into the opposite side of the booth, her legs knocking against the table’s base. “That’s so analog, I love it.”
“Analog,” he echoes. “An interesting word for it.”
“I just mean that most people write on their laptops, or something.” He’s already shaking his head.
“I can’t be bothered with computers.” He waves a hand in the air dismissively, as if to knock the thought away. She nods slowly.
“There you are!” To her relief, Leah has appeared, Harvey close behind her. Leah leans in to hug her, some woody deodorant wafting off her. She scoots in close, the two of them shuffling down the bench. “So glad you came.”
“Yeah, this place is so cute!”
“It’s the only place in town, so I’m glad you think so,” she laughs. Harvey sits in front of them. There is a thin layer of water on his glasses, drops clinging to the lenses. Elliot pushes the drink list over to their side of the table.
The first time she drank was in college. She had fought with her parents and she wanted to do something about it. So she bought a bottle of wine and hid it in her closet. Like an idiot. And she would open the door and stare at it and close it until she had the courage. She made herself some pasta and poured a glass, and like clockwork, her father called. Like he had a radar for it, every time she strayed. Like her guilt had summoned him somehow. Laila doesn’t even like alcohol that much. But she liked that it made her feel adult. Cosmopolitan. She likes that it feels like her choice.
She orders a glass of whatever Harvey’s having. No one calls her.
“So what did you think of the dance?,” he asks. “Your first valley festival.”
“I see many more ahead of you,” Elliot proclaims.
“It was good,” she says, nodding.
“And by good, you mean… culty?”
“It’s traditional,” Leah chides. Harvey shakes his head, chuckling.
“It was a little weird,” she admits. He smiles, triumphant.
“Speaking of traditional, I’ve been stuck,” Leah proclaims. Laila and Harvey look back to her, swirling her glass of wine. “Blocked.”
“So that’s why you were on Facebook today,” she teases. Leah glances up at her, then after a moment, smiles.
“It’s a good thing I was!” she says.
“Leah… Facebook?” Elliot chides her, and she tosses a leaf of spinach in his direction.
“I think I need to do something different. I’m getting stuck in conventional forms.”
“As long as you don’t stick a urinal on a pedestal,” she says.
“Laila! Do not tell me you’re one of those people.” But she leans forward in interest.
“And ‘those people’ would be?”
“A non-believer. A cynic.”
“I am afraid,” Laila says, sipping her wine, “that I will have to disappoint you.” Leah’s eyes glimmer, that brief vacancy so distant Laila has to wonder if she imagined it. For a moment she wonders if she should press her on it, but then she pushes it down. She’s here for the foreseeable future. Be patient.
When they all break up, Laila finds herself eyeing the playground. Something about the way the colors seem to glow in the low light. The woodchips don’t do much for her balance, but she makes her way to the swings, the metal cool on her skin. They’re still wet and she can feel her skirt sticking to her legs. She shivers, then pushes herself back and forth, not too much, just enough for the world to sway pleasantly before her.
Footsteps behind her. A dull sort of fear spirals through her, but when she turns all she sees is Alex. Maybe she shouldn’t be relieved, but she is. He’s a safe distance away, acceptable. His hands in his pockets, and he looks strange. She feels as if she’s intruded and then she feels annoyed by it.
“You?” she asks. He takes a step back at that, laughably.
“You okay?”
“Don’t worry,” and she does laugh then. “I don’t need anything from you.”
If she weren’t kidding herself, she’d think the look to be worry. But he doesn’t step forward, just stays there. Watching. Judging, maybe, which Laila doesn’t like one bit. He doesn’t even know her. He comes close, walks behind her. Laila can smell his soap, clean and damp. He takes the swing to the left.
“It’s wet,” she says, but he’s already sat down. He’s quiet. Laila likes the quiet. Likes to see how long she can stand it. Most people can’t. They get frightened.
“Of all the gin joints,” she starts. She drags one foot between then, making a ditch from the chips.
“Let me walk you home,” he says slowly. Like this is some college party and he wants to play the gentleman. Play at being grown-up.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.” He looks at her. She feels a little dizzy. “Don’t take it personally,” she adds.
“Laila,” he says. And then, something terrible—a shiver runs through her, settling low at the base of her spine. She presses her lips tight together. Don’t do it. Don’t.
She pushes herself off the swing, leaving it careening wildly behind her. “Good night,” she says, before he can do anything like offer her his jacket. Before she can think about why she’d even want him to. The woodchips crunch under her feet and she knows she looks stupid but it gets her out of there.
She goes home, lies on the floor of the cabin, and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a spider up there and normally she’d care but she doesn’t tonight. Just feels fucking guilty.
Her aunt used to say women should be married by twenty-five, kids by thirty. And Laila used to smile politely and grit her teeth when she said it. Some hot sort of dread sitting underneath her skin. Thinking about all the things she wanted and was scared of. Why was she so scared? What would have been so bad? Briefly, she thinks of him, and then the image dissolves into the crash, the sirens, the immediate question: what will they say? What will they do to me?
It should have felt good, to ruin her plans. Ruin her image of her. But all she feels is empty. Couldn't even let herself have that. No job, no kids, not married, drunk, truly drunk, and she doesn’t feel like she’s made a choice about any of it.
Really, what she needs is to lock herself up. Lock herself up where no one can get to her, where she’s contained. Protected from the world and the world is protected from her. And she needs to let herself dry out. Every bit of her that is tired, used up, needs to go. And she’ll leave when she’s been made completely new.
She wants it so badly. She wants to be new and she doesn’t know how to get there. Something’s still missing. Before the spider even reaches the edge of the ceiling, she’s asleep.