I shrugged. “Work, I guess.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I expect younger people to call me sir when they address me.” His voice was like the voices of the guys they always use as the scary military ops guys in movies.
“Work, I guess. Sir,” I ground out, keeping my mind focused on the small fortune that saying ’sir’ was going to get me.
“Yes.” He steepled his fingers like some kingpin and nodded. “We’re open six days a week, Sunday to Saturday. You’ll have Mondays off, but those will be spent running Great-Aunt Helene’s errands with her. You’ll have access to her car to drive her. You will take her wherever she needs or wants to go, and that will last all day Monday. Clear?”
“Yes.” He glared at me. “Sir.”
“Here, at Tony’s, you’ll start as a dishwasher. But there’s room for you to move up. There are better jobs here, but every single person starts as a dishwasher, at least for one shift. I think it’s important to know what the most menial laborer is doing. It helps foster respect among the workers. Your shift will be closing, so you won’t have to come in until five, and you’ll stay until around midnight. My daughter, Pamela will drive you home with some other workers every night. Do you have any questions?”
“Do I get paid? Sir.”
“You do.” Tony’s mouth finally curved into a smile. His eyes were all sparkly, like a wolf that just saw a fat deer wander into its path. “But that money goes directly into Aunt Helene’s bank account. Room and board, of course. You’ll get your lump if you last the summer, won’t you?”
I stood then. “Yes.” I grinned. “Sir.”
He stood too, stuck his hand out and we shook. He was trying as hard as he could to break my hand. I had to blink hard to keep my God damn eyes from tearing.
“Good night son. Good job today.” That was out of fucking left field.
“Thanks. Sir.”
I walked out to the kitchen, and Will showed me a bin where I could throw my apron. I washed my arms and asked for Pamela.
I was pointed in the direction of a fairly beat-up black Jetta. A tall girl with reddish hair and eyes like Cadence’s was leaned against the driver’s door, talking on a cell phone. There was a boy, maybe fifteen, playing with the dials on the stereo, which was pulsing with some kind of rap. He had Tony’s coloring and looked about as tall as his dad, but a good two hundred pounds lighter, and Tony was no fat ass. And there was Cadence herself, counting a thick stack of what looked like twenties. Holy mother load.
I walked up to the car. Cadence looked at me, her eyes narrowed and she turned to Pamela.
“Crack head’s here!” she called. Pamela snapped her phone shut and climbed in the driver’s seat.
“Get in!” Pamela called out the driver’s window.
I slid in the back seat, next to Cadence. She didn’t even look over at me.
“I thought you lived a few blocks away,” I said.
Pamela looked at me in the rearview mirror and smiled. It might have been the first real smile I’d seen all day, and I’d be lying if I told you it didn’t make my heart jump a little. This job was turning me into a fucking pussy. “We do. Live close. But it’s late, and I don’t get to drive much, so Dad humors me. How was your day?”
I was a little shocked by her friendliness. Cadence rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “Don’t engage the druggie,” she said to her sister. “He’s a lowlife.”
Pamela smiled at Cadence indulgently. “She’s mean, right? So, how was your day?”
“Okay,” I lied. “Dishwashing sucks.”
“Seriously,” the boy said. “I’m Jimmy.”
“Hey, man,” I said, and we shook hands. “Nice to meet you. You dishwash, too?”
He laughed like a donkey braying. “I’m a slave. I do whatever my mom tells me to.”
“Your mom?” I asked.
The car got quiet. Pamela looked at me. “Our dad, it seems like he runs the show. But our mother is the real muscle. Don’t mess with her. Do what she says. Always. I’m not kidding. And don’t ever backtalk her. Ever.” The car stayed ominously quiet.
“Um, okay.” Weird! “So she’s really scarier than your dad?” I asked.
“My dad is Mr. Fucking Rogers next to her,” Cadence quipped. “She had a day off today, so she’ll be in tomorrow. And she’ll be ready to meet you.”
That made every one of them laugh like a bunch of lunatic hyenas. I felt a little chill on the back of my neck. Good God, what the hell was I in for? Suddenly the car lurched to a stop. It was a narrow, dingy row-house type building, depressing and dilapidated.
“This is your place, Saxon,” Pamela said. “Do you need a ride in tomorrow?”
“Do you mind?”
“No problem. Be ready by four thirty. I’ll swing by.” She smiled again. “Have a good night.”
I paused and smiled back at her. “Thanks, Pamela. You guys, too. Good night.” My manners might be a little rusty, but I had them.
I walked up to the door quietly and let myself in. It wasn’t locked or anything. The kitchen was dirty yellow. The light fixture flickered and there was a note on the old avocado-colored fridge in chicken scratch.
Dear Saxon,
There is a plate for you in the stove.
Love, Aunt Helene
I felt a weird twinge when I read that note. I opened the stove, which was on warm, and saw a plate with meat loaf, carrots, and mashed potatoes. Jackpot.
It occurred to me then that I hadn’t eaten a thing all day, though I’d been at a restaurant. I figured I was probably entitled to things like meals and breaks, but that was all something I could figure out another day. I took the plate to a small table covered in a dingy plastic tablecloth that looked like it was for Christmas or something. I opened the fridge and found a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper, unopened. I wondered if Aunt Helene had picked it up because I was coming. It was a weird thought, and one I didn’t dwell on for too long. I grabbed a soda and sat down in the flickering light to eat. When I was done, I put the plate in the sink, but that felt kind of dick, so I washed it and my fork and left them on the counter. Aunt Helene had been cool enough to leave me dinner; I wasn’t going to make her clean up after me.
I walked down the hall and saw Aunt Helene’s room. She was snuggled in her bed like a wrinkly little doll. There was a tiny bathroom next, where I noticed she had put my toothbrush out, and then what I guessed was my room. It was dark and small, but the old twin bed was made with scratchy cotton/poly sheets in boy blue. It’s not like I have to have silk sheets or anything. It’s just that I always have had silk sheets. And they’re damn comfortable.
I sat on the creaky little bed, then looked around the room. Weird. There was a tall dresser. When I opened the drawers, I saw that all of my clothes had been put away. There really wasn’t much besides the bed and the dresser, one little window with aluminum blinds over it and a mirror on the little closet door. A shithole, but a clean, neat shithole. It could be a lot worse.
I should have been dead on my feet, but for some reason, I felt buzzed. I wanted to talk to someone, but it was almost two in the morning. I thought that like it made a fucking difference. If it had been six at night I still would have had no one to talk to.
Then, suddenly, I remembered Blix. Lovely, smart Blix across the Atlantic and a good five hours ahead of me. That put her right around seven in the morning, and I knew she would be up. I punched in her number. She picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?” I could hear her breathing hard.
“Run, Forrest, run.”
“Saxon!”
I felt a good, calm glow at her excitement. In a world of haters, here was one person who loved me, even if she knew what a rotten apple I was.
“How’s Ireland? Let me guess. Green and wet?”
She laughed, a happy sound that made me smile. She had a great laugh. “You got it. And I’ll tell you what. I know why Ireland doesn’t have any kick ass runners. Who could run on slimy, mossy cobblestone? I almost busted my ass three times.”
“Don’t do that.” I lay back on my bed and let the image of her lovely backside take away some of the day’s pain. “That ass is too fine to get busted. How’s your nerd class going?”
“Lots of Joyce,” she griped. “But I’m writing my bildungsroman.”
“Really?” I drawled, grinning. “Bren, you’re only sixteen. Don’t you think you have a few more formative years ahead of you?”
She laughed again. “Seriously. But that’s the assignment, so I have to give it a try,” she said. “So how’s work? God, that’s a question I never imagined I’d be asking you.”
Now I laughed. “Well, it’s shitty. The people all know my drug-dealing past, so I’m referred to as Crackhead officially. My bosses are Scary and Crazy Bitch Scarier, apparently, and their daughter is hot, but probably wants to stick a kitchen knife through my heart.”
“Maybe you should write a novel about it when you’re done,” Brenna mused. I thought about it for a minute, but she obviously thought I had my feelings hurt or something. Good lord, I know I’ve been a fucking cry-ass lately, but I’m not that soft. “I’m just kidding, Saxon,” she said all gently.
“Blix, come on. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.” I remembered how it felt to lay my head in her lap and let her brush her fingers over my hair. I imagined what it would be like to do that again. Then I shook myself out of that train of thought. She wasn’t mine. She really wasn’t mine. She was Jake’s, and even this call was just me bullshitting myself.
“I worry about you,” she said, her voice wavery with emotion. “I think working might be good for you. And don’t worry about the other people there. You’ll grow on them.” Again that laugh. “You’re obnoxious, but you have an unmistakable charm.”
“Thanks, Blix.” I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. “Look, I know you have to finish your run before your depressing nerd class, so I’ll let you go. I just needed a sympathetic ear to bitch into.”
“Well, I’m here. Anytime,” she said earnestly. “Take care of yourself, Saxon.”
“Will do. You do the same.” And we clicked off. It was like severing the last connection to any person who gave a shit about me. I looked at my hand, holding my cell, and the big, silvery scar where I had sliced myself open to become Jake’s blood brother. Which was pretty unnecessary, since we’ve been blood brothers since he was born. Not that I’ve been a very good one.
I lay down on my hard mattress and started counting off things in my life that I had fucked up. It was better than sheep, and there wound up being so many things that I was asleep before I knew it, a deep mercifully dreamless sleep.
Then next morning I woke up to the clatter of pans and the smell of bacon. It was eight o’clock. Aunt Helene must be making breakfast. I got in the shower and washed with her Dove soap and Suave berry-smelling shampoo and conditioner. I brushed my teeth with her gritty baking soda toothpaste and got dressed in my little closet of a room. I did make my bed and left my dirty laundry in the basket. She didn’t need to pick up after me like I was some little kid.
I hadn’t seen my Aunt Helene since before I learned to ride a bike, but my memories of her were all good. I ducked into the kitchen, and she cried out like her lost kid had just come back from the dead.
“Saxon! Oh, Saxon,” she said, coming at me with her old, flubbery arms open. She crushed me in a tight hug. Granted it was a weird little hug, since she came up to just over my bellybutton. “Look at you!” she cried. “So handsome! So handsome. And strong. Come and sit. You must be hungry, and I made you a big breakfast.”
She wasn’t kidding. Little, tanned, wrinkled Aunt Helene scooped so much food on my plate, I could have eaten for three days. She sat with me, but she only drank a cup of creamy coffee with lots of sugar, like a kid.
“So, what is your work like?” she asked, watching me with her bright eyes.
“Shitty,” I said around a mouth of perfectly cooked eggs over easy. I washed it down with what had to be fresh-squeezed orange juice. “Sorry. I mean it’s hard work. But I’ll be here ‘til four thirty every day, so I’ll mostly only waste my nights there.”
She patted my hand. “Erikson is a fair man. And his wife? She’s firm, but fair also. You will do well working for them.” She beamed at me, so I made my mouth smile back at her. She was a nice woman, and nice was becoming a hot commodity in my life as it currently stood.
“So, what do you do all day, Aunt Helene?” I asked while she cleared my plate.
“Oh, boring for a man!” she cried. “Just cleaning up, gardening, cooking. You should go out, find some fun! A handsome devil like you should have a few girls around. Am I right?”
I grinned. “Give me a little time. Let me help though. I like to keep busy.” Wow, how full of shit was I? But this place was a dump. She needed help.
“Well,” she said carefully. “The Erikson boy was going to help do my gutters, but they had to fire a few kids, so he’s been really busy at the diner. Maybe…”
I didn’t have a damn clue how the hell to clean a gutter. But I had an iPhone and it has access to Google.
“I’m on it.” I went outside with my phone in hand.
One ladder with rotten rungs, two near slips off the roof, three tons of fermenting leaves, and four hours later I was covered in scum, panting for breath, and smelled like I had just climbed out of a toilet bowl in a White Castle.
“Why do leaves smell like ass?” I griped, shaking my arms off. And it would have seriously screwed up my mood for the day, except that Aunt Helene was clucking around me, worried about my filthy self and telling me how she’d baked some kind of crazy Polish cookie and that I should get right in the shower.
And it felt good to have someone give a shit about me.
I took a shower and ate some knock-you-off-your-ass fantastic cookies and took a nap, and then it was time to go. Pamela was in the driveway, waving at Aunt Helene and accepting a plastic baggie full of cookies. Jimmy was yelling thank you and Cadence was waving, and then we were off. The car was weirdly quiet with all three of them eating cookies.
“You’re so lucky!” Jimmy said. “Your aunt is so nice and she makes the best food.”
Pamela smiled at me. “Seriously, dude. You have it made.”
Cadence glared, nibbling on a cookie, then rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not like he deserves it.”
And I might have agreed. If I didn’t have remnants of gutter sludge under my finger nails. And a mental list of shit I had to pick up from a hardware store. Because Aunt Helene needed my help, so I’d give it to her. And it hit me then, that maybe I was pretty fucking lucky.
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