Page 35 of The Art of Us

Mara’s lips tightened again.

“Why do you have to be up early?” Ireland asked.

“We own bakeries,” Mara said with a tone that implied Ireland was an idiot. Ireland must have looked confused by the answer because Mara added, “Bread doesn’t bake itself. Family business. Family responsibility.” That last part sounded like a parroted mantra. Ireland wondered if it was on a plaque somewhere in the kitchen.

“I could help,” Ireland said.

Mara narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“To say thanks for giving me a place to stay.”

Mara’s mouth was obviously in the middle of forming the word “no” when Grace interrupted. “That’s a great idea. We actually pay Mara to work, and we’d do the same for you if you want a job.”

“I would love a job. I want to pay my own way. Thanks, Grace.”

“Great.” Grace beamed sunshining happiness at the idea of the two girls working together for the family bakery. Mara made a grunt of evident disapproval and said, “I gotta get to bed. I guess I’ll seeyouin the morning.” She cut a glare in Ireland’s direction. “Be up on time. I won’t wait for you.”

Grace’s face twisted in discomfort at her daughter’s snark. “Mara, that is not how we treat our guests.”

Mara’s shoulders slumped and her eyes dropped to the ground as she mumbled an apology. She clearly didn’t love that she was humbled in front of Ireland. An apology hadn’t been necessary since Mara’s acid didn’t bother Ireland as much as it probably should have. She didn’t expect anything different from Mara.

She excused herself to go to bed as well. Once safely behind her closed bedroom door, she allowed herself to shake her head at the insanity of ... well,everything. From the moment Mr. Wasden had accused her of being “unhoused” to this moment as she leaned against her door, there was nothing except insanity. Ireland shook with rage and fury at Janice for ratting her out and getting her into this situation. The old custodian had to have followed her. There was no other explanation. Ireland regretted ever helping to clean the bathroom with the woman. She could hear her dad’s voice say, “See? That’s what helping people out gets you. A fat lot of nothing. You can only be in it for yourself.”

She frowned and swatted out her hand as if she could swipe his memory from her mind. In jail. Idiot. “See, Dad? That’s what being a self-centered Smeagol gets you. A fat lot of jail time.” She cringed when she realized she’d spoken louder than a whisper. In the house tour they gave her when she’d showed up, Ireland had discovered she was room-adjacent to Mara. Absolutely not convenient. Their rooms were connected by a Jack and Jill bathroom. At least, that was what Grace had called it. That meant Ireland was expected to share a bathroom with Mara Washington.

She straightened at the thought of the bathroom because it reminded her of something truly magical. She could take arealshower withrealhot water. No more chattering teeth while she rinsed her hair in the glacial water coming out of the sink tap. There would be a towel to dry herself off with. And if her short time in the house told her anything, it told her that the towels would be big, fluffy cotton cuddles.

With a shiver of excitement at the prospect, Ireland opened her door to the bathroom. It was empty and there wasn’t any light coming from under the door into Mara’s room, which meant she might already be in bed. Ireland considered locking the door on Mara’s side to avoid getting an unwanted guest during hershower but couldn’t make herself take the steps in the dark over to that side of the bathroom. She certainly didn’t want to turn on a light that could be visible from Mara’s side of the door.

There had been another bathroom at the end of the hall. Grace had called it the boys’ bathroom, but the Washington boys were away at college. It’s not like they were going to be using it anytime soon. Ireland backed up and shut the door with a quiet click. Quiet or not, she still cringed at the noise. She waited to hear any sound of irritation coming from Mara’s room.

Nothing.

Good.

She opened her duffel bag and pulled out what passed as her toiletry kit. She had several tubes of travel toothpaste she’d stolen from the sample bowl when the school had career day and one of the booths had belonged to a dentist. Her dad had formed a habit several years ago of finding motels where maid carts were sometimes left unattended. He pilfered them for soaps, shampoos, toilet paper, and, every now and again, towels. He’d left a meager supply of those necessities when he’d jumped ship. She still had two soaps, one shampoo, and two toothpastes. She gathered the little bit that was there and peered out into the hallway before deciding the coast was clear. Once inside the bathroom at the end of the hall, Ireland flipped on the light and got down to pampering. Maybe Mara wouldn’t consider a steamy, hot shower pampering, but Ireland certainly did.

She stepped into the warm embrace and sighed in relief as the water washed away the homeless girl she’d been. Not that she was a girl who had a home exactly. This place didn’t feel like home.

“Unhoused,” Mr. Wasden had said. She was now a girl who was “housed.”

She stayed under the spray of the shower a long time, lettingthe buildup of that bathroom in the woods swirl down into the drain.

No. Not just the bathroom.

Ireland rinsed awayeverythingfrom before.

She might not have wanted to live with Mara, but she could appreciate the opportunity to leave her previous life and settle her feet on solid ground.

Ireland didn’t end up using the shampoo bottles she’d stolen from the motel. Grace had this bathroom stocked with bottles that looked like they cost more than Ireland’s sleeping bag and smelled like citrus and vanilla. She luxuriated in the opulence of the experience, certain she would regret it since four in the morning was only a few hours away.

She stepped out of the shower only after the water had grown tepid, rinsed herself off, and went to bed. She didn’t have to imagine wide-open, warm fields as she snuggled into cool, clean bedding. She fell asleep immediately.

When her birdsong alarm went off the next morning, Ireland groaned. No way could it be healthy to be up at such an hour. She got up because Mara would absolutely leave her behind if given the chance. As if to prove Ireland right, Mara was on her way to her car parked on the side of the garage when Ireland caught up with her.

“Oh goody. You’re coming after all,” Mara muttered, clicking the fob on her key ring to unlock the Fiat.

“I just want to do my part.”

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