Page 28 of The Deals We Make
I hurry into the kitchen and find two glasses. The whiskey stands on the counter, because it’s the only spirit I used to drink when we snuck out underage to cause mischief. In the last decade, I’ve added gin with Dyer’s Medallion as my absolute favorite but Vex wouldn’t know that.
Next to it is my go-to box of crackers when I don’t care about nutrition. In the fridge, my favorite cheese from childhood. He got pears because he knows I never cared for apples. And no red meat because I refuse to eat it to this day.
Small details about him return in a wave. How he avoided yellow candy and preferred to work at his desk while I preferred to work cross-legged on the bed. How he’d argue for days that Manga was an underrated art form and that waffles beat pancakes any day of the week.
As I get the tumblers from the cupboard, memories turn to the afternoon Cue Ball showed up at Mom’s house. Five bikers flanking him.
Putting the tumblers down on the counter, I glance at the kitchen door he kicked down to gain entry. I remember the way his body almost filled the doorway. The way he held a knife to Mom’s neck to make his point.
The way his grubby hands squeezed my cheeks, making the inside of my mouth bleed. I wasn’t raped, but I was groped and felt utterly violated and very afraid. It took lots of therapy to realize it was still completely valid to feel that way.
My hand shakes as I pour the whiskey.
Vex has no idea he instigated one of the worst days of my life.
And he has no idea thathislife hinged on my actions, because I was told he would be killed if anyone found out they’d been to see me. That he would be lured to the Pines, forced to dig his own grave, and killed if he found out.
I toss a shot down my throat and let it burn as it travels down to my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I pour a second shot in my glass.
When I return to the living room, it already feels warmer, and Vex steps in with another large bag of wood as I put the glasses down on a small side table.
“I’m going to go upstairs and open all the doors, let some of the heat circulate, try and dry out some of the damp.”
“Good idea,” Vex says as he begins to add the logs to the pile.
I wearily trudge up the stairs and open all the rooms. The bathroom, with only a small pathway to the toilet and sink and a tub filled with unfolded clothes. I open Mom’s door. She’s still watching the television. A game show now. “I’m just going to leave your door open to let some warmth in.”
She looks up suddenly, stricken. “You didn’t turn the heating on, did you?”
I think about how she told me earlier it was broken. How did I miss the signs that her memory isn’t what it was. “No, Ti got the chimney swept and started a fire. He brought logs.”
Mom looks back at the television. “Good. Because I’m not made of money. You’re cold, grab another blanket. And I hope you didn’t make a mess of all my things.”
For reasons I can’t explain, tears sting my eyes. I step outside and lean back against the linen closet door. “Think, Calista,” I mutter. I didn’t tell Vex, but Mom didn’t want me to clean her kitchen or her living room. She didn’t want me to throw anything out. She told me to leave everything exactly where it was.
The truth is, I can’t. Because no matter how much she wants me to leave it as is, she can’t live like this. It’s unsafe, unsanitary, and unlivable.
I’ll face the battle I’m going to have with her when the downstairs is done. When I can set up a temporary bed for her in the living room so I can tackle the upstairs.
I’m a problem solver. This is all doable. I have the funds to get Mom the help she needs. The easiest version is to move her out, renovate the house. But if Vex is right, if this is some kind of decline in her mental faculties, moving her might be a change too much.
I need to remember who I am.
And that is someone badly in need of a shower. I glance into the bathroom and realize that isn’t happening tonight.
I need to order something we can dump all this garbage in, and clear the stairs so we can make it up and down, and…
I blow out a breath.
With a death grip on the handrail so I don’t trip and fall, I make my way down the stairs. When I step into the living room, I realize it doesn’t smell so bad anymore, and it’s actually warm. The windows are open a little to let some more fresh air in.
There is still dampness in the corner, which I’m guessing is from some leaky gutter, at best, or cracked foundation, at worst.
Vex is standing, but he’s looking down at the fire, watching it flicker. With his back to me, I can see how his shoulders have filled out. The dark skin of his forearm is smooth and veined.
“Why are you still here?” I ask.
Vex turns when he hears my voice. But instead of replying, he walks to the table and picks up the two tumblers of whiskey. “Here,” he says, offering one of them to me. “Drink. Cheers. You worked hard today and deserve it.”
