Page 39 of There is No Devil

Mara snorts. “Not anymore. And I moved the next week. She can’t stand not knowing where I am. Not having control over me. Not having the power to fuck up my life. She used to show up at my job, trying to get me fired …” she trails off, laughing softly to herself. “Actually, you two have a lot in common. You might really get along.”

“Oh, fuck off. First of all, I’m way better at finding people than she is. Shewishesshe had my skills. And second, I don’t fuck up your life, I fix it.”

“I know,” Mara says, her expression serious. “I’m grateful to you Cole, do you know that?”

“You better be. I’m taking you to Betsy’s party tonight.”

“Are you really?” she squeaks. Then, her excitement fading, “What about Shaw?”

“He’ll probably be there.”

“What does that mean? What will we do?”

“Nothing in the middle of a gallery. And neither will he. It’s safe.”

“I don’t want to see him, though.” Mara shudders.

“We can’t avoid him in this city. Besides, I want him to see that you’re living with me, if he doesn’t already know. I want him to see you under my protection. If we talk to him, I’ll make him believe there’s a truce. That I’ll leave him alone as long as he stays away from you.”

“Will you?” Mara asks, her fog-gray eyes fixed on my face.

“Never.”

Shaw is a threat. There’s no fucking way I’ll ever relax enough for him to put a knife in my back, or Mara’s.

It’s then that I realize Mara is wearing her old clothes—jeans and her favorite battered boots.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I demand.

“Sweet Maple,” Mara says.

“The fuck you are.”

“I’m working this morning, and you’re not stopping me,” she says, jaw set. “You can come along if you like, but I’m doing the full brunch shift.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t need a side job anymore.”

“I’m not doing it for the money. I owe it to Arthur.”

“He can find another waitress,” I say dismissively.

Mara crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to back down.

“My last year of high school, I applied to the Academy of Art. I spent that entire year working on my portfolio. The week I was supposed to submit it, my mother threw it in the tub and soaked it in bleach. Then she cleaned out the $1200 I had hidden inside a book in my room. She thought I couldn’t leave if I had no money and no scholarship. I left anyway, the day I turned eighteen. I bounced around a few couches, halfway to homeless. When I showed up at Sweet Maple, I had a backpack of clothes and six dollars to my name. No resume. Hadn’t taken a shower in a week. My sneakers had holes big enough for my toes to poke through. Arthur hired me anyway. He gave me two hundred dollars up front so I could buy some better shoes. I bought these boots.” Mara sticks out one foot, showing the boots that look like they’ve been through a war. “He didn’t know me. Didn’t know if I’d take the money and never show up for a shift. He helped me anyway. So I’m not ever quitting that job, until Arthur doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’ll drive you over.”

Flushed with victory, Mara grins at me.

“Can I drive?”

* * *

7

Mara

It feels good to be back at Sweet Maple. This place has been my anchor through some of the most chaotic times in my life.

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