Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“HEY, LAUREN, would you be interested in going to dinner with Celeste and me? We’re going to that Chinese place you like.”

I look over to Kenzie and try to hide my surprise. It’s been over a month since she has made an attempt to be friendly toward me. Most would likely think this is because I complained about her disgusting habit of inviting strange men over, leading me to sleep downstairs on the floor, but it’s not. I don’t know why I still haven’t voiced my objection. Actually, I probably do. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I can’t afford to live in Portland by myself, don’t know anyone looking for a roommate, and as lame as this sounds, I want her to like me.

I’m still not certain why she was looking for a roommate, because according to Charleigh, she can afford this place on her own without a problem based upon her wardrobe. Her clothes are all designer, made to look vintage and worn. I may have eventually noticed that all of her clothes were laden with popular and expensive names, but it was Charleigh who noticed one day while she was up visiting me as I finished a portrait of her that I was working on.

Kenzie had returned home and was changing her clothes, throwing her dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. Charleigh’s jaw dropped. Initially, I thought it was because Kenzie was naked; she had little concern for modesty. Then Charleigh’s eyes moved across the room. “How did you get the winter collection already? It’s not out until next month!”

My charcoal hovered over the surface of my canvas, and I followed Charleigh’s eyes over to Kenzie. I have always loved fashion. I guess it goes with being an artist—my clothes are yet another form of art—however, my clothing budget has always been sparse, forcing me to be creative with used clothing stores and sale racks, intermingled with a few more expensive items that I can mix and match. Charleigh smiled with appreciation, and the two discussed designers and brands that I had never heard of as I finished my drawing.

I guess you could say Charleigh in many ways bridged the relationship between Kenzie and me because, after their conversation, Kenzie started to spend fewer nights going out and more of them with Allie, Charleigh, and me.

A month later, Kenzie invited us to the party that changed way too much, and yet nothing, for me. It’s where I met him. Charleigh and Allie weren’t able to attend—they had a previous engagement with some other design students—but I chose to step outside of my comfort zone and go along.

The next several days following the party, everything was normal between Kenzie and me. She would tell me about her dates. Charleigh would try to make different teas in an attempt to convert us. The three of them discussed fall fashion trends. Everything was following what had become a familiar and comfortable routine. Then one day, it stopped. Kenzie’s tone became petulant when directed toward me, and she avoided eye contact with me at all costs. She started spending less time at the apartment again and more time avoiding my calls and messages as I worked to apologize for whatever I had done.

“I can’t go tonight. I had to get more canvases for class. It’s Top Ramen for me until I get paid next week. Thanks for the invite, though.”

Something flashes across Kenzie’s face, and her eyes narrow in question. “Do you like kids?”

“I don’t know if I want my own, but other people’s I like.”

My eyebrows draw down as her brown eyes grow wide and bright. “I have the perfect job for you!” she cries, jumping up from her bed.

“I have a job.”

“Yeah, but this one pays more.”

“What is it?”

“A nanny!”

“I have no experience being a nanny.”

“It doesn’t matter! You just need to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. She’s totally easy. You’ll love it!”

“I have a feeling there’s a lot more to it than making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

Kenzie waves away my objection. “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.” She grabs her phone and focuses on the screen for several seconds while I try to process if this is something I might be interested in. And why she’s had the sudden change of heart.

“They’ll need you a few nights a week and some weekends. It will be super easy. It’s just one kid.”

“So you know the family? Have you babysat her before?”

“Yeah, a few times. Don’t worry, she’s chill.”

Chill? Is there such a thing as a chill kid? “How old is she?”

“Like ten.”

“Where do they live?”

“Not far. I’m sure you could walk it.”

“I’m sure I could walk to Seattle if I had to—it doesn’t mean I’d want to.”

Kenzie’s chin drops to her chest as she lowers her phone. “There’s probably a bus that goes close to their house. Don’t you still have your bus pass?”

“Yes …”

“Great. Problem solved.”

“Kenzie, I never agreed to this. I want to meet them first. What if the kid doesn’t like me? What if I don’t get along with her parents? What if I can’t commit to how many hours they need me?”

“The job pays twenty bucks an hour.” Her words match the bored expression on her face.

“Twenty dollars? An hour? Who pays twenty dollars for a babysitter?”

“I’m done playing twenty questions with you. Do you want the job or not?”

“Don’t they want to meet me first?”

“I know them. This is fine.”

“How?”

“Lauren—” Kenzie’s eyes narrow “—do you want the job or not?”

“Yes. I mean I think I do, as long as everything works out.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

I mentally start tallying the things I need to ask as Kenzie reverts her attention back to her phone.

“Perfect. You start tomorrow at three.”

“I have class until three thirty.”

“Every other day they won’t need you until four. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re smart.” With that, she stands up and leaves.

“Apparently not smart enough,” I mumble, collapsing on my bed and focusing on the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that decorate my ceiling.

THE ADDRESS Kenzie texted to me is nearly two miles from the bus stop. I know I’m supposed to be heading south, but apart from that, I’m clueless. Portland is a big enough city that even though I’ve been around numerous parts, I’m still not intimately familiar with most of it, including this area that’s boasting large homes and wide sidewalks that have grass and trees painted along both sides as well as down the median.

I grip my messenger bag and pull it higher on my shoulder as I try to figure out my directions app for walking.

Thirty minutes later, annoyance and frustration are clawing at my nerves. It’s cold and damp out, the sky a misty gray, yet I’ve been picking up the pace in hope of not being late, and now sweat is making me feel sticky and making my bag and jeans rub uncomfortably. My hair is adding to my irritation, heavily weighted as it actively attempts to strangle me. I still have no idea where I am, but I’m positive I’ve passed this house already. It’s lime green, making it stand out. The house is beautiful. I’m sure most architects and artists would consider it a masterpiece with a long wraparound porch, wide-paneled siding, and an intricately carved bargeboard along the roofline that looks like it was hand carved. There are matching gablet windows on the second story that make me yearn to curl up with a sketch pad and cup of hot chocolate in this cold drizzle. I can’t imagine why they painted the damn thing such an intrusive color; it nearly matches the lichen moss that blankets several of the large rocks in the front yard.

“You look lost.” My head jerks from the rocks that rest against the sharp contrast of the garage doors, which are painted a crisp white, to where an older man is standing with a small smile that, even with his unfamiliarity, I can see reaches his eyes.

I brush the small wisps of hair clinging to the sides of my forehead—likely curled and sticking out at dangerous angles, making me look both younger and homeless. I try to paint a smile on my face and nod. “Yeah, I keep getting turned around. I’m supposed to be on Cedar Drive. Do you happen to know where I can find it?”

“Cedar Drive? You looking for the Knight residence?” He takes a few steps closer to me, letting the screen door fall shut behind him.

Relief makes my smile grow. “Yes.”

“You’re not too far. You’re just going to head up two blocks, take a left on Washington, and head that way three blocks. You’ll see Cedar on your right. It’s a narrow road, easy to miss.”

“Left on Washington, right on Cedar?” I repeat in question, ensuring that’s all there is to remember.

“That’s it. You’ll have a small trek to get to their house, but you’ll probably be there in about twenty minutes or so.”

I don’t have twenty minutes to spare—I’m supposed to be there in four. “Thank you so much for your help. Have a great day.”

“You should try smiling more.” I have to turn to look back at him because I’m already moving quickly in the direction he pointed. “Smiles like yours make this world a better place.”

I intentionally don’t smile at his assessment. Instead, I redirect my focus and pick up my pace to cut my time, hoping his twenty-minute prognosis is an estimate of how long it would take him to reach the house.

Each of my breaths stretches into white clouds of lace as I jog down the road, my ears and lungs burning from the cold though my muscles are too warm. The road is narrow, only wide enough for a single car to pass at a time, and both sides are covered with an encroaching green mass of trees and moss that has made the road both darker and slicker. I haven’t passed a single house since I turned onto Cedar, like I’ve entered another part of Oregon, something closer to Mount Hood, where it’s typical to find houses surrounded by nothing but wildflowers, heavy curtained fir trees, and single dirt roads that you can get lost down for days.

A turn of the narrow road breaks the monotony of green, and a large cabin-styled house appears with a dark green roof and wide driveway. A loud sigh emits another large billow of white as I hurry toward it.

Stopping at the front door, I feel the cold roughness of my jeans clinging to my calves from soaking up the water from the road. My heart races as my finger connects with the doorbell while my eyes slowly rove around the porch. It’s stained a dark brown to match the house. The front door matches the dark green roof and is detailed with carvings of small squares and thick lines, bordered by much finer lines that make the door look subtly expensive.

The door opens as I’m studying the wooden blinds covering the windows facing the porch, all of which are drawn shut. My attention snaps to where a little girl with dark brown hair lying in waves down her petite frame, is staring at me. Her eyes are wide and a sea green that makes me think of an ocean painting I’m currently working on for a class—it would be the perfect hue for the caps of the waves, right before they turn opaque as they hit the surf. Her lips are folded against her teeth as she stares at me. It’s not in wonderment. No, I’ve seen this look; she’s judging me. Mentally berating me, likely for being late and my appearance if I look half as bad as I feel.

“Hi, you must be Mercedes. I’m Lauren.”

Her small hand remains wrapped around the doorknob as she continues staring at me, and I turn to glance in the same direction to ensure there’s not something or someone behind me that’s holding her attention. There’s only the same looming trek of forest that I ran through to get here, though.

“I’m really sorry I’m late. I kept getting turned around. Cedar Drive isn’t marked, so I thought this was just a driveway or a dead-end road.”

“Are you from another planet?” Her voice is gravelly for being so young, but it’s her words that come as a surprise.

My eyes widen in confusion and my head tilts. “Some days it feels like I am, but as far as I’m aware, no. Ten toes, ten fingers, one belly button.” I’m not sure where this explanation derives from, but I regret it instantly as I see her face contort with obvious repugnance.

“Are your parents home?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.

“My mom’s dead.” I’m fairly certain my eyebrows are lost in the mass of curling wisps clinging to my forehead. There is no emotion behind her words; it’s simply a statement.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is much softer, making my already quiet tone come out so low I’m not sure she can hear me.

“Why?” Her eyes narrow again, but this time she looks like she’s angry rather than curious.

I stare back at her in confusion for a moment and then shake my head ever so slightly. “Because you lost your mom.”

She lifts her shoulders and focuses her eyes over my shoulder. “Shit happens. Right?”

I leave her question unanswered, not sure if I should reprimand her for swearing when she’s all too right. Then her eyes come back to me, seeking validation, and I swallow though my mouth is still too dry from my run and the cold temperatures. “Shit happens,” I agree.

Her eyes warm, stretching to their natural almond shape, and I see the corner of her lips twitch as she fights a smile. Mercedes takes a few steps back, her hand dropping from the door. “Do your friends call you Lauren?”

I hesitantly step forward, trying to keep my eyes on her rather than the mess surrounding us. “Most of my friends call me Lo. But you can call me either.”

“What? I’m not allowed to be your friend?” My eyes skirt from the large wad of laundry against the wall to Mercedes’ eyes that are narrowed once more.

“No, call me Lo.”

“No, you don’t want to be friends, no?” She fists her small hands and then slams them on her narrow hips.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re welcome to call me Lo, or I’m cool with you calling me Lauren. It doesn’t matter. I’m still your babysitter, but I like the idea of us being friends.”

“You’re my nanny.”

My shoulders shrug and my eyebrows knit slightly before relaxing again. “Same difference.”

“No. It’s not. I don’t need someone to babysit me. I can take care of myself.” She leans her chest toward me and raises her voice with each word.

Thoughts of revenge against Kenzie are multiplying, not only for giving me shit for directions, but for setting me up with this miniature diva that’s trapped inside a ten-year-old’s body. “Look, I was hired to come and babysit. I ran for over forty minutes, and let me tell you, I hate running. My clothes are wet, my hair is—”

“Your hair’s a mess.”

My eyes narrow on her this time as my chin drops. “I know. Because I was running. For forty. Minutes. If you don’t want me here, say the words, and when your dad comes down, I’ll leave.”

She rolls her green eyes. “Stop being so dramatic.”

I shake my head and blink heavily a few times as she spins on her heel and heads down the hallway.

“Are you coming?” Her tone isn’t welcoming, nor is the scowl on her lips.

I’m considering zip tying every item of Kenzie’s in place like my older brother, Josh, did to me several years ago on April Fool’s, as I follow her, blandly paying attention to the clutter that seems to be drowning this house.

When we reach a large room, it takes me several seconds of looking around to realize we’re in a living room. At least … I think we’re in a living room. There’s a TV hanging on the far wall, but no seating is near it. The only couch is against the opposite wall and piled high with clothes. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling ahead of us, but there’s no table below it. Instead, my eyes search over wheels that look like they belong on bicycles, and boxes that are precariously balanced with bubble wrap flowing from each of their tops. Bags that appear both empty and full are haphazardly mixed in with endless amounts of laundry, toys, a few pillows, food wrappers, packing materials, magazines, and even shoes.

“So what do you want to do?”

I turn my head to Mercedes. She’s unaffected by the mess and doesn’t seem to care at all that I can’t stop staring at it, feeling slightly horrified that anyone could live in such chaos. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s too young to understand this would commonly be considered a social faux pas, or if she simply doesn’t care. “What do you normally do?”

She rolls her eyes again in an exaggerated fashion, her fists slamming back to her non-existent hips. “What do you normally do?”

I tilt my chin, wondering if she’s seeking sarcasm, but I attempt honesty. “I go to school and work. When I’m not doing that, I’m usually with my friends, Charleigh and Allie.”

“What do you do when you hang out with them?” There’s still an edge to her tone, but her eyes are filled with curiosity as she watches me.

“They go to school for fashion design, so sometimes we talk about art stuff, sometimes we watch movies and make Charleigh try American food, other times we just hang out.” I shrug once again.

“American food? Is Charleigh not from here?”

“No, she’s British. A tea drinker,” I add, noting an empty Starbucks cup littering the ground.

“How very Mary Poppins of her.” I feel the edges of my lips lift into a smile and note the way her lips mirror mine for a second before they stop and turn into a forcible frown.

“What do you know how to cook? I’m hungry.”

“Want a sandwich?”

“Try again.”

Raising my eyebrows, my tone becomes indifferent. “Cereal?”

“No way! It’s afternoon.”

“Mac and cheese?”

“Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with any of those?” I ask, following her into a kitchen that is shockingly clean. The surfaces are empty and wiped down. Even the floors look as though they’ve recently been washed.

“We have basil. Can you make pesto sauce?”

I narrow my eyes, drawing my eyebrows together. “Not unless it’s in a jar that I can open.”

“What about scallops?”

“I thought you were ten.”

“I am.”

“What ten-year-old eats scallops and pesto sauce?”

“Ones with refined taste buds that didn’t grow up on Cream of Wheat,” Mercedes quips.

“How about scrambled eggs?”

“Do you know how to cook anything that requires more than one ingredient?”

“Not many, no.” My frankness is not well received. Her eyes become tapered once more and her jaw clenches.

“Let’s pray there are leftovers,” she says, doing a quick spin on her heels and moving toward the fridge.

THE AFTERNOON passes at an alarmingly painful crawl. I can’t express my relief when I hear the front door close and a male’s voice call, “Mercedes, I’m home!”

The first genuine smile I’ve seen from her passes her lips, and she drops the small gadget she has been playing with for the past hour, on the floor amongst the maze of clothes and toys in her room, and heads toward the greeting.

“Hey, buttercup! How are you doing?”

“Why are you home so late?”

“Sorry, I had a long meeting with Stan.” His attention shifts to me as I trail into the room, feeling a new sense of unease. Not only have I had a terribly awkward afternoon with his daughter, but I don’t know the guy, and he’s attractive. Like ridiculously attractive. “Hey! You must be Lauren. I’m Kashton,” he says, extending a hand.

His smile is warm, inviting me to reply with my own. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, taking a few steps closer to the man who doesn’t look much older than me.

“Yeah, you too. You came highly recommended.” His hand feels slightly rough, but it’s the warmth of it that distracts me. It feels as if he just emerged from the hot sun rather than the cooler rain that has made an early appearance. As our hands slide apart, I notice several small nicks and scratches across his knuckles.

The impulse to object about my qualifications dances across my tongue, so I bite it. I bite harder when the desire to question him about not meeting me prior to allowing his daughter for the afternoon enters my mind.

“Did you guys have a good day?” he asks.

“She doesn’t know how to cook.” Mercedes announces the fact like this has been the biggest issue we’ve faced today.

Kashton’s eyes meet mine. They’re a warm brown, reminding me of well-worn leather, but are a similar shape and depth to Mercedes. “Maybe your uncle can teach her.” His voice is playful, accompanied by a smile that assures me the thought is more for Mercedes.

“He will have to; otherwise, I’ll starve.”

Kashton laughs and ruffles a palm over Mercedes’ head, triggering the same look of disdain she’s been sending me for most of the afternoon.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, then, Lauren?” Kashton asks.

“Yes, at four, right?”

He nods and shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow, but I’ll be out in the shop, so four will work great.”

I nod in response and then jerkily move forward to grab the strap of my messenger bag, still leaning beside the door, and pull it on.

I’m already near a large SUV in the driveway when I turn around and wave. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you, Lauren,” Kashton calls in reply.

“You too. Bye, Mercedes.”

“Bye.” I hear her voice, quiet and lacking warmth or amusement, then watch as she closes the door with a bang.

“SO HOW was your first day of the new job?” Even Charleigh’s warm voice sends chills of frustration through me that make my teeth grind.

“I’m pretty sure Lucifer has a daughter, and her name is Mercedes.”

Charleigh’s loud giggle goes from a sound to a vibration as she wraps her arms around my shoulders, hugging me from behind. “Was it that awful?”

“Worse.”

“What were her parents like?”

“Her dad is young. Really young. And he’s a total slob.”

“Did you meet the Queen?”

I shake my head slowly and avert my eyes back to my sketch. “No, I guess she passed away.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Maybe that’s why she was so difficult?”

I shoot her a glare that says I don’t care what her excuse is.

“Why don’t we go get something to eat. Something totally bad for us. We’ll put in a movie and watch our pant sizes grow.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You are cross, aren’t you?”

I rub a palm over my eyes that have gone dry from staring too long, a side effect of my art.

“That’s Lucifer’s daughter?” Charleigh keeps one hand wrapped around me while the other snakes out and hovers over my drawing. “She’s lovely.”

“I’m sure Eve thought the apple looked really delicious too. That’s why looks are deceiving.”

“You know, I learned in my history of religion class that they don’t believe Adam and Eve ate an apple. Before the seventeenth century, all fruit was referred to as an apple besides berries and nuts.”

“That really doesn’t change anything.”

“I know, but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to use that useless fact again, and you just happened to set the perfect stage for me.”

I release a deep breath and drop my head to her shoulder, not having the energy to continue this conversation. “You’re so weird.”

“It’s why you love me.”

“Something like that.”

“Come on. I’ll let you pick the movie this time. I’ve got my mind made up on this. We’re going.”

“And you can’t let go, because you’re killing every second till it saves your soul.”

Charleigh growls as she stands from my bed. “You know I hate when you do that! That song is going to be in my head for days.”

I’m not in the mood to be around anyone, even Charleigh, but I grudgingly stand up and grab a clean hoodie from my closet. As much as I don’t want to see anyone, I know if I see Kenzie, I may lose my shit and actually punch her after the afternoon I’ve endured with Mercedes and her crazy amounts of attitude and sidelong glances that kept mocking me.