Chapter 6
The last place I want to go is to my mom’s office.
Caleb will be there, and after his little performance yesterday, I can’t guarantee I won’t wrap my hands around his neck upon first sight.
I have no problem acting on that urge, but I don’t need to cause a scene at my mom’s work or make issues for her with Caleb’s dad.
As irritating as my mother’s constant critiques of my life are, I can’t ignore how hard she has worked to give me opportunities.
She managed to transform a two-year associate’s degree in office management into a steady career with a solid retirement outlook.
We might not be up in the hills, living behind the gate, but we have a nice home, and I got to attend the same private school that the Anderson boys did. And I owe that to her.
I’d forgotten that I promised to meet her for lunch today to set up new beneficiary paperwork.
I’m not sure if that would have stopped me from marching out of Rowan’s garage to leave him to bicker with his brother, but it would have made me rethink leaving my car behind.
Now, I’m without wheels for the day, and Cami is not even remotely reliable before ten in the morning.
I could put this off for a day, I guess, but then I’d have to explain to my mom that my car is at Rowan’s garage, which would lead to me enduring a new round of lectures about staying away from the older Anderson brother.
I’m not interested in hearing any opinions on that, which is probably why I haven’t mentioned anything to Cami about him . . . us.
The thought of us makes me snort laugh. I shake off my fantasy and search my Uber options. The rides showing are all around a hundred bucks to head downtown at this time of day. I could charge it to my mom, but she’d get an alert, which would, again, lead to questions.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, stuffing my phone in the back pocket of my shorts before snagging my crossbody and phone from my dresser and shoving my feet into my sneakers without socks.
I don’t have time to dress for a formal office visit, which I’m sure I’ll hear about from my mom, but if I’m going to catch the bus and get there on time, I have to head out now and be in shoes that can accommodate a brief sprint from the blue line to the express stop by the freeway.
I snag a water bottle from the fridge and lock the door behind me.
I twist my hair up in a clip, letting the sun hit the back of my neck while I rush to the corner of our street.
There’s a woman waiting with a walker under the bus shelter, and she looks to be struggling with several grocery bags.
Two men are waiting on the other side of her, both looking to be in their early thirties, perhaps, though it’s hard to tell given the weathered scruff on their faces.
Both of their shoes are in rough shape, one pair peppered with holes, but thankfully, the man has a new pair of socks underneath to shield his skin.
The skin on their noses is peeling to the point of forming wounds, and their shoulders and arms are a deep, painful red, which leads me to believe they’re either homeless or outdoor labor workers. Maybe both.
As the bus approaches, I move closer to the woman and eventually scoop up two of her plastic grocery bags to help her get on the bus. Her long hair is twisted in a bun at the base of her neck, but several strands have fallen out, leaving the long hairs to stick to her sweat-soaked neck and back.
“It’s pretty hot out here to be making a grocery run,” I say.
She laughs softly, her eyes squinting against the sun as she looks up at me with a smile.
“It’s always hot out here for months at a time.
A woman’s gotta eat, though, so it’s not like I can put it off.
” She coughs through her laugh, covering her mouth with a tissue wadded in her palm.
She shoves it in a loose pocket on the hip of her long sun dress before adjusting the bags looped over her right arm.
The bus squeals to a stop in front of us, and I hold my arm out to help the woman balance into the entrance while one of the men waiting with us lifts up her walker.
“Thanks, Chad. I’ll get it,” the driver says to the man, taking the device in two hands and unhooking a clasp that allows it to fold up easily.
He slides the walker into a nook behind the driver’s seat while I help the woman get settled in a seat near the front.
She pulls out a cell phone to scan the payment code, and I do the same, taking a seat directly across from her.
The men move to the middle, the one who didn’t assist curling up on his side along two seats, while the other man, Chad, apparently, pulls a set of earbuds from his pocket and unwinds the cord before plugging them into his phone.
“Do you know Chad?” the woman asks, pulling my attention back across the aisle to her.
I shake my head and offer a soft smile.
“Oh, I figured maybe you did. Most of us regulars do.” She settles into her seat, but I keep my gaze fixed on her, suddenly curious about Chad, the bus regular, and wishing she’d share more.
“I take it you know Chad?” I prompt.
She shakes with a silent laugh and leans toward me while waving her hand.
“I would hope so. He comes to the apartment for dinner every Sunday.”
We’re both laughing, though I’m not entirely sure why, as I’m not certain how I’m supposed to have known that. There’s something about the woman, though, that sets me at ease.
“How long have you known Chad?” I ask, bracing myself as the bus jerks to life and the driver closes the door and shifts into drive.
“Let’s see . . .” She looks up at the bus ceiling, her lips moving with silent counting before she drops her gaze back to me and declares, “Seven years.”
“How did you meet?” I’m really having to work at piecing together this Chad mystery.
“I live at the Beatitudes. Chad works in building maintenance, and the day I moved in, my sink decided to explode all over my cabinets and flooring. Chad fixed it right up, though.” She leans toward me and waves me to do the same, like she’s about to reveal a secret.
I do as she asks, and she cups her mouth.
“He replaced the flooring for me, too, even though he wasn’t supposed to.
He wouldn’t say so, but I know he went and bought the tiles himself.
I’ve been feeding him Sunday dinner ever since.
” She sits upright and crinkles her eyes as she smiles.
I find myself matching her expression, and I turn back to glance at Chad again with a sudden warmth in my chest.
We get to the retirement home’s stop about ten minutes later, and Chad pulls out his earbuds and winds up his cord before stuffing them in the pocket of his well-worn jeans.
I help the woman make her way down the bus steps while Chad carries her walker.
He sets it up for her, then takes over holding the grocery bags as the two of them walk toward the entrance.
My gaze lingers on the pair for a few seconds, my mouth stretching up on the corners as Chad makes her giggle, and she responds by squeezing his arm.
There’s a definite sense of envy in my chest, but it’s not like the feeling I had when I saw Caleb kiss another girl.
It’s more like the way my insides feel when my dad sends me photos from one of the cities he’s in, or from some stage in the middle of Ohio in a bar with hundreds of people there to hear him play.
I long for those texts from him, and I know I can’t exactly tag along for the ride.
But I hate not being a part of his routine.
And there’s a part of me that wishes the woman had dropped me an invite to Sunday dinner.
It takes another twenty minutes to reach the express line, and as I predicted, I need to sprint from the bus to get the next one in time.
The only seat left is smack in the middle, and I have to climb over a burly man to sit by the window.
I tried waiting for him to shift or get up, but he was clearly more interested in making me feel small and intimidated.
The feel of his khaki-covered meat legs rubbing against my thighs while I stepped over him lingers until we reach the downtown hub.
Thankfully, he’s quick to exit his seat, and he heads the opposite direction from me when we get off the bus.
I’ve worked up a good sweat by the time I reach the lobby of my mom’s building, so I pace in the cool entryway as I send her a text alerting her that I’m here.
A full minute passes without a response, which means she’s either in a meeting or on her office phone, so I let my head fall back as I blow up at the few strands of hair stuck to my forehead and shuffle my way toward the bank of elevators.
Karma kicks me right in the teeth the second the doors open, though, as standing there wearing dark gray suits are the brothers who have monopolized my thoughts for the last twenty-four hours.
“I didn’t know you were coming in,” Caleb says, his mouth forming a surprised grin as he moves to one side to make space for me.
I hover in the doorway.
“Weren’t you getting off here?” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and bounce my gaze between the two men.
“Yeah, but that can wait. I’ll take you up,” he says, moving his attention to his brother, who also seems hesitant to leave the elevator. “You go on, Rowan. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Rowan’s deep chuckle is swift.
“Yeah, not a chance,” Rowan says, reaching across my body to the buttons and pressing the nineteenth floor to close the doors again promptly.
I stare straight ahead as the lobby disappears, squeezed between two metal doors that seal me off from an escape.
The silence makes the space feel tighter, plus it’s easier to hear the squeal of the gears and belt working to take us nineteen stories up.
I swear to God, if this elevator breaks right now, I’m going to have to do some serious reflecting on my sins.