Chapter 5 Amara
AMARA
“Gianni.” My mouth hangs open as I circle the car. “This is wild!”
It’s Saturday and the dentist’s office is closed, so I decided to spend the day checking in on my siblings.
Gianni has the day off from work, which means he is on campus at a college in Bozeman that he’s been attending.
The upside to having no financial help from parents is that colleges will just about pay your way to a degree.
“We designed the engine on this app.” He shows me a blueprint on his tablet.
“And we’re putting it together now. It doesn’t run yet, but I like to think we’re getting close.
It’s wild. Some of these parts are still in their prototype stages.
But if they run the way I think they will, it could change the way we make cars in the future. ”
“It’s amazing, G.” I’m tearing up a little, but I don’t care. I’m too happy for him.
“Oh god, sis. Don’t start the waterworks.”
“Too late. The water is working.”
He hands me a rag that looks clean but smells like motor oil. “Here. Blow into this. You can keep it after.”
“I’m sorry,” I laugh. “I’m just proud of you. The fact that you’ve always stuck with this, even when life was hard. You found a passion and you threw yourself into it.”
Not just being a mechanic, either. Which would have been great itself, but now he’s actually going to school for automotive engineering. That’s every parent’s dream. And I may not be Gianni’s mom, but fuck it, I raised him. I’m allowed to cry a little.
“Yeah, well.” He clears his throat awkwardly.
“Turns out, I don’t want to just fix cars.
I want to build them. Being a run-of-the-mill mechanic usually just means oil changes and tire changes and fixing a busted radiator.
Maintenance, you know? I want to create the engines so they don’t need so much work all the time.
I want to build something better. Make it last longer. ”
“Well, I think you can do it.” I give up and dab my eyes with the oil-smelling cloth. “No. I know you can.”
I’m sure I’m embarrassing him right now, but it’s hard seeing your little brother find his way off the streets. Out of a situation that seemed to hold an inevitable fate. Like the rest of us, he has grit. To say I’m proud is an understatement.
“I hope so.” He half-shrugs, but he hasn’t stopped smiling. “And I mean, being an engineer would pay well. Well enough that you wouldn’t have to work as a receptionist anymore. Maybe you could go back to school.”
I let out a blubbery laugh at that. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there, little brother. It’s not your job to take care of me or anyone else.”
“Isn’t it though?” he asks. “You’ve busted your ass since we were kids. Nothing was ever handed to you, and our old man didn’t make it easy either. I think it’s about time you pass the baton.”
I hug him tight. “You just focus on getting that degree and doing what you love for now, G. The rest will come with time. You’re going to be home for dinner, right?”
“You cooking?” he asks.
“Homemade chicken alfredo.”
“Hell yeah, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”
After I leave him with his new friends—a vast improvement over the guys he surrounded himself with in New York—I head off to the salon to see Eliza.
I pick up lunch on the way, sandwiches and chips from a little deli on main street that isn’t half bad.
Honestly, a lot of the little shops around here aren’t bad, even if there are only a handful of places to choose from.
The smaller, slower pace of things has its perks. Like not sleeping with one eye open.
As soon as I walk into the salon, I’m hit with the scent of perm. It’s a sour, pungent aroma that makes me think of Steel Magnolias. I can’t help but grimace.
“There she is!” Gladys lets out as soon as she hears the bells on the door clamor. She’s one of the old ladies that comes into the shop so often I’m surprised she even has any hair left to curl. “Your sister is famished.”
“Not at all.” Eliza smiles as she attempts to curl Gladys’s hair while she turns her head. “I’m absolutely fine.”
“Fine?” Gladys blurts out. “Just ten minutes ago, you said you were going to die of starvation.”
“Figure of speech, Gladys.”
I set the food down on the counter. Alaina, one of the other stylists, walks over to Eliza and takes her curling iron from her. “Why don’t you go eat your lunch. I can finish up Gladys here.”
“Kate does it best,” Gladys argues.
“I have been doing your hair for twenty years,” Alaina shoots back. “I taught Kate how to do it.”
“She’s not lying,” Eliza—aka Kate—says with a smile. “You’re in good hands.”
“Oh, fine,” Gladys mutters. The two of them continue to cackle as Eliza and I make our way into the back room with our food.
“Thank God,” she says as we sit down to eat. “I really was starving.”
“You mean Gladys wasn’t just being dramatic?” I tease. Because if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that Gladys is always dramatic.
Eliza shakes her head, fully aware of that, and I laugh.
We pull out our sandwiches, a ham and Swiss with extra pickles for her and an egg salad on white for me. After we both take a bite, I hear her giggle.
“God, look at us. Eating country food like a bunch of old ladies.”
“I heard that!” Alaina barks from the other room.
We both laugh.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I hate to say it, but I kind of like it here.”
“It’s definitely different,” she admits. “But it’s not the worst. Better than the neighborhood we grew up in.”
“God, don’t remind me. That street has gone so far downhill, anything is better than that.”
Eliza chews pensively. I can tell she’s thinking about something, deciding if she wants to say it.
I’m close to all three of my siblings, but my relationship with her has always been a bit different.
More sisterly than motherly. Even though I am a bit older than her, I still feel like we’re on the same level.
Growing up with grit will do that to you. I see it in all of them, not to mention myself.
“C’mon, girl. Spit it out.”
“Am I that easy to read?” she asks.
“Not as easy as Bella’s layers of kohl, but yes.”
She smiles, but it fades a little. Uh-oh. Whatever it is, it’s actually bothering her.
“Have you… talked to him?”
My smile fades too.
“Of course not,” I answer quickly. Maybe too quickly, because her eyes flash up to mine as she tries to read my expression.
“Have you thought about it?” she presses.
I chew harder. “If you’re asking if I’ve thought about him at all… sure. I mean, we were together, even if it was in a complicated kind of toxic sort of way.”
“Kind of toxic?” she asks. We keep our voices low so the hens around the corner don’t hear us, although I’m sure they talk. They must have all sorts of theories on why we moved here. Why four siblings are living in a little rental together.
Why the oldest one is pregnant and single.
I guess that’s one of the only things that sucks about moving to such a small town.
I feel the eyes on me, eyes that are judging my situation.
Rumors mill about and then fizzle before another theory is formed.
The last I heard, people are saying that the baby’s father is deployed.
A Marine. I decided that’s not bad as rumors go.
At least it doesn’t make me into the town harlot.
“You’re also pregnant with his baby.” She mouths the words to keep her voice extra low.
As if I don’t know.
“It’s complicated,” I say, and that’s that.
We wrap up lunch. She also promises to come for dinner, especially when I tell her what I’m making.
It’s an old recipe, a simple one with heavy cream and butter and garlic and expensive grated parmesan.
When we were younger, it was something I only made when I’d saved up a little from a couple good paychecks.
It’s just not the same without good cheese.
From there, I stop by the grocery store. I grab all the necessary ingredients and head out to my car to put the bags in the back seat. As I do, a kid takes my empty cart for me with a smile. I smile back.
It really is amazing how different people are here than in New York.
But my smile fades as I see a black car with tinted windows driving by slowly. No one drives particularly fast around here, but this car is going at a snail’s pace.
Panic fills my chest. I hurry to get in the driver’s seat, locking the door as I do.
After passing the grocery store parking lot, the car speeds up. I swallow hard.
Even after I’m home and cooking, I feel uneasy. That prickling sensation at the back of my neck has followed me in. Like I’m being watched. Like I’m back in the penthouse, with a guard outside the door and enemy cars circling and—
The door slams.
I scream.
“Jesus!” Bella yells. “It’s just me!”
I manage to save the sauce pan, but it’s a close call.
“I know,” I lie. “Sorry. It wasn’t because of you. I just burned myself a little, that’s all.”
I go back to stirring, acting like I didn’t just leap out of my own skin.
“Ooh, is that alfredo?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“Dope. Is it okay if Oliver comes over for dinner? I already told him he could.”
I turn to face my little sister, who is wearing fishnets and a short plaid skirt and a cut-off top and—
And no bra.
“Who is Oliver?” I ask. “And aren’t you cold? You look cold.”
“My boyfriend?” She frowns like she’s trying to figure out where I might have left my last marble. “I told you about him.”
“You did?” I’m positive she did not, but I don’t say that. “Seriously, Bella. You need to wear a bra. Look, it’s all hanging—”
“Oh my God!” She moans and throws her leather bag on the counter. “Yes. Last night. I texted you and told you I’m seeing someone. And I am wearing a bra. Not everyone wears push-ups, you know. We don’t all put the girls on display.”
My mouth pops open in offense and I look down at my chest. “I’m not wearing a push-up.”
“Not now. But you do wear them. Or you did when you were working for the suit and tie.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but she just proceeds to steal a piece of garlic bread from the warmer. Then I choose a hill to die on. Which is pretty hard, considering the two hills I’m staring at right now. “So, this Oliver kid. Did you meet him at school?”
“Nope,” says, hopping up on the counter to sit down. “The roller rink. There’s a fucking roller rink here, did you know that? Like, how vintage is that?”
“Don’t say fucking,” I tell her.
“Why not? You do.”
“I’m older,” I argue. “So you met him skating?”
Another dramatic eye roll. I’m about 0-for-3 right now, but you try keeping up with a hormonal sixteen year old. “No. He works there.”
“Of course he does.” I pour the sauce over the pasta. “And how old is he again?”
“Seventeen,” she answers around a mouthful of bread.
“Cool. When’s his birthday?”
“Oh my God,” Bella drones. “He’s not a bad guy. Not everyone dates dangerous guys, Amara.”
“Does he know your name?” I decide to dodge her insult to get to the more important thing.
“Not my real name.”
“Good.”
“Cool. Now can he come over?”
“Can who come over?” Eliza walks in, and Bella lets out another persecuted sigh.
“Nobody. Jesus.”
“Bella’s boyfriend,” I answer, divvying up the pasta into bowls and sprinkling it with fresh parmesan before handing it out.
“Bella has a boyfriend?” Eliza asks.
“Wait, Bella has a boyfriend?” Gianni echoes as he comes in the door.
“I hate all of you,” Bella says.
I smile, a little too pleased with the way the conversation is going. “Go ahead and tell him to come over. I’ll keep a bowl warm for him.”
She groans again and punches out a text.
Later that night, after Gianni is in his garage and Eliza is in her room reading and Bella says goodbye to her boyfriend, I take a bath to relax.
Boyfriend. God, when did my little sister get old enough to date? Not that there’s anything wrong with Skating Rink Oliver—he’s age-appropriate and even seems nice—but c’mon. Growing up fast much?
Not that she’s the only one growing fast.
As I lay in the warm water and lavender-infused suds, I trace my finger over my belly. The warmth brings the little person inside me to life, and he rolls and stretches about.
When I had my first appointment, I was already a few months along.
I knew I was pregnant. The lack of period, morning sickness and growing bump confirmed that.
Not to mention the test I took. Because yeah, false positives can happen, but I didn’t think this was one.
I was terrified to go to the doctor at first, not because I was in denial—it’s hard to deny that you’re pregnant when you’re craving hot sauce on churros—but because I was afraid that Ransome would find me if I got logged into any kind of system.
Like my name being on record, fake or not, would make it easier for him to hunt me down.
Then I realized how silly that was. He made it very clear when I saw him last that he never wanted to hear from me again.
So when I finally did go to the doctor, I was far enough along to see the baby clearly through the ultrasound photos. A little nose on a little face, clutched hands and tiny feet… and the undeniable detail that told me I am having a boy.
A boy.
I fell in love faster than I’ve fallen in love with anyone or anything in my life. Even if it scares me. Even if it’s all unknown. I know that I have to keep it together for him.
I get out of the bath and wrap myself in a towel. My room sits at the front of the house, and I realize on the way there that I’ve left the blinds open on the living room window. I walk over, one hand on the towel and the other on the rod.
But then I stop.
My stomach sinks to the floor. My hands both freeze as my blood goes cold in my veins.
Sitting outside, parked across the street, is the same blacked out car I saw earlier passing the grocery store. Except this time, the window is down just enough that I can see a dark silhouette of who is inside.
As soon as I peek through, the window rolls up and they take off. Slowly at first, then faster, until they’ve disappeared into the night.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re stalking me.
And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the guy in the car looked an awful lot like Maverick.
Is that even possible? I rack my brain. The last time I saw him, he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Even if he survived, he can’t have bounced back this quick.
Can he?
Before I can lose my mind, I close the blinds and go to bed.