CHAPTER 27
Emma
Phyllis opens a kitchen drawer and pulls out a pipe and a tobacco pouch. “You hide this nonsense in my kitchen. You don’t even bother hiding it where I won’t find it.”
Jamie winks at me. “There’s no place to hide it where she won’t find it. Phyllis has got her finger in everything in this house.”
Phyllis hands him the pipe and tobacco. “That’s because I clean everything in this house. Now, unless you want my finger in your eye, go on and git. We girls want to gab.”
He stands, leaving his plate and newspaper on the table. “I’ll alert the eleven o’clock news that some girls want to gab. No one’s gonna believe it!”
He laughs, and Phyllis joins him. They have a brother-sister relationship that I’ve only seen in television shows. They tease each other, but it’s obvious they’re close and care for one another.
I never saw that among the relatives of my foster parents. Not once. There was always a lot of competition for scarce resources among the adults, a lot of stored-up anger, and a whole lot of trauma.
And fear. There was always so much fear. And all the kids picked it up, like a bad cold.
Finn’s father bends to give me a polite bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emma. Welcome to Yosemite Ranch.” And with that, he gives one violet eye a wink.
There’s a whole lot of charm left in the older man.
“Thank you, Mr. MacLaine.”
“You call me Jamie, all right?”
Once Jamie leaves, I try to help Phyllis clear off the table, but she won’t let me. She insists that I take a load off, gesturing to one of the old oak chairs at the table.
She hands me a tall glass of iced tea to sip while she makes lunch, and after only a minute, I understand that she’s asked me over here to grill me. She wants information, everything about me. She asks where I’m from, where I was born, where I went to school, and anything and everything else.
Whatever research she did on me before I was hired isn’t enough for her, apparently. She wants the juice. She’s looking for the nitty-gritty.
And every once in a while, she glances over her shoulder and gives me that look, the one she gave me when she was showing me around Finn’s house. It’s an intense examination of me, my face, my eyes, and my hair. It’s part puzzlement and part sadness. I have no idea why she looks at me like that.
I don’t take offense, though, since she’s responsible for me being here and all the good things that come with it.
Besides, the questions are fairly easy to answer.
I’m from Nevada. I’m an orphan, and I’m only allowed to see an abridged version of my birth certificate, which means I have no other information.
I tell her I barely made it through tenth grade because I spent most of my time on the streets in an effort to escape my foster homes. I finally escaped the system. I didn’t get my GED until I was twenty-four.
And I’m damn proud of it, too.
That’s the half I tell her, anyway. I don’t tell Phyllis the rest. I don’t tell anyone the rest of my story.
I can’t even utter the words in my mind, let alone speak them aloud.
I have no interest in dredging up my past. It will always be a part of me, but I control how often I think of it and how much I let it bother me.
And I’ve become very good at beating it down until it’s a small, smashed-up thing, all the sharp edges worn down from the pounding.
The pain has been dull for a long time now, lurking in the background in the shadows.
These days, it’s more of a sour taste in my mouth instead of the tangy, metallic taste of blood on my teeth.
I want it that way.
I go ahead and let Phyllis think I was a bad student and that’s why I dropped out of school. Most people jump to that conclusion anyway, and it’s easier to let them. It’s simpler to let them think I’m dumb than to go explain why I chose the Reno streets instead of my bed.
“Clark,” Phyllis says, rolling my last name around in her mouth as she sets the table with our lunch. “I don’t think I know any other Clarks.”
I shrug. “Neither do I.” She seems to consider that a moment. I take a bite of the sandwich and groan. “Wow, this is delicious,” I say. And heavens, is it ever.
“It should be. The MacLaines have been raising organic pork before anyone told them that was what they were doing. Yosemite Ranch makes its living off of cattle and horses, but the women of this family have always raised pork, chickens, and turkeys on the side to keep their bellies filled with something besides steak and pot roast.”
Summer comes in and breaks out into a huge smile when she sees me. “Are you giving Emma a history lesson on the ranch? I heard you got pulled pork, so I got my butt over here as soon as I could get away.”
Phyllis looks down at Summer’s feet.
“Don’t worry. I kicked off my boots before I stepped into the house, like always.” Summer wiggles her toes beneath her dirty socks. She washes her hands in the sink, sits at the table, and begins to put together her own sandwich.
I met Summer at the wedding two days ago, but we haven’t spoken since. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. She has complete self-confidence. No doubt. No fear. And she seems happy in an everyday sort of way, like she’s living exactly the life she was born to live.
“What’re we talking about, really?” Summer asks with her mouth full.
“Pork,” I say at the exact same time Phyllis says, “Emma’s past.”
“Both of those sound boring. No offense, Emma,” Summer says, wiping juice off her chin. “Let’s talk about something exciting. Like sports or cars.”
“I don’t know anything about sports or cars,” I tell her.
Phyllis puts her hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me. My sport of choice is crotchet, and I’m perfectly happy with my Toyota Tercel.”
“I kind of like miniature golf,” I tell her. “I’ve never had a car, though. Actually, I don’t know how to drive.”
Summer drops her sandwich onto her plate. “Get out of here,” she says. “You mean you don’t have a driver’s license, or that you don’t actually know how to drive?”
“I’ve never sat in a driver’s seat. Not once.”
“Shut the fuck up!” She reaches over and punches my shoulder.
“Language, young lady,” Phyllis warns.
Summer ignores her, and I rub my arm. I’m definitely going to get a bruise. Summer’s even stronger than I am.
“I’m going to teach you to drive.” Summer announces her plan and leans back in her chair, nodding. “Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what we’re going to do today.”
“Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“What?” she screeches. “It’s a great idea! I learned to drive before my feet reached the pedals. I can teach you, no problem. Finally, something interesting on this ranch.”
“It won’t be interesting when I crash into a fence or I run over an innocent bystander.”
“Hurry up and eat. We can start right away on my truck.”
“Truck?”
She ties her hair into a knot on top of her head. “It’s best to learn on a stick shift. You don’t want to be a pussy who only knows how to drive an automatic. No offense, Phyllis.”
Phyllis scowls at Summer. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without a smile on her face. “Listen, girlie. I was driving my father’s dirt mover before you were a glint in your mama’s eye. Ten gears. Don’t judge me on my Toyota.”
“I can’t. I have to work. I’m deep cleaning.” My explanation comes out with more than a twinge of panic. “I’ll have to learn to drive another day.”
Like never. I’m too old to learn to drive. I read that somewhere. Nobody should learn to drive after the age of eighteen.
“Oh, come on. Think about poor Finn.”
I shake my head. “Huh?”
“You need to ease him into this whole housekeeper thing,” Summer says.
“You’ll make him stroke out if all of a sudden his house is deep cleaned, whatever the fuck that even means.
” Summer displays a palm toward Phyllis and bows her head.
“Apologies. Anyway, you should break him in slowly, Emma. It’s eleven thirty.
If we start now, I can teach you by two o’clock, and then we can go to the DMV in town and get you your license. ”
“But…” I start.
Summer stands and wipes her mouth. “Let’s get ’er done.
First lesson is how to steer with your knee.
It’s a safety hazard if you don’t learn to drive hands-free.
” She puts her plate in the sink and turns to me, her eyes wild.
“See, the thing is, steering with your knee means you can eat and still pay attention to the road while you drive. Otherwise, you could crash. I know a guy who was drinking a milkshake while he was driving and, well, let’s just say it was bad.
” Her mouth drops open, and she looks up at the ceiling.
“Oh, that’s pretty ironic. All he can do is drink through a straw now. Funny how that worked out.”
“Uh…”
Summer pulls me up from the chair and thanks Phyllis for lunch as she drags me out the front door.
I look back to Phyllis, but she’s just looking down at her hands and shaking her head.
It’s no use. I’m about to learn how to drive Summer’s truck with my knee.