The Line That Binds (8 page)

We were no longer wealthy. That truth will inevitably affect him, though he’d shown little care so far. He got to keep most of his stuff and he still had his best friend, Nick, to talk to on his game. That’s why his face remained attached to the screen. But I knew the bomb would drop tomorrow when we were forced into our new life like chum wrapped around a bait stick. I was a senior in high school. I knew how it all worked. I’d been a shark too often to ignore something so definite. Even though Gavin was in middle school, he should know the drill, too. Anyone new always faced the shark tank, rich or poor. Sometimes the bigger the fish, the worse off it was because no one wanted to surrender their top spot to a new student whose reputation was bigger than their own. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to worry about that here. Today’s agenda would help.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a trip with me to the thrift store? You might not want to start the year off with triple-digit kicks
and
clothes to match,” I called to Gavin as I dropped the second designer-stuffed box in the hall by the front door. We’d just finished unloading the groceries Dad bought after his unsuccessful trip to find a new job. Now it was my turn to take the SUV out in hopes to change my life. The only difference was I’d be trading in my old personality for a new one by way of fashion.

“Not a chance,” Gavin replied crisply from the kitchen.

I’d wished he’d had the sense to think it through. I’d pestered him about it all morning, but he shot the idea down every time. I could only hope the sharks in this middle-of-nowhere school district weren’t threatened by shiny, expensive clothing.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I retorted as I skimmed my fingers along the top of the table in the foyer, cutting clean finger streaks through its blanket of dust.

I’d cleaned the entire upstairs and the kitchen this morning before deciding the house was far too large to finish in one day. I had yet to even explore the basement. I stared down the paneled hallway at the well paintings that I’d stacked in front of the basement door. They would add to whatever mess was waiting for me down there. I promised myself I’d venture down tomorrow. After the first day of school and first day of grounds work, though, I wasn’t sure I’d be in any condition to do much more.

After I loaded the boxes into the Escape, I jumped in and pulled around the driveway we shared with the groundskeepers. The main driveway for Stockton Mansion was strictly for the mansion’s parking lot, which accommodated employees and events. Today’s event happened to be a wedding that overran the parking lot. I’d caught glimpses of this morning’s courtyard nuptials as I cleaned the upstairs windows. The bride’s strapless gown was glamorous. Its billowing ruffles swayed with each step, floating her body over the stone walkway as she approached the courtyard’s iron trellis where her groom stood mesmerized. I thought the ceremony would’ve ended by now, but guests continued to roam the grounds. Some snapped pictures, others wobbled around while they carefully held cocktails. Most projected happiness through their smiles and laughter that I couldn’t hear through the Escape’s windows. I was glad I couldn’t. I wasn’t in the mood for happy.

I pulled out onto the main two-lane road, heading toward Lancaster and the large thrift store we’d passed during the last half hour of our cross-country drive. I knew I was better off traveling back to the bigger town than going into our new local town, Quarryville. They’d have to have a larger selection and more cash on hand.

The roads here felt like a cruel prank taped for some horrific hidden-camera show. There were roads with no signs, roads too small to fit opposing traffic, and roads with potholes the size of coupes. Luckily, when I finally found it, the Mega Thrift was open. I stepped into the store, greeted by a nineties grunge song and a moldy smell from the tattered carpet thrown in front of the entrance door. I checked in at the trade-in counter with a woman who appeared to be suffering with an all-day hangover until I dumped the first box in front of her. Her baggy eyes popped wide open, like Mom’s used to after taking a trip to the powder room for a quick bump.

“You guys offer cash, right?” I asked, double checking the information I’d read from a sign in the store’s window.

Her hands were already frantically digging into my clothes, searching for her own size no doubt. There was a chance she’d luck out. She was thin, possibly from unfortunate circumstances, or perhaps from similar habits of my mom’s that suppressed hunger instead of stimulated it. I was no longer naïve. I knew the probability for any normal person to be a user. After I learned my own mother was an addict, my views of people had changed considerably.

“Yeah, but you’ll have to give me a little while to count all of this up. I’m not sure how much you’re looking to get out of all of this.” She fingered more items, inspecting the material and reading each pristine label in awe.

I wondered if her eyes were too heavy to notice the different stitches on the jackets’ bottom seams. That’s where I’d implanted a slim, metallic letter L. It was my claim, my way to prove a theft. I knew it lessened their value, but that was something I never needed to care about. I never expected to sell them.

Tearing my eyes from the clothes, I surveyed the store. I had to finish this personality change before I lost my nerve. “I’ve got another box outside. Don’t worry though,” I added when her red eyes widened in surprise, “I’m shopping, too.”

She nodded, and when I returned with the other box she started sorting more items and tallying numbers on a notepad.

I retreated to the maze of metal racks, looking for the size that would fit my current level of squishy. My size’s row was overflowing with hangers and a slow sigh escaped my lips. I was so worried there wouldn’t be many choices, but I was happily mistaken. People donated, swapped, or sold here regularly. A majority of the clothes looked in fact “gently used” as another sign in the front window implied. I lucked out with several pairs of jeans and plenty of T-shirts and hoodies. I also grabbed a pair of combat boots ideal for mowing lawns and whatever else I’d have to do on the property.

When I finished shopping, the counter lady met me at the checkout. She listed her offered values as another girl entered the store. The girl was roughly my age, dressed in a basic button down and a high-end skirt from a few seasons ago. Her auburn hair was obviously dyed and a tad on the malnourished side, like mine. But she styled it nicely, swept up in a messy business bun. Her body moved purposefully toward the trade-in counter without even a sideways glance in our direction. She was focused on the prize. I could relate because I’d lived that shopping mentality. I hardly ever rushed for bargains, but I did rush to beat my best friend, Veronica, to the latest releases. There’d been a few occasions where blood was spilt over the same piece in a new collection.

The counter lady prattled under her breath about her being the only employee working today, irritated that the girl whom just walked in might stake claim on items she’d neglected to set aside for herself. She finished with the numbers, never noticing my signature implants in the jackets’ seams. I agreed to the prices then she deducted the amount of my purchases and handed me a fatter-than-expected stack of cash. The crinkled bills would feed us for a couple more weeks or possibly pay the first month’s utility bills.

The property was deserted when I returned home. I pushed through the heavy oak front door into the sounds of a high-pitched vacuum slaughtering the peaceful harmony of a Bob Marley song, both blaring from the living room.
Gavin doesn’t listen to reggae.

Dad? Cleaning?

I walked through a set of double doors across the hallway from the office, smelling the sweetness of oil wood polish and the bitterness of vinegar combined. The room was identical to the office in dimensions, though its main décor was a leather couch and matching chair instead of a huge desk and table. There was also a flat-screen TV tucked inside a cherry armoire against the wall. A matching cabinet stood at its side, half its size. It was the source of the music. Speakers were built into the sides and its top was slid open, revealing two old analog radio dials and a vinyl record spinning on a turntable.

Dad stomped on the old vacuum’s foot pedal, ending the screeching motor’s misery. He grabbed a hot pink feather duster and stretched his arm high above the heavy cream curtains, scattering dust from the curtain rods. He turned around with his mouth open, mid lip-sync.

“Hi?” I said. There were so many questions tumbling inside my mind they pushed themselves onto my greeting, morphing it into a question.

“Hi,” he replied with an uneasy smile. His lips moved in silence, plotting his thoughts before he spoke again. “I know you were working hard upstairs this morning. It looks great.”

“Thanks?” The situation was so confusing it sent my mind into a frenzy. I’d never seen him clean. He was always too busy. But he was also never home. That’s why he didn’t object to me cleaning the old house. He’d thanked me before, even after canning a few maids on my obsessive behalf, but he never tried to physically help.

Dad began absently dusting the lamp on the table in front of him. “I didn’t want to sit around and worry about tomorrow’s continued job search so I decided to make myself useful. I also told Gavin to take the paintings down into the basement.”

“Great,” I replied, this time showing my own uneasy smile. I honestly had no other words. I wasn’t going to thank him, if that was what he was expecting. After all,
he
was the parent in this household. Though, I was a little grateful. It meant I wouldn’t have a ton of cleaning to do tomorrow after I finished working.

I turned to leave, but he spoke again. “I haven’t added you or Gavin to the bus routes so I’ll drop you both off tomorrow. I’m going to call sometime during the day to have Gavin’s set up. Just let me know if you want me to call for yours, too.”

“No, that’s fine.” I cringed at the thought of riding the bus. “I’ll try to figure something out.” I hadn’t ridden a bus since middle school, when I didn’t have friends or boyfriends with licenses. I pulled the cash from my pocket, keeping a twenty for myself, and dropped it on the end table next to the couch. “I had to buy some replacement stuff, but this should help with food.”

“You didn’t have to sell your clothes.” His eyes creased with sincerity, deepening the crow’s feet and exposing his true age. “I never wanted you to do that. We should be okay with the money from Vegas until I land something in town.”

“Just in case,” I replied. “Plus they weren’t really fitting anymore.”

“Oh.” He nodded in understanding. “Okay.”

We stared blankly at each other for a moment with only Bob Marley’s lyrics passing between us. I supposed it was another opportunity to talk to him. Something that I’d wanted to do so many times during all the years he worked ridiculous hours. There were so many things I wanted to know about him, about Mom, about everything before and everything after.

About life.

I couldn’t remember the last time we shared a lengthy conversation, especially one that didn’t involve school or work, or Gavin. Anger used to be the only emotion I felt about our disconnection, and I appeased that anger by blowing every penny of my indecent monthly allowance. It was a habit that was nurtured by both parents, an acceptable Band-Aid for our broken family. It continued after Mom left, and it would’ve continued forever if Dad hadn’t lost his job. It was our normal. Now he didn’t have a job. And the man I once hardly knew I knew even less, if that was even possible. The anger over our nonexistent bond remained, though regret and sorrow have each taken a place inside my heart, especially in silent moments like this.

I nodded in response to our shared discomfort. “I’ve got to wash these for tomorrow.” I held up the bags filled with my new wardrobe. “See ya later.”

“Later,” he replied and turned his attention back to the curtains.

Gavin had done as Dad asked and placed all of the paintings in the basement. All the dreary wells stood at the foot of the stairs, leaning against each other in multiple stacks. He left the grocery bag of laundry items there, too. Clearly, moving things to a better, less obstructive spot would’ve taken too much time away from gaming.
Figures.

The basement held a mild smell of wet dirt combined with laundry soap in a clean meets dirty, oxymoronic mix. The floor plan was open except for a couple of slim divider walls that mounted to ceiling beams and support posts. Janine’s stuff cramped the floor, shrinking the large area in half and making it extremely difficult to navigate. Extra furniture pieces, cardboard boxes, and oversized holiday decorations were some of the items that were placed without a discernible order. The washer and dryer butted up to the back foundation wall and were almost hidden by one of the divider walls, which had boxes covering every inch of its surface space.

I separated clothes and started a load, then retreated to my room without bothering to move the paintings. My motivation from the morning cleaning session was completely gone. I was ready to end the day, though not ready for the start of school tomorrow. The dread was palpable, and as my brain played out new-girl scenarios, my heart pounded in panicked response.

I was actually scared.

I felt alone. It was different than the type of loneliness I was used to. The loneliness I endured at my old school was among friends. I always felt like an outsider, like I never actually belonged. Even though I’d spent a lot of time shopping or gossiping at school with my friends, I didn’t attend parties as often as they had. That’s what put me on the outside, especially with my boyfriend, Mark.

But none of that mattered now. My plan for tomorrow was to blend. I wouldn’t seek anyone out, especially if they reminded me of my old friends. I wanted nothing more to do with popularity. I’d been burnt by the best, and I was tired of playing with that kind of fire.

Later in the evening, I glanced out one of my bedroom windows and noticed someone exiting the groundskeeper’s house.