For You (9 page)

I didn't like thinking about the past, but lately it had been trying to catch up with me.

Not just at the grocery store, but everywhere I went.

I did what I could to keep my head down, to stay focused on the present moment, where I had control.

After I got my cart, I went to the other grocery store and bought all the same groceries I'd already shopped for. The cheese strings weren't on sale at this store, but they had a deal on mini yogurts that wasn't bad.

I barely had time to get everything home before I had to rush off to work again. I skipped lunch, angry at myself for the freak-out at the first store. I should have taken the bruised apple and put back something else. Why did I always have to take the difficult path?

When I got to work, the first thing I did was pour myself a shot.

Then Lana got there, and she'd also had “quite the day.”

Toward the middle of my shift, around dinner time, Sawyer came in, smiling and looking around like he'd had a great day, and wasn't it a great day? Everybody was having a great day.

He didn't go to his table, but hung around the bar, chatting with Bruce and watching me and Lana work.

“Hey Aubrey, I know what I need to do,” he said, leaning over the bar to see what we were doing with the blender, which was none of his business.

“Good for you.”

“I've been inspired, and I just spent the last three hours painting over a big block of that art commission. You could say I've found my muse.”

“Good.”

“Is that a smile?”

I put down the fruit I was chopping and stepped back, patting my face gingerly with both hands. “I don't know, is it?”

The music was really loud, washing away all my thoughts. I wasn't smiling, but I felt like I was.

“When are you off work?”

I glanced down at the pineapple. “When all the booze is gone.”

“Are you planning to drink it all yourself?” He gave me a concerned look, his moss-green eyes as cute as ever.

Lana had encouraged me that evening. It was Thursday night, which meant “staff piss-up” (her words, not mine.) She made us her fruity invention with the blender. It tasted better than Diet Coke and went down easy. Too easy. And then there'd been a few more drinks. Anything to get the memory of the nightmare of that day's grocery shopping horror out of my head. Now there was one grocery store in my neighborhood I couldn't show my face in. What had come over me? So what if the cashier had been stupid and rude, why did I run?

I didn't understand my behavior, but a few shots of gin made it seem almost funny. Imagine. That stupid store manager wanting to search my purse. Me yelling and accusing him of wanting to touch me. If he'd searched my purse, he would have found suckers and granola bars, plus a crappy old cell phone that wouldn't hold a charge. I probably could have pitched a fit and gotten some store credit to smooth over the indignity.

Instead, I snuck in like a thief and retrieved my little cart, ashamed and terrified they'd see me, even though I'd done nothing wrong.

Whatever. People did weird things every day. People were fucking weird.

“Hey.” Sawyer waved his hand in front of my face. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“You mean food?”

“Yes. Food. When are you off?”

I waved my hands emphatically. “No idea.”

From out of nowhere, Uncle Bruce appeared at my side. “Aubrey, you can probably knock off a bit early.”

“No.”

“It's only a few hours early,” he said. “I take full responsibility for your inebriated state. Lana is a menace with the blender. It's all her fault.” He shook his head and glared playfully in her direction. “I would fire the woman if she wasn't so damn popular with my regulars.”

We all looked over at Lana, who was giggling and shaking her hips in rhythm with the music as she filled up beer glasses for some very appreciative men. She tossed her crazy purple hair from side to side like she was a wood nymph and this dark bar was her forest home.

“I'm not really in the mood for beer,” Sawyer said. “What do you say we go get some burgers? I know a great place. Steak burgers, no filler.”

“No filler? But I love filler. It's the best part.”

“You don't know what you're talking about, do you?”

I shrugged. “You don't have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.”

Bruce said, “Hey now.”

Sawyer was already moving back toward the door, so I grabbed my things and followed him in a daze. I didn't like Bruce cutting my hours, because I needed the money, but I had a feeling that when he'd hired me, he hadn't actually needed another server. Most of my part-time shifts were weekdays, and never the closing shift. That way I could still get up to get Bell ready in the morning for school without too much pain, though there was always some pain, since I never was a morning person.

The sunshine outside the bar was painfully bright and sent me sneezing.

“Two helmets,” Sawyer said. “You'll notice I have a spare one now.”

This time, even in my state, I remembered to move my purse cross-wise before doing the helmet. My head was even bigger than usual that day, but I got it on, and in a moment I was on the back of the bike, my arms wrapped around Sawyer like this was just a regular routine thing I did.

The vibrations of the bike combined with his body next to mine awoke a yearning in me. I didn't want my real life anymore, with all the lies and stories and fear I'd be caught any day. I wanted to be a regular girl who got dressed up to go clubbing with her friends, or took rides on motorcycles with boys.

We drove through traffic, getting caught in rush hour and breathing exhaust at every intersection.

The City of Surrey wasn't like any place I'd lived before. The strip malls and squat industrial offices weren't tall or dense, but they stretched out forever, and everything looked the same no matter where you looked. People drove vehicles there, everywhere, and not many people walked.

The people you did see out for strolls were usually older men with long beards and different-colored turbans. I'd never seen so many people from India before. I hadn't been out much beyond Surrey, but I'd heard some areas of the Lower Mainland had a big Chinese population, and nearby Richmond had a mall where you'd swear you were in China once you were inside.

We pulled into a strip mall, and I saw why Sawyer had chosen that place. The burger diner was right next to a pool hall. He grinned at me as we took off our helmets.

“First a burger, then a lesson,” he said.

“But I haven't even seen your piece of art,” I said. “I'm supposed to be helping you, trading, not just taking.”

“In time. No need to rush.”

I wiped out getting off the bike, twisting funny on my foot and landing on my ass.

“Had a few drinks,” I said from the ground.

“You don't say.”

I yelled, “Stop looking at me.”

He turned his back and waited patiently as I got back up. A wave of nausea passed over me, making my eyes water, then passed on.

I breathed a sign of relief and said, “Maybe I should eat something.”

He turned back, grinning, and offered me his elbow in a cute, old-fashioned sort of way.

I nearly took it, but remembered the wedding ring on my finger. As far as he knew, I was married. So what did that say about him?

He held the door to the burger place open for me.

I stopped and stayed on the sidewalk, still in the bright sun. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I'm seeing someone.”

“Is it serious?”

“It's not fatal.”

“Do you ever give a straight answer?”

“Do you ever just relax and stop clutching your day in a tight little fist? Let it unfurl. Shake out your hands and see what comes to you.”

He let the glass door shut and took a step back into the sunshine to stand before me.

“Like this.” He clenched his fists at chest-level and then released them, shaking out his long fingers. I'd seen him do this after drawing, but just with one hand.

I made the fists and then shook them out. I felt self-conscious, like people were staring at me, but we were on our own, on the concrete in the middle of a city that sprawled out forever. We were two dots on a map, and I shook out my hands. He clenched his fists, blew air on them, and shook them out again. I did the same. Two dots on a map, surrounded by other dots.

“Now we can get some burgers,” he said.

I nodded and followed him, feeling obedient.

Inside the restaurant, the smell of food woke up my hunger, the way putting my arms around him on the motorcycle had awoken other desires.

He announced he was hungry and ordered a double cheeseburger with the works.

“Single cheeseburger, no fries,” I said when I placed my order.

“Two orders of fries for me,” he said to the pretty girl at the counter. She wore enormous hoop earrings and dark red lipstick. She looked about my age, but I could tell by her face we had nothing in common. She thought she was too good to work there, too good to be serving someone like me.

I tried to pay for our meal, but Sawyer wouldn't let me. “I'm not a starving artist,” he said. “I play bass for a friend's band when their regular guy is off the grid, and I get paid cash for that. Plus I deal drugs.”

The cashier coughed in alarm.

“Kidding,” he said, chuckling. “No drugs, but I did pimp booze once upon a time. I used to work for your uncle, did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“That was before I got my current thing. The thing that actually pays—not that working at the bar wasn't decent, but you girls make way more tips than an ugly guy like me.”

The girl with the hoop earrings handed him his change, a sly grin on her face. “Don't be crazy. You're not ugly,” she said.

He handed her back a five-dollar bill and winked at her. “Keep the change.” To me, he said, “That's how it's done.”

We took a seat in the half-full restaurant. There were only a dozen tables, and they were an unappealing, acid-yellow color. The lights overhead were fluorescent tubes, and extension cords and Christmas tree lights were strung along one wall as decoration.

The food was ready almost immediately, and we took our first bites in silence. Sawyer picked up a handful of his double-order of fries and tossed them on my plate.

“Try them with the malt vinegar,” he said, pointing to a square-shaped glass bottle with a metal cap.

“Isn't that soy sauce?”

“Nope.” He held his fists up and unfurled them with a shake before grabbing the bottle and shaking the brown liquid onto his fries and on a portion of mine.

Tentatively, I tried a fry with the glistening vinegar melting the visible granules of salt. It tasted hot and salty, like a good fry, but also sweet and sour.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I don't know.” I stuffed a few more in my mouth. “I may need to eat all of them to decide.”

He grinned, then leaned back and rubbed his right bicep, where the tentacles of his octopus tattoo wrapped around.

“Why an octopus? Is there some meaning or significance?”

“Show me a person whose tattoo doesn't have meaning to them and I'll show you a person with a temporary peel-and-stick tattoo.”

“So you're not going to tell me?”

“The octopus is a mystery. It can shift its colors and markings to blend in with any background. The octopus can disappear, right before your eyes.”

“And is that you? You're a master of disguise?”

“If something grabs onto the octopus, it can let go of a limb.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. But the limb grows back. Regeneration.”

I opened my hamburger bun and pulled out the pickles to eat them separately, like I always do. “So, to you, the octopus is like your tough-ass totem creature?”

“Don't make fun.” He scowled at his own burger, which was already half-eaten thanks to his big bites.

“I wasn't making fun. I'm being an active listener. Don't they do that here in Canada?”

He quirked one eyebrow up. “You're kind of a smartass when you're drunk.”

“I'm not drunk. Maybe there's something weird about my voice, because my uncle always thinks I'm being sarcastic when I'm not.”

“Do you ever get so drunk you can't feel your face?”

“I don't think so.”

“You have mustard all over your chin. You're so drunk you didn't feel it dribbling out of your mouth.”

Mortified, I grabbed a napkin from the chrome dispenser and wiped the yellow off my chin.

Sawyer chuckled and took another huge bite of his burger. He chewed for a minute, then said, “How old is your kid?”

“Who told you I have a kid?”

“Those lollipops and granola bars in your giant
mom purse
told me you have a kid.”

“Her name's Annabell. We call her Bell. She's in school now, so I mostly work during the day when she's at school. Her grandmother helps out a lot, which is just… too good to be true.”

“Her grandmother?”

“Bruce's mother.”

His bright green eyes darted back and forth, like he was working out a math problem in his head.

“You mean her
great-grandmother
. Mrs. Braun is
your
grandmother.”

I grabbed my Diet Coke and swirled the ice, sending up fizz. “Yeah. That's what I meant. It's just kind of long and awkward to say great-grandmother all the time. I slipped up.”

He nodded and stared down at the octopus. The master of disguise and escape. “Yeah, you slipped up,” he said.

Adrenaline flooded my system.
He's onto you
, my brain yelled.
Run.
My heart raced as I nudged the straw back down into my Diet Coke and took a sip, slowly so I didn't choke.

He was going to press me for her age, and my age, and he was going to call me on my lies.

I wanted to run, just like I had earlier in the day, from the grocery store. I wanted to hear my shoes slapping against the concrete, feel the wind in my hair and my old life at my back.

“Thirsty,” he said.

I sat back and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. He gave me an odd look, so I grabbed another napkin and dabbed my mouth with that. “Sorry, no manners,” I said. “I was basically raised by wolves.”