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Authors: J. M. Darhower

Snowflakes & Fire Escapes (3 page)

BOOK: Snowflakes & Fire Escapes
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A star with an eagle inside of it, wrapped in a circle,
United States Marshal
written around it in bright blue. My eyes focus in on it as the metal gleams in the little bit of light streaming inside the house … anything to avoid looking him in the face.

I wish I were still wearing my sunglasses so he couldn’t look me in the eyes.

Holden slowly strolls toward me, generous enough to not turn on any of the lights along the way. “What country are we in?”

“The great ol’ U-S-of-A,” I say. “The land of the free and the home of the brave.”

“And the drinking age in America is … ?”

“Twenty-one.”

“And you are … ?”

“Not twenty-one.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He shoves my legs over to sit down on the coffee table in front of me. I’m damn surprised the piece of shit wood doesn’t buckle under his weight. I tear my gaze away from the flashy badge and hazard a look at his face, finding exactly what I didn’t want to see. Frustration. Disappointment. Pity. The whole gauntlet of pathetic emotions reflect right at me, making me feel more like a pesky little kid instead of my hard fought seventeen and nine-tenths. That look makes me feel like
this
girl, the one I’m not, the one he needs me to be … the one I’ve tried to be.

The one I just can’t be.

I take a sip of the Guinness before holding it out to him. He hesitates, staring at it, before taking it from my hand. I’m surprised when he actually brings the bottle to his lips and takes a drink, knowing damn well he has as much business drinking right now as I do.

He grimaces, making a disgusted face as he swallows, but he doesn’t put the beer down. He doesn’t hand it back, either. Instead, he clutches the bottle with both hands between his legs as he stares at me.

He doesn’t ask how I acquired the beer.

I’m glad, because then I’d feel inclined to admit I stole it, and I’m not in the mood for one of his
‘there are certain things you just can’t do
’ lectures.

“Gracie, Gracie, Gracie …” His voice is quiet. “Talk to me.”

I look away from him, unsure of what to say. His gaze is so intense that it’s like being under an interrogation light. I practically feel myself start to sweat again. “The air conditioner is broken.”

“Huh,” he says. “I thought it felt hot in here.”

“I came home tonight and it wasn’t working. I tried turning it off and back on again, but it didn’t work. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I’d already called you about the car,” I say. “I can’t just call you every single time something goes wrong in my life. We’d never get off the phone if that was the case.”

He laughs, but there isn’t much humor to the sound. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Holden forces down the rest of the beer—I think simply to keep
me
from drinking it—before he stands up and starts gathering the empty bottles. He heads to the kitchen to throw them away. I wonder if he ever gets sick of cleaning up other people’s messes. That’s all the man ever seems to do. I hear him looking around the sparse cabinets, see the light as he investigates the refrigerator. He returns after a minute, sitting back down in front of me.

“You have nothing to eat here.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“But you have to eat sometime.”

I shrug.

“I’ll see about getting you a new car … a better car,” he says. “In the meantime, we’ll work on making some repairs around this place, and we’ll restock the kitchen, because I can’t have you starving on me here. Sound good?”

“Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”

My response isn’t what he wants to hear. He sighs loudly, nudging my leg with his knee to try to get my attention. Humoring him, I glance his way, knowing he won’t drop this until I do.

His expression is serious. “I’m worried about you, Gracie. Talk to me. Please. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I just … I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“I promise we’re going to get the air going again in here.”

“No, I mean …” I hesitate, unsure of how to explain it, wondering if it’ll even make a difference.
Probably not
. My opinion meant nothing growing up and it somehow means even less now. “I feel like I’m losing myself. Like really losing what makes me
me
. This house … this town … this life … it’s not who I am.”

“Tell me what will help,” he says. “What will make you happy?”

“Snow.”

The word is involuntary as it slips from my lips.

Holden laughs, a hint of genuine amusement this time. He thinks I’m being sarcastic. He doesn’t understand. He
can’t
. “Well, I’ll have you know, it actually snows in this part of Arizona. You just haven’t lived here long enough to see it.”

“But it’s not just snow. It’s all of it. It’s cold mornings and hot coffee. It’s bright lights and loud neighbors and sitting on a fire escape and taking in all of the commotion. It’s makeup and dress shoes and nice clothes and a reason to wear all of it. It’s my life. Mine. Not
this
girl’s.”

I motion toward myself to make my point. I’m surprised when, instead of more frustration, he offers a small smile of understanding. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he says. “It would be dishonest to say I know
exactly
how you feel, because I haven’t walked in your shoes before, but I get it. You’re not the first person to feel this way. And I can promise it’ll get better. With time, you’ll get used to it.”

“But I shouldn’t have to,” I say. “I shouldn’t have to
get used to it
. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” he agrees. “But there’s always an adjustment period. I’ve told you that before. You just need to give it a chance. Make friends … watch TV … get a hobby. Do
something
to pass the time. And I’m here any time you need anything. All you have to do is call. I’m not going anywhere. I promise. It’s my job.”

He says the last part with a smile, like it’s meant to ease my worries, but it only makes everything so much worse.

Holden isn’t my friend.

He isn’t my family.

Holden is my
handler
.

I can count on one hand how many people in the world know where I am at this moment, and every single one of them wears a U.S. Marshals Service badge. Out of them, Holden is the only one who has any personal contact with me. They’re tight-lipped, even within their own department, their security stronger than a virgin locked up in a chastity belt. Holden deals with the person behind the name. To the others, I’m just paperwork.

That’s the saddest part of all, I think. I have one person in the world … one person I can turn to, one person I can call for help these days, one person who can listen to me, one person to understand, and he’s only there because he gets paid to be.

It’s nothing like I had before.

I had love, and compassion, someone to turn to when my world turned cold.

This
girl … she has nothing.

***

The familiar black town car pulled right up to the curb in front of the apartment building. I’d seen it hundreds of times before, navigating these streets over the years, always driven by Cormac Moran. It parked, the engine still idling based on the smoke coming from the exhaust, but nobody got out of the thing.

I stared down at it, the evening breeze ruffling my hair, blowing tendrils into my face. I brushed them away, tucking the soft red curls behind my ears. It was just after dusk and the air was cool, summer having faded away much too quickly.

I was sitting cross-legged on the fire escape, the cold metal pressing into my thighs. My heels were abandoned on the other side of the open window, discarded on the living room floor when I realized I wouldn’t need them today.

A few minutes passed before the passenger door to the car finally opened and someone stepped out. I recognized my father right away. He shut the door and stood along the curb as the car whipped back into traffic and sped away.

Once it was gone, my father’s shoulders slumped, his poised posture fading. It was as if he’d just let out a deep breath he’d been holding for a long time. Even from five stories up, I could sense his exhaustion. For as long as I could remember, he always seemed drained, like he had little left to offer anyone … especially me. He had nothing for me, it seemed.

After running his hands down his face, he turned and stalked toward the building, disappearing from my view. A minute later I heard the front door unlocking, footsteps echoing through the apartment.

“Grace?”

I didn’t respond, my eyes focused on my feet. My pantyhose were ripped from getting caught on some jagged metal on the fire escape, a line running the whole way down my left leg to my foot. My toenails were painted red to match my new dress.
What a waste of effort
.

“Grace!”

His voice had a panicked edge to it, his footsteps harder along the wooden floor. He seemed to be doing circles, checking all the rooms, before coming to an abrupt halt right by the window. I didn’t turn to look, but I could sense his intense gaze.

He spotted me.

He shoved the window up further to come through, perching himself on the windowsill. He sighed exasperatedly, clasping his hands together in front of him as he propped his elbows on his knees.

“I forgot.”

I forgot
. He said those words like they were supposed to fix this, like they would make it better and not worse instead.

He forgot.

How the hell could he forget?

Ten years had passed since my mother died. I had been so young back then that I was starting to forget so much—the feel of her hugs, the sound of her laughter, the way she spoke my name—but I’d never forget
her
.

I’d never forget today.

I could feel tears in my eyes, and I blinked them back, grateful none escaped. I didn’t want to ruin my makeup. I spent a long time doing it.

“I got busy,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to forget. It just slipped my mind.”

We were supposed to go see her.

She was buried out in Queens.

We went every year on the anniversary.

Not this year
.

“Look, I’m exhausted. It’s been a long week and I’d like to get some sleep and forget any of this happened. I’m just so tired of all of it. I’m ready to forget.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

He knew I wouldn’t say anything.

Climbing back into the apartment, he paused. “It’s not safe for you out here, especially after dark. I’ve told you before about leaving that window open.”

He didn’t wait for me to come back inside before walking away, heading off to his bedroom. He knew I’d obey him.

Eventually
.

The sky grew darker, but the neighborhood was as alive as ever. After nightfall was when the hellions really came out to play. I watched them, recognizing so many faces, even seeing Cormac drive by again, rushing off to do whatever the man did. Nobody noticed me up there, though.

Nobody ever looked.

Nobody but
him
.

Cody was out with his friends. Most of them lived a few blocks up, Cody included, but they tended to hang out down here instead. It was because of me, he once said. The other boys followed Cody’s lead, and he gravitated here to be near me. Even when we couldn’t be together, he took solace in the fact that I wasn’t far away.

I spotted the group on the corner across the street, smoking and roughhousing near the diner as usual. I watched him for a few minutes before he glanced my way, spotting me sitting up there. He broke away from his friends then, passing the joint off to one of the others, and exhaled a puff of smoke.

“Grace!” my father shouted from in the apartment. “Inside.
Now
.”

Something got into me then.

Something struck me in that moment.

I didn’t care if it would bring me trouble … I needed him.

I needed Cody.

The next thing I knew, I was on my feet, but instead of slipping back into the window and following my father’s demands, I was moving away from it. Cody jogged across the street, pausing in front of my building, his brow furrowing when he saw me. I navigated the fire escape, not as easily as he always did it. When I reached the bottom, he grabbed the ladder, pulling it down to help me.

The moment my feet hit the filthy sidewalk, I launched myself at him. Cody stiffened, caught off guard. “Whoa, whoa, whoa … what’s wrong, love?”

The dam broke unexpectedly. Tears flooded my cheeks. I couldn’t speak. Cody wrapped his arms around me, one arm clutching me tightly while his right hand made its way into my hair, grasping the back of my head and holding me against his chest as I sobbed.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is, whatever happened … it’s going to be okay. I promise it.”

Never once did he try to shush me.

Never did he tell me not to cry.

He held me, standing on the sidewalk, ignoring the looks from passersby, and let me get it out. My tears slowed eventually and I caught my breath, but he still wouldn’t let go of me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, nearly choking on the words. This right here wasn’t Cody. He didn’t like people knowing his business, and I was making one hell of a scene.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m always here for you, Gracie.
Always
.”

Those words brought on a fresh round of tears, but I got myself back under control quickly, pulling myself together enough to pull away from him. I hated myself for falling apart, embarrassed by my losing it, but Cody merely looked at me with worry—not because of me, but
for
me.

He worried about me.

Reaching over, he cradled my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks. Black smears from my mascara smudged his skin as he wiped it all away.

“The bastard forgot what today was, didn’t he?”

Slowly, I nodded. Cody’s scowl deepened. He pulled me right back into his arms. I didn’t cry anymore, but he continued to hug me.

It felt like an eternity.

Goose bumps coated my skin.

I pulled away eventually, knowing I needed to get back upstairs before I got caught down here with him, seeing Cody’s friends were watching us curiously, waiting for him to join them again. They knew about us, of course … the whole neighborhood knew. We’d never been a secret, but we tried to never make a spectacle out of it.

BOOK: Snowflakes & Fire Escapes
6.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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