Dirty

“The Blue Swan,” she said confidently, like she was reaching for my hand to lead me across a bridge swaying over an abyss. In a way she was. “It’s small but the music is good and the crowd’s eclectic. The drinks are pretty cheap, too. And it’s not a meat market.”

So kind of her, really, to keep assuming I was afraid of men. She didn’t know I had once slept with four different men in as many days. She didn’t know it wasn’t sex that scared me.

Her kindness made me smile, though, and we made plans for after work on Friday. She didn’t question my change of mind.

Still staring at the woman in the mirror, I hung up the phone. She looked as if she was going to cry. I felt bad for her, that woman with the dark hair, the one who only ever wore black and white. The one who might have been pretty if she’d only take care of herself, if only she weren’t smarter, if only she didn’t earn more money. I felt sorry for her but envied her, too, because she, at least, could cry and I could not.

Chapter 02

A figure in black waited for me when I got home from work on Thursday night. Black sweatshirt, hood pulled up over black-dyed hair. Black jeans and sneakers. Black-polished nails.

“Hi, Gavin.” I put my key into the lock as he stood.

“Hi, Miss Kavanagh. Can I give you a hand with that?” He took my bag before I had time to protest and followed me inside. He hung it neatly on the hook by the door. “I brought your book back.”

Gavin belongs to the neighbors on my left side. I’d never met his mother, though I’d often seen her leaving for work. I’d heard raised voices a few times through our shared walls, and it made me conscious about keeping my own television turned low.

“Did you like it?”

He shrugged and set the book on the table. “Not as much as the first one.”

I’d lent him my copy of C. S. Lewis’s The Horse and HisBoy. “Lots of people only read The Lion, the Witch and theWardrobe, Gav. Do you want the next one?”

At fifteen Gavin was a typical Goth wannabe with his Jack Skellington wardrobe and liberal use of eyeliner. He was a nice kid, though, who liked to read and didn’t seem to have many friends. He’d shown up at my door about two years earlier, wanting to know if he could mow my grass. Since I had a patch of grass about the size of a small compact car, I didn’t need a lawn boy. I’d hired him, anyway, because he’d looked so sincere.

Now he spent more time borrowing from my library and helping me strip wallpaper and sand floors than he did on my sad excuse for a lawn, but I liked him. He was quiet and polite and far cheerier than any Goth kid should have been. He was good, too, with tasks I found too tedious to tackle, like scraping the wallpaper paste residue left behind when we peeled off two decades worth of home decor from my dining room walls.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get it back to you by Monday.”

He followed me to the kitchen, where I put a box of chocolate cookies on the table. “Whenever you get it back to me is fine.”

He helped himself to a cookie. “Do you need any help stripping tonight?”

We looked at each other as soon as the words had escaped his lips, and I blinked. He looked stricken. I had to turn around so as not to embarrass him with my laughter.

“I’m done,” I managed to say. “I could use some help priming the drywall, though, if you’d like to help.”

“Sure, sure.” He sounded relieved.

I pulled out a frozen pizza and put it in the oven. “How’ve you been, Gav? I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

“Oh. My mom…she’s getting married again.”

I nodded, pulling out plates and glasses to set the table. We didn’t always talk much, Gavin and I, which I think suited both of us fine. He helped me renovate my house, and I paid him with cookies and pizza, with books and with a place to go when his mother was out, which seemed to be quite often.

I made a noncommittal noise as I poured milk into the glasses. Gavin got up to get the napkins from my cupboard and set out two. He washed his hands before he sat back at the table. His black polish had chipped.

“She says this guy’s the one.”

I glanced at him as I set out grated cheese and garlic powder. “That’s nice for her.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

“Will you be moving?”

He looked up, dark eyes wide in a pale face. “I hope not!”

“I hope not, too. I still have an entire dining room to paint.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back after a moment.

I didn’t have to be a mind reader to see something was bothering him, nor a genius to figure out what it was. I could have played the part of mentor. Asked him sympathetic questions. We didn’t have that type of relationship, though, the sort that shared secrets or heartfelt revelations. He was the boy who lived next door and helped me around the house. I don’t know what I represented to him, but I doubted it was a guidance counselor.

The buzzer went off on the oven, and I served us both sizzling slices of pizza. He added garlic powder. I used the grated cheese. We ate discussing the book I’d lent him and debating whether or not the next episode of the cop show we both liked was going to reveal the name of the killer. Gavin helped me load the dishes in the dishwasher and put away the leftover pizza. By the time I came downstairs after changing my clothes, he’d already spread out and taped down the tarp to protect the floor and opened the can of primer.

We listened to music and painted for a few hours until he had to go home. Before he went, he browsed the shelves in my living room and picked out another book.

“What’s this one about?” He held up my battered copy of The Little Prince.

“A little prince from outer space.” That was the easy answer. Anyone who’s read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s classic story knows there’s far more to it than that.

“Cool. Can I take this one, too?”

I hesitated. The book had been a gift. It had also sat on my shelf gathering dust for years without so much as a glance from me. “Sure. Of course.”

He gave me a real grin, then, the first of the evening. “Great. Thanks, Miss Kavanagh!”

He let himself out, and I stared for a moment at the empty space the book had left behind before I started cleaning up.

That night I dreamed of a roomful of roses and woke with a gasp, eyes wide open to the darkness. Turning on the light chased it into shadows cowering in the corners of my room but could do nothing for the darkness lingering in my thoughts. I lay in my bed for a few minutes before admitting defeat and reaching for the phone.

“House of Hotness.”

I had to smile. “Hi, Luke.”

I’ve never met my brother’s lover. They live in California, a world away from my safe nest in Pennsylvania. Chad doesn’t come home. I hate flying. So far, it’s just never worked out.

We weren’t strangers despite this, and his reply warmed me. “How’s my girl?”

“I’m fine.”

Luke clucked into the phone, but didn’t comment further. A moment later Chad got on the line. He wasn’t so taciturn.

“It’s after midnight there, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

Chad is my younger brother, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he pampers me. I settled further into my blankets and counted the cracks in my ceiling. “Can’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Yes.” I closed my eyes.