Heart Bones(11)

I stiffen when he spots me in the passenger seat.

We lock eyes, and his stare is unwavering as they pass. I don’t like that my body is responding to that stare, so I look away and glance out my window. “What is Sara’s boyfriend’s name?”

Everything in me is hoping it isn’t Marcos or his douchebag friend with the pretty eyes.

“Marcos.”

Of course it is.





FOUR


The house isn’t quite as extravagant as I had feared, but it’s still the nicest house I’ve ever been in.

It’s beachfront and two-story, built high up on stilts like every other house in this neighborhood. You have to climb two sets of stairs before you even reach the first floor.

I pause when we reach the top of the second set of steps before following my father into his house to meet his new family.

I take in the view for a moment. It’s like a wall of ocean and beach in front of us as far as I can see. The water looks like it’s alive. Heaving. Breathing. It’s both magnificent and terrifying.

I wonder if my mother ever saw the ocean before she died. She was born and raised in Kentucky, in the same town she died in last night. I don’t ever remember hearing stories of any trips she took, or seeing pictures of childhood vacations. That makes me sad for her. I didn’t realize what seeing the ocean would mean to me, but now that I’ve seen it, I want every human on earth to experience it.

Seeing the ocean in person feels almost as important as having food and shelter. It doesn’t seem farfetched to believe a charity should exist for the sole purpose of allowing people to afford a trip to the beach. It should be a basic human right. A necessity. It’s like years of therapy, rolled up into a view.

“Beyah?”

I look away from the beach and toward a woman standing in the living room. She’s exactly how I pictured her. Bright, like a popsicle, with white teeth and pink manicured nails and blond hair that looks expensively maintained.

I groan, but it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone. I think maybe it came out louder than I expected it to because she tilts her head. She smiles anyway.

I came prepared to ward off hugs, so I’m holding my Mother Teresa painting and my backpack against my chest as a barrier.

“Hi.” I step into the house. It smells like fresh linen and…bacon. What a strange pairing, but even a linen/bacon combination is a nice change from the mildew and cigarette smoke our trailer always smelled like.

Alana seems confused as to how to greet me since she can’t really hug me. My father tosses his keys on a mantel above a fireplace and says, “Where’s Sara?”

“Coming!” A high-pitched, manufactured voice is accompanied by the sound of bouncing feet on the stairs. A younger version of Alana appears, beaming a smile with teeth somehow whiter than her mother’s. She does this thing where she hops and claps and releases a squeal, and it’s honestly terrifying.

She rushes across the room and says, “Oh my God, you’re so pretty.” She grabs my hand and says, “Come on, I’ll show you your bedroom.”

She doesn’t even give me time to object. I follow behind her and her swishy ponytail. She’s wearing jean shorts and a black bikini top, but no shirt. She smells like coconut oil.

“Dinner is in half an hour!” Alana yells from downstairs.

Sara releases my hand and pushes open a door when we reach the top floor.

I look around my new bedroom. The walls are painted a calming blue, almost the exact same color as the eyes of the guy from the ferry. The bedspread is white, with a giant blue octopus on it.

The bed is perfectly made with an offensive amount of pillows.

It all smells and looks too clean to touch, but Sara plops down on the bed and watches me while I take in the room. It’s three times the size of the bedroom I grew up in.

“My room is across the hall,” Sara says, pointing at the door we just came through. Then she tosses a hand toward two doors that open up to a balcony with an unobstructed view of the beach. “This room has the nicest view in the whole house.”

There must be something wrong with it if it has the nicest view, yet no one chooses to stay in this room. Maybe the beach is too loud and active in the mornings and this room feels the brunt of it.

Sara hops off the bed and opens a door, then flips on a light to a bathroom. “No tub, but the shower is nice.” She opens another door. “Walk-in closet. Some of my shit is in there, but I’ll move it out this week.” She closes the door.

She walks to the dresser and opens the bottom drawer. It’s full of stuff. “Junk drawer, but the other three drawers are free.” She closes it and sits back down on the bed. “So? You like it?”

I nod.

“Good. I don’t know what kind of house you live in now, but I was hoping you didn’t have to downgrade.” She reaches to the nightstand beside the bed and grabs a remote control. “All the rooms have everything. Netflix, Hulu, Prime. You can just use our accounts, they’re all ready to go.”

She has no idea she’s saying this to a girl who has never even had a television. I haven’t moved or spoken since we walked into the room. She’s doing enough for the both of us, but I manage to mutter, “Thanks.”

“How long are you here for?” she asks.

“Not sure. The summer, maybe.”