Trouble (Orsen Brothers #1) (5 page)

I stared at her and crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “You only use that line to make yourself feel better.”

“Enough!” She shook her head and clenched her jaw. Her next words slid from her mouth like venom. “You know…your father would be so disappointed in you…”

T H E N

I sat on the edge of the windowsill blowing white columns of smoke into the air. Autumn in Poulsbo was nice enough but it still wasn’t like the crisp Midwest Autumns of my childhood, before my mothers job at the university had transplanted us here.

The filter at the end of my cigarette began to crumble away into ash, burning my already blistered fingertips in the process. I took a final puff of it before flicking it onto the roof to join a pile of others, making a mental note-to-self to pick up another pack next time I was out.

I stuck my head out the window and held it open, gathering as much spit as I could and aiming for my mothers shiny new Cadillac. It hit the windshield with a blot of rain and I smiled in satisfaction before looking back at Luna.

My younger sister shared my olive skin, messy brown hair, and freckles but that was where our similarities ended. Her face was soft and pixie like, similar to our mothers, while I favored our father, with his sharp, refined features and too-full lips.

Luna didn’t seem to notice me looking at her. She was sprawled across her unmade bed petting her cat, Minx, who kept his beady green eyes trained on me as if to say, “don’t come any closer.” Luna caressed behind his pinned back ears and wiggled her fingers beneath his studded collar as he purred. He offered me a slow, insidious blink as I climbed off the edge of the window and paced towards them. I snorted at him and he jumped to the floor and ran past me, scratching Luna’s forearm with his back claws in the process.

“Sorry,” I told her.

But she only shrugged, rolling on her back and picking up the open book beside her—a weathered copy of “Catcher in the Rye.”

I maneuvered around her bed and stepped out into the hallway. Loud Christmas music and the shrill sound of my mothers voice speaking over it greeted me. She was on the phone with someone, most likely my father, but the conversation wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

I slammed my fist against Fiona’s door and after a brief pause and some commotion on the other side, it swung open and she greeted me with a strained look of annoyance, her dull green eyes burning against mine. “What?” she demanded with an exasperated sigh, adjusting her loose bra strap on her arm. “I was just packing…”

“Right…” I laughed and looked over her shoulder, eyeing the half-naked male form stretched out across her bed. Did my mother know he was here? Somehow I doubted it. She didn’t seem to see much of a point in meddling in her stepdaughter’s affairs; at least not in the same way she did with her own daughters. “I was just wondering if I could bum a smoke. Just one until I can go to the store. Mom took my emergency stash.”

“Sure, kid.” Fiona laughed and crossed the room to her dresser, reaching for her pack of camels and reappearing in front of me. She dangled one just above my head. “But only if you say please,” she retorted, glancing back at her latest boy toy, who rolled over and laughed. I caught a glance of his firm buttocks and the tattoos on his shoulders and swallowed hard.

There was never a shortage of attractive men in Fiona’s life.

“Please,” I said, snatching it from her fingers before she could react, “you don’t have to be such a dick.”

“That’s subjective,” she said, slamming the door in my face. I heard a squeal on the other side of it followed by a gross, all too telling squeaking noise that became even more rhythmic the longer I stuck around.

I gagged and turned for my bedroom.

“Venus!” my mother called after me, keeping the phone pressed firmly against her ear. “Tell Fiona that her father will be here soon. Their flight leaves in an hour and she’s not even packed yet. Oh, and just so you’re aware, your father is coming to dinner tonight.”

I perked up. “He is?”

She sighed and covered the receiver. “Yes,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It seems he’s been released…for the holidays…”

Excitement coursed its way through my veins. “Is he staying here?” I questioned.

“God no,” my mother answered, pacing away from me, “what would make you think that? He’s just coming for dinner, that’s all. Now tell Fiona what I said please!”

I nodded and knocked on Fiona’s door again, but this time it didn’t open and the squeaking continued. “Fiona!” I yelled, kicking my foot against the wood. “Mom says your dad will be off work soon. You need to pack!”

“Fuck off, Venus!”

“Well,” I muttered. “Can’t say I didn’t try…”

I rolled my eyes and entered my bedroom, collapsing on my bed. “Dad’s coming tonight,” I told Luna, who was still focused on her book. “I wonder if he’ll cook.”

Yes, for all his shortcomings and perpetual fuck-ups, my father made delicious food. The kind people raved about long after consuming it. My mother, on the other hand, could burn water if you let her.

“Well I’m sure he’ll drink,” Luna answered drily, flipping the page.

“Lu…” I sat up, propping my head on my hand. “That’s not funny.”

“I never said it was.”

I sighed and fished out my lighter from between my mattress and bed frame, lighting the cigarette Fiona had given me.

“I thought he was supposed to be gone until January,” Luna commented.

“Yeah well, I guess he’s making progress.”

“Fat chance.”

“Come on,” I said, meeting eyes with her. “Can you at least give him an opportunity to prove himself? Maybe he’s changed.”

She was quiet for a few moments while she mulled it over. “Alright,” she relented. “At least Fiona and Jeff won’t be here if he does anything embarrassing.”

“Exactly.” I nodded and stepped toward the window, trailing my fingertips over the glass and drawing figures in the moisture.

My father arrived a few hours later with an armful of groceries and cooking supplies despite my mother’s insistence that we just get take out. He stood in our kitchen as though he never left, alternating between different pots and pans as Sinatra’s Christmas album played quietly in the background.

The spread was outstanding.

It was all there: perfectly moist turkey, sweet potato casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, stuffing I helped him prepare with stale sourdough bread, and for desert, apple crumble and pumpkin pie.

He even brought over a bottle of my mothers favorite wine, Pinot Noir, as a sort of truce, and she smiled at him when he set it on the table although it never quite reached her eyes. “Should you be drinking this?” she asked skeptically, furrowing her brows.

He poured two glasses and handed one to her. “Wine isn’t my drink of choice, Lilith. You know that.”

After some small talk, we gathered around the table and ate until we couldn’t anymore, and when we were done, we entered the living room to watch Luna open her birthday presents. She was born at the tail end of November and celebrating her birthday during Thanksgiving had become a family tradition for us in and of itself.

Luna unwrapped my gift first. It was a velvet baby doll dress I noticed her taking a liking to at the mall. As soon as she pulled it from the box, her face lit right up. “I love it!” she exclaimed, trailing her fingernails over the fabric and meeting eyes with me.

I stood up and pulled her into a hug, ruffling her hair. “I knew you would.”

My mother’s gift was next. Luna lifted a small box covered in newspaper and began to unwrap it, emptying the contents of it out onto the floor. Dozens of cassette tapes spilled forward. “Yes!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

My mother smiled from her armchair and took a slow drink of her wine. “It’s the whole set,” she said with a nod. “Just like you wanted.”

“What are they?” My father asked, picking one up and holding it up to the light. “Music?”

“They’re books on tape,” Luna clarified curtly. “Mom got me a cassette player awhile ago.”

“Oh…” He met my gaze and I shrugged. I didn’t understand Luna’s quirks anymore than he did. “Cool.”

His gift was up next and it was clear why Luna had saved it for last. It was the largest one in the pile and when you’re twelve, that kind of thing is still pretty damn exciting. She lifted the box slightly off the ground and gave it a light shake.

“Be careful,” my mother spoke up. “It could be fragile.”

My father smiled. “Go on,” he instructed with a nod. “Open it up. See what’s inside.”

Luna tore into the box without another word, tossing the shiny wrapping paper over her shoulder. “Wow,” she said, looking up at us as she reached inside. My father stood up to help her and together, they gingerly lifted the object and set it on the carpet.

It was a dollhouse. And not just any dollhouse. This one was a refurbished antique, with every nook and cranny crafted with a purpose. Regardless, I knew my sister and the look on her face told me that she would be impressed…if she were seven.

“Do you like it?” My father asked, trailing a calloused finger over the wooden roof. “I have a friend who is really into woodwork. He made it just for you…”

My mother rolled her eyes and started to say something but I gave her a stern look and she closed her lips.

“…But I found all the little knick knacks as thrift stores. And I painted it. You still like the color pink, don’t you?” My father’s eyes grazed the black nail polish on Luna’s fingernails and he swallowed hard.

“Yes,” I interrupted, speaking for her. “She does. It’s a really great gift.”

“Yeah,” Luna added, continuing the charade for my sake and wrapping her arms around him. “I love it.”

“Really?” He smiled down at her and reached for his glass on the coffee table, swallowing down the last of his Pinot Noir.

I blinked, once, then twice, then a third time. It had been awhile since I had seen him but even longer since I had seen him like this. He was still weathered, with a face that had aged under the weight of bad decisions, but for once he also seemed healthy. And most importantly of all…

Alive.

I took a drink of apple cider and wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

Maybe rehab was good to him this time.

“How are Jeff and Fiona?” he spoke up, meeting eyes with my mother.

She shrugged into her palm and brushed her bangs out of her face. “They’re fine. Visiting family back in Boston for the Holidays. How is Veronica?”

“Veronica?” My father frowned and shook his head. “I haven’t seen Veronica in…”

“Gosh, I don’t even know how long.”

A comfortable silence settled over the room.

Luna sat cross-legged on the floor and examined her gifts, my mother and father made small talk, and I focused on Sinatra’s rendition of Jingle Bells as I dug into the last slice of pumpkin pie.

For one brief, all too fleeting moment, we almost looked like a family. But it wouldn’t take long for the façade to crumble.

One week before Christmas, I was sitting in my bedroom watching a movie when the phone rang. A few minutes later, my mother appeared in the doorway and cleared her throat to get my attention, taking a seat on the end of my bed when I looked up at her.

“You loved this movie when you were a kid,” she said with a soft laugh, nodding at the television, “sometimes you’d watch it on a loop. It drove me nuts.”

She studied my face for a response.

“Yeah,” I said after awhile, keeping my eyes trained on Rudolph’s glowing red nose. She wasn’t usually the nostalgic type. “I remember...”

She started to say something but thought better of it, exhaling a deep breath. I glanced up at her. She looked weird. Like she wanted to say something important but couldn’t muster up the courage, which was rare for her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, feeling suddenly uneasy, “you look like you need to barf.”

She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Where’s your sister?” she asked, eyeing Luna’s empty bed. Minx was asleep beneath it.

“She went last minute Christmas shopping with Fiona and Jeff…”

“Oh,” she said softly, rubbing her neck, “right. Any idea when they’ll be back?”

I shook my head and sat up. “I don’t know,” I answered, furrowing my brows. “What’s wrong? You’re starting to freak me out.”

She sighed and wiped the scrunched up piece of Kleenex in her palm over her cheek. “That was the coroners office on the phone,” she whispered, clenching her jaw.

My stomach twisted in a knot and the room spun around me. Her words barely reached my ears. The only sound I could focus on was the soft hum of music from the TV. She reached out to me but I snatched my hand from hers. “What are you saying?” I demanded.

She shook her head. There was a brief lapse of silence while she searched for the right words. “I’m just going to say it,” she spoke up after a few minutes. “There was an accident. Your father drove into incoming traffic on the 518. He was hit by an oncoming semi…”

Her words vibrated in my head long after they were spoken.