Two Thousand Miles (2 page)

My house in Malibu was full of windows, all uncovered.
For me, having a clear view of the ocean in the mornings was worth giving up a little privacy.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” Bit said. I followed her
to the back of the house to a sizable covered patio that housed a couple slip covered couches; a beat-up teak table with mix matched chairs, a grill, and several coolers. A dirt path led to a shabby two-door garage at the back of the large, fenced yard.

Bitty swung the screen door open, and we stepped inside the kitchen; red walls, clear coat maple cabinets, black appliances and laminate countertops.
Notes, photos, and magnets covered the refrigerator.

“That’s the laundry.” Bitty pointed to a nook across from the kitchen overflowing with dirty clothes.
She pointed right. “Living room.” Yellow walls, a wood-burning fireplace, couch, two chairs, all covered with white sheets, and a set of brass and glass end tables.

Bit pushed a door open in the hallway. “
Me and Shelby stay in here.” There were two king mattresses shoved wall-to-wall on the left side of the room, and a sofa on the right. Pictures and posters plastered the walls allowing little of the turquoise paint to show through. Yellow, glittery curtains flanked the only window in the room. A long dresser sloppily painted white and cluttered with folded clothes, and knick-knacks sat in the corner behind the sofa.

“The sofa pulls out,” Bit said. “People crash
here a lot. Russ is across the hall.” She swung out on the doorframe, pointing to a closed door behind me. “Never go in his room, it smells like dip spit and dirty socks. Crystal, the redhead is his girlfriend. I don’t know how she stands the stink. This is where you’ll stay,” she said, opening a door across the hall.

The room was the tidiest I’
d seen and held a twin bed without a headboard, a worn plaid recliner, a tall black dresser, and was decorated with everything Louisiana State University. A deep purple comforter with a gold tiger’s head and the letters LSU stamped underneath covered the bed and pillowcase. One purple and one gold curtain hung on either side of the window, and a few pennants and posters had been strategically tacked to the white walls.

“This was my brother, Garrett’s room. He goes to LSU—plays football. He’s got a place in Baton Rouge, but with it
bein’ summer, he could pop up any time to visit. Don’t worry though, the girls ‘round here think G’s a hero and stay lined up for a chance to
accommodate
him for a night, so if he does come home, he won’t be sleepin’ here.”

“Is this him?” I asked, pointing to an oversized framed photo hanging above the dresser.

“Yep,” she said. “He thinks he’s hot shit, gets on my nerves how much he loves himself, but he is a pretty good brother, I guess.”

The photo was an action shot taken on the LSU field. Garrett appeared larger than life; big, tall, and strong—different from Russ, who was average height and stocky, like a boxer.

Next
, Bitty presented to me the
only
bathroom in the house. I’d had my own in Malibu. Our guests, too. The thought of sharing a bathroom with strangers kind of made my skin crawl.

“That’
s Momma and Daddy’s room.” Bit nodded to the door at the end of the narrow hallway. “And that’s all,” she shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not as nice as what you’re use to, but it’s home.” Their house wasn’t as nice as mine was, but I had no reason to be a bitch about it. As I’d said, their family was doing my family a favor.

“It’s a lovely house. Thank you for showing me around,” I said and smiled.

“Sure. My mom should be home soon. I’ll let you get settled in,” Bit said
, and then bounced down the hall to her room and shut the door.

I went back to Garrett’s room and found my freshly beat-to-hell Prada bag lying on the bed. Russ may not have been my type, but he had good manners.
At home, I’d dated boys who didn’t touch any type of tobacco and owned at least one suit. I closed the door and looked around Garrett’s room. I was happy to find the dresser empty and enough space in the closet to hang some of my things. Unpacking didn’t take long. I hadn’t brought much in hopes that my stay in Slidell would be short.

I shut the closet door and caught my reflection in the dusty mirror
hanging on the back. My fitted charmeuse silk dress and Jimmy Choo heels hadn’t been the best choice for flying, or hoisting myself in and out of a monster truck, but that dress had been my go-to whenever I was unsure what to wear, and now it was ruined. Torn and stained. Although I would never be able to wear it again, I hung the dress in the back of the closet and removed my muddy shoes. I thought about cleaning them up, so they wouldn’t be ruined too, but instead I lay on Garrett’s bed and quietly cried, even though I wanted to scream and fall apart.

I realized I’d fallen asleep when Mason’s truck pulled up outside. The rugged sound woke me. I got out of bed and checked my phone. It was 10:30 and still no calls or texts from my friends in California. I hadn’t talked to any of them since Friday night. No calls also meant
no news about my father. I dropped my phone back into my bag and put on a pair of shorts and a Polo shirt.

My eyes were matted from where I’d been crying earlier. I got my makeup bag and went across the hall to the bathroom, which was thankfully empty. I locked the door and examined myself in the smallish oval mirror hanging above the vanity. I looked tired and puffy.

I washed my face, dabbed Preparation H under my eyes to reduce the swelling, and plucked the bobby pins from my hair. I’d put it in a simple twist before getting on the plane, but the ride in Mason’s truck had turned it into a knotted mess.

Sharp laughter echoed in the hallway, and then came a hard bang against the bathroom door.

“Hey! Hey! Whoever’s in there, I have to pee!” The door knob rattled, and there was another bang against the door’s hollow core. I turned the tab on the lock, and Shelby came bursting inside. “Hey, it’s Kat!” she yelped, her eyes wide. Her face warped with surprise. “Kitty Cat,” she giggled, sliding her tall, thin frame past mine. “You should come out and play with us, Kitty Cat!” she exclaimed, yanking her shorts down. “Beer Pong!” she laughed, and sat down hard on the commode seat.

When I turned to leave she shouted, “No, don’t go!” over the
loudness of her urine stream colliding with the commode water. “I’ll see you outside,” I said, without glancing back at her.

I’d
drank before, and had been tipsy, but had never gotten drunk. My friend, Olivia said that getting sloppy drunk was the quickest way to end up on YouTube or date raped. And who wanted either of those things to happen to them?

Russ, Mason, and a woman I assumed was Mrs. Broussard were in the kitchen picking through a few tins of food on the bar. The woman was taller than Russ and slightly pear shaped. Her short, brown hair had been pushed away from her face with a thin
, plastic headband. She looked younger than I expected a working woman with five children would look.

“Hey Momma, you meet Kitty Cat yet?” Shelby giggled before stumbling past us and out the screen door.

“
Kitty Cat
,” Mason mocked, getting my attention. He leaned over the bar and stared at me, his blue eyes mesmerizing orbs. He had a bit of some kind of sauce in the corner of his mouth. Instinctively, I wanted to wipe it away with my finger.
And possibly put that finger in my
mouth
. The thought started a smile on my lips.

“It’s just Kat, Momma,” Russ said
, straight-faced. Mrs. Broussard folded me into her arms, giving me a firm squeeze. “It’s so good to meet you, Kat. My sister, Marion says such lovely things about you.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Broussard.”

She smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Perfect pronunciation, but everybody ‘round here calls me Momma—you can call me Dana if you’re not comfortable,” she quickly added.

“Okay,” I smiled. Truthfully, I didn’t think I’d ever be comfortable calling anyone Momma.

“You hungry?
I bet you are,” Dana gasped, before I could answer. I was a little hungry, but mostly thirsty. The last time I’d had anything to drink was on the plane.

“Let me get you a plate started,” Dana offered
, and quickly made her way around the tins on the kitchen island, loading the blue and white paper plate she balanced on the palm of her hand to the max, and then laid it on the bar. I sat down and studied the contents—most of which I didn’t recognize.

“We’ve got Coke, grape Kool-
Aid, milk…” Dana said, holding the refrigerator door open, ready to serve whatever I requested.

“I’ll have water if that’s okay,” I said.

“Sure, sweetie.” Dana closed the refrigerator door, took a plastic cup from the cabinet—purple and gold of course—dropped a few ice cubes in and filled the cup with tap water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drank tap water. I drank bottled water at home.

Mason slid a fork to me
; a mischievous grin perched on his full, red lips.

“Thank you,” I said, noticing the sauce had been wiped from his mouth.

“No problem
.”

I dipped my fork randomly into my plate and came up with a piece of shrimp covered in a reddish sauce. It was spicy and way too sweet for me. Then I took a bite of rice covered in what looked like brown gravy. It was rich and creamy and tasted as if that one bite contained no less than five hundred calories.
Dana seemed to be holding her breath as she watched me eat, so I said the food tasted good to soothe her.

“Alright, y’all, I’ve got to check up on these heathens outside,” Dana said. “You help yourself to anything here, okay,” she told me before disappearing out the screen door.

“I’m out, too, “Russ said. He tossed his empty paper plate in
to the trash and followed Dana outside.

After a few minutes of silently watching me sift through the food on my plate, Mason asked, “So, where is it you came from again?”

“California.”

“What part?”

“Malibu.”

He nodded, his tongue in his cheek, cap pulled down just above his eyes. My pulse quickened. The boy was too beautiful for his own good, and he totally knew it. I imagined he took advantage of his good looks, which might explain Dixie giving me the stink eye earlier.

“Anybody ever tell you, you look like that Malibu Barbie doll?” Mason asked.

“You’re the first,” I answered, bitingly, intentionally squandering the opportunity to make a joke about him playing with Barbie dolls because I wasn’t in the mood to engage him.

I picked up something on my plate, something long and fried. I held it up for examination with a possible frown on my face.
Mason laughed. “That there is a frog leg, Cali girl. Tastes like chicken. Eat it with your eyes closed; you’ll never know the difference.” His tone made me want to laugh, but I didn’t. Before I could say anything, the screen door flew open, and Dixie blew inside, her bark-brown eyes glaring at me in disgust. Somehow, I felt that hating on me was going to become a habit for her.

“Mason, let’s go. It’s been your turn for fifteen minutes
,” Dixie griped. The two of them went outside without another word. I picked a little more at my plate, finished my glass of water and went back to Garrett’s room, back to crying, and eventually back to sleep.

I slept late into the next afternoon, something my father never would have allowed me to do at home.
But I wasn’t at home and didn’t have to follow my father’s rules—not that he would have known the difference anyway. The moment I decided I wasn’t getting out of bed unless someone made me, my phone rang. I bolted to answer it, kicking at the comforter on Garrett’s bed until my legs were free.

“Hello,” I answered as quickly as I could snatch my phone out of my bag.

“Hi, Kat. It’s Marion.”

I’d hoped it was one of my friends calling, Olivia
, especially, but maybe Marion had news about my dad, or even better, she’d called to tell me I could come home.

“How was your flight yesterday? Are you getting settled in okay?”

So, she wasn’t calling to say I could come home.

“
Landing always makes me nauseous, but other than that, the flight was fine. I met your sister last night and all of her kids—besides Garrett. They’re letting me stay in his room.”

“I know
Slidell is different than what you’re use to, but they’ll take good care of you. Louisiana’s a beautiful place. Have the girls show you around; maybe drive out to New Orleans and do some shopping or catch a baseball game in Baton Rouge.”

From the sound of it, I wasn’t going home any time soon.

“How is he?” I asked.

“The same, but don’t worry, Kat. He’s a fighter. Everything will be okay.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her. “I’ll check back in with you in a day or so,” Marion promised before hanging up.

My dad and Marion
used to work together at Manger Mutual. She’d worked in their legal department, but ditched that job for an opportunity at a high-end law firm a few years ago. At the time, my father was a financial planner but had recently been promoted to Chief Financial Officer. I asked my dad once if he and Marion were dating because they spent so much time together. He laughed and said, “Can’t a guy and a girl hang out and be friends without the world assuming otherwise?” He was mocking me. I’d said the same thing to him a week before when he’d asked if anything was going on between me, and Trey Parsons, the boy next door. There wasn’t, so I had my answer. His and Marion’s relationship was platonic.