Page 4 of Love Marks

I shake my head.

“No, yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Ignoring the pit in my stomach, I pull my scarf around my neck and head down to the subway. I feel kind of bad that Wesley asked me to handle it personally and I passed it along to Ian, but it’s not like I could tell my boss I can do his job better than he can. Whatever. It’s fine. It will get done no matter what.

Still, the whole train ride home, I remember how terrible my day started, the storm cloud of bad luck that seemed to follow me around. I can’t help this sinking feeling in my gut, can’t stop replaying the image of Wesley’s sharp, dark eyes boring into mine, his words seared into my memory.

I’m trusting you.

Chapter 2

Quinn

When I wake up the next day, my mom is still fast asleep in her room. I'm thankful. Sometimes in the mornings, she's up with her head in the toilet. It's the chemo that makes her sick. She was diagnosed with breast cancer nine years ago. She was in remission for a while when I was in college, but last year it came back, and she's been in chemo for the last few months.

Our two-bedroom in South Slope is quiet except for the sounds of the traffic outside. We live right across from the expressway. Last week I woke up at five in the morning and heard a drunk driving accident out front. It was unnerving, but I’m used to it by now. In fact, I don't mind it much. At night, the sounds of cars whooshing past my window is the only way I can fall asleep.

I’m starving and still exhausted from last night, so I pour some cereal into a bowl and scarf it down in record time. Then I make the mistake of checking my bills for the month. Between mom’s medical costs, my student loans, rent, and utilities, my salary at The Phoenix barely leaves anything left for food. Mom used to work at the Home Depot nearby, but she had to quit when she got sick, which leaves me.

I went to school for a few years at CUNY but eventually ran out of money and couldn’t afford the tuition any longer, so I left. I didn’t want to quit. I wanted to see it all the way through to the end, but I failed.

So here I am. It’s times like this, staring down at the stack of bills in my hands, that I hear a voice rattle around in my head.

Useless.

I curl my hand into a fist, shaking off the memories that threaten to break through. No time to wallow. I have a million things to do today. Laundry, groceries, mom’s medications. Saturday is one of the few days I don’t work my second job, so I have to squeeze everything in. Slipping on my coat, I scribble a note for my mom and slip out the door.

“Well, well. Why do you always look like you’re sneaking out?” Sheila’s no-nonsense voice rings out from behind me.

“You're seeing things, old lady.” I turn and smile at Sheila, my neighbor. She's standing across the hall, trash bags in hand. She’s lived across from us since before I was born when my parents first moved into the place. She’s always been old in my mind. In reality, she’s a spunky 70-year-old.

“The ghosts of teenage rebellions past. I seem to remember catching you sneak out of that door once or twice in the middle of the night.” Sheila holds her arms out and I take the trash bags from her. In the last few years, it’s gotten harder for her to get down the stairs, so I take her trash and bring her mail up for her.

“And you’ll never let me forget it,” I groan.

Sheila chuckles. “Glad I caught you. Never even see you these days.”

“I’m just working a lot,” I offer, squirming a little.

“At that gentleman’s club?”

“No, a gentleman's club is a fancy name for a strip club. It’s just a restaurant that’s open late.”

“Sure, sure.” She brushes me off and puts her hands into the pockets of her nightgown. “How’s your mom?”

I sigh and shift the trash into one hand. I’m no good at conversations like these. Ones about…well, feelings.

“She’s fine. She sleeps a lot. I’m taking her to chemo on Monday. You probably see her more than I do these days.”

My attempt at a joke falls flat. Sheila just tuts a little in approval, the awkwardness hanging in the air as it always does. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask anything else. I know she’ll go over soon to keep her company.

Sheila pulls her mail key out of her nightgown pocket and hands it to me. “I’m expecting a very important letter from a long-lost lover looking to reconnect,” she says, her voice light.

“Really?” I ask.

“Charlie Reynard. Left me behind to serve in the war. He had no idea I was pregnant with his brother’s baby.”

My jaw drops. Sheila simply raises her eyebrows at me and turns swiftly, slamming the door behind her. Chuckling to myself and shaking my head in disbelief, I bring the trash down the stairs and shove it into the cans outside the building. Pushing my headphones into my ears, I head out to face the day, keeping my head down and thinking about Charlie and Sheila.

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