Page 4 of The Arrangement

"Nope," he said with a pop, starting to walk towards the back. "Contrary to popular belief, I can read."

I pasted a placating smile on my face. “I’m sure you can. Children’s section’s over there.” His eyes narrowed at me and he looked as if he wanted to respond, but before he could do so, the bell dinged over the dark wooden door as another guest arrived, giving me the perfect opportunity to divert my attention. In my peripheral vision, I saw him shake his head and walk up to the loft area where the classics were housed.

Jerk.

“New Video Uploaded!”flashed across my phone screen as I typed in the webpage I knew by heart. I wasn't obsessed per se; it was just a once-weekly ritual.

Once a week, Wolfe uploaded a new video, and once a week, I found my pleasure like clockwork. I liked the predictability. I didn't have time for a boyfriend—not that I really wanted one. I liked my peace, my rituals; my small, old apartment and my house plants. My cat went to a groomer more than I went to a hairstylist. So Wolfe? Wolfe brought me the pleasure I didn't bother to seek with other men. No talking, no drama. No faces. Just pleasure. Just fantasy. And I was absolutely fine with that.

This time, the dark screen cut to the backside of a woman. Once in a while, Wolfe collaborated with another creator on the app—always masked, just like him, and always the same woman, though it didn’t necessarily matter. What mattered was his tanned hands tangled in the faceless woman's hair. The way her breath came faster and faster as his hands delved between her thighs. Sometimes, I would imagine it was me, that I was the faceless woman who could get her pleasure with a man without ties, without the ceaseless worry that usually occupied my mind. It was again after the fog of my orgasm that I felt ridiculous for my fantasy, like someone could be peering into my thoughts at any time and would laugh at me for the sheer lunacy of the idea that a man that confident would be interested in sleeping with me.

I had been with one man in my entire life—the first boy who had been nice to me during the first year of college as I pursued my English degree. He said all the right words and looked just the right way. His name was Dylan. And he wasn't a bad guy. But there was never that passion I read about in my books. Or seen in movies. And I knew that porn was fantasy, not real life, but fuck, the way my fantasies made mefeel? The way the romantic leads in my books felt? Nothing was like that for me. But I went through the motions and lived with Dylan for two years before our relationship inevitably fell apart.

It was then that I ran back here to the coastal city I was raised in, toa dream job at my favorite bookstore while I figured out my novel and my next step. It soon became apparent that the woman who raised me fell into the trap of old age and slowly slipped into dementia. I became a roommate and helper to my grandmother, cooking her dinner, taking her to appointments, and making sure she got her medicine. Still now, even in my sleep, I would sometimes startle awake thinking I had forgotten her medication or a doctor's appointment—dream job forgotten, because this was my purpose now. Saving her, like she had saved me.

The rumbling purr signaled to me that Hannah had joined me on the bed, the overstuffed comforter dipping as she padded her way up to me. Blinking into the brightness of my phone, I groaned with the realization that I had been scrolling for far too long and had fewer than five precious hours before I would need to get up. Tucking the hefty cat into my side, I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would somehow come to me.

Chapter 2

Georgia

The long-term care facility wasn't far from my apartment. I had made sure of that when the hospital staff had given me the pamphlet. My grandmother, Mary, had raised me for as long as I could remember, the only stable person in my life. I scowled at the shaking of the transmission as I pulled into the front parking lot, the building looming in front of me like the biggest regret in my life. I should have been better. I should have been able to take care of her at home instead of this place. Of course, this place is over budget and nicer than any place me or my grandmother had ever lived. The apartment I inherited from Grandma Mary was beautiful and in a historical building, but it also had lead paint around the window seals and was too cold in the winter. Deep down, I knew I was doing what was right, taking care of her the best way I knew how.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door. Greeted immediately by the hand sanitizer station, I signed in, waving at the front desk staff and pulling my tote bag closer to my body. My wallet precariously stabilized the chocolate shake that was inside the bag. The last time I had brought in fast food for Mary, one of the nurse aids reminded me that too much sugar wasn't good for her. Despite the fact that themilkshake was sugar-free and a child's size, I had felt officially scolded and decided that smuggling the outside treat was just better for everyone.

Mary had decorated her door with a small fall wreath, something she must have made at craft day, and I smiled despite myself.

My hand was barely on the doorknob when I heard a woman call out, "Come in, stop waiting at the door!" I rolled my eyes and walked inside; the smell of a cinnamon candle burning in the corner brought me back to my childhood. Mary always had the expensive candles stacked up in her closet. Sometimes cinnamon and pumpkin, apple…or just cinnamon for those holiday seasons. She always said cinnamon was for good luck, though sitting here in the long-term housing, I wasn't quite sure it had worked.

"Are you psychic?" I asked, pulling out the milkshake that had miraculously not spilled and handing it to the white-haired woman. My grandmother scoffed in amusement, shaking her head and pointing at her phone lying on the recliner armchair beside her.

"You share your location with me, Georgia," Mary reminded me, tapping her phone and taking a long sip of her shake. "So, how's my Hannah?"

"Good! She's decided I am worthy of her presence in bed at night. I wake up with hair in my mouth every morning, I swear."

That received a laugh from my grandmother who shook her head, "Maybe next time you smuggle her in your little bag for me."

I looked at the door as if someone was listening at its eaves before looking at my grandmother conspiratorially. "Don't tempt me, Grandma."

A smile pulled at Mary's face as she stirred her drink. "So how's life? It's been a whole seventy-two hours since you've been here. Anything could have happened!"

I finished milling around the small kitchen that was attached to the living room in my grandmother's suite. Sure, I had just checked the expiration dates on the groceries last week, but it calmed my nerves to know she was taken care of here.

"You know you love my visits," I sighed, plopping down on the overstuffed recliner that was adjacent to my grandmother's. "And I'mgood, but I am more interested in what's going on with our documentaries."

Mary raised her eyebrows, her hands slightly trembling as she set down the small styrofoam cup. "There's a new one up about a serial killer in Pennsylvania." Her striking blue eyes peered down over her glasses, pointedly at her granddaughter.

I smiled, "I'll start the popcorn." It was easy, falling into a routine with my grandmother. She had only been here a few days when the doctors had warned me that dementia progression can vary from patient to patient so I needed to understand that each case was unique. I treasured every hour I was able to spend with her, watching old reruns of mystery shows and discovering new documentaries together.

Having her at Morning View Assisted Living was a privilege, I knew that. It was quiet and comfortable, the staff and nurses attentive and kind. I no longer had to worry about leaving her alone while I went to work or giving her the wrong medication. It gave me peace of mind, but also filled me with guilt—the guilt that comes from having to put a family member in this sort of place, no matter how beautiful the building or amenities.

“Popcorn done yet?” Mary called from the living room, the loud sound of our documentary blaring over the speakers. Shaking my head to quiet my thoughts, I poured the popcorn into two separate bowls and joined her in the living room.

Every day was a gift, an opportunity to give her good memories while she still clung to them. Deep down I knew these visits weren’t just for her, it was for me. Because I wasn’t ready to let go.

It was latewhen I got back home. The streetlights cast an eerie glow over the sidewalk up to the red brick building, and I pulled my jacket closer and scolded myself for not remembering a thicker jacket. Regardless, the whispering of wind and the crunch of leaves underfoot made me smile a bit. It was my favorite time of year despite the fact that I would be sleeping under at least three blankets for thoseimpending chilly nights; even though it was still early fall, the cold wind coming off of the ocean a few miles away seemed to bring the winter chill early. Hannah's high-pitched meow had me leaning down and scratching the noisy cat's head as I fumbled for the light.

It was hair washing day, and though I was normally in bed by now, the morning shift at Hemingway's told me I would hate myself if I waited until morning. In the tiny bathroom that I had once taken baths in when I was little, the white penny tile had cracked and slightly stained over the years, but the clawfoot tub was still a bragging right. The shower sprang to life, jerking slightly as the water rushed through the old pipes. I was too tired to do much other than stand under the spray and run the soap through my tangled tresses, scrubbing at my scalp to relieve the pressure of the ponytail I had worn all day.

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