Page 33 of Bad to the Bone

“If you say so,” he chuckles, making his way down the hall as he goes. “Don’t forget to send in your letter of intent.”

I stare at the envelope Clarice chose. There’s no way in hell I am going there. Instead, I choose the tiny, lesser known college. Picking up the pen from my desk, I struggle to ink my first name before the pen runs dry. I open the fountain pen casing to change the cartridge, only to find a tiny piece of paper rolled up inside.

Unravelling it, I recognize Shannon’s handwriting immediately. And address and a date are written in her tiny script. A quick google search reveals the address to belong to a reform school. The name immediately rings a bell as one of the many where Kim applied for a new position. For the first time all day I feel like I have a reason to smile.

Shannon was right, this does mean more to me than it would to her. This changes everything.

“I don’t know if I am the luckiest woman in the world, or if this is the slickest real estate con ever,” I say, eyeing the rental contract. The property manager is legit. I did my homework. He’s one of those guys who should probably retire but can’t seem to convince himself to sit down and rest. We’ve had to stop twice already so that he could nurse his knees and give his back a break.

“I used to do all the maintenance work on these properties but I’m too old for all of that now. Now I got a new guy. He does the yards and any kind of repair work you need done. Arthritis is a son of a bitch,” he explains.

I review the paperwork one more time, just to be sure that everything is real.

“I told the owner he could get twice that for it, but who am I? I just collect the rents,” he says, waving his hands.

“Well, for this price, I better hurry up and sign before he realizes that he’s been taken,” I say with a smile.

The apartment is in a duplex that sits on one of those tree lined city streets you see near college campuses. Although the closest college is several miles away, the neighborhood is in the middle of a revival and property prices are slowly climbing. The tiny terrace and large windows had me sold. Despite Shannon’s objections, I insisted on having two bedrooms. The tiny second bedroom is really a glorified crawl space, but if she should ever need it, she should know that there will always be space in my home for her.

I walk out of the property manager’s office feeling like my life has finally turned a corner. The sun is shining and I finally know exactly where I’m going. I take out my cell phone, and mindlessly scroll through my contacts. Confusion settles in as I can’t find the one I’m looking for.

I stop at an intersection as I recall why.

I deleted it.

I opt for calling Shannon instead.

“You wouldn’t believe what I just did? I just found us the cutest apartment ever. There is just enough space for the two of us but the neighborhood is cute and the building is newly renovated, so that’s good,” I babble on happily.

“Hey Shannon! Are you coming?” A raspy voice calls to her in the background.

“That’s great, Aunt Kim. Really! But, I’m kind of busy right now. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, sure, go have fun with your friends! Just don’t get drunk,” I say, my sails flagging a bit as I talk.

She’s away at a summer program that seems to be less about film making and more about kissing hot emo guys, or girls, or whatever they are. She’s having the time of her life, taking advantage of the summer before the real work begins. I can’t begrudge her that indulgence. She’s earned it. Still, it means the end of an era for me. I’m not her guardian anymore. She’s eighteen now. She’s legally old enough to take care of herself. With college and a patchwork of scholarships all set up and ready to go, there isn’t anything else for me to do except possibly bail her out of jail when the time comes.

The drive back to Linsmythe is sullen, despite the clear blue skies and the warm weather. Although I love the new apartment, its smaller than my house. That means I’ll have to do a thorough clean out. I mean, who really needs two boxes full of award certificates and plastic medals? How many winter sweaters can one girl wear? And why, in the age of streaming services, do I still own DVDs?

The problem is that I am overly sentimental. No matter how hard I try, some things I just can’t let go. As my car speeds down the highway, a flicker of electric blue catches my eye, heading on the opposite direction. I watch as the vehicle weaves in and out of the light traffic at an incredibly reckless speed. Even though I am safe in my Volvo, I can still feel the roar of the Camaro’s engine beneath me. I can still hear the sound of it purring as he changes gears. I can still see...him, and it steals the breath from my lungs.

The windows are tinted, and the car flies by too fast for me to even be sure that it’s him in the driver’s seat, but seeing isn’t always believing. And sometimes the things you don’t see are the most important things.

When I pull up to the house, its immediately obvious that something isn’t right. The front curtains are open and I haven’t opened them in days. The pile of unused newspapers that had accumulated since my hiatus are mysteriously gone. And though the front door was locked, on the dining room table is a large and ominous looking envelope with the name of a very scientific sounding lab on the front. Beside it is a single rose.

Zayne.

I can’t tell if the tears are of sadness or if I’m just feeling touched and emotional. My heart is caught up in a swirl of emotions as I open the envelope. It takes me a minute to decipher what we are looking at, and when I do, I can’t say I’m the least bit surprised.

Shannon and Zayne are a match. They are officially family. We all are.

I put the single bloom in an empty juice bottle and get to work sorting through all of the things I’ve accumulated over the years. I finally throw away the dresses that I only ever wore because other people liked the way they looked. I throw away useless Linsmythe paraphernalia and set to work to scan and store all of the certifications and awards that matter to me and then throw the box ironically labeled “achievements” into the trash.

I turned on the radio and find one of those “biggest hits of the 80’s, 90’s and 2000’s” stations and sing along as I work. And then I order pizza and watch Afro Samurai.

I manage the best night’s sleep I’ve had in the last month.

The next day, when I wake up, there are two roses in the juice jar. It occurs to me that I should be concerned that somebody broke into my home while I was sleeping. Perhaps breaking and entering is not proof of somebody’s love and affection. Under normal circumstances that would be true. But, this isn’t normal, and Zayne isn’t some guy I met at the bar. He is my niece’s half brother who sexually harassed me at work and whose father subsequently blackmailed me and ran me out of town.

I can’t help but to laugh as I think about it. The memories that gnawed at my stomach for the last few days make me smile now as I look at the two roses in an empty juice jar.

The following day there are three. The roses appear each day, without a single word spoken from the sender. The ones that wilt are quickly replaced. For the next two weeks the bouquet grows slowly, never fading, never wilting. Silently the knots in my heart begin to loosen as well as I prepare my final farewell to Linsmythe and Zayne Turner.

By the time I load the last box into the car sadness has turned into hope. You know that scene at the end of a movie where the second male lead and the female lead smile at each other and accept the fact that they will never be together? That’s how I feel as I pull out of the driveway. Only, there is no lovable sidekick telling me to run after the love of my life. She’s at “camp”. There is just me.

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