Page 4 of Surface Scratch
It felt good to sit. He’d been moving non-stop for hours, awkwardly collecting abandoned drinks and fetching packs of beer for Ophelia all night, and when he wasn’t moving, Andrew was pulling him away to clean something or showing him how to appear busy. “The boss always wants us moving,” Andrew had told him. “Busy bodies keep people on the floor and in the doors.” At first it felt silly, but there was something that felt good about it, even if it made him sweat more than he had when their electricity got knocked out in the heat of high summer by a drunk driver hitting the utility pole near their apartment.
Caleb jumped as his left thigh began to buzz, his phone vibrating. He pulled it out and frowned as he looked down at the silent alarm: Turn Mom.
A lump rose to the top of his throat, almost aching up into the back of his head as he bit down hard on the inside of his lip, his vision beginning to blur. Why did he still have that alarm set? It had been nearly six weeks since she’d passed.
“‘Turn Mom?’” The voice behind him was soft, accompanied by a hand resting on his shoulder. Caleb stifled a sniffle and wiped the corners of his eyes with his thumb before turning his head and looking up. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
Marcus’s amber eyes looked down into his, his eyebrows slightly raised. They didn’t seem judgmental… maybe concerned? He moved around the small table and sat across from Caleb, leaning back in the chair with his legs spread wide. His gray-flecked black hair looked more kempt than it had before, as though he’d put some product in it to keep it out of his eyes. He reached up to his ear and produced a cigarette that had been tucked away and hidden by his thick locks, clenching it in his front teeth as he pulled open his suit jacket to reach for the inside pocket.
Caleb realized he was holding his breath again and tried to let it out slowly without drawing attention to himself. Had he just been about to cry on his first night on the job? In front of his objectively handsome boss?Jesus Christ, man, pull it together. You have rent to make. He took another drink from the crinkled water bottle, desperate to find an inconspicuous way to hide his face while he forced away his grief.
Marcus lit the cigarette, taking a deep pull before leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he exhaled, as if he had been waiting all night to do that. He had such a casual yet commanding presence about him, and despite being dressed in what were probably well-tailored, name-brand clothes, he seemed down to earth.
Caleb found himself following the length of Marcus’s body with his eyes, trying to imagine whether Marcus was slender like himself or if his clothes hid a more toned appearance. When his eyes drifted below the shining silver buckle of Marcus’s belt, the crinkle of the bottle in his hand as he squeezed it snapped his gaze away.
Marcus’s eyes met his, a small smile given away by the upturned corners of his mouth. “‘Turn Mom?’” he asked again, taking another long drag from his cigarette.
The lump in Caleb’s throat returned and he looked down, feeling the pressure building in his face. Normally, he would have brushed off a question like that or changed the subject, but the words were leaving his lips before he could think of something inoffensive to deflect. “It was a reminder to turn my mom to her other side. She was bedridden,” he said, his voice shaky as the words came out. “I haven’t had the heart to delete it yet.”
What are you saying? This guy doesn’t want to hear about your pathetic life. He should just end his break early and go back for the rest of his shift. “Based on how you said that I’ll venture a guess that she is no longer with us?” Marcus asked, leaning forward and resting an elbow on the edge of the table.
Caleb didn’t look at him. If he did, Marcus would see that he was barely containing the tears welling in his eyes. He took a deep breath in, an involuntary sob catching in his chest and ready to burst out of his mouth.Calm down, man. You can cry when you clock out.He could do what he’d done every night since the coroner wheeled his mom’s body out of the apartment with a blanket draped over her: allow himself to shed a few tears over everything he’d lost in the loud emptiness of the one-bedroom apartment. Alone.
Marcus reached across the table and grabbed Caleb’s hand when it balled into a fist, knuckles bleached, and put out his cigarette on the edge of the table. He reached his other hand out and lifted Caleb’s chin, his soft thumb running along Caleb’s cheek as a tear trailed down his face. Caleb’s heart began pounding in his chest as an unfamiliar warmth spread from his cheeks down into his belly, curling low inside his abdomen and shooting back into his ears. What was Marcus doing?
Marcus’s smile had faded, but the look on his face wasn’t one of pity or discomfort. He almost looked sad. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Marcus said softly. “I know that kind of loss can be hard. I was a mess when my grandmother passed away. If you want to take a longer break and need to talk, we can go to my office.”
Caleb bit the inside of his lower lip, his teeth nestling into the groove that had developed there, his heart pounding in his ears. What was this guy asking of him? “I—” The words were already coming out again, as if he couldn’t stop himself from accepting the invitation, while the small voice in the back of his mind desperately tried to hit the brakes on the runaway train that was his mouth.
Ophelia’s cold, high-pitched voice pulled the brakes for him from the doorway. “The fuck he will. I need him at the bar,” she said, her clear and red drink in hand, having been replenished.
Marcus held Caleb’s gaze for a moment longer before pulling his hands back and turning toward her, rolling his eyes as he did. “Child, what have I said about that language?” he said, brushing the cigarette ash from the edge of the table. Caleb saw something flash across his face—a look of irritation—but it lasted less than a second. “For such a smart young lady, you really need to expand your vocabulary.”
It was Ophelia’s turn to look irritated, mouthing the words along with him as he said them as though she had heard them a hundred times before. “I need the newbie at the bar,” she said, gesturing toward Caleb. “If you’re that concerned about my language, I’ll read a thesaurus to you when you’re getting ready to go to bed in the morning.”
Caleb swallowed hard, forcing the thickness in his throat down as he stood. “Yeah, I should get back to work,” he murmured, grabbing the crumbled water bottle from the table to take to the trash bin by the door. He felt Marcus’s smooth, cool hand on his wrist, beckoning him to look back at the man. His stomach fluttered again as Marcus reached out and adjusted his tie, the scent of the cigarette lingering on his hands and tickling Caleb’s nostrils. Usually, he hated the smell of cigarettes, but there was something soothing about the smell now, mixed with the scent of cologne and cookies.
“I mean it, Caleb. If you ever need to talk,” Marcus said as he took a step back, “my office door is always open.”
Caleb nodded, tossing the crumpled bottle into the trash. Part of him wanted to take Marcus up on the offer, go up to the secluded office, and just let loose everything he had been stuffing down for four and a half years. Part of it sounded nice—a long, ugly cry that he had denied himself, even in the six weeks he had been alone. But then again, that thought was more terrifying to him than trying to decipher whatever his new boss’s intentions were.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, not wanting to meet Ophelia’s caustic gaze, and motioned with his chin toward the hallway. Ophelia moved quickly, taking long strides as she walked back toward through the winding hallway that led back to her bar.
“Sorry for interrupting your little heart-to-heart with my dad, but I have a crowd three bodies thick and I am ready to commit a crime,” she said without looking back at him.
“What?!” Caleb blurted, stopping in his tracks.Her dad?
She stopped as well, turning around to face him. Instead of the usual bored look on her face, there was that gleam again, something mischievous lurking beneath the surface. “Yeah, that’s my dad. That little fucker Andrew didn’t mention that?”
Caleb could literally feel the dumb look on his face, but his mind raced to connect the dots. “You guys don’t… um… look alike?” was the only thing he could think to say in that moment, realizing how insensitive it sounded as it came out of his mouth.God dammit, can I shove my foot any further into my mouth today?He averted his gaze, waiting for her to go off on him like he had seen her do to pushy customers throughout the night.
Instead, she laughed, the sound so sudden it made him jump. “No shit, Sherlock. Have you looked at me? I’m black, he’s pretty Asian last time I checked. I’m adopted.” She waved at him to follow her as she began walking again, slower than before, stuffing her free hand into her back pocket. “Why else did you think I’m allowed to work here?”
“I was wondering about that,” he said, trailing a few steps behind her so he could force himself to relax. At least she didn’t seem offended by his comment.
“You’re not going to go running to the Department of Labor or anything, are you?” she asked, her voice sounding amused. The ice in her glass clinked as she walked. “You don’t look like a narc, so I’ll assume you can be trusted with that little secret.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed silent.
