Parker waited on a bench around the corner from the store entrance. He was reading a tattered paperback. As she approached he looked up. “Hey, how’d it go?”
“I got it!”
He smiled and stood, pulling her into a brief hug. “That’s great! When do you start?”
They began walking in the direction of her apartment. “Monday.”
“Good. How was the interview?”
She burrowed her hands into the pockets of her corduroy jacket as they strode briskly along the walk. “Fine. My boss is sort of weird.”
“Well, you like weird bosses, no?”
Her face tightened at his joke. “Lucian wasn’t weird. He was . . . unconventional.”
“Pretentious.”
She frowned and nudged him with her shoulder. “No, I mean he was unexpected. He isn’t the way people see him.”
They crossed the street in silence. “I think you glorify him for reasons he doesn’t deserve.”
Keeping her gaze down, she shrugged. “Maybe, but I can’t see him as the untouchable man the rest of the world sees him as. He isn’t like that. He’s caring and loving and—”
“I don’t need to hear anymore. Tell me why your new boss is weird.”
They turned onto her block. “I don’t know. I think he’s around our age, but he acts older. He’s serious in a way I just don’t get. How intense could the world of groceries be?”
“Maybe it’s been a rough berry season?”
She laughed as they entered her building. “I have paperwork I need to fill out.”
“I’ll help you with it.” They took the elevator in silence.
Parker casually removed her coat after unlocking the door. She stilled, not expecting him to do such a thing.
The apartment was quiet as it always was. She couldn’t wait to be gone from there. Be gone from all things Lucian. She faced Parker and came up short. He was right behind her.
She waited for him to say something. The sun was fading and they should probably turn on a lamp. Thinking that was the perfect reason to turn away from his confusing stare, she did just that.
The spell broke, and he moved to the pantry and began rummaging in the kitchen. “We should have gotten some milk while we were there.”
She took a seat at the counter and watched him as he pulled out various containers and stacked them on the counter.
“Do you plan on cooking something?” she asked.
“Aren’t you hungry? I’m starved.”
She said nothing. She considered her hunger, but her appetite was being a finicky bitch. She knew better than to turn down food though. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Sure. What’s not to know?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I can heat up canned stuff, but I don’t know how to use kitchen things. The oven scares me, and once I put something in the microwave and a huge blue spark snapped.”
He laughed. “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
Scout smiled as her stomach clenched in agreement. “Sounds delicious.”
Parker threw down a mean grilled cheese. The soup was from a can, but perfectly thick and warm, heating her insides up just right. They ate and talked about safe topics like the weather, St. Christopher’s, and Pearl.
“Have you been to visit her lately?”
“Not since I left. The place she’s staying at is far.”
“I could take you,” he offered.
She met his gaze. “How?”
“I could rent a car.”
“Parker, that would be a fortune. It’s not in the city.”
“So. I have money.”
“Don’t waste your money on me—”
He caught her hand before she could reach for the other half of her sandwich. “Hey, it wouldn’t be a waste. It would make you happy and that would make me happy. Money’s meant to be spent, Scout. Let’s go see Pearl. I miss her.”
The fact that he could actually say that and mean it did things to her insides she didn’t quite understand. Pearl was such a troubling part of who she was, yet Parker got it. He’d always gotten it. Pearl was her mother and that was that.
She smiled shyly and nodded. “Okay, I’d like that.”
After dinner she helped Parker do the dishes in comfortable silence, then took a shower. As she stood in the door to her bedroom, she stared at the large, undisturbed bed dominating the space.
He left her and was never coming back. The dull familiar pain came as usually with the thought. She missed him.
Scout changed into soft cotton pants and a loose fitting T-shirt. She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair, her gaze routinely being pulled to her bag. Her eyes skittered to the door and back to her bag.
Slowly she placed the brush on the nightstand and picked up her bag. She dug in the deep pockets until the weight of her phone filled her hand.
Examining the object for several long minutes, she thought. What was he doing at the moment? Was he alone? Was he happy? Did he still think about her?
Her thumb slid over the screen bringing the device to life. Under contacts she found four numbers, Lucian Cell, Lucian Office, Penthouse, and Dugan. Other than that there was nothing.
Three bars showed in the top left of the screen. Her thumb trailed longingly over his name. What if she called?
Before she considered what she was doing, she pressed the number that said Lucian Cell and brought the phone to her ear. It went immediately to voice mail.
“Hello, you’ve reached Lucian Patras. Leave a message after the tone.”
The sound of his voice was like a blade slicing through her. Warmth pulled like blood, and pain ran cold, turning her veins to ice. She ended the call and tossed the phone aside.
She couldn’t keep doing this. She needed to move on. He was in France and apparently not alone.
Standing, she went to the living room and found Parker sitting on the couch. Lamplight pooled around him. He was reading. As he heard her approach, he looked up from the pages of the same tattered paperback and smiled gently.
“Hey.”
“What are you reading?”
He flipped to the faded cover. “To Kill a Mockingbird.” He gestured to the space beside him and Scout settled in.
This was good. This was familiar. This, reading with Parker, was one of her favorite pastimes.
“Should I start back at the beginning?”
His finger was wedged against the spine, showing her he’d already read half the book. “Just catch me up.”
He sighed happily and placed his arm over the back of the sofa, drawing her close to his side. Again, she noticed the odd way he’d taken to touching her, but her skin was so starved for contact, she didn’t object.
The cover of the novel was faded green and orange with a crude brown tree taking up space. He’d mentioned this book to her the day they first met. Her lips curved as she recalled the arrogant way she’d talked to him, thinking he was just some punk trying to steal her shoes.
“Well, the story takes place around the thirties. There are two kids and their father’s a lawyer. He’s trying to teach the kids that you always fight for what’s right even when you know you can’t win. The main character’s name is Scout.”
Scout turned and looked at him. “Like me.”
“Yes.” He smiled and pressed her back into the curve of his shoulder. “Atticus, the father, gave Scout a small gun, but he told her she couldn’t shoot the mockingbirds because they’re harmless. That’s where the title comes from. As the story goes on, Atticus takes on a trial defending a black man accused of raping a white woman. The kids go to the trial and are convinced of the man’s innocence, but Atticus loses because the world is unfair.”
“It’s a book about crime?” Scout asked, confused. By the title she’d thought it would be
about birds.
“It’s a book about people and understanding others. Boo, the neighbor, is a recluse. He’s terrified of the real world because he was never allowed to be a part of it, but he isn’t a bad man. Scout’s father tries to teach her about life, but there are so many miscarriages of justice along the way.”
Parker shrugged and slid his thumb from between the pages. “That’s it basically. Scout learns life is unfair and good people protect those more vulnerable than the rest.”
She scowled at the plain cover and eerie tree. “Do you like this book?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then why are you reading it?”
“I like Scout and Atticus.”
She smiled. “Why do you like Scout?”
His thumb rolled over the beveled leaves of the cover. “She’s tough. She doesn’t care about social niceties, but is fascinated by human nature. She defends those who can’t defend themselves. And she’s fun.”
Heat crested her cheeks. He was describing her. “And what about Atticus?”
“Atticus is great. His moral compass leads the story. He holds respect for anyone that deserves it, even the poor. He’s . . . consistent.”
“Was your dad like Atticus?” They rarely spoke of his family, but she was trying to understand why he would like such a story.
He laughed without humor. “No, my father was nothing like Atticus. My father was greatly influenced by others’ wealth, and he had about as much moral fiber as a rock. Atticus believed that a person’s nearness to evil destroyed innocence.”
“Do you see me as that Scout?”
His lips curved slightly. “In some ways. Sometimes I guess I think of you as Scout and myself as Atticus. I want to protect you from evil and keep you innocent.”
Her brow knit at his words. She wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Leaning back, she scowled at him. “I’m not a child, Parker.”
“I know.” His agreement was quick and somehow sad.
Just once, she’d like to point out to him all the not-so-childlike things she’d done in her life. Maybe then he would stop acting like her keeper. Her anger quickly dissipated. She didn’t want to fight. “Are you going to finish it?”
He looked down at the book, its frayed, yellowed pages smoothed into a thick block. “Eventually. I’ve read it so many times I can just enjoy parts here and there. I don’t need to read it through. Did you want me to read it to you?”
“No.”
His expression appeared crestfallen, but his mouth curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you want me to read something else?”
Her mind played over everything he’d just said, his words about poor little Scout trying to make sense of the unfair world, how majestic and wise Atticus was. She thought back to an argument she and Lucian had not too long ago. Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t we read The Great Gatsby?”
She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly in such a prickly mood. Perhaps she was just poor Scout trying to make sense of it all.
His brow lifted. “We’ve read that before and you didn’t like it.”
“I know, but like boats and all . . .” she loosely quoted.
“Are you making fun of me, Scout?” His expression was playful, but she saw a flash of insecurity in his eyes.
“Were you making fun of me when you said that?”
“When I quoted Fitzgerald?”
“Yes. ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’”
He frowned. “No, I was merely pointing out that we all are meant to be a certain way.”
Lucian’s words fell from her lips. “Maybe we’re all meant to choose who we are, but we have to break out of the mold we were born into to get there.”
“I think life’s easier if we just accept who we are.”
“And who am I, Parker? Do you see me as some naïve little girl who stupidly throws herself against the currents of this fucked-up world only to get trampled in the end?”
He stiffened and sat up. “God, no, Scout. Why would you even say that?”
She threw up her hands. “How should I know what you think?” There was no need to snap, but it felt good. “You go around spouting all sorts of literature instead of speaking clearly. You compare me to the children in the grown-up stories you read. Do I really come off so hopeless and naïve?”
His head shook. “Why are you suddenly angry?”
She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to scream because maybe he was right. Maybe she was just a dumb kid, too innocent to play in the real world. She blinked and, to her mortification, a blurry line of tears clouded her vision. She didn’t want to be the kid. She wanted to be the recluse, if she had a choice at all.
“Scout, I adore you. You’re not a kid to me. You’re my friend. When I quoted Gatsby, I was trying to be an asshole to Patras. He had you convinced he was this nice guy, and it was killing me to see you falling for his bullshit act—”
“Don’t criticize him when he isn’t here to defend himself. You don’t know him.”
He looked as though she’d slapped him. “Are you serious? Scout, he isn’t here because he left you. How can you defend him? Whatever, we don’t need to talk about him. I don’t care about him. I care about you. Please, don’t think that I would ever make fun of you. You’re my friend and I . . .” Whatever he had been about to say faded away. “Just . . . don’t. Okay?”
She sniffled and they sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Parker looked as though he wanted to hug her, but seemed unsure. Finally, she admitted, “I hate that he can make me cry like this. I’m not used to being this emotional.”
“I know you’re sad,” he whispered.
The heel of her palm rubbed at her eye. “He isn’t coming back for me. I don’t know why I defend him when he clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. I just want to forget I ever knew him. I want to start over and get away from everything that reminds me of him, but my life is so empty without him. It’ll take years to rewrite those memories with new ones. He’s everywhere I look.”
Parker gazed around the apartment, his eyes cataloguing all the things that weren’t really hers. “I told you. You could live with me.”
“I don’t want that either. I want to be my own person.”
“Well, you can be. Get rid of all this stuff that reminds you of him and get new stuff.”
“I don’t have any money,” she said as though she were talking to a two-year-old.
“Well, you now have a job. You’ll get money. Things take time. It took me months to save up for my own place, but I did it. I don’t have much furniture, but it’s a home and it’s mine so long as I continue to pay the rent.”
He pressed his lips tight and drew in a breath. “Scout, if you lived with me, you could pay half the rent, and then the place would be half yours, as much as it is mine. You don’t need any of this shit he left you.”
“Parker . . .” She shook her head, but wasn’t really sure why she was so against the idea. She was miserable there, because she knew the place was really Lucian’s. What would he do if he came back from his little honeymoon in Paris and she wasn’t there? Would he know if she left? How long would it take for him to find out she was gone?
What if he never came back and she withered away there, waiting for him?
She glanced up at Parker, who was anxiously awaiting her reply. “Is there enough room for both of us—”
“Yes.”
He seemed to really think it was best she leave her place. He was probably right. She’d been there for almost two weeks, and the place never stopped being oppressive. Every corner revealed a hidden memory of Lucian, the door a looping nightmare of the moment Dugan deposited her there like a broken dove.
Anger and shame suddenly burned through her. She gritted her teeth w
ith a renewed sense of pride. She would not be one of Lucian Patras’s thrown-away, soiled and broken doves.
Yes, she loved him, but he left her. She gave him all that she could give of herself, and it wasn’t enough for him. Yet, she never looked for more than what he could emotionally offer her.
She needed to get back to being strong. She needed to forget about this little detour into the lap of luxury and get back on track, back to reality, get back to being Scout.
She leveled her gaze on Parker, full of fresh resolve. “Okay. I’ll move in with you, but I’m going to pull my weight. I have an account with two hundred thousand dollars in it. It’s not mine, but I can—”
His eyes momentarily bulged then he shook his head. “Scout, I know what it would take for you to touch that money. Leave it. We’ll keep track, and once you start getting checks from Clemons we’ll square up. I’ve saved a ton of money since I started working. You can pay me back.”
She smiled. Parker understood her pride wouldn’t allow her to take, even from him. She was glad he didn’t fight with her about such things.
Energy suddenly coursed through her limbs. “Should we pack?”
He looked surprised. “You want to leave tonight?”
She met his gaze, knowing her smile was full of sadness, and admitted, “I hate it here. Everything reminds me of him. I want to forget him, Parker. You’re helping.”
His expression was gentle, but unreadable. Slowly, his fingers coasted over her cheek. “Okay, Scout.”
Chapter 24
“With him, life was routine; without him, life was unbearable.”
~Harper Lee
To Kill a Mockingbird
Packing was an anticlimactic affair. Parker followed Scout around the apartment for the more pathetic part of an hour as she shifted through belongings like a thief and took what she felt was either earned or necessary. Unfortunately, it was only by mentally classifying herself as a whore that she could justify her right to take certain things she couldn’t leave behind. In the end it was a trade, one mental insult as her penance in exchange for whatever item she wanted in her bag.