A Constellation of Roses Page 4

  I amuse myself by drawing an outline of a piece of pie in the dusting of flour on the table. Next to it I draw a cup of tea. Then I check my pay-as-you-go phone, which has no signal. Of course it doesn’t. There’s no signal out here in the boondocks. The last message I received on my phone was from Charly, and it simply said, I’m sorry.

  I read the message over again, tracing the words with my flour-coated finger. I’m sorry, too. Sorry I got caught. Sorry I agreed to this stupid deal. Sorry I got carted off and dumped in the middle of nowhere.

  I look up from my phone and catch Ember watching me from behind an open wire shelf of baking supplies.

  “What do you want?” I snarl.

  Her pretty green eyes, just like her mom’s, widen, and she dashes back into the walk-in cooler.

  “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a girl who just had a family and a home and a job handed to her,” Auntie grunts out, lowering herself down onto a stool next to me. Damn it, that old woman came out of nowhere, but I take a bite of sandwich like she didn’t spook me. Auntie pops one of my potato chips in her mouth, crunching loudly.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” I reply, my mouth full of turkey sandwich.

  “Really? Well, I heard you did. I heard you asked for this over prison,” she replies, taking another chip. Apparently Auntie is not one to mince words. That’s okay, because I’m not either.

  I swallow the turkey. “So?”

  “So stop being nasty,” she replies. “We took you in.”

  “She doesn’t like me,” I say with a shrug. “So why should I be nice to her?”

  “Ember is shy. Which you would realize if you weren’t so full of yourself and your little pity party.”

  “Pity party?” I reply. “You don’t know half of what I’ve been through, and I’ve never once, never—”

  “So it’s a pissy party,” Auntie interrupts. “Well, news flash: Everyone’s life is hard. Get over it. Stop taking it out on whoever gets in your way.” She nods toward the walk-in cooler. “Go say you’re sorry, or I’m docking your pay.”

  I open my mouth to tell her she can’t do that, but I guess technically she can do that since she owns this place.

  I push myself away from the table, reaching down and grabbing the last bit of sandwich and shoving it in my mouth before Auntie eats it like my chips. Then I stroll over to the walk-in cooler, throwing open the door. Ember is arranging cartons of eggs and sticks of butter on a shelf, and she jumps about a foot when I enter. When she sees it’s me, she drops the stick of butter she’s holding, and it falls to the floor with a noise like a slap.

  “Hey,” I say as I approach her, leaning over and picking up the stick of butter. I hold it out for her to take, but she doesn’t move. Her owl necklace catches my eye again. “Auntie wants me to tell you I’m sorry. For scaring you or whatever. So I’m sorry.”

  Ember just stares.

  I turn to leave, stick of butter still awkwardly in hand, and Ember squeaks out, “Why?”

  I stop, turning back around to face her. “Why what? Why am I apologizing? Because Auntie says she’ll dock my pay.”

  “No,” she says, looking down at her shoes. “Why do you hate me? Is it because you heard? Did someone tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “About what I can do.” She hazards a glance at me.

  “Nobody told me anything about you,” I reply. “So what do you do? Auntie tells weird fortunes. Your mom thinks she makes magic pies. Can you fly?”

  Ember laughs, and she’s so surprised by it that she covers her mouth. “No,” she says. “I wish I could.”

  “Then what can you do?”

  “What can you do?” she counters. “Mama says all the McCabe women have gifts. We always have. If you tell me what you can do, I’ll tell you what I can do.” She’s so serious when she says it that I realize this might not be fake after all. I know my gift is real. So why couldn’t theirs be just as real and powerful as mine? Maybe Mia’s pies are real, and Auntie’s fortunes are real, and this green-eyed, shy girl who maybe doesn’t hate me after all is also real.

  So maybe it’s another mistake in my long list of mistakes, but I reach past her, like I’m going to set the stick of butter on the shelf, letting my hand brush against her neck, just barely.

  When I pull back after setting down the stick of butter on the shelf, I open my hand.

  I’m holding her owl necklace, coiled in my palm, the chain still warm from her skin.

  Four

  EMBER’S HANDS IMMEDIATELY FLY TO her neck.

  “Oh!” she exclaims shrilly. “How did you? I didn’t feel—”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “That’s your gift?” she asks, laughing again. “You can do magic? Like sleight of hand? That’s amazing!”

  “I can steal things,” I reply, dropping the necklace into her open palm. “It’s not pulling a rabbit out of a hat.”

  “Wow,” she breathes, and there’s actual admiration in her voice.

  “So I showed you mine. Show me yours.”

  Ember licks her lips as she puts her necklace back on. “I can read your deepest, darkest secrets—the things that you most want or fear—just by touching your skin with my hand,” she whispers.

  I immediately take a step back. Running away is a reflex by now. But the idea of someone getting inside my head freaks me out.

  Ember nods. “Most people do that.”

  “So are people afraid of you?” I ask.

  “The ones who know are. But mostly, it scares me.”

  “Why would it scare you? That’s power. Knowing the weakness of anyone you meet.”

  Ember shrugs. “It’s invasive. And personal. And I hate it. People’s deepest, darkest secrets aren’t always good. So it’s best if I just stay away from people,” she says, turning back to her sticks of butter as she puts in her earbuds.

  I wait to see if she’s going to say especially you, but she doesn’t.

  Back in the warm kitchen, I find that Auntie has finished off my chips and left the table. Mia is there instead, and she looks excited to see me, as usual. Even her red hair seems bigger, as if it, too, is thrilled. “Perfect!” she says. “I had a brilliant idea while I was out in the dining room. Ella helped me think of it. You’re new to Rocksaw, so you should have a tour of the place. And I have just the perfect outing for you. Jasper’s coming by to pick up the deliveries, and you could ride along with him. He’s a junior, he’s cute, and he’s single. What better tour guide could there be?”

  My heart drops. Why won’t they just leave me alone? “I signed on to be a waitress. Not a delivery girl. And I don’t need to be set up with some hick from Nowheresville. Just let me do my job, graduate from high school, and be on my way.” I don’t add that I’ll probably be gone in a couple weeks anyway.

  Mia’s face falls just a bit.

  Auntie shuffles into the kitchen behind Mia and silently mouths the words pissy party.

  “Fine,” I grumble, glaring at Auntie and taking off my apron. “I’ll go. But I don’t need a boyfriend. I’m here to fulfill my end of the bargain with the judge.”

  Mia beams, as if I’d said thank you and hugged her rather than grudgingly agreed to go. “How about some lipstick? Reckless Rouge or Madcap Mango?” she asks, pulling out a couple tubes from her apron.

  “No.”

  Mia still grins at me. It’s like she’s impervious to brush-offs, this flame-haired whirlwind of a woman.

  I push through the swinging door of the kitchen, and the guy, Jasper, is standing at the glass case in the dining area, a stack of pink cardboard delivery boxes tied with white string in his hands. “Is this everything?” he asks Mia when she follows behind me. He’s got golden-brown skin and golden-brown eyes and longish black hair that falls in big, loose curls over one side of his forehead. He wears a plain white T-shirt with faded jeans and brown, square-toed cowboy boots that look like they’ve got more than a few miles on them. I re
frain from asking him if he left his lasso outside with his horse, though, mostly because he manages to make cowboy look pretty damn good.

  “Almost!” Mia crows. She is in her element. I should have known, with those Ardent Apple pies. She’s a matchmaker. Or at least a wannabe. “This is my niece, Trix McCabe. She’s come to live with us.” I notice that she says live and not stay. Living and staying are two very different things. I remember the wedding ring in my pocket, and I fidget a little under the heat of her smile as she tosses her red hair over one shoulder. Must have been something weird in that turkey sandwich she gave me. “Trix, this is Jasper Ruiz. He’s our part-time delivery boy. And his family pays cash rent for our farmland. You’ll probably see his dad and him at the farm soon to harvest the corn.”

  Jasper smiles at me, and it pulls on a thin white scar that slices through his right eyebrow and hooks down just underneath his eye. “Hi,” he says. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are kind of full right now.”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I tell him, shooting a glance back at Mia. This is so embarrassing, and I’m not sure if he’s aware that she’s trying to set us up or not, which makes it even more awkward.

  “Since Trix is new to town, I thought maybe she could ride along with you,” Mia tells him. “Just so she can get a feel for Rocksaw. She’s from the city, you know.” She makes it sound like I may have difficulty navigating the vast expanse of this village without his expertise. I barely withhold the urge to roll my eyes.

  “Sure,” Jasper says, giving that charming smile again that makes the scar pull on his eye. That’s what it is, I realize. The scar somehow makes him not too perfect. I try not to stare at it because I hate it when people do that to mine.

  I follow Jasper outside. The weather is a little warm, but I leave my hoodie on anyway.

  Jasper leans over the bed of an old black Chevy truck, placing the pies in a wooden crate just behind the cab. I pull on the passenger door, but it doesn’t open. From the driver’s side, he laughs. “Pull up and then out. The door sticks.”

  I do what he says, and the door opens with a metallic wail. I climb inside. The seat is faded maroon fabric that might have once had stripes, and there’s a chain with a heavy gold class ring hanging from the rearview mirror. It smells like old pipe tobacco and dust. The ancient stereo system confirms that this truck existed long before either of us was born.

  “Nice ride,” I comment.

  “Thanks,” Jasper says with a grin.

  Sarcasm is apparently lost on him.

  “We don’t have too many deliveries,” he says. “So this will be a short tour. But if you want, we can take the long way back from our last stop.”

  “I’m fine with taking the regular, short way back,” I tell him, attempting to buckle my seat belt.

  “You’ve got to put it in at an angle,” he tells me, reaching over and guiding my belt into the buckle. “Otherwise it won’t latch.”

  His hands are rough, and I pull back as soon as my seat belt is properly latched.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I say. “I could’ve figured it out.”

  “Sorry,” he says. “It’s just that most people can’t get it on their own. Cleo is a fickle beauty.”

  “Cleo?” I ask.

  “That’s the truck’s name.”

  “You named your truck?”

  “Sure, everybody names their truck.”

  “I don’t think everybody names their truck.”

  “Then you haven’t known enough truck people,” he says with a shrug, starting up the engine. It growls to life, sounding like his muffler must be lost on some back road. But he’s unfazed by it and cranks up the stereo.

  The old Chevy rattles down the brick street, and we drive two blocks before making a left turn, then four more blocks before we’re at a little green house with tricycles in the front yard. “Never-Lonely Lemon,” Jasper says when he puts the truck in park along the street. “Hank’s been deployed for six months now.”

  I nod, as if this whole scenario makes perfect sense. I sit in the truck and watch Jasper deliver the pie to the front door. A pretty blond woman answers, and two toddlers push at the screen door to get out at Jasper. He says something to both of them and they dart back inside, laughing and shrieking. The woman smiles at Jasper again, and he leaves after taking the cash she offers him.

  “She seemed pleased,” I remark when he gets in the truck and puts it in drive.

  “Yeah. The twins are going through some kind of sleep regression. Suzie says it’s been hard on them.”

  I don’t know much about sleep regression, but I’m suddenly reminded of the Quinter twins, and I wonder if Charly is getting ready to babysit them again tonight. I pull my phone back out of my pocket and check for a signal. Still nothing. I groan in frustration.

  Jasper glances over. “No signal?” he asks.

  I shake my head, shoving my phone back into my pocket.

  “You must have NorthStar. There’s no signal here if they’re your provider. Unless you’re on top of Cedar Mountain.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, looking around as if we’re somewhere other than Rocksaw, Kansas.

  Jasper laughs. “Cedar Mountain. It’s this huge hill behind the practice field near the high school. The football team runs up and down it for conditioning, and at the beginning of the season the freshmen always puke their guts up there before practice is over.”

  “Gross.”

  Jasper shrugs. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

  The next stop is a small pink cottage with white shutters and a heart-shaped sign in the front yard that says, “Mitzi’s Love Shack.”

  Jasper puts the truck into park and shoots a glance over at me. “It’s a honeymoon cottage,” he explains.

  “There were a couple other things I thought it might be,” I reply, crossing my arms.

  “Do you want to help?” he asks. “The order is for two Ardent Apples and a Cherish Cherry. Mitzi asked me to get the key under the mat and leave them on the table before the couple gets back from their vineyard tour.”

  “Sure,” I grumble, tugging on the seat belt twice before it releases. I try to open the door, but Jasper is already around the truck, pulling up and out on the door handle with one hand while he balances the pie boxes in the other.

  “Sorry,” he says, and I shoot him a glare that has him pressing his lips together as he tries not to smile again. He smiles a lot, and I’m trying to figure out what exactly it is that makes him so damn pleased about everything. “It doesn’t open from the inside. I forgot to tell you about that. You have to roll the window down and open it from the outside if you’re riding shotgun.”

  “Has anyone told you that Cleo is kind of a death trap?” I ask him, sliding down from the bench seat and shutting the door.

  “I thought girls liked dangerous guys,” he says. One of his black curls actually falls forward over his left eye, like it’s a move he’s been practicing in the bathroom mirror.

  “Girls like guys who have seat belts that work.”

  Jasper shrugs. “The bond between a man and his truck is unbreakable. I’ll drive Cleo till she goes up in flames.”

  “That’s really noble of you.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty great like that.” He leads me to the tiny pink cottage, turning and handing me the pies so he can get the spare key. “Mitzi says it’s under here . . .” His voice trails off as he leans over to look for the key.

  “So, you do this a lot?” I ask.

  “Deliver pies or break into people’s cottages?”

  I think of Shane, and something seizes in my chest. “Deliver pies.”

  “Yeah. Usually on Saturdays, but sometimes there are some deliveries after school.” He finds the key, pulling it out from under the mat with a flourish. “Mostly I work for my dad on the farm.”

  “Sounds riveting.”

  “Well, I can see how you might think feeding the world isn’t as prestigious a job as waitressing,” he par
ries amicably, “but I make do with what I have.” He gives me a smile that doesn’t tug at his scar.

  I don’t even have a good reply ready when Jasper turns away to unlock the door. I stand next to him, interested in gawking at the inside of Mitzi’s Love Shack since no one’s here right now. I guess after all those motels I’ve lived in, I’m curious about what a rental looks like here. He swings the door open wide, and there’s a heart-shaped hot tub in the middle of the room, bubbling and steaming away. But the most surprising part of the scene is the couple inside the hot tub, who are most definitely not wearing clothes. The woman, her blond hair pinned up on top of her head, sees us first and screams shrilly, and then the balding man looks up from the glass of pink champagne he’s pouring and is so surprised by our presence that he nearly drops the glass into the frothing water of the hot tub.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” the man shouts, reclaiming his grasp and hurling the flute of champagne at Jasper. Luckily, the man’s hands are wet, or he’s just got bad aim, and the glass goes far right and crashes against the wall, the contents fizzing as they run to the shards of crystal on the floor.

  Jasper is undeterred from completing his mission. “These pies are from Mitzi, and we’ll, ah, just leave them here. Nice to meet you!” He takes the pies from me, sets them down on the cottage floor, and slams the door shut.

  There’s swearing and crashing inside, and Jasper yelps, half laughing, “Hurry! Get in the truck! I think he’s coming!” He wrenches open the driver’s-side truck door and shoves me in in front of him, so I have to scoot across the bench seat while he climbs in and starts the engine. We’re barely in first gear when the man throws open the door of Mitzi’s Love Shack, still naked and pink from the hot water, and yells at us, pitching the half-empty bottle of champagne at the back of the truck. It crashes against the tailgate as we peel out.

  We make it two blocks, just the silent shaking of my shoulders before I erupt in gasping gulps of laughter that leave me breathless and achy. I don’t remember the last time I laughed like this, with tears in my eyes and totally helpless to stop it.