The ruin, p.8
The Ruin, page 8
Like magnets, we cling to each other. His shirt slips over his head, and my borrowed hoodie disappears. His chest and stomach are warm as they collide with mine. Blood rises to the surface of my skin, flushing my cheeks. I lose awareness of our surroundings. I’m weightless, invincible for the first time in so long. His fingertips leave hot streaks as he trails them, feather-light, down my arms. Every touch is tantalizing. My hands glide to his waist. He grips my hips and pulls me closer, but I stop him, tugging off what remains of our clothes.
This is my Connor. This is real. This is happening. This is everything I want. There is nothing else.
“Don’t leave me,” I breathe as he moves to kiss my neck.
He stops and presses his forehead back to mine, holding my shoulders tightly in his hands.
“Never,” he answers, voice full of certainty and longing, and he draws me into a kiss so deep the world fades.
“Dan didn’t see you come in, did he?” Christa asks as I sneak into the break room to deposit my jacket and purse. “I clocked you in a few minutes ago, just in case.”
“Seriously? Thank you,” I reply, out of breath from racing down the street to the cafe.
Connor and I spent too long in bed this morning, and by the time he dropped me off, there were no parking spots close to Renee’s. He had to let me out by the aquarium, so I dodged tourists and fought with the crosswalks to get here. I still didn’t make it on time. I’m only a couple of minutes late, but Dan’s notorious for writing people up, and I can’t afford another note in my file.
“No,” I continue. “I don’t think he saw me. He was inventorying the mugs and pre-packaged beans when I got here, so his back was to the door.”
Christa’s freshly painted pink nails glimmer on the tips of her golden-brown fingers as she picks apart her cinnamon roll and pops a glazed segment into her mouth. “Good. That man’s nothing but a grouch. If he asks, you’ve been here the whole time.”
“Got it. Busy today?”
“Eh, busy enough,” she answers, taking a sip from her mug. “The breakfast rush was slower than usual. We still have quiches left, if that tells you anything. But, I’ve been cleaning up after the night crew. One of these days, they’ll figure out what it means to restock.”
“No kidding.” I roll my eyes as I tie the blue apron around my back, then grab the magnetic name tag from the bulletin board. “Sorry I’m late. I tried to get here on time.”
“It’s fine. I’m working a double.” She looks up and eyes me with a grin, taking in everything from my bedhead to my worn shoes. “You look… different.”
I frown as I tie my messy hair into a bun and drop my hat on top, securing the velcro underneath. “How so?”
Her grin transforms into a crooked smile. “I think you had a good night, that’s all.”
I blink at her, confused.
“Your lips are swollen. Your hair looks like two people slept in it, and there’s a little glimmer in your eyes.” She shakes her head at me. “Those cute boys will get you in trouble every time.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. My hand darts for my lips, and embarrassment settles into my stomach.
“Good for you, girl,” she says, tearing off another bite. “It’s about damn time you had something good happening in your life.”
My answering smile is bashful, but honestly, she’s right.
“Look busy,” she tells me as she finishes off her mug, so I grab a bottle of French Vanilla syrup and head back to the front.
Dan eyes me suspiciously as I approach the counter, full bottle of syrup in hand. I twist off the screwtop and punch a pump through the foil, then replace the nearly empty bottle on the rack.
“Edwards, where’ve you been?” he asks. Something has him in a foul mood. I make a note to stay out of his path.
“Here,” I say without turning around. The counter’s clean enough, but I grab a fresh rag from the bucket anyway and proceed to wipe it down. “Why? I mean, I had to go to the bathroom, but I’ve been here the whole time.”
Dan rolls his angry, wrinkled eyes. “Fine. You need a drawer. Go see Steve in the office before he leaves, and get back up here,” he huffs.
“On it.” I drop the rag into the dirty bin and spin to walk away.
“Go to the bathroom before your shift next time!” he calls.
It takes everything I have to ignore him as I make my way back to the office. Steve has the door propped open, so I stick my head in and knock.
“Hey, you have a drawer for me?” I ask.
He digs through the stack of papers spewed over the desk, then hands me a heavy plastic tray full of cash.
“What’s up with Dan?”
Steve leans back in his computer chair and ponders the ceiling. With tired eyes, he rubs his close-cropped curly hair. He traces the edge of his line-up before rubbing his temples and letting out a groan. He and Dan don’t get along, either. The two of them don’t often work the same shifts, but they occasionally overlap, like today. “The usual? Supposedly, someone stole a bag of Dark Roast, so he’s losing his mind.”
“Nice. Over what, six dollars?” Steve nods. “Is that why he’s doing inventory early?”
“Just keep your head down today.” He leans forward again and straightens the papers into a neat pile. “I had to send Jenny home early because he made her cry.”
“Noted. Thanks, Steve.”
“You’re welcome. I’m out of here in fifteen. Do you need anything?”
“A triple shot of espresso and a six-hour nap.”
“Story of my life,” he answers with a laugh.
I turn and march back up front, customer service ready.
After Steve vacates the space, Dan secludes himself in the office for quite a while, leaving me, Christa, and Eddie, a gangly, red-headed teenager, to handle the cafe operations. Honestly, I prefer it this way. We each choose our tasks and buckle down: Eddie handles bus duty, Christa runs the front counter, and I take the drive-thru window. Things run smoothly, and we end up with plenty of downtime.
My mind is left to its own devices, and after last night, steamy visions consume me. I daydream of this morning, waking up to find Connor fast asleep, his chest steadily rising and falling with restful breaths. His t-shirt was bunched up above his stomach, revealing the thin line of raven hair that trailed down to his sweatpants. Flashes of the way his muscles tightened last night as I trailed kisses down that path, and to so many other places, steal my breath. The phantom touch of his hands and lips exploring my skin sends goosebumps erupting down my neck and back. I try to hide these thoughts from my co-workers, but more than once, I catch Christa smirking at me as though she knows every dirty little secret.
During a particularly vivid memory, my hand slips as I pour freshly scalded milk into a paper cup. The frothy liquid runs down my arm, setting my nerves on fire from my wrist to the inside of my elbow. I cry out, dropping the drink to the floor.
Christa snatches the first aid kit from below the counter and abandons her register. She slides through the mess to race to my aid, coating the soles of her shoes with a sticky film. Thankfully, the searing pain is gone by the time she yanks my arm out and rolls up my sleeve. Only a pale pink patch mars my skin where the milk touched it. It should’ve been far worse.
Her eyes narrow as she takes in the thin cuts from last night. Many of them are almost healed.
“You’re so lucky,” she admonishes. “Pay attention, dreamer girl.”
“I will,” I promise, rubbing the place where my pale skin should be blistered.
By the time my lunch rolls around, I’m famished. Thank goodness for our employee meal. Christa rings me up as I pour myself a hazelnut coffee and grab a stale blueberry scone.
“You gonna tell me who it is?” she teases.
“Not on your life,” I reply, winking at her and taking my food back to the break room to eat.
Alone, I settle in at the table and check my messages. There’s a cute text from Connor.
I’m glad u stayed over last night. Have a gr8 day @ work. I’ll b there @ 8.
I smile, then listen to the voicemail Doctor Mitchell left, hoping for good news.
“Ms. Edwards, this is Doctor Mitchell calling from St. John’s as planned. Valerie is doing as well as can be expected at this time. We will be lifting the visitation restrictions tomorrow morning, so you may stop by as early as nine am.
Regarding the other matter we discussed, I’ve made the necessary arrangements. I have the correct forms, so as soon as you are ready to sign them, we’ll go ahead and get started. I’ll be waiting for your response.”
I press the little green button and return Doctor Mitchell’s call.
“Hello, this is Doctor Mitchell,” he answers. He must not have checked the number before he picked up.
“Doctor Mitchell, this is Kara Edwards. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Ah, Ms. Edwards. Yes, hold on.” His footsteps sound through the speaker as he presumably moves to a private location. “Are you calling about the forms?”
“I am,” I reply. “I managed to find the correct insurance card, as you requested.” Speaking in code like this feels ridiculous, but I understand the precaution. “When would be the best time to get it to you?”
“Are you available today?”
“Unfortunately, I’m at work until eight. But, if you get a chance to swing by for a cup of coffee, I can give you the card then.”
He pauses, thinking over what I’ve offered. “Would I have to come inside?”
“We have a drive-thru, and I’m working the window today. It would be quick and painless if that’s what you’d like to do.”
Silence again. I wait impatiently until he returns to the line.
“Sounds delicious,” he states. “Which cafe?”
“Renee’s on the Harbor.”
“I’ll be there at 7:45. What should I order?”
Another codeword. Great.
I choose an unpopular drink. “A large iced coffee with two pumps of butterscotch syrup. And, a cookie.”
“Have it ready when I arrive.”
He hangs up the phone without properly ending the call.
I shake my head and pick apart my scone, not leaving any crumbs on the napkin. When it’s finished, I take my purse to the bathroom, hoping Eddie and Christa won’t bat an eye, and seclude myself in a stall to count out the cash. I leave five thousand dollars in the envelope, fold it up and stick it in my back pocket, then bury the rest back in the bottom of my bag.
A few minutes before Doctor Mitchell’s slated to arrive, I check to see that no one is looking and sneak the envelope of cash inside of a small, white pastry bag. I toss in a wrapped chocolate chip cookie, then prep his drink and spray a swirl of whip on top, sealing the lid.
As his shiny silver Mercedes pulls into the drive-thru lane, a bitter taste settles onto my tongue. I adjust my headset and take my place behind the screen, waiting for him to approach the speaker.
For the first time today, I’m nervous. Before, we had only spoken about proceeding with the Novemion treatment, but once I hand off this money, a transaction has officially been made. I’ll be in over my head with pharmaceutical companies and committed to something highly illegal. There will be no turning back from that.
What if Doctor Mitchell decides to extort me and change the cost of the first treatment? What if he keeps the money for himself? All of this is off the books. He could probably do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Worse yet, what if someone notices I’ve made the order already and demands to look inside? What would they do if they caught me handing an envelope of cash to some man in the drive-thru? They might ask questions, and the entire venture could go south as fast as it started, leaving Mom with no chance of survival.
The speaker crackles to life, and I clear my throat. Using my best customer service voice, I slip into barista mode. “Welcome to Renee’s, home of the Triple Threat Chocolate Mocha. How can I help you today?”
Doctor Mitchell sounds nervous as well. His usual professional facade slips as I watch him over the monitor. He loosens his tie and leans out of his window, then says, “Could I get a grande iced coffee with two pumps of butterscotch, please?”
I look down at the cup by my register. It’s a venti, so that’s a slight change of plan. I should have thought of that before.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I respond. “We’re out of grande cups at this time. Could I get you a venti instead?”
He blinks rapidly at the screen. “Yes, that will be fine.”
“Alright, one venti iced coffee with two pumps of butterscotch. Can I get you anything else?”
“A cookie, if you have one?”
“Sure thing. Your total will come to $7.65. Please pull around to the window, and I’ll have that right out.”
Christa, busy shutting down the bakery, uses her headset to speak only to me as I go through the motions of packing a fake bag.
“We have plenty of grande cups,” she says. It’s more of a question than a statement.
I press the headset-to-headset button and reply, “True, but did you see the car this man is driving?” Christa glances up at the screen, then over to me with a confused look. “That’s a Benz. He can afford it. What’s Dan always saying?”
“Upsell, upsell, upsell,” she mimics and rolls her eyes. She returns to the bakery with a chuckle. “Nice.”
I blow out a sigh of relief as I realize I’ve gotten away with my lie.
Doctor Mitchell pulls around to the window. I lean against the circular lever, throwing the panes open.
“That’s one venti iced coffee with two pumps of butterscotch and a cookie, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“$7.65, please.”
He passes his bank card through the window and I run it through the machine. All the while, he fidgets nervously behind the wheel. When the receipt prints, I staple it to the bag and pass his order out to him.
“Don’t open it now,” I whisper. He nods and sets it down on the seat beside him. “There’s five thousand in there. That’s enough, right?”
“Yes, that’s what we discussed.”
“When will you start the treatment?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Christa turns to look at us, so I speak a little louder. “Thanks so much for choosing Renee’s. Have a wonderful night!”
“You too,” Doctor Mitchell answers, then rolls up his window and takes off. I step away from the lever and lean up against the glass.
“Think he’s the last one?” Christa asks, reaching for the mop.
“God, I hope so,” I answer.
She makes a face that says, ‘Me too,’ then splashes the soapy water on the floor.
I spend the last few minutes of my shift tidying and restocking my station. Before I know it, it’s eight o’clock, and I’m running to meet Connor outside.
With much of the afternoon traffic gone, Connor managed to find a half-decent space not far from Renee’s. As I approach from the rear, I realize he’s brought Ally along with him. She’s leaning against the driver’s side rear window. Her pixie-cut brown hair and round face are illuminated by the blue light of her phone. When I reach the front and tug on the handle, she looks up and greets me with an enthusiastic smile.
“Kara!” She practically yells as I take my seat. “God, I’ve missed you. Where have you been? It’s been forever!”
I lean into the back and pull my friend into a tight embrace. “Around. I was over sometime last week and stayed last night, but Connor said you were out with Rob.”
Ally pulls away and smacks her brother on the arm. Her wide-set, dark blue eyes crinkle with annoyance. “You didn’t tell me Kara came over. I would have come home after dinner if I’d known!”
“See what you miss when you’re out doing unspeakable things with your boyfriend?” he jests.
Ally frowns. “Yeah, because going to his parent’s 30th-anniversary dinner is so atrocious. I should be burned at the stake.”
Connor merges and follows the car in front of him around the bend.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often,” I say, buckling myself into my seat. “Between work and Mom’s treatments, I’ve been swamped.”
Ally tucks her phone into her pocket and resumes her previous position. She leans her head against the glass and stretches her legs out across the seats. “It’s okay. I know you’re not ghosting us on purpose. How’s Val?”
Connor reaches over and takes my hand in his. He flashes his sister a stern look through the rearview mirror. It’s plainly a warning. They must have talked about some of the things that happened last night. Not that I hadn’t expected them to. The shattered mirror would have been a pretty decent conversation starter. I’m sure she wanted to know how it happened. Hopefully, Connor left out most of the details. I don’t want to share any stories tonight.
I hadn’t known Ally would be coming with him to pick me up, but I don’t mind. I’ve missed her, too. She’s always so peppy, something I can’t claim about myself. She rolls her eyes at her brother. They trail down to where our hands rest, joined together on the center console, imperceptibly widening.
“Oh, it seems like I may have missed a lot.”
Connor squeezes my hand lightly before returning his to the wheel and taking the steep corner that leads up the hill.
We haven’t talked about what last night means for the two of us going forward, so I quickly change the subject back to Mom. I figure we should work out the details before sharing them with the world. It seems Connor has a similar plan because he says nothing as he continues to drive. Ally obviously notices my avoidance, but she lets it slide.
“Things are rocky right now. The surgery didn’t go as well as planned.” I catch her up on most of the current situation, leaving the Novemion treatment out. She doesn’t need to know. It would only put her in danger, too.
