A week after we arrive, I receive a package in the mail from Jack. Inside is a brand new driver's license, social security details, passports, even a card for the library in town.
It's my face that looks out at me from the papers — same brown hair, same brown eyes — but it's the only thing about it that's familiar. I take some time to read over the new information Jack sent, memorising the important details. Essentially I'm the same person, just with a few more skeletons in the closet. I try not to think about how Jack got all of this so quickly, or who he had to call in favours from. I've learned that it's best to simply say thank you, and shove all those questions to the side. The less I know, the better.
As so as it does, life continues on.
The days move one into another until they become weeks. The pain eases, but it never really goes away. It sits under the surface of my new skin, no longer raw and pink for the world to see, but still so fragile and tender that all it takes is one small tug to open a wound and out it pours.
Sometimes—less and less now—I sit out on the front deck, a tea in my hands, thinking about him. I wonder if, wherever he is, he's thinking about me. If i'm the last thing he thinks about before he goes to sleep. If he's safe. If he's happy. If he'll ever come find me.
But that's all they are - thoughts. Because that's all I have.
So, instead of wallowing, I throw all my effort into making the transition to a new town easier for Cody.
Slowly but surely, we turn the tiny house at the end of a long dirt road into a home. We clean out the large shed at the back of the property, and I sell whatever I can to the secondhand store in town. A rusted mower, a pile of broken power tools, even a motorbike - it all goes. With what i get for all the junk, I buy a sweet little pale blue Toyota from a guy in town for a steal. It smells like brake fluid and cigarette smoke, and the heating doesn't work. We love it.
While the money from Harry is a Godsend, I know that it won't go far once things like school and bills start. I contemplate online jobs, and for a millisecond look into the prospect of stripping over webcam. But apart from the fact that I don't want my face all over the internet, just the idea that I don't know who's watching feels wrong. That power shift I'd loved about dancing, the knowledge that for fifteen minutes I held that man in the palm of my hand with nothing but the subtle shift of my hips, it was addictive. To give that up feels like giving up that power, that consent.
Well, that and charging fifty cents a minute for some creep to jerk off in his bedroom was beyond desperate—even for me.
"Anthony Donovan, you get your ass back in this house!"
Washing the breakfast dishes, I watch from my kitchen window as a teenage boy storms out of the house next door, down the crooked little path, and out into the street where he jumps on a bike and pedals away at full speed. A tall, dark-haired woman follows, only to have to watch as he disappears down the dirt road, dust kicking up behind his bike tyres. Her frustration is clear even from where i'm standing, her hands set into tight fists on her hips. I watch her chest rise and fall with deep breaths. After a moment, she tightens her ponytail and walks back into the house – her face stormy.
That's the first time I get a good look at my closest neighbour.
Her house looks similar to mine, same double front house, same yard, but while I try my best to keep mine neat, it's clear there's an army of kids inside hers. Toys, swing sets, and dolls all cover the grass out front, and there are at least three bikes leaning against the fence on any given day. I've seen so many kids come and go, I'm never sure which ones are hers. It's a shambles, a complete mess, and sometimes I can hear her yelling from across the lawn, but something about it draws me in like only the sight of a proper family can.
Mary and I meet properly one Monday afternoon. I've just finished cutting up Cody's lunch, when I realise i'm not quite sure where he is.
"Code?"
His room is empty, his toys still lying in the middle of the floor.
I put the plate down on the kitchen bench as I pass.
"Cody?"
The TV is off, and when I stand still for a moment, my heartbeat kicks up when I realise I can't hear him anywhere in the house. Not a peep. Hoping to find him in the front yard, I throw open the screen, only to have to catch myself on the doorframe as I almost trip over a body sitting at the front door.
Sitting crosslegged, Cody has his toys strewn about the porch, his back to the screen door.
"Cody, I—" It's only when I step over him that I see her, pressed up against the front of the house, a set of Avengers figurines in her lap.
She's tiny, a jumble of elbows and knees, with long dark hair and russet skin, and a pair of eyes so big she looks almost cartoonish. I know instantly she's from next door.
"Oh. Hello," I say quietly, kneeling down between the two.
Timid little thing she is, her dark skin flushes at the cheeks. "Hi."
"Is this your friend, Cody?"
"She's from next door," he says casually.
I turn back to her, immediately seeing the similarity. "Oh."
"She likes Iron Man too."
The girl nods. "But I, um, I like Superman bestest."
Cody frowns, shaking his head.
"There you are!" yells the woman from next door, who's just appeared at my front gate. "I thought I said to stay in the front yard!"
The little girl on my porch tilts her head to one side. "I did!"
The woman rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips. "I meant our front yard."
"It's okay," I say, standing and dusting my hands off. "I don't mind"
"I'm Mary," says the woman, stepping right up onto the porch like she's making herself at home.
She reaches a hand for mine. "uh, Scarlet."
"Nice to meet you," Mary says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
"Thanks—"
"Come on, honey," she says, hand outstretched for the girl. "We gotta go pick your brother up."
"Can't I stay?" she whines.
Mary stands firm, shaking her head. "Maybe another day. Say bye."
I watch as the tiny girl peels herself away from Cody, and I realise that in her he might have already found a friend.
Mary turns to walk away when I finally find my voice. "Hey. You, um, you know of anywhere looking for staff? Part time work or something?"
She looks back at me, shielding her face from the sun. "Well… there's a bar up on the highway. It's isn't much, but they pay alright and the hours aren't bad. Old Joe who runs the place is kind of a grumpy bastard, but he runs a good bar."
"What's it called?"
"Just called 'Joes'."
"Oh. Okay, thanks."
"Rosie!" she calls, reaching a hand out to her little one who's completely ignored her mom and sat back down again. "No problem. Tell him I sent you. He might throw you out on the spot, but it's worth a try. Rosalie-May, I said let's go!"
From that day on there's barely an afternoon goes by that Cody and Rosie aren't together.
She's got an appetite like a horse, and there's always dirt on her face somewhere, or something sticky in her long hair, but Cody absolutely adores her. We both do.
Joe's turns out to be the one bar in town, and just as Mary had said, the owner, Joe, turns out to be a grumpy old pain in the ass.
"You got references?" he grunts from behind the bar.
"Well, no, I just came to—"
His eyes narrow. "You worked a bar before, girl?"
"Sort of, I—"
"Well have you or haven't you?"
"Yes, Sir. I worked—"
"Don't need your life story. Just need someone to work hard and not get knocked up. Last three women I hired went out and got themselves pregnant. Can't work when you got a damn beachball under your shirt and ankles the size of tree stumps."
I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.
"Yeah, yeah. I know, women's rights and all that, I get it. But damned if the girls here ain't got nothin' better to do but marry up and have babies. "
"Well if you stop talking for one minute and let me finish, you'd learn that I already have a son. He's five. I'm not married, I don't even have a boyfriend, I barely know anyone in town except for my next-door neighbor, and I'm used to working six days a week so being a hard worker isn't an issue. But if you're going to be a crusty old asshole who gets on my back about being a "damn woman" then you can stick you job up your—,"
His laughter cuts me short.
For a moment he's silent with it, his mouth open and his eyes watering. But then it explodes, loud and raucous, echoing around the empty bar.
"Scarlet was it?"
I frown, glaring at him from across the bar. "Yeah."
He leans forward a little, grabbing my hand. Shaking hard he smiles. "Job's yours if you want it. Hell, anyone who's willing to put me in my place is worth a trial run at least."
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack, girlie."
My trial lasts one night. After a six hour day shift Joe practically begs me to stay, offering me a better rate on a Sunday and all of my tips at every shift.
"You can take him over to the Ateara's," Mary says, dumping another heaped teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. "Runs a daycare out of her house. It's not much, but she's good with the kids and it's cheap."
The morning after I get the job at Joe's I invite Mary for a coffee to say thank you.
"You take Rosie there?"
She nods. "Sometimes. Mostly her Grandparents look after her when I'm at work, and the boys pick her up after school and bring her home."
"Have you lived here long?"
"All my life. Moved into town right after I married my husband. Parents are still on the Res, too darn stubborn to go anywhere else."
"Your husband around?"
"Died a few years back. Right after my youngest was born."
"I'm so sorry."
She smiles a little, shaking her head. "Don't be. No reason for you to be sorry. Stupid son of a bitch ran his dirt bike right into a tree up on one of the trails. Right up over the crest of a hill, and bang. Gone."
Her openness, her ability to talk to freely about such a painful memory is astounding. Awe-inspiring.
"Your little boy's daddy around?"
I contemplate lying. But without Harry around i'm craving closeness, that ability to have an open discussion with someone who won't judge me. And something about Mary tells me she wouldn't bat an eyelid if I told her the truth. So I give her a version of the truth - a very small part of it.
"No. He's over at New York State, doing twenty to life."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"You keep in touch with him?"
Staring down into my coffee, I shake my head. "God no. If Cody never meets his real father it'll be too soon."
We're both quiet for a moment, processing. Mary shifts in her seat, dark hair shining as it hangs in a thick rope over her shoulder. "So, the guy that came by here the other week? He's not your husband or… boyfriend?"
"Which guy?"
"Tall guy, beard, more tattooed skin than clean from what I could see."
I laugh. "No. Jack is… he's a friend, I guess."
Mary's eyebrows rise a little, and she hides a smirk behind her coffee cup before taking a sip. "Oh."
"Oh my God, no! Not that kind of friend."
She shrugs lazily, eyes filled with teasing. "No shame in that if he was more than a friend. I just figured since he was bringing boxes and stuff…"
"No. Definitely not."
We're quiet again, but I can see something twinkling in Mary's eyes. "Too bad," she muses. "He's quite a specimen."
Lucky for Mary, Jack visits often. Every month or so. Each time he visits he brings a gift.
A brand new TV.
A box set of Animal Planet DVD's for Cody.
A laptop for me.
This month, it's a puppy.
It's half the size of Cody already, all paws and ears and soft, stretchy skin. He bounds around the house, sniffing and making himself at home, and within seconds the two of us are in love with it.
"He's not much now," says Jack. "But he'll be a hell of a guard dog in a year or so."
"Do I need a guard dog?" I ask.
Shaking his head, Jack smiles. "Not for what you think. But you're on your own out here, and you can never be too careful."
"How is… everything? Business is good?"
Chuckling, Jack bends down to scratch the puppy behind the ears. "I'm in the business of being bad, Scarlet. It's always good."
I want to ask so badly. So, so badly. But I don't.
I don't need to. Jack simply shakes his head, a knowing yet sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth
It takes a long, deep breath to hold back the tears. But I do it—I'm a pro at covering the emotion now. I paint a smile on and bend down to pat the puppy at our feet.
"What should we call him?" I ask Cody, smiling for real as the dog licks at my fingers.
"Iron Man?"
I laugh. "No, baby, he needs a doggy name. Like Bones, or Rex, or Huckleberry."
"Huckaberry."
"You like Huck?"
"Yeah! We'll call you Huck, okay, Huck?"
Jack and I leave Cody to play with the puppy, the two of us heading out to the front porch. With summer well and truly on it's way, the kids next door are playing with a hose, and I can hear cicadas all round. It feels a world away from the grey, rainy city I left behind.
"You look good," says Jack, flicking the ends of my hair.
Out of habit, I run my hands over the space my bangs used to sit. The hair is tucked over my ears now, long enough to be pulled back out of my face, even though the rest of it only just skims my collarbones.
"You doing okay?" he asks.
I think about it for a moment, listening to the sounds of forest around me. "I am," I say with a nod. "Every day has its moments, but we're doing okay. I think…" I look out over the street, over the green treetops and the mountains in the distance. "I think this place is good for me. For us."
"I think so, too." He slips his sunglasses back into place. "Make sure you get that air conditioner fixed," he says as he leaves. "It's going to be a long, hot summer."
The screen door from next-door slams shut, and I watch Mary steps out onto the porch, Rosie already climbing over the fences between our houses.
Jack stops midway to the car, raising a hand. "Afternoon," he calls, and I can hear the smile in his voice from six feet away.
Mary lifts her chin in greeting, her shoulders straightening. "Afternoon yourself."
* * *
"How about a jug of Coors Light and your number?"
"You think I'd give my number to a man who drinks light beer?"
He laughs. "Come on now."
I roll my eyes, hooking the lip of the jug under the beer tap. "You know, you've asked every Saturday night for the past three weeks, and every time I've said no."
The guy smiles, dimples appearing. I can only imagine he gets a lot of girls with a smile like that.
"I figure I gotta get lucky one night, right?"
I plop the jug of beer in front of him, laughing. "Wrong. Ten fifty."
He clucks, but hands over the money. "Next week, Scar. I'll ask again next week."
"Okay, Dave. Good luck with that."
The Saturday night crowd are beginning to roll in. Truckers and machine workers from the logging companies around, a few locals, and the ever-present regulars. Work is easy, and the people are nice enough. Apart from a few over zealous guys - which, of course, I'm more than equipped to deal with - everyone is kind and friendly, which makes my job a whole lot easier.
"Hey, Dianne," I say, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "How are you today?"
The old woman turns, wrinkled lips pursed around a cigarette. "Hey, sweetheart," she rasps, voice crackling. "I'd be better if that old coot Joe would hurry up with my white wine spritzer."
Laughing, I clear away the empty glass in front of her. "I'll see what's keeping him. You want something to eat?"
She pats my elbow with a gnarled hand. "You're too sweet."
"I'll see what I can find." With a wink, I leave her to herself.
I'm stacking glasses onto a tray when the front door swings open behind me, bringing a gust of early summer wind with it. It smells of sawdust and wet earth, and the sweet smell of green grass and forest. Dry leaves skitter across the floor, and my hair blows off my neck, sending a rush of goosebumps down my back.
"Can I get a hand back here, Scarlet?" yells Joe from across the bar.
I balance the tray on my hip as I grab a few extra glasses. "Sure thing."
Tray in hand I turn.
And.
I almost slam right into him.
All I see is green.
And then faded blue jeans. The kind that look soft and worn, the cuffs stuffed lazily into tan work boots that are covered in dust.
Red flannel and ink follow.
Dark hair that I know the feeling of between my fingers.
Eyes so goddamn bright I'd forgotten how green they were in real life.
The ink on his throat bobs as Harry swallows, clearing his throat.
"Hi."