“Why is the sun yellow?” One of them asks.
“So what, we’re expected to fix their issue of loneliness now?” The anger is searing through me, considering the thought that Bradley used me as a tool for what sounds like a brothel.
“No, actually, they gave the men the option to cash out the earnings for their part in the study or continue for another six months for triple the award if they are able to complete the rest of the time here. All but five chose to stay. Considering your brother was overseeing part of this program, I would have thought you’d know more. Anyway, he chose to leave so he could be with our sister. That’s why we’re here, living rent-free for a while.”
This explanation makes more sense, which makes me wonder why Bradley couldn’t have left me with a few extra details. It’s just like him to take part in debauchery like this.
“I see,” I tell them. Basically, my brother is a moron. There’s a shocker.
“If you ignore them, they won’t bother you ...”
“Ignore who?” I question.
“The men. Right, Krow?” Kricket asks. Now, I temporarily know who’s who. Kricket seems to be the only one of the two who talk. She’s also wearing a charcoal neck-tie, versus the black neck-tie Krow is wearing. God forbid they pick a non-neutral color to distinguish one from another.
As expected, Krow nods her head. “Well, they seem nice but definitely lonely. We got an invitation to a bonfire on the beach tonight from them. Or, at least I think it’s from them,” I add.
“We’re not going. Those men are desperate to meet us. Giving into that will be like walking into a gauntlet.”
“We’re not allowed—” Krow attempts to say.
“Krow,” Kricket interrupts.
“Sorry,” Krow follows.
I’ll pretend like I’m not curious at all as to what she was going to say. In any case, they have a point. The men’s aggressive introductions were a bit unsettling.
“I’m sorry you two are stuck with me,” I offer as an olive branch, hoping they realize I mean no harm to their life. By the way they keep looking at me, one might think I killed someone in their family. All I know is, I’d rather not make this living situation worse than it currently appears to be.
“We don’t dislike you,” Kricket says, turning to walk ahead toward the street.
“Oh,” I respond, keeping my response subtle.
“Krow is going through a nasty divorce. Her husband left her with nothing. She’s not in a great place right now, and I’ve been trying to pull her out of a funk for weeks. My lease was coming to an end, and Krow had moved in with me, so when Katarina told us about this opportunity, I thought it would be good to get her away for a bit, while we had the chance. We both landed jobs in Savannah, which start in a few weeks, so it’s an ideal situation.”
Maybe their front of hatred is not about me. “I’m so sorry to hear about your marriage, Krow,” I say to her, receiving nothing in return except a cold stare. It’s like she’s still in shock, which can’t be healthy.
“She’ll be fine once she snaps out of this funk,” Kricket says. “Sorry if we came off a little uptight.”
A little. I want to tell Kricket I thought the three of them were a part of the Addams Family, but I’ll refrain. Plus, I heard their chatter in the bedroom, and the text exchanges, it all seemed pointed. However, I’ll let it go and hope for the best.
“It’s okay. It’s never easy to make big life changes.”
By the time our conversation comes to an intermission, I see a restaurant ahead at the end of this block.
The Clam Pit. It sounds good. The interior is encased with glass windows and it is wide open at the other end leading out to a wooden deck covered with tables, overlooking the ocean. This doesn’t suck.
What sucks even less is the “Hiring” sign I notice on the way inside. I was a server in college off and on, so I have experience. I bet the tips are good at a beachfront restaurant too.
Kricket asks for a table fit for three, but I’m glancing around the place, taking in the worn wooden, beachy feel. “Oh, excuse me. Before you seat us, do you have an employment application? I saw your hiring sign, and I’m new to town.”
“Of course,” the hostess says. She’s dressed in a white polo that accentuates her golden tan and light blonde, shoulder-length hair. She reaches below the podium and retrieves a sheet of paper filled with typed questions and a pen. “Here you go.”
With the menus pinched between her arm and side, she swivels away from the stand and trots to the back-porch, showing off the sharp movements of her hips in the cutoff black shorts she’s sporting. If this is the attire here, it’s even better. It’s not hideous like the uniform at most restaurants. I don’t know if my hips move like that, but I can try.
We’re seated against the enclosure of the deck, giving us the perfect view of the calm teal and turquoise waves. “Enjoy,” the hostess squeaks before making her way back inside.
“You want to work here?” Kricket asks.
