But all he says is, “She’s cool.”
Huh.
Davy gives me another slow once-over and then snaps his
ngers. “You should come to a bon re. Saturday night at sunset,
the Bone Garden.”
I have no idea where that is, nor do I really care. Especially not after that dubious exchange I heard inside the shop.
Porter snorts. “Don’t think I don’t know that’s where you rst hooked up with Chloe.”
“So?” Davy challenges. “Chloe’s in LA now. Why you gotta bring up the past?”
“Why are you inviting her to the bon re?” Porter jerks his thumb toward me.
Davy shrugs as his friend Ray urges him down the boardwalk, away from the vintage clothing shop. “It’s a free country.”
I’m not sure what that was all about, but I’m feeling pretty awkward being left alone with Porter. “I gotta get to work.”
Midday sun lights up golden streaks on top of Porter’s dark curls, and when he turns his head toward the ocean, the scruff on his face almost looks red. “Yeah, me too.”
Crap. We’re both working together again today? I forgot to check the schedule in my rush to get out of there after everything that happened yesterday. I’m not sure how much more of this strained togetherness I can handle. But he’s looking at me sort of funny, scratching the back of his neck, like he wants to say something else. And now I remember the cookies he left me, and I’m wondering if he’s remembering them too. Sure, as far as gestures go, it was okay. But for all I know, he could’ve stolen them from the café. I should have just thrown them in the trash, but I gave the chocolate chip one to Grace and ate the others.
Feeling uncomfortable, I mumble a good-bye and turn to leave. ?at chick from the shop, Julie, is standing outside, both arms and purple dreadlocks crossed over her chest, warily watching us. I avoid eye contact and keep walking.
“See you later, cowgirl,” Davy calls in the distance somewhere behind me.
Let’s hope not. As I pass the churro cart, I notice Porter heading in the same general direction, but his muscular legs carry him faster. Someone whistles, agging him down. It’s a middle-aged man, maybe my dad’s age, with wavy, gray-brown hair, closely cropped. He’s dressed in board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt and looks like he could have been handsome when he was younger, but he’s had some hard knocks. One of his arms is covered with faded tattoos; the other arm is missing—as in, completely gone.
I’m surprised to recognize Porter’s eyes in the man’s when I pass, then I glance at the puckering pink scars where the arm once was. Porter catches me staring. I quickly look away and keep going, face aming.
I think this is probably Porter’s dad and the “horrible” thing that Grace was talking about.
What in the world happened to that family?
LUMIÈRE FILM FANATICS COMMUNITY PRIVATE MESSAGES>ALEX>ARCHIVED
@mink: What do you want to do after high school? @alex: You mean, with my life?
@mink: I mean college. When I was younger, I used to think I wanted to go to film school. Be a director. But now I don’t think I’d be so good at being in charge. I don’t want that kind of pressure. Now I think I’d rather be behind the scenes, cataloging something.
@alex: Professional film hobbyist? @mink: *blink* Is that a real job? Hopefully, it pays huge sums of cash. @alex: Right there with you. My dad expects me to take over the family business, and I don’t want to. Don’t get me wrong: I like the family business. I enjoy it as a hobby. But I don’t want the pressure of doing it full-time for money. What if I want to do other things, you know? @mink: I hear ya. And I guess we have to start applying for colleges in the fall. Sort of scary. Too many schools. West Coast? East Coast? I don’t know. @alex: Enjoy your multitude of choices. Meanwhile, I’ll be stuck at the local community college, working two jobs. My future is already mapped out for me.
@mink: That can’t be true.
@alex: Some of us aren’t so lucky, Mink.
“I used to hate the water.”
—Roy Scheider, Jaws (1975)
7
My dad says the second day of something is always better than the rst because you know what to expect, and he’s right. ?e Hotbox is slightly more tolerable today. I sacri ce my long waves for an updo and tie the scarf pinup-style, which keeps the sweat from rolling down the back of my neck. Grace has taken preventative measures too, bringing in a battery-powered oscillating fan from home that she’s mounted between our stations. Our biggest obstacle is juggling bathroom breaks, because we’re drinking more water than horses after the Kentucky Derby.
Halfway through my shift, I get my thirty-minute break. Shucking my orange vest, I head upstairs to the café, where I nd a lull in the line. ?e sugar cookie Porter gave me yesterday was pretty scrumptious, so I buy two and nd an empty table in a private alcove under the pirate ship. I pull out my phone and look up what’s been hounding me since I clocked in today.
