She would start looking for an apartment just as soon as she returned from Phoenix, she promised herself. Most of the tiny apartments she’d looked at online featured built-in furnishings - a wall bed, fold-down table, adequate closets and built-in drawers. Scarlett doubted she would need to buy very much, maybe a lamp or some towels and a few assorted dishes and other kitchen stuff. She was determined to use as little of the money from her father as possible, continuing to pinch every penny she could manage. At this point, she had no real idea of where she might land an internship, and she wanted to have some funds set aside for any potential moving expenses. Plus, she thought wryly, it would be awfully nice for once in her life not to have to live paycheck to paycheck, or have to flip a coin as to whether she should use her last twenty bucks for food or bus fare.
In actuality, it did take her closer to fifteen minutes to pack, though she spent most of that time trying rather desperately to find anything at all in her sparse wardrobe that was even a little presentable. Most of the clothes she’d owned while living with Margie and Roz had worn out some time ago, given that they hadn’t been of the highest quality, and she hadn’t been able to afford replacing them. She did have a decent pair of black slacks and a white blouse, but those were reserved for catering events. Plus, the last time she’d checked, the daily high temperature in Phoenix was supposed to be hovering near a hundred degrees, which meant she’d swelter in the heavyweight black slacks. Not, of course, that she’d be spending a lot of time outdoors, merely getting in and out of cars as she entered various air-conditioned buildings.
She shoved an extra set of underwear in the threadbare duffel bag before zipping it up, then pulled out her phone to see if there were any new texts or emails from Jackson. She scowled to realize that there weren’t, then scowled even more ferociously at the realization that she was upset over his lack of communication.
‘Why the fuck do you care whether he texts you or not?’ she fumed silently. ‘It’s not like you’re BFF’s or something. Or dating. Or fucking. And the guy does have a job to do. Besides, you definitely don’t need a babysitter, Scar. You’ve been taking care of yourself for a real long time now. You don’t need Mr. Jackson Freakin’ Gilmore to take over the job.’
As she plopped on the narrow twin bed that doubled as a desk/dining table/sofa, she scrolled through the last few messages she’d exchanged with her father’s brother-in-law, stopping on the email that provided all the details she’d need to know for the next several days.
“You’re booked on Southwest flight 895 from Oakland to Phoenix on Friday at noon. A car will pick you up outside your house at 9:45am and take you to the airport. I’ll email you the flight confirmation with the e-ticket separately. Once you get to the other end, someone will be waiting for you and drive you to the hotel. You’re booked at the Biltmore, and everything’s already been paid for, so all you need to do is check in at the front desk. Order whatever you want from room service, as many times a day as you like, or eat at one of the hotel restaurants. A car will pick you up at nine on Saturday morning to take you to Doctor Parks’ office. He usually doesn’t see patients on the weekends but under the circumstances he’s very anxious to meet you, take a few more tests, and go over the whole procedure with you in detail. You’re on your own Sunday, take advantage of the pool and fitness room at the hotel, watch movies, relax, that sort of stuff. And then bright and early Monday morning you’ll be picked up at the hotel and brought to the hospital. Not sure if you’ll need to stay overnight or if they’ll let you go back to the hotel afterwards. You rest up for a few days, and then if you’re feeling up to it you fly back home on Friday morning. I think that should cover it, but let me know if you have any questions about the arrangements.”
Jackson hadn’t said one word about seeing her in person during her weeklong stay, though she assumed he’d at least call to see how she was doing. After all, she thought grumpily, he was the one who’d dragged her into this whole situation. And God knew her less than useless father wouldn’t even dream of calling or texting her to see if she needed anything or to ask how she was feeling after the procedure. No, thought Scarlett sadly, Neil would be far too busy worrying about and tending to his other daughter - the only daughter he cared about, the only one he acknowledged or thought of as his own.
She bent her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins, curling up into a little ball, a habit that had become ingrained in her since childhood when she had tried to keep herself warm. It was also a comforting posture, almost like someone was giving her a hug. Hugs and comfort were two things she had mostly lacked in her life. God knew her grandmother had been the least nurturing person in the world, and had been more likely to give Scarlett the back of her hand than a hug. Margie and Roz, of course, had been nothing but kind and nurturing, but by that point in her life Scarlett had been wary of getting too close to anyone, and didn’t always like to be touched. Her foster mothers seemed to have sensed this reluctance and had instead shown their affection with a pat on the back, a squeeze of the shoulder, a rumpling of her curls.
Barely a week after she’d moved into the dorms freshman year, Scarlett had set out to lose her virginity as quickly as possible, and there hadn’t been any shortage of horny young college students eager to take her up on such an offer. The sexual encounters that had been both sloppy, awkward, and painful at first had gradually become more pleasant, and she’d eventually grown to enjoy sleeping with someone, had been able to find pleasure and satisfaction from sex. The need for human contact, the feel of flesh on flesh, the kisses and caresses, the cuddling afterwards, had all been far more important to her than any sort of emotional connection.
But she’d burned herself out fairly quickly on the whole meaningless sex scene, had become disillusioned when she had seemed to attract every loser and every needy guy in the vicinity, had grown weary of giving far more than she was receiving - especially when she herself was in such dire need of comfort and nurturing and love. So she’d sworn off sex for the immediate future, at least until she could find a guy who was mature and had his shit together and who could maybe take care of her at least a little.
‘Someone like Jackson Gilmore’, the inner voice in her head whispered to her slyly. ‘Not even counting how much money the guy has, he sure seems like the sort who’d take care of his woman. And I’d bet every penny I own that he could show a girl a really, really good time in bed. Like, the best time she’s ever had or would likely ever have again.’
Scarlett scowled fiercely, willing that troublemaking inner voice to shut the hell up, and to stop putting ideas in her head that could never, ever come to fruition, ideas and dreams and fantasies that could only cause her heartbreak and disappointment.
She would get through this next week, she told herself firmly. Would travel to Phoenix, stay in some fancy hotel and try as best she could to enjoy the amenities, order whatever she pleased from room service as Jackson had instructed her. She’d grit her teeth to get herself through the ordeal of being in a hospital again, would fulfill her end of the bargain and let the doctor extract the marrow so that the half-sister who had zero idea Scarlett even existed could hopefully live and finally recover from the deadly leukemia. She’d spend a couple more days recuperating in the same hotel before heading back home and resuming her life. Except that it would be a better life this time - moving out of this dumpy attic room that was freezing cold in the winter and broiling hot in the summer into her own tiny but precious apartment. She’d have a little nest egg, would be able to cut back from three part-time jobs to only two, and wouldn’t have to worry for the next year about whether she had enough to eat. She would of a certainty never hear from her father again, would have to force herself not to wonder wistfully what it might have been like to meet her grandparents and the rest of the family.