I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin. Based on the books I’ve read on the e-reader, that’s almost unheard of. Two horrible men tried to change that simple fact. No, not men. Monsters. Since my failed attempt to lose my virginity with Billy Minton, not having a boyfriend hasn’t been by choice, only circumstance.
I’ve thought a lot about it over the past few days. Aaron is a nice guy. Single (I think), attractive, funny, my age. And he doesn’t ask too many questions, but would he if I slept with him? Would he get all curious or clingy? That’s the last thing I want. But I have needs. The way my body responds when he’s near, it’s like some visceral reaction I don’t seem to have any control over.
I clean the next four rooms, wondering what he would do if I propositioned him.
“Devyn, right?” a man says from the doorway.
“Yes. Sorry, I’m finishing up now.” I go for his trash can. “I’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”
He crosses the room and removes the overflowing bag from his can. Beer bottles clink together. “Here, let me help.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s heavy,” he says, placing the bag into my larger trash roller. “And it’s my pleasure.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze travels the length of my body. He’s attractive, in a straight-laced-banker kind of way. I wonder if there are any rules about me mingling with the guests. “Anytime,” he says, touching my lower back as I exit his room.
I expect my body to react. I wait for the somersaults in my stomach, the tingles down my spine, the spontaneous exhale of a slow breath. But nothing.
“All this team-building stuff is crap,” he says, following me to the doorway. “How about I skip the afternoon session and you give me a tour of the ranch?” His hand juts out. “I’m Jake.”
I shake. “Devyn.”
“I thought we’d already established that.”
I’m terrible at flirting. Haven’t had the opportunity to do it in a while.
A noise down the hall gets my attention, and I stick my head out. Aaron is on his knees, fixing a spindle along the upper balcony that broke when one of the drunken bankers fell against it last night. He looks up and lifts his chin. He briefly glances at Jake and then goes back to his task.
“I, uh… better get back to work.”
“So, after lunch then?” Jake asks.
I peek at Aaron. He’s listening. “Against the rules. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Jake retreats into his room. I hurry past Aaron to the back stairway, not wanting to be upstairs when the other guests return. Halfway down, Aaron joins me and helps me carry the heavy trash bin the rest of the way. “It’s not, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Against the rules. There aren’t any rules. If you wanted to do… whatever he was asking.”
At the bottom of the stairs, I take the bin from him and gaze into his eyes. They are pale green; such a contrast to his dark hair. “I didn’t. I don’t.” I gawk at him like a smitten schoolgirl and then open the back door and go out.
“Good,” he says before the door shuts behind me.
I lean against it, putting a hand on my stomach as I exhale. I smile as I haul the trash across the yard to the dumpster shed. Something falls from a bag as I’m tossing it. A magazine. Congressman Ed DeMaggio’s face is on the cover. He stares at me, letting me know I have no right to happiness. I toss it into the dumpster and then hide behind it and cry.
Upon my return, I don’t expect Joe, the cook, to be in the kitchen. There’s no avoiding him; I have to walk past him to get to my room. One look at me, and he guides me to the table. “Sit. I’m gonna make you some tea.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nonsense. Just wait ’til you taste it. My tea could charm the feathers off a bird.”
I wipe away one remaining tear. “That good, huh?”
He makes small talk while the water boils and he fixes lunch for the guests, then he sets two mugs on the table and takes the seat next to me. “We’re a lot alike, you and me.”
I try not to laugh. He’s at least seventy years old, African American, and Aaron tells me he’s an Army vet. His left eye is covered with a patch. We couldn’t be more different.
I blow on my tea. “How so?”
“We both got secrets. War wounds. Things we ain’t never told nobody. Difference is, your wounds are still fresh.”
I sip. “Wow, this is good.”
“Lots of folks around here got ’em—secrets, that is. We all got that same look about us. A guilt that burns deep in our gut. Take it from an old man whose secrets got buried long ago. They’ll eat you up from the inside.”
I quietly drink my tea. I’m sure Joe has good intentions. He’s undoubtedly been through a lot. But that doesn’t mean he would understand. It doesn’t mean he would accept me for who I am and what I’ve done.
“Thank you for the tea.” I wash my mug and put it back in the cabinet. When I turn to leave, Joe hands me a cup of yogurt and a spoon.
“I know it’s your favorite. I made sure to order extra these past few weeks.” He winks at me.
My cheeks heat. “You knew?”
“Been fixin’ food here for the better part of a year, Missy. A good cook knows exactly how much food is in his kitchen. Well, that, and I saw you casing the place last month. Figured if all you wanted was food, you couldn’t exactly be a hardened criminal.”
I swallow. “Thank you for not saying anything.”
“Like I said, we all got our secrets. Ain’t my place to go tellin’ any of yours.” He winks and I take the yogurt and leave the room. He calls out after me. “My eyes may not be what they used to be, but I got me a perfectly fine set of ears. And they’re real good for listening. Got me?”
I nod and hold up the yogurt. “Thanks, Joe.”
That night in bed, I can’t sleep. I look at the clock. It’s after one in the morning. For a month, I slept during the day. Nighttime is when I came out of the attic. It’s been hard getting my body back on a regular sleep schedule. At two, I give up and make my way to the attic. Out of habit, I’m quiet and careful to avoid the creaky steps.
I go to the window, as I’ve done so many times. I still oil it daily with cooking spray I borrowed from the kitchen. The stick I use to prop it open lies at my feet. I jam it in the window and climb through, bringing an old blanket with me.
I love it out here. It reminds me of when I was a kid. I try to remember the names of the constellations and the gods and goddesses they were named after.
I startle when I hear a noise behind me.
“Don’t get up,” Aaron says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
“I saw you up here the other night. Do you come up here a lot?”
“Sometimes I would lie for hours, waiting for the guests to go to sleep.”
“Seems risky.”
“I don’t think anyone ever heard me.”
He peers over the edge. “That’s not what I meant.”