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  The others saw it too—I couldn’t have imagined it.

  I tried to ignore that it somehow magically disappeared and threaded the bobby-pin around a stubborn curl, fastening it tight to my head. I wasn’t going to let that stuff ruin my day. Again. I was going to be productive, and most of all, sane.

  Knock, knock.

  “Are you in there, Nevaeh?” George was up.

  “Uh, yeah. Almost done.” I hurried, tying my blue ribbon around the base of my bun. I gathered my shoes and belongings, then opened the door.

  George leaned against the wall with one hand propping him up. He coughed violently into his other hand tightened into a fist at his mouth.

  “George!” I squealed, gripping his arm to help hold him upright.

  “I’m…uhah, uhah…I’m fine. Just need something to drink. Mouth’s a little dry from snoring...uhuh, uhah,” he said in between hacks.

  “I’ll get you something.” I ran down the hall, slipping my shoes on along the way. I rushed into the kitchen, passing the few employees that were in there, said my “good mornings” as I flew by, and snatched a juice from the refrigerator. Avoiding the questioning eyes that watched me, I ran out as swiftly as I could.

  “Hey, George?” I called, sliding to a halt to bang on the door.

  “Damn, Nevaeh, I just coughed a little,” he answered harshly from the other side.

  “Look, I’m just trying to help. Do you want the drink or not?”

  He cracked the door and took the juice. “See, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” He shut the door in my face.

  George had never acted like that before. I didn’t know whether to call 911 or skulk around until he apologized for hurting my feelings. The first would only make him madder. I walked down the hallway, keeping an ear out in case he called.

  The crew stared at me as I entered the kitchen, much slower this time.

  “Sorry.” I lowered my head, embarrassed, and moved toward the spread of breakfast foods. They resumed their conversations, unaffected by my random act of running through the building like a madwoman. I swiped a bagel from the pastry tray, a bottle of orange juice, and then proceeded into the cafe.

  “Morning.” Gavyn’s smile greeted me when I entered the hallway.

  “Hi.” I held up my bagel. “Just getting something in my stomach before helping with the food prep.” The words fumbled nervously out of my mouth. I didn’t know how to act around him after last night.

  He opened his mouth like he was about to ask a question and paused. I hurried by him, denying any chance of further conversation. Feeling guilty for dodging him, I looked over my shoulder and offered him an apologetic smile.

  I found an empty table next to the window and settled into the creaky chair. The others engaged in updating one another on any events of significance happening in their lives since they last spoke. I sat in silence, staring out the window watching people pass. I wanted to take a temporary leave from my life and get lost in the crowd.

  “Got room for one more?”

  I glanced up to see George towering over me.

  “Of course. Do you feel better?” The little bit of hurt I felt from George’s harshness earlier wasn’t enough to out-do my concern for him.

  “A little. I can’t seem to shake this cold. It came on so sudden.” A small cough escaped as he finished the last word.

  “Maybe we should take you to the hospital too. You really don’t look that good. I’ll ask Gavyn—“

  “No,” George cut in, “I don’t wanna go to any doctor. I just need to let it run its course. It always does.” His stern words broke through mine.

  I examined his face, noticing new lines and ridges that I hadn’t seen before. Tiny crevasses added years to his already aged face. His skin looked damp and clammy. Gray undertones surrounded his eyes and lips.

  “All I’m saying is that you need to at least rest. Gavyn might let you take the day off.”

  “We can’t afford to both be sick. I’ll tough it out. No big deal.” George forced a smile.

  “First of all, I’m not sick. Second of all, you look awful. You can’t tell me you don’t feel just as bad.”

  “She’s right, George. You do look rough.” Gavyn agreed, joining the argument as he approached our table. “I don’t have a problem with you taking the day off. I won’t fire you.”

  “Thanks, Gavyn, but I’d rather work. I’ve never been good at being sick. This’ll pass.”

  Gavyn looked at me with remorse—like he was about to go against my wishes and wanted it to be okay. I frowned and crossed my arms disapprovingly. Staring out the window, I waited for him to make his decision.

  “Alright, man. You need to stay in the back with the dirty dishes though. I don’t want you coughin’ on the food and getting the customers sick too. If you change your mind, let me know.”

  I continued staring out the window like a selfish little girl who didn’t get her way. George stood and kissed my forehead, “I’ll be fine, Nev.” He walked away in a slow shuffle.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  An Inconvenient Visitor

  Layla was already cutting tomatoes when I walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Nevaeh. Ready to start something new today?”

  I nodded, attempting to appear more excited about working with her than I really was. “Where do you need me?”

  “Hmm.” She glanced around, thinking of an assignment to give me. “You can grab the bag of onions from the pantry. Half of them need to be chopped and half of them sliced.” She concentrated again on cutting the orange-red tomato in her hand.

  The pantry was dark and dry. Inside were shelves that extended from the floor to the ceiling, filled with every non-perishable ingredient you could think of for an entrée, side, garnish, or topping. I retrieved the bag of onions hanging from a hook near the back and closed the door behind me. I cleared a spot on the butcher’s block across from Layla and opened the bag.

  The knife slid through the onion easily. My eyes stung from the released gasses. It was nice doing something that didn’t required much thought. And the silence between Layla and me was not as awkward as I expected. I found myself slicing in a rhythm that slipped me into a trance.

  My mind wandered to my childhood. Scents of gardenias and roses from my grandmother’s garden returned to me. The memory was so vivid that the floral smell dulled the bittersweet onion. I remembered running through her garden, so young that many of the bushes hid and covered me like a fairytale jungle. The blossoms seemed to whisper my name in the breeze as I played among their branches.

  One day in particular, I skipped through the colorful patches of her roses, stopping to greet and smell each beautiful bloom along the way. At the end of the aisle of bushes was a small rounded out nook of brush. Pretending to be a fairy princess, I tucked in the thicket and imagined my little fairy friends fluttering around me.

  A soft wind rustled through the leaves and petals. Coolness from the shade settled on my cheeks and nose, saving me from the summer heat. Fragrant aromas of flourishing buds sweetened the air while strange, invisible whispers beckoned me to relax. I soon fell asleep listening to the magical murmurs of my fairy friends.

  My grandmother’s shaky voice yelled from the back door, startling me awake. “Nevaeh, where are you?”

  Not ready to go in yet, I tucked even farther into the dark thicket and sat giggling, waiting for her to find me. She sounded frightened when she called to me again. “Nevaeh, please come inside. Where are you?” she cried.

  My playfulness became fear. I rushed to my knees and tried to crawl out of the thicket. Something cold and rough grabbed the back of my dress. I couldn’t move. It was now too dark to see what was behind me. Thorns tore at my skin more and more as I thrashed to get out. Tears blurred my vision and small whimpers escaped my lips. The cold, rough thing was slowly wrapping its limbs around my little waist like a vine lassoing me in.

  Unable to move, I screamed for my grandmother. I choked on sobs in between te
rrified screams. I could see the red back door from where I was, but she wasn’t there anymore. The air seemed to get darker. I could almost see the form of a person sitting in the thicket with me.

  The sweet odors from the garden soured. I squeezed my eyes shut and curled into a ball with my head on my torn knees. I was waiting for her to save me when, suddenly, something warm from outside the thicket pulled at my arms and dragged me out. The thing that held me hostage let go with an awful screech.

  Calmness replaced the chaos. I opened my eyes to look at my grandmother, but no one was there. The cool grass soothed my burning cuts while I sat on the ground confused and alone. I managed a weak whimper, “Gramma?”

  “Nevaeh?” Her voice was close.

  “Gramma, here I am.” I hiccupped a cry. She came through an opening at the end of the path.

  “Oh, thank God, Nevaeh. Don’t ever get out of my sight again. You have to stay away from such places, okay? Don’t hide in the dark corners.” Her arms squeezed me so tight that she stifled any response.

  “Damn!” Layla spat.

  I woke from my daydream to see her wrapping a towel around her finger. A few drops of blood blended in with the tomato juice that puddled on the cutting board.

  “Oh, my gosh! Are you okay, Layla?” I rounded the island, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to the sink. Blood poured in a steady flow from the deep laceration on the middle knuckle of her index finger. The more she moved the finger, the more her flesh pulled apart, creating a gap deep enough to see the granulated, whitish-pink tissue beneath her skin.

  “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Nicked my damn finger.” She held her wound under the cool water. The bright red blood spiraled down the drain. “There are some Band-Aids in the cabinet by the door. Will you get ‘em?”

  “Layla, I think that needs more than a Band-Aid,” I protested as I jogged over to the medical supply cabinet.

  She grinned sheepishly, pulling her hand out from the water and holding it tight in the towel. “I heal fast, Nevaeh. Just get the Band-Aids.”

  “Okay, but I really think you need stitches,” I reiterated while reaching for the Band-Aid box.

  The bleeding had slowed by the time I took out the bandage. Layla snatched it from my hand and covered the deep cut on her finger. “Thanks.” She winked and walked back toward the tomatoes to clean up the mess.

  I went back to my station to finish the onions, but I couldn’t help glancing up every few minutes to spy on Layla as she went on like nothing happened. Her reaction to the wound left me unsettled.

  A few minutes later, the kitchen began to fill with bantering workers. Layla darted around, spouting off orders to everyone. We didn’t speak another word about her incident, and I steered away from mindless memory wandering.

  As the day went on, I found that working in the back was a lot more hectic than standing at a podium and seating people all day. I liked it. Keeping up with the fast-paced atmosphere was rewarding. I enjoyed being part of the group, feeling like people depended on me to help things run smoothly.

  On my break, I went to check on George in the back. Instead, I found Tommy, another dishwasher, dancing to a song on his MP3 player in front of the wash sinks. His white shirt was drenched with water.

  “Where’s George?” I yelled over the music blaring from his earbuds.

  He looked at me and yanked one of the buds out of his ear. “Not sure. Gavyn asked me to cover for him. He was gone before I got here.” Tommy replaced the ear bud and continued washing dishes as he bobbed back and forth.

  Nerves knotted in my stomach. Something was wrong—I could feel it. I searched the building for George, but couldn’t find him. I ducked my head into every room, peeked into every nook, and searched every cranny, but I couldn’t find him. By the time I finished scouring the lower level of the building, I couldn’t ignore the burgeoning feeling of doom that was planting itself in the dark crevices of my mind. Distracted, I rounded the corner out of the lounge and ran straight into Gavyn. Again.

  “Whoa, do I need to wear a bell so you know when I’m coming…or are ya bumping into me on purpose now?” A mischievous grin graced his sensually full lips.

  My mind was putty for a second. I shook my head, bring my focus back where it belonged. “No, I’m not doing it on purpose. Have you seen George?”

  “He wasn’t lookin’ too good, so I pulled out the futon in my place and told him to go lay up there. Figured it would be more comfortable…and quiet. All these goons yellin’ and tramplin’ down that hall can’t be helpful when a person is tryin’ to relax.”

  I sighed in relief. “Thanks for being so nice. I know it’s hard to trust people like us—“

  “Look,” his words interrupted mine, “I don’t do this because I feel sorry for you. I do this because I have been fortunate in my life and feel like I need to repay the universe when I can.”

  “We just…we don’t have much to offer back.”

  He huffed out a breath and tightened his lips into a tense line.

  I bit my lip, regretting what I said.

  “Ya know…” He shook his head and lowered his gaze as if rethinking what he was about to say. “Are you ever gonna learn to have faith in me? Believe that I don’t want anything back?”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I don’t have faith in much of anyone or anything. It’s not just you. But I’ll work on it.” I offered a smile, hoping it showed that I didn’t mean to upset him.

  “Some things are worth having faith in.” He looked at me with every bit of seriousness he had and slid a curved finger softly along my jaw.

  I had no idea how to respond to that. I’ve only ever put my faith in George. I never had anyone else that I trusted enough, yet his touch convinced me of his honesty—and I longed to believe him. “I’m going to check on George if you don’t mind.”

  He nodded.

  I heard George’s nagging cough as I ascended the stairs to Gavyn’s apartment. “George?”

  “I’m up here. Uhuh, uhuh,” he hacked.

  His coughing sounded worse.

  When I stepped into the apartment, he was lying on the futon. His face was barely visible from all the blankets piled on top of him. I dragged my feet, reluctantly approaching George’s ill form. He looked really, really bad. Nearing the couch, I noticed his disheveled hair was sticky with sweat, and his flesh had taken on a deep, gray pallor. Almost every breath was strained; he was fighting to keep from coughing.

  “Oh, George…,” I tried to fend off the worry in my voice, “you look terrible.”

  “I don’t know what’s goin’ on. I’ve always been able to bounce back from these things. I just keep feelin’ shittier.”

  “Maybe all the change is affecting you too.”

  “No, I’m in one of the best places I’ve been in for a while. You’d think all this good food, warm bed, and steady sleep would fix it.” I read the fear on his face too easily this time.

  What if this was serious? He is an older man—worn from years of heartache, tragedy, and rough living. From the stories he told, I wasn’t sure how he had made it this long.

  “I really think you need to go to the hospital. Suck up this pride and get on with it.”

  He looked at me and smiled. “Nevaeh, I’ll be fine. I just need to rest. Besides, I can’t ask Gavyn for anything more. He has already given us so much.”

  “You made me go. Why won’t you go for me?” I argued. My lip burned as my teeth sank in, attempting to fight back the next words. “I don’t think Gavyn will have a problem. He seems like he’s willing to do whatever he can to help. He wants to help.” I hated telling him the very same thing that I was having such a problem accepting, but I hoped it would encourage George to go to a doctor.

  “He’s a good man. I see that. But I don’t deserve what he offers. You were different. We should’ve checked you out a long time ago. Nothing you have done has led you to deserve this kind of life, Nevaeh.” He smiled apologetically. “I’ll
be fine. That’s the end of it.”

  My heart broke as I remembered how guilty he felt over his past. He’d never thought he deserved even the simplest things. I stared down at him as he lay with his eyes closed. After a few minutes of watching his heavy breathing and silently willing his sickness away, I decided to leave him resting and return to work.

  When I got back downstairs, Layla was still helping in the kitchen. The cooks were joined in a rather loud, quartet version of Phil Collins’s “In the Air Tonight” as it played on the jukebox. I politely smiled and covered my ears as I walked through the kitchen, dulling the rising voices around me. I approached Layla to find out where they needed me.

  “Hey. How’s George?” she asked, pulling down little pieces of papers from the order wheel.

  “Awful, but he won’t listen to me. He refuses to go to the hospital.”

  She stretched and put a new piece of paper on a free clip for the cooks to see. When she brought her hand down, I noticed the Band-Aid was gone. There was no trace of the cut on her finger.

  Layla turned and eyed me suspiciously when she saw me staring. “What is it?”

  The shock on my face must have been obvious. “Wasn’t that the hand you cut?”

  “Oh…yeah, but it’s fine now. It wasn’t that deep after all.” She dismissed my concern by casually wriggling her fingers around to show how well they worked and then walked away.

  I trailed behind her. “Layla, you had a deep cut that needed stitches. You were bleeding like a stuck pig. How—“

  “Look, I’m fine, Nevaeh,” she interjected with a nervous giggle. “I really don’t think you need to make a big deal about this. It was a little cut. That’s all.” Her eyes darted around the kitchen to make sure none of the other workers were paying our conversation any attention. Her tone grew serious and secretive. “I told you, I’m a fast healer. Can we just leave it at that?”

  She was hiding something. I could see it in her eyes.

  “Besides, I’m sure you don’t really want to talk about your disappearing mark, do you?” She swatted the hair away from my forehead and waited for a response.