Falling for the Ghost of You (8 page)

"Yeah, I've never seen that shade of red before on a human face."

I carefully put the baby down in Lauren's mom's room.  She gives a tiny si
gh and rolls over on her side—s
o cute!

I wonder what I would do if Mom ever told me she was pregnant?  I'd be thrilled and horrified at the same time.

I turn the baby monitor on and grab the other unit from
its base
so we can listen for Brianna.  Then I go across the hall to the room Lauren and the twins share.

"Dinner's ready soon," I say, poking my head in.  "Lauren says to wash up."

Thank goodness, all they're doing is painting their toenails.  Identical heads lift up to look at me.

"What're we having?  It smells good,"  Ashley wants to know.

"Beef and broccoli."

The twins exchange grimaces.

"It's good," I say before I turn to go.

"Hey, V?"

Kylie's voice stops me.  "Yeah?"

"Is it true you're living with a guy now?"

"What?!"  I glare at the giggling girls.  "Were you guys eavesdropping again?"

"Is he really hot?" one of the little monsters asks.

"Do you sleep in the same bed?" The other one smirks.

"No!  And I'm not even—u
gh!  You know what?"  I point a finger at them warningly.  "Quit listening in!  And I'm not sleeping with anyone!"

"Is that why you're so grouchy
, then
?"

The twins erupt in laughter.  Dirty-minded little buggers
.  I stomp away.

"Your sisters are evil," I tell Lauren as I come back into the kitchen.  "They overheard us talking about my new living arrangements.  They actually asked me if I’m sleeping with Zane!”

Lauren laughs.  “See, remember when you were complaining about being an only child?  This is why I wanted to hit you.”

“Yeah, I wanted a baby sister or brother, not pre teen demons.”

“Ha, well, babies do eventually grow up.”  Lauren checks the rice again.  “Done.  So, how’s your hot roommate doing?”

“I haven’t really seen him,” I say with a shrug.  I get four plates out of the cupboard and hand them to her so she can dish them up.  “He’s almost never home, and when he is, he’s usually with a different hot girl.  It’s like living at a frat house.”

“Your mom would freak if she found out.”

“I know!  I talked to Jane this morning.  She said the baby’s fever has gone down, they're really optimistic about his chances.”

Lauren smiles in relief.  “That’s great.  How’s her daughter doing?”

“Holding up okay.  The doctors are now saying he has a ninety percent chance of survival, which they’re thrilled with.  Jane says she’ll probably have to fly back home before the end of the month, because by then she’ll have to replenish her stock.”

“Has she talked to your mother yet?’

“Yeah, but she’s kept her mouth shut.  She really doesn’t want to spoil Mom’s happiness, and neither do I.”  I take the plates that Lauren hands me and place them on the table.  “She wants to come clean when Mom gets back, but I nipped that in the bud.  Why make her mad for nothing, right?  It's not like I'm doing anything with him."

"Mm-hmm.  It's just a matter of time," Lauren predicts.  "You like him."

"I barely know him," I scoff.  "And you
should see the kind of girls—women, actually—t
hat he dates.  I'm so not his type."

"Right.  Fork or spoon?"

"Both.  So, you really don't think I'm his type?"

She rolls her eyes.  "I don't know, I've never met him.  Do you want an iced tea?"

"I'll get it."  I go over to the refrigerator to get the p
itcher.  "Well, do you think I—
"

I
cut myself off when the twins co
me bouncing into the kitchen.  It's just as well.  I don't know why I'm obsessing over whether I'm Zane's type or not.  Like that even matters.  I'm sure he just sees me as his future step sister, the silly babbling geek that he's forced to put up with for a month.

God, I'm such a loser.  Lusting after a guy who will never look twice in my direction.  Matt didn't even want me, why the hell would a guy like Zane?  Why would I want him to, anyway?  He's with a different girl every day of the week, obviously a player.

Ugh.  I need to stop thinking about him.

After dinner, Lauren asks if I want to get a head s
tart on our English essays. 
I remind her that I start work tomorrow, so I need to get to bed.  Then Ashley says something about having my boyfriend tuck me in.  I leave so I don't have to think up a clever response to that.

On the way home, I try to mentally prepare myself for waking up at five in the morning.  I'll be working the morning shift, from six to two, at Sunset Parks Assisted Living.  This will be my second year there as a resident aide.  The job basically involves assisting the elderly resi
dents with daily living tasks—g
etting them up in the morning, straightening up their rooms, helping them shower, etc.

It's actually much
harder work than it sounds
.  I'm pretty much running to get everything done in time.  Each resident has a schedule they strictly adhere to, and I never hear the end of it if I don't get to their room in time.  The old guys don't care a
s much, but the ladies—t
hey ride their call buttons if you're even a few minutes late.

I love it there, though, and I love all my old people.  Once you work a schedule out and learn everyone's routines, it gets easier.  I worked there last summer and on the weekends during school, so I got to know those guys pretty well.  I missed them, and I should have visited sooner, but time kind of got away from me. 

I wonder if we got any new residents, and I try not to think about the ones we might have lost.

When I get home, I check the garage for Zane's car.  It's not there, of course.  I don't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

I decide that a long hot shower is just the thing to make me nice and sleepy.  I gather up my things and head to Zane's room.

As always, I resist the urge to snoop around.  Like me, he's not much for decorating
.  His room contains the basics,
no personal touches or pictures.  He has a very expensive-looking laptop sitting on his desk, but no sign of any other computer equipment.  I would think that a software
engineer would have all kinds of high tech crap everywhere.  But then how many
software engineers do I know—e
specially ones that look like Zane? 

Well, at least he's not a slob. 
Hey. 
I wonder what's in his closet?

Feeling brave, I take a quick peek.  Hmm...lots of cl
othes, shoes, a set of weight—o
h, it smells great in here, like some kind of spicy woodsy cologne.

I think I hear the door, and jump about a mile.  It turns out to be nothing but my paranoia.  I hurry into the bathroom, anyway.

The shower was a great idea.  I get out feeling sleepy and rel
axed.  I put on my favorite pink
tank top and matching pajama pants, then I
use my bathroom to
brush my teeth, and I am done.

Okay, time to hit the sack.

I lie down on my bed, but I can't get comfortable.  I hate it when I know I have to be somewhere in the morning, and I need to get a good night's rest for it.  The anticipation usually keeps me tossing and turning
for hours
.

This isn't working.  I decide
to get up.  I am kind of hungry, so
maybe a snack would help.

That's one good thing about living here:  the kitchen is always well-stocked.  Zane is hardly here, but someone's been keeping the fridge and cupboards full of healthy crap.  I've been buying some junk food and TV dinners, but I haven't really touched it.  It just occurs to me that I've been eating out a lot lately.  No wonder my clothe
s have been fitting me kind of tight
.  I'll
have to put a stop to that.  Maybe
I should start dancing again.  That was great exercise.

I've got my heard buried in the fridge, waiting for something delicious to jump out and hit me in the mouth, when I hear a noise behind me.

I give a little yelp and whirl around, my heart going into overdrive.

Somehow, it beats even faster when I see Zane standing there, leaning forward against the counter, resting his forearms along the top.  He looks a little tired, but impossibly handsome in his fitted black shirt and jeans.

“Hey, Violet,” he says, nodding at me.  “What are you up to?”

“N-nothing,” I stammer, caught off guard.  I quickly straighten and shut the refrigerator door.  “I was just looking for a snack before I went to bed.”

“Bed already?”  He raises an eyebrow and checks the time on the microwave.  “It’s nine o’ clock on a Friday night.”

“Yeah, well, I work tomorrow,” I explain.  When I notice his gaze drop down, I suddenly remember I’m not wearing a bra.  I cross my arms over my chest as casually as possible, and clear my throat self-consciously.

I love that half-smile of his.  It slowly lifts a corner of his mouth up.  “Where do you work?”

I tell him about my weekend job at Sunset Park, and he listens attentively.  I even find myself going on about Helize, my favorite resident.

"She used to be an accountant for some big Hollywood studio, and she's traveled all over the world.  She's g
ot some great stories—y
ou should hear the one where she spent the week in a Mexican prison."

"Yeah?  Sounds interesting.  I’d love to hear about it
," he says, his dark eyes shining with interest.

"I'm not sure you want to.  It involves a wooden puppet, body cavity searches, and a--um--
butt load
of cocaine."

"You're right, I think I'll pass," he says with a laugh.  "Besides, I think I heard versions of this story one time too many."

I s
mile at him.  I can't help it—h
e's just so,
so
cute! 

Suddenly, I can't think of anything to say.  I stand there with my arms crossed,  shifting my weight from foot to foot.  I hope he doesn't think I have to pee.

After a minute of total silence, we speak at the same time.

"I guess I'd better—
"

"Maybe one day you—
"

We both start laughing.  "What were you going to say?" I ask him shyly.

But he just shakes his head.  " Nothing important.  You'd better get some rest, huh?  Goodnight, Violet."

I watch as he stretches slowly, the hem of his shirt lifting up slightly to reveal his flat stomach.  My mouth goes dry.  All I can manage is a stiff nod before he goes to his room.

I suck!  When he's gone, I let my head fall onto the counter with a thud.

Ow.  I'm pretty sure I just gave myself a concussion.

Oh, Violet, you are a prize.

******

Chapter 9

The next morning, I
wake up feeling hung over.  N
ot that I know what
that
feels like, since I don't drink.  Or smoke, or do drugs.  I'm a good little virgin, all right.

I wish I could take a quick shower to wake up, but Zane's home, so there's no way I'm going in his room.

I settle for splashing my face with cold water.  I move like a zombie as I dress
in my blue work scrubs and win
d my long hair into a tight bun.  On the way out, I grab a sports drink from
the fridge, hoping it will give me some much needed energy
.

It's still dark out, which makes me feel vaguely depressed
that
I'm not lying snug in my bed.  Yawning, I climb into the car and start the fif
teen minute drive to work
.

Sunset Park is a grand two story white clapboard building, surrounded by trees and colorful flowers.  As far as facilities go, you could do worse.  At least they make an effort to make it a cheerful and classy environment.

I park in the back, in the employee section.  I'm happy to go th
rough those glass doors again—I
just hope
not too much has
changed since I was last here.

I run into Liz while I'm clocking in.  She greets me with a hug, and immediately starts filling me in.  Both the Freemans have passed, wi
thin a week of each other.  That
is sad, but not surprising
—and I’m glad they went around the same time
.  I learn
Ginnie
had
a stroke, which I'm shocked to hear. 
Ginni
e
was in better shape than me—s
he went swimming at the Y every day.