White Girl Problems (4 page)

Hattie had a small Toyota car parked in the parkade. She opened the trunk for me and climbed in the driver’s seat. She didn't talk a lot; that was kind of a nice surprise. I figured for sure she would grill me.

She drove and I tried really hard not to fall asleep.

I woke to the sun and birds. I opened my eyes, squinting at the light. It was the whitest place I’d ever seen.

The ocean air was thick, like my skin was going to be sticky all the time. The car was parked outside of a small white house. There wasn't another house around, just trees. I looked about, squinting from the headache I was starting to get. What was this white hell?

I opened the door and stumbled out, scrambling through my memories for an answer. Small white house, crappy little Toyota, and damp air. Right, I was at Hattie’s house.

I took a quick look around her street. There was nothing but her house and her driveway. I was a bit stunned to see a view of the sea on one side of the house. It was just over a hill. When I walked up to the house and climbed the front steps, I could see a lake of sorts on the other side.

The smell of salt and seaweed was overwhelming. I sighed and walked into the house. It smelled like apple cider or something like that. It was fruity. The small kitchen was full to the brim with cooking utensils. It looked like a granny’s kitchen and smelled good. A small black dog walked up, wagging its tail and holding a ball. I reached down for the ball, but it walked past me toward a lighted room, brighter than the kitchen.

I followed the dog to the back door that was just left open.

Hattie was sticking her clothes to a string in the backyard. She smiled, but it didn't improve the look of her face. “Good afternoon, sunshine. We hang laundry here. You might as well come and watch. I can only wonder what in God’s name you’re learning in Seattle.”

I scowled. “I don't live in Seattle. I live in Spokane.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don't know the West Coast very well. Everything is Vancouver, Seattle, and Los Angeles.”

“Spokane is over closer to Idaho.”

She smiled, completely ignoring me. “Though, I did get out to the place I suppose is close to where you live, Whidbey Island, when I was a girl. Met a sailor there. He was beautiful. But you know what they’re all like.” She winked and I gagged a little bit. I didn't know where the story was going, but I could bet bad places.

“Spokane isn’t on the coast.” I turned and sat on a weird wooden chair that sloped back with crazy armrests. It looked odd, like something you would get at Ikea, but it was comfortable.

She was quiet as she hung things up for a minute.

“Are you Canadian?” I asked.

She laughed. “No, no. I’m a Yankee, just like you. I married a Canadian and moved here. Your mom used to come here when she was a kid. Her and her sister. Your grandmother thought it was a great way for them to stay out of trouble. She thought Canada was like the Arctic.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “But they found plenty. So let me just say this, I know what kids your age get at. I know about the smoking weed and drinking rum. Those are normal things for kids to get at. The hard drugs and the cutting—that’s not. I don't give a rat’s ass about the goddamned lip-gloss or the partying back home, and I don’t know what the hell kind of parenting your father has been at. I always said your dad was an idiot and Simone could have done better, but that's neither here nor there now. But you need to know we have rules in this house. You will work. You will keep a job. You will help out around here. If you can drink rum all day long and still do those things, I don't care. I won’t buy your booze or smokes, and you can’t keep drugs in my house. Oh—and no cutting or I will take away the razors, and you can grow extra wooly under your arms.”

I could feel my eyes drying out, but I couldn't even blink. I didn't have a reaction except one sentence. “I don’t do drugs and I don’t cut.”

She snorted. “Okay, you and Lindsey Lohan are both clean and sober, and that’s not a bandage with a bunch of stitches. Tell yourself whatever you want, but the rules are the rules. And I’m not like your dad—you don’t want to mess with me.”

She was a crazy old lady. My dad had sent me to a scary, crazy old lady. The dog came over and placed her ball in my lap. She barked right in my face. I jumped, grabbing the ball and flinging it across the yard. She turned and ran hard, bringing it back and barking at me again.

“Well now, you have started something there. Peaches will do this all day long, and you have to go and meet your new boss.”

My eyes shot up. “What?” The dog’s name was Peaches? She was a black lab. What an insult.

She sighed. “Do I have to start over here, or are you keeping up with my list of demands?”

“I think I’m keeping up. I was more worried about the dog being named Peaches.”

“Well, it doesn't seem like it. Seems like you’re confused about the job. Peaches is a long story and we leave here in an hour. Throw the ball and be ready to run. Go and get changed into something you can wait tables in. Those boots are a bad idea.”

I lifted a leg just as the ball landed in my crotch. I tossed it and wrestled my way out of the chair. It was like a death trap. Hattie laughed at me as I walked inside. “Your room is at the far end of the hall, on the left.”

It wasn't hard to figure out which room was mine. It was the only uncluttered room in the house. I slumped the bag on the bed and opened it, cringing. Sheila had packed me yoga pants, flats, tee shirts, and pajama pants. I had one pair of underwear I didn't really want to touch. Knowing Sheila had touched them was creeping me out. Skeezy bitch had been in my closets.

The view, from the room was amazing. It was straight across the lake where I could see houses that looked more like mine back home, big and fancy. I pressed my hand against the glass, feeling close to tears. The bandage scared me. I didn’t want to admit it, but it did. What if Linna was right and I had cut myself on purpose? A tear trickled down my cheek. It was a hard reality to face. I had drunk too much and made bad choices.

I felt ashamed that my mom had been there, in that house. If she had ever seen me like this, she would’ve freaked.

I wished for the first time in a very long time that she were there.

Being at Hattie’s felt a little bit like knowing something private about her, even if it was just a little. Had she been in the room? Had my mom touched this very window? Had she felt lost like I did? Maybe she had no idea about her future, like me.

I had a terrible feeling she was just like Sheila, and that kind of woman was my dad’s type.

I turned away from the view and got dressed. A job, a headache, no phone, no computer, no iPad, no iPod, no friends. Life in Nova Scotia was going to be very boring.

The hallway was lonely; the whole house was. There was a void. I couldn’t put my finger on it. When I got down to the kitchen, she was feeding the dog from the table. I grimaced, but she ignored it. “Oh good, you look more like a normal kid. Let’s go.” She got up and walked out to her car. The dog apparently was coming.

I looked around the house, not seeing a computer at all. Her house was like going back about forty years. “Does Eastern Canada have Internet?”

She shook her head and looked at me. “What?”

“Internet? Do you know what that is?”

She started to laugh. “Kid, Canada invented electricity. Do you think America is the only nation in the whole world?”

I didn’t realize it would be an insult. I looked down at my feet. I needed a drink and a cute boy to make me smile.

“We have it all—shopping, cities, technology. But you won’t be seeing any of that. Your dad said you’re on a break from all that.” She drove alongside the lake. “This is Porters Lake. It’s huge and the water is the same as the ocean. It starts over at the coastline as a salt-water lake and as you get farther from the ocean, it has more fresh water in it. Neat, huh?”

I didn’t know if that was a cool thing or not, so I just looked out the window at the bright-blue water. It didn’t look like a huge lake. I could see both sides and probably swim from one side to the other. She turned up a road that looked like no one used it, and suddenly we were there. It looked like a hotel or a resort. My stomach was aching with nerves. I gave her a look. “Where are we?”

She pointed and read the sign slowly. “Lakeside Retirement Community.”

I smiled. “Smartass.”

She winked. “It runs in the family. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?” She was up and out the door. The dog gave me a look before following. I didn’t want to move. Friggin’ retirement community. Why didn’t Hattie live there?

She turned around, pointing at me. “Move your ass.”

I started laughing. It might have been partial nerves, but the rest was actual amusement. She was insane; that much was clear. Crazy old bat. I got out and followed her inside. We passed old people. They made Hattie look like she might be ready for a marathon. They were in chairs or had walkers. Most had canes if they were walking. But not Hattie. She stormed down the hallway.

I weaved myself through them, holding my breath. Everything was too much. Lots of old people and a weird smell. It was like mints and death combined, maybe. I cringed.

People either smiled at me or glared; none ignored my walk of shame through the halls. We entered a massive room filled with chairs and couches and a couple fireplaces. It was a huge entertaining room or living room. It made my heart race, wondering what I would be doing there. I clutched to the card from the airline lady. Would she steal a plane and come and get me or smuggle me aboard a jet? I needed to keep her as a possible option.

Hattie marched through the great room to a dining room full of round tables. Each one had six chairs. It opened up right onto the lake with a garden and walking path. It was stunning; there was no denying that.

Hattie went through a door, but I was starting to see her as my own personal white rabbit. Did I dare follow her through the door or stay there in the sunlight?

I was exhausted and moody. I didn’t want to meet new people. I didn’t want to be rude. I wasn’t normally unpleasant, except to Sheila, but she was a ho. I knew that from the moment I’d met her. I had been a small child yet somehow able to see what my father could not. Her arrival into my life had changed so many things. I had once had a nanny named Sophie. She was an au pair from France and I loved her. She taught me French and kissed me on the nose. But she was young and beautiful, and when Sheila came, Sophie was fired and sent home.

My father had been so excited that Sheila had daughters close to my age. But it was us and them, and I was on the side with the workaholic, which meant I was alone. He just never knew.

Jessica had been the only one who liked me. We had played together for a while, but then she started reading and I got boobs, and we stopped having things in common. I had never been fond of Suzzy. She was her mother but a brunette like me instead of a blonde, but that didn’t change the fact she was still a slut from hell.

I caught her having sex tons, smoking pot every chance she had, and once even doing lines of something. She was the extreme version of my friends, but I was the bad kid. I was a liar who made up things about Suzzy when I tattled on her. I was a fibber who told stories about Sheila when I caught her doing bad things. And I was a whiner when my dad was on trips, and I was locked in my room for three days straight, with only Jess bringing me food.

Sheila had never wanted another kid. She had her hands full trying to raise the ones she had. I got a glimpse of myself in the window and sighed as an old man in red shorts jogged past.

“Look at that ass.”

I spun sharply to see a group of six ladies playing cards at a table. They were all old, old as dirt, so naturally I assumed I had misheard.

“He has a fine ass on him. Did you ever bite that butt, Martha?” An old lady with dyed dark hair laughed. I was stunned. Dirty old ladies? Was this my job, serving dinner to dirty old ladies?

One of them laughed, but it sounded off, and when she spoke, her words were like that movie my dad always watched about the mob. It was like she had a mouth full of marbles. “I would lose my teeth if I bit it now.”

I laughed and they turned their faces, all but the lady with the marbles.

A hawk-faced lady gave me a steely-eyed look. “What are you laughing at? Who are you?”

I shrugged. “Finley Roze.” I turned and looked for Hattie, but she hadn’t emerged from the door.

“And what are you doing here, Finley Roze?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“What’s with the bandage?” They all eyed me up, all except Marbles. She didn’t move. I felt like I was sweating. I didn’t know what to say or do.

I shook my head again. “I don’t know.”

“FINLEY!”

I turned sharply to see an angry Hattie. “Move your ass.” She turned and went back in the door. I scowled, but the ladies started laughing at me.

“You better move it, Finley Roze.”

“Hattie is a mean old bat. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of her.”

“Yes, move your ass and get us a drink!”

I ran. Mean old ladies might have been an issue for me. I didn’t have a grandmother or a mother. All I had was Sheila and she didn’t scare me. She was ridiculous.

Through the door, I found Hattie talking to a fat man in a chef’s uniform. He glared at me and nodded his head.

“Fin, this is Mike. He’s the chef here. He’s in charge. You will be a server, you will work hard, and you will not sass him. Understood?” She turned and left the steamy kitchen.

Mike smiled the minute Hattie was gone. “She’s a savage. Your dad must hate you.”

I winced. “I think so.” I was playing cool, but he was right. My dad did hate me.

Mike saw the reaction and put a hand up, with a huge knife in it. “I just meant she is so mean. He must be pissed at you to send you here. Where are you from?”

My eyes never left the knife. “Spokane.”

He nodded. “Cool. I was there once, nice place. It’s like a desert or something, right? Really dry? I’ve been to Washington a couple times. Once to go to Whidbey Island. I caught the ferry from Victoria. Intense security to get on and off that ferry. I’m actually from Vancouver Island, on the West Coast.” He didn’t look so scary and old as he had a moment ago. I imagined he wasn’t much older than I was. But being fat made him look older. He had thinning sandy-brown hair and dark-brown eyes. His lips were very plump, of course. Guys always had great lips, but fat guys always had fat lips. It was us skinny girls who were always lacking in the collagen.