The Sea of Tranquility(38)
Author: Katja Millay

CHAPTER 19

Josh

“Nastya can’t make it to dinner. She asked me to drop this off on my way to work.” The blonde woman at the door hands me a really tall, elaborately iced cake. I can see the blue paisley pattern around the edge. The last time I saw that plate, it was on my front porch covered with cookies.

“She asked you?” I say skeptically. Does she talk to other people and she’s lying to me? I don’t know why, but that bothers me. A lot.

“She wrote down this address under the words Drop off, Sunday and 5:45. At the bottom she tacked on the word please. It’s the most communication I’ve gotten from her in years.” She sounds aggravated at having to explain herself to me.

“OK. Thanks.” I take it out of her hands and she looks at me like she’s waiting for something.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Josh Bennett.” Who are you?

“Can I come in?”

I’m kind of dumbfounded by the request but I don’t want to be rude. I look at her again. She’s really thin and tan and blonde and doesn’t remotely resemble any serial killers in my mind. She doesn’t resemble Nastya, either, but I’ve got to assume she’s the aunt Drew talked about, so I push the door back and let her step inside. I really don’t know what she wants from me, unless Nastya’s messing with me in more ways than I imagine and this woman knows things I don’t.

“Margot Travers. Nastya lives with me.” She holds out her hand. I hold up the cake in response.

“Listen, I’m not going to beat around the bush because I have to be at work soon, and frankly, it’s just not my thing.” Okay. “Even if I didn’t have to drop the cake off, I would have been over here this weekend anyway to find out what’s going on.” I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or curious now, but I’m definitely listening. “There’s a tracker on Nastya’s phone.” She pauses for a second. I guess she’s giving me a minute to react. I don’t. “I check it periodically, and a few weeks ago this address came up, so I started checking it more often and do you know what I found?” Of course I do, and you know that I do. You just want to ask for dramatic effect and then you’re going to tell me anyway. “This address came up again and again and again‌—‌at nine o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock. Sometimes midnight.” Sounds about right. I don’t confirm or deny. I’ll let her keep talking until she asks me something outright.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asks expectantly.

“Is there something you want to know?” I feel like I’m having a seventh-grade stare down with this woman.

“What’s going on?”

“Why aren’t you asking her?”

She looks at me as if to say yeah, right. “She doesn’t talk to me.”

Every time she pauses, her eyes scan the room like she’s looking for my  p**n  collection or the entrance to my hidden meth lab. I’m getting a little insulted at the fact that this woman nearly pushes Nastya out the door with Drew, of all people, but she’s here giving me the third-degree. Maybe because Drew shows up, knocks on the door and asks her to be a guest at a well-chaperoned dinner on a Sunday evening, while I let her covertly hole up in my garage, late at night, with no adult supervision anywhere.

“Then why should I?” I respond, because now I’m just being a child. But then I realize what she’s really asking, what she really wants to know. And it’s not my first suspicion. Because this woman isn’t trying to figure out if her niece is sneaking over here and ha**ng s*x with me. She wants to know if she’s talking to me. I take a breath; because now I want this over, and if I give her some sort of answer, maybe it’ll be enough to get her off my case. Plus, I’m getting the feeling she’s going to start issuing rules or threats and I don’t really handle either of those well. I may not know if I want Nastya hanging around all the time or not, but I don’t like the idea of someone else making that decision for me. I can give her an answer, but I’m doing it for my benefit, not hers. “She’s in my shop class. She’s really behind everyone else so she comes over here at night when she goes running and watches me work.”

She looks at me long enough to make me wonder how she’s going to respond.

“That’s it?” She sounds disappointed. Her eyes narrow again. “Your parents don’t mind that she’s here all the time?”

“Doesn’t bother them at all.” It’s not really a lie. Not really.

***

“Where’s Nastya?” I’m greeted by Drew’s dad almost as soon as I walk in the door for dinner. The comment brings his mom around the corner a second later. The music’s already playing and I can tell it’s Sarah’s. I’d rather listen to a circular saw but we’re not allowed to insult anyone’s music when it’s their week.

“Nastya’s not coming?” Mrs. Leighton asks, taking the cake out of my hands and sounding genuinely disappointed. “Then where did this come from?”

“Her aunt dropped it off this afternoon and said she wanted you to have it.”

“She is the sweetest thing!” she exclaims, carrying it into the kitchen. I don’t know if there’s another person on Earth who would refer to Nastya as the sweetest thing, and I wonder if she sees something the rest of us don’t.

Dinner at Drew’s ends up being just the five of us, like so many dinners I’ve eaten at this table before. We don’t talk about Nastya at all until dessert comes and the cake gets brought out.

“She’s a freak,” Sarah says, glad to finally have the chance to talk behind her back. She looks at me when she says it and I look away because she’s pissing me off.

“Sarah, not everyone has such an easy life. Some people have problems and you need to learn to empathize, not judge.” Mrs. Leighton is skewering her with the look that has kept all three of us in line for years, four of us if you count Mr. Leighton.

“Is that why you invite her?” Shit. I wonder if my voice sounds as pissed off as I think it does.

“No, we really like her.” She sounds surprised by the question. Her response is sincere, but it’s the sincerity that pisses me off. Before I get a chance to respond, Sarah opens her bitchy mouth and saves me from myself, if only for a moment.