Four Letter Word, page 10
For the first time that day, Peyton readily agreed with her boyfriend. “Yes! You should totally come tomorrow night.”
Alberto looked to Izzy, eyebrows high with a silent question. “I mean, it’s a high school party,” Izzy said with a shrug. “But we can go if you want.”
“Awesome!” Peyton clapped her hands daintily. “Then it’s a date.”
Hunter slipped his arm around her waist. “Sweet.” He pressed his lips to her cheek. “Shall we get outta here?”
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice Peyton cringe.
IZZY COULDN’T SLEEP.
Not unusual. Her anxiety had teeth, and when it smelled blood, those canines sank in with a vicious bite.
What was unusual was the cause. Not the familiar lineup of triggers: Why can’t I figure my shit out? Why can’t I speak up for myself? Why am I always so afraid? Those concerns still lingered, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to pounce, but tonight’s brain spiral had another cause.
And he was sleeping right downstairs.
It had been a quiet evening at home after Peyton dropped them off. Parker and Riley both had plans, and Izzy’s dad was working late again, so it was only Izzy, her mom, and Alberto at dinner. He had been just as charming as the night before, though with fewer people to pull his focus, Izzy felt his attention much more keenly. She caught him smiling at her repeatedly during dinner and while they watched reruns of Law and Order afterward, and even noticed him wink as they ascended the stairs to bed.
Alberto Bianchi had caught Izzy off guard. She hadn’t expected him to be so confident, so adult. Sure, he was technically a college student, but they were practically the same age, and yet Alberto, who was living halfway around the world with a group of strangers he’d just met, didn’t appear to suffer from any of the insecurities that kept Izzy up at night. He was easygoing, charming, perpetually cheerful, but also alarmingly cool and surprisingly competent in the face of danger. And when he smiled at her, she felt as if she could do anything. Be anything. Even an art history major studying abroad.
Especially an art history major studying abroad.
Florence was looking more enticing every day.
And yet there was something about Alberto that made her…She wasn’t even sure what word could describe the feeling in her gut. It wasn’t nerves and it wasn’t excitement, but there was another emotion tangled up in those two. Something that felt familiar. Something more like fear.
Was she afraid of Alberto? That was ridiculous. Despite his ruthlessness with Greg Loomis, who deserved it, there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. Maybe the tinge of fear stemmed from Peyton’s infatuation, as if Alberto’s presence might spell the end of their friendship. Or maybe it was Izzy’s reaction to his attention. She wasn’t used to being noticed, to being told she was pretty, to having someone so focused on her, except…
Izzy rolled over and stared out the small dormer window beside her bed. The individual pieces of glass were narrow but double-paned to insulate the exposed attic from the elements, and the waning moon was large enough in the sky to be dissected by the metal frames. It was still ascending and the night was well lit, exposing fluffy, intermittent clouds that were sliding in from the west. The beginnings of Jake’s predicted storm.
Was it really just two days ago that Jake had followed her home from the taco joint? That moment at her gate, his eyelids lowered, his body teetering so close to her own. She’d felt a sensation in her own body, similar to what Alberto provoked and yet different. The fluttering without the fear.
But maybe the fear was what mattered? Maybe it meant that she’d finally found something she wanted.
How fucked-up was it that actually wanting something was a cause of fear? One more item on the long list of things she was afraid of.
Izzy laughed as she sat up in bed. Shit. What wasn’t she afraid of? That was a better question. She felt as if she lived on her tiptoes, creeping around and trying not to make a sound. And she knew exactly why.
She’d always known her mom was unhappy—it would have been impossible to miss those signs unless you were intentionally trying to ignore them (like Izzy’s dad) or too wild to care (like her brothers). Izzy’s earliest memories were of her mom crying. As the years went on, the sadness turned angry. The merest sound might set her mom off. A too-loud chime from one of the clocks, a clank of cutlery while unloading the dishwasher, an unexpected phone call. Even Izzy’s signature swing move around the artichoke newel post had been born of necessity: the top stair creaked mercilessly, and her mom had snapped at Izzy a hundred times before she realized that if she got airborne and dropped down onto the second step, she could avoid that hazard altogether.
Izzy tiptoed. Adapted. Stayed quiet.
Somewhere along the line, she’d internalized that quietude. Not making a sound became not needing to. Her mom’s sadness stemmed from her own disappointment in life, her unfulfilled dreams, her unheeded wants. Maybe if Izzy never reached for anything, she’d never feel the same disappointment.
If I don’t want anything, I won’t become my mother.
The thought jarred her, body and soul, and she threw her comforter aside and slid out of bed. She stomped over to the window, not caring if the floorboards squeaked or the thumping startled Alberto from his sleep. He wasn’t going to save her. He wasn’t the fix.
Izzy swung the heavy dormer out from the bottom until it stopped about a foot away from the frame, and she took a deep breath. The chill of the night braced her against the angry thoughts racing through her mind. There was something about the meaty tang of sea air that felt comforting. Outside her window, Old Town Eureka slumbered quietly. Contentedly. The ornate tower of the Carson Mansion dominated the landscape like a shepherd keeping an eye on his sleeping flock. The town didn’t care about the storm brewing out at sea or the one that was already raging in Izzy’s mind. Eureka took things as they came with a calm, measured patience. Just like Jake.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why was her brain always returning to him? He’d bailed on her. She needed to let it go.
As she stood at the window with her eyes closed, Izzy heard a rhythmic sound. Not the muted ticking of the grandfather clock, but a sharper thud, drifting up from below. Like footsteps.
Izzy’s eyes flew open; she scanned the darkness but couldn’t see any movement. Old Town was completely still, but the rhythmic footfall got incrementally louder. It must have been someone coming up.
L Street was shrouded from her view, and as the noise faded, Izzy wondered who the hell would be out at that hour.
A faint click followed by the groan of a floorboard answered her question.
Izzy was well versed in every creak, shudder, and groan emitted by the hundred-year-old Bell house, and with three older brothers who had all, at some point in their lives, tried to sneak home after curfew, she knew the squeak from the fifth step on the main staircase as well as the sound of her own voice. Someone was coming up.
Izzy stood fixed at the window, not daring to make a sound while the footsteps reached the second-floor landing. The runner rug muted the creaking wood, but moments later, Izzy was sure she heard a door close. Whoever had been out was now tucked safely back inside. She glanced at the clock: just after one in the morning. Riley, coming home from one of his dates with Kylie. Gross.
Izzy was about to climb back into bed when a fragment of laughter interrupted her. It sounded like a giggle, wafted up on the breeze, followed quickly by a muted shush.
“Quiet,” someone whispered. “They’ll hear.”
Izzy froze at the window. The house directly behind theirs was Miss O’Sullivan’s Victorian Bed-and-Breakfast, owned and operated by Mr. and Mrs. Liang. Though the voice could have come from their house, every room was dark, and in the moonlight, Izzy could see that the casement windows facing her were all shuttered for the night.
Another giggle, louder this time. It sounded like it was coming from inside her room.
“Let them hear,” another voice said. Not a whisper this time, and Izzy clearly recognized her mom’s light soprano. “I don’t—”
Her mom never finished the thought, and another sound took over. Like a slurping, followed by a deep moan.
“Fuck,” Izzy said under her breath. It wasn’t Riley coming home so late, it was her dad. She probably should have been grateful that her parents, despite their seemed estrangement, still cared enough about each other to get it on occasionally, but somehow it just made Izzy feel more alone.
Fingers in her ears like a three-year-old who thinks that by not hearing something it doesn’t actually exist, Izzy turned back to the window. A cloud had momentarily passed between her and the moon, creating a glowing halo of moonlight around the puffy outline while the rest of the town was darkened. The cloud almost looked alive as it floated by, shimmering in the reflected light, and when the moon was revealed once more, the streets below her were lit up almost like it was dawn.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Izzy saw movement below. Something black, slipping through the blackness. She scanned the streets, wondering if she’d seen a huge dog or maybe a black bear that’d wandered down from the mountains. It took a few heartbeats before she saw the movement again, creeping toward her house.
Though the headlights were off, Izzy could distinctly make out the boxy shape of a black SUV driving up L Street in the dead of night.
BY THE TIME IZZY FINALLY DRAGGED HERSELF OUT OF BED THE next morning, the sunny skies and warmish temperatures from the day before had completely vanished. Last night’s chill had not dissipated with the sun, and as her toes touched the frigid floorboards, she wished that she’d closed her window when she finally went to bed. She shivered, noting the time on the grandfather clock. Though the dark, gloomy skies made it feel pre-dawn, it was actually nine thirty.
Thankfully, the gloomy atmosphere hadn’t permeated the house. As Izzy crept into the kitchen, desperate for some coffee, her mom greeted her with an enormous, glowing smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead! Would you like a bagel?”
Izzy blinked. “Um, sure.”
Everything else in the house looked the same: Riley was glued to his phone at the window seat, Parker was in the laundry room, tossing all his running gear into the washing machine, and her dad was already gone. Pretty typical summer morning, except for her mom. It had been a long time since she’d seen her mom so happy. She floated over to the toaster oven, humming a tune as she slipped two halves of a three-day-old bagel onto the rack, then sashayed to the coffeepot.
“Cream, no sugar, right?”
She hadn’t realized her mom even knew how she took her coffee. “Right.”
Her mom’s smile continued as she slid a mug in front of her daughter. “You’ve got to perk up, Izzy! It’s a beautiful day.”
Izzy glanced out the window just to make sure the weather hadn’t changed since she’d come downstairs. Nope—still gross. Her mom’s cheerfulness reminded Izzy of Peyton, walking up from the marina after a brief make-out session with Hunter. Sexy times made people oblivious to bad weather.
“Goddammit!” Riley shouted.
Parker poked his head in from the laundry room. “What happened?”
“Kylie bailed on me tonight.” He tossed his phone onto the table. “Said something came up.”
“I thought you said she’s never up before noon?” Parker asked with a chuckle.
Riley scowled. “She texted late last night, I just saw the message now. Shit, my day is ruined.”
“You’re pissed because you won’t get laid tonight?”
Riley scowled at him. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Parker sighed, long and loud. “I can’t wait until you go back to college.”
“You’ll miss me.”
“When’s your flight?”
“Monday morning,” their mom said. Her voice practically tinkled with joy. “Ten o’clock.”
“Ah, Lunedi!” Alberto’s hearty voice drifted into the kitchen moments before his smiling face appeared. He was fully dressed, in jeans that reached his ankles and a tight gray-and-white-striped sweater. “Are-a we going somewhere?”
“Just Riley,” Parker said, trailing through the kitchen on his way back upstairs. He grabbed a carton of coconut water from the fridge and a Luna Bar from the cookie jar. “Back to college, thankfully.”
Izzy’s mom patted her youngest son on the head. “I’m just ready to have the house to myself again.”
“Um, I still live here,” Izzy said, raising her hand. “Remember?”
Her mom smiled indulgently. “Of course, honey.”
“Aren’t moms supposed to be sad when their chicks leave the nest?” Riley asked, his foul mood deepening. He was his mother’s son that way.
Alberto took a mug of coffee from Izzy’s mom’s hands. “Is l’università nearby?”
“If he didn’t have to fly there, it would be too close,” Parker said as he headed back upstairs.
Riley called after him, “I know where you sleep, dickwad!”
“San Diego.” Izzy’s mom answered Alberto’s question as she placed a plate of poached eggs in front of him. Izzy had never seen her mom poach an egg in her life. “Far enough that he can’t just drop in unannounced.”
“Uh, thanks?” Riley said. He’d picked his phone back up and was typing furiously with his thumbs. Izzy wondered if he was trying to convince Kylie to un-cancel their date. That seemed like a very Riley thing to do.
Alberto dragged his stool up to the counter and leaned his elbows on either side of the coffee mug. His ever-present smile danced about his lips as he watched Izzy’s mom closely. “Am I the sleepy-a brain this morning?”
“Sleepyhead,” her mom corrected, her bell-like tone still jingling with laughter.
“Ah, sì. Head, not brain. But-a my English, it issa improving!”
“Totally,” Izzy said at the same time as her mom spoke.
“Totalmente.”
At her mom’s perfect Italian, Izzy was reminded of her own inadequacy in that regard. It had been three days and she’d yet to have a conversation with Alberto in Italian, which was entirely her fault because she’d been 100 percent avoiding it. But seeing the moment of secret joy between Alberto and her mom, Izzy suddenly wanted nothing more than to practice her Italian with him. Alone.
“I was thinking I should work on my Italian today,” Izzy said.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” her mom said. She took Izzy’s bagel out of the toaster oven, slathered it with cream cheese, then placed it in front of Alberto. “You can do it while I take Alberto shopping. Poor boy needs some clothes that fit.”
Izzy hadn’t seen her mom this maternal since her sons still lived at home. It was nice, but she wasn’t going to let her mom derail her. “I should practice with Alberto.”
“Ah, sì,” her mom said, nodding her head. “Possiamo farlo insieme.”
Together? All three of them? No. “Sola.” Izzy let her voice trail off. Other than “ciao,” she hadn’t spoken any unsolicited Italian in Alberto’s presence, and she fought against the wave of embarrassment simmering in her stomach. And fear. Always the fear.
Fuck the fear.
“Solamente Alberto ed io.”
“Oh.” Her mom was unable to hide her disappointment that Izzy wanted to practice only with Alberto. “Yes, of course,” she said, turning her back on Izzy. “You kids should hang out. We can go to Target later.”
“You can take me to Target,” Riley said, raising his hand. “Got a whole list of shit I need before I fly out. And we should probably stock up on supplies before that storm rolls in.”
Izzy’s mom sighed. The joy was now completely gone. “Okay.”
But for once, her mom’s mood wasn’t Izzy’s main focus. She smiled at Alberto, forcing herself to make direct eye contact as she carried her coffee out of the kitchen. “I’m going to shower, and then after you eat we can…” Her voice trailed off as she walked through the dining room. A car was parked across the street, perfectly framed by the large living room window. It was a hulking black SUV.
The same one she’d seen crawling through the streets at one in the morning.
Alberto appeared at her side, his eyes following her gaze to the black car. He turned abruptly to Izzy’s mom.
“Scusa, Elisabetta,” he said. “What is thissa Target you say?”
“It’s a store,” Riley said. “A megastore. They sell everything.”
“Big American shopping mall!” he exclaimed. “I would like-a to see this Target.”
Seriously? “Now?”
“Imediamente!”
Izzy was about to protest, something she rarely did, but her mom was quicker.
“You can practice your Italian this afternoon,” she said. “You have all day.”
“But—”
“Riley’s right. We need to grab toilet paper and batteries before the shelves are completely empty. You know how this town gets before a storm.” Her mom grabbed the keys, vigor restored. “Meet me at the minivan in ten!”
“And the minivan—it issa out back?” Alberto said.
“All the way in the back,” her mom replied.
“Eccelente.” He practically skipped past Izzy up the stairs.
* * *
“I haven’t had to sit in the back since I was in high school,” Riley whined from the captain’s chair beside Izzy. It was hardly a cramped backseat in the minivan, but Riley, already pissy about his canceled date with Kylie, had soured further when their mom offered Alberto shotgun.
Alberto had protested when Izzy’s mom opened the door for him, but she was insistent, and when they pulled out of the driveway at the side of their house, he slouched so low in the front passenger seat that Izzy almost thought they’d left him behind. Once they were a few blocks from the house, he seemed to perk up.
“Imma so sorry to have-a your seat,” he said, grinning over his shoulder at Riley.
Riley grunted a reply, and Izzy rolled her eyes. “He’s just cranky because he got dumped.”
