Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

Letty glanced out the window.

“Don’t worry about Maya,” Ava said, anticipating Letty’s concern. “I’ll walk over there in an hour, get her into some dry clothes, and feed her lunch. Isabelle will be home from school around one, and then she can take over.”

“You’re the boss,” Letty said.

“Stop somewhere and buy yourself a nice lunch,” Ava said, handing her a credit card. “It’s on me.”

Letty sat under an umbrella on the patio of a French bistro just up the beach road from the Murmuring Surf, and after her lunch arrived—steamed stone crab claws with a tangy mustard sauce and a crisp green salad—she sat very still for a moment, feeling alternate waves of guilt and giddiness.

It was, she thought, the first real restaurant meal she’d eaten alone since that awful Sunday afternoon back in New York. She picked up the tiny fork provided by the café and nibbled at the sweet crabmeat, savoring the opportunity to taste her food, rather than wolf it down in order to help feed her niece.

Meals with Maya were simple affairs: cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grapes or strawberries or orange slices, spaghetti, chicken fingers, steamed carrots or broccoli, hot dogs or hamburgers, and her default dinner choice, grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato or chicken noodle soup.

It wasn’t as if she’d never spent time with her niece, or fed her or taken her places, while Tanya was alive, but living with and raising a four-year-old required a vast adjustment, both in her standards and her attitudes.

As she sipped her iced tea she once again pondered the issue of Maya’s future—and hers. According to Tanya’s lawyer, her sister’s estate had the potential to provide security for Maya—but only if Evan didn’t sue to retain control of the property he’d placed in Tanya’s name.

She was positive that Evan would also fight to keep Letty from becoming Maya’s legal guardian—unless, maybe? She could prove that Evan wasn’t Maya’s biological father. And that Evan had murdered Tanya. To do that, she’d need to stay out of jail.

Letty had already vowed that she wouldn’t return to New York until she could prove her own innocence—and be sure that Maya wouldn’t be placed either with Evan or in foster care.

Foster care was the dark, terrifying bogeyman in any consideration of what would become of Maya. Letty and Tanya had agreed, long ago, never to speak again about their own experience in foster care.

A month—thirty days—was all they’d spent living in a foster home in West Virginia. It happened the summer they were thirteen and fourteen. Terri’s latest boyfriend, a mean drunk who was also a local sheriff’s deputy, had confiscated Tanya’s Game Boy, after she’d flunked summer school. Tanya had persuaded Letty to run away with her. After stealing the Greyhound bus fare from Terri’s purse, they’d gotten as far as Paducah, Kentucky, before the bus driver, sensing trouble, called the authorities, who in turn called Terri.

When they returned home, Terri’s boyfriend told the local child welfare authorities that the two girls were ungovernable, wildly out of control, and petty thieves.

Thirty days. They’d spent the time living with a sour-faced older couple, Mr. and Mrs. Boggs, who dragged them to a fundamentalist church three times a week. They weren’t allowed to attend the local school, which the couple considered “ungodly,” and instead were forced to work in the couple’s garden for hours in blazing heat. Tanya had taken a beating when she refused to give up her beloved pierced earrings. It wasn’t until they’d managed to call their grandmother one night, when the couple was out of the house, that they’d been returned home to Terri, who reluctantly kicked her boyfriend to the curb.

Maya, Letty vowed, would never go through what she and Tanya had endured.

The server brought her check and offered her a to-go cup of iced tea. Remembering her own not-so-long-ago waitress days, Letty left a big tip and headed off to the patio-furniture clearance center.

She wandered around the enormous showroom in a daze. There were more picnic tables and umbrellas, lounge chairs, swivel chairs, sectionals that seated twelve, entire outdoor kitchens, and firepits than she’d ever seen in one place. The selection was overwhelming.

Finally, she found a display of lightweight but sturdy aluminum-frame lounge chairs. They had heavy plastic strapping in pastel-candy shades of yellow, coral, aqua, mint, and pink, almost the exact colors of the units at the Murmuring Surf. She flipped the tag on one of the chairs and winced. They were 150 dollars apiece.

“Too much,” she muttered, anticipating her employer’s reaction to such a hefty price tag.

Just around the corner from that display she found the warehouse’s Last Chance clearance center. Shoved in the corner were two stacks of the same chairs she’d just spotted—but in an unfortunate shade of brown. A bright orange starburst sticker was hand-labeled with the price. Eighty-five dollars. She found a salesman and asked about delivery options, then texted photos of the chairs to Ava.

“My God, those are ugly,” Ava said, when she called back. “But I guess they’ll do. When can they deliver?”

“Not until next Monday,” Letty said. “And there’s a pretty hefty delivery fee.”

“I’ll call Joe,” Letty said. “He’s off this afternoon. Can you hang around there until he arrives?”

“Is that necessary?” Letty asked. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Joe this soon again after their awkward parting on the beach. “I should probably get back to Maya.”

“Maya’s right here, stringing beads with Isabelle. Please just wait for Joe and make sure those folks load everything you’ve bought.”

Joe pulled the truck up to the clearance center’s loading dock, where Letty was waiting.

“These?” He pointed at the stacks of lounge chairs on a shipping cart. “You bought these butt-ugly chairs for the Surf? Has Ava seen them?”

“Yes,” Letty said. “I texted her a photo. They’re half the price of the pretty ones, so she said to go ahead and buy them.”

“No,” Joe said flatly. He gestured to the stock clerk who was standing by, waiting to help load the chairs. “Take these back inside, please. We’ve changed our minds.”

The guy in overalls shrugged and grabbed the cart.

“Please don’t do that,” Letty said. The guy retreated to the far side of the loading dock.

Her carefully controlled temper flared. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? They’re ugly, but they’re sturdy, and they’re all we can afford. Your mom approved those chairs. I’ve already put them on her credit card.”

He bounded up the steps to the loading platform and grabbed her by the elbow. “Lesson one in dealing with Ava DeCurtis. She always thinks cheaper is better. That’s why we ended up with those crappy broken-ass chairs we’ve got now. Some guy came by with a truckload of ’em and made her a deal she couldn’t refuse.”

Letty wrenched her arm away from him. “I’m not getting in the middle of an argument between you and your mom. She’s my boss, not you. And anyway, I don’t appreciate your second-guessing me.”

Joe pointed at the mud-colored loungers. “If you owned the Surf, would you want potential guests seeing those when they pulled up to the motel?”

“Well…”

“Aren’t you the one urging Ava to bump up the room rates so she can spend a little money on updating and improving the place?”

“The other chairs cost twice as much as these,” Letty argued. “That’s a big investment.”

Joe crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.