“Did you guys eat lunch together?” she asked, trying to picture the two of them sitting across the table from each other, Reeve filling Pete with his usual bullshit.
“No,” Pete replied, closing his laptop. “I offered, but he said he wasn’t hungry.”
Alarm bells rang in her head. “Hmm,” she said, glancing at the backyard.
“Look, I know he was rotten to you as a kid, but maybe he’s changed.”
Cassidy eyed him sharply. “He stole my mother’s jewelry from my room and gave it to his psychopath girlfriend. He crashed my father’s car into a tree, almost killing the girl in the passenger seat. He stole laptops from the computer store he worked at and sold them for coke.”
Pete’s eyes filled with compassion. Then he glanced at Reeve, looking torn. “Maybe he’s trying to make a fresh start.”
Cassidy snorted. “Yeah. As our pet.”
They cooked a simple stir-fry with rice for dinner. Reeve received several phone calls during the meal and answered them at the table. It was unsettling to spend time with someone who disregarded the basic rules of etiquette. Should she have laid down these rules before he invited himself to stay with them? No talking on your cell phone at the table. No smoking weed. Don’t talk with your mouth full. No stealing and don’t even think about stepping into my room.
“Okay, later, man,” Reeve said into his phone and ended the call, placing the phone face up next to his plate.
“I got a few friends in town. Thinking I might hook up with them later.”
“Great,” Cassidy said. She and Pete had agreed to not drink their normal beer at the end of the day. Reeve had been through rehab twice that she knew about. She wasn’t sure what the pot smoking or his amped-up behavior that morning meant. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t drunk, but she sensed he wasn’t clean, not completely. And though Rebecca had explained the whole addiction and recovery cycle to her, Cassidy couldn’t figure out the issue. As a teen, she had partied for a while but had grown out of it. Why couldn’t Reeve?
After dinner, Reeve went back to work in the driveway.
In the spare room, Pete had found an extra pillow and put sheets on the folded-down futon. Reeve was still out when she and Pete went to bed at their usual time, Pete dropping off instantly and Cassidy tucked under the covers reading until almost eleven o’clock. She woke after midnight to voices in the living room. Alarmed, she rose and tucked into her robe.
She heard the clink of beer bottles and the soft thump of her fridge door shutting. The bottles cracked open and then Cassidy heard the soft tones of a woman’s voice. She thought to add no uninvited guests to her list of rules she wished she had been brave enough to share within the first few moments of Reeve’s arrival. She sighed. Why shouldn’t Reeve enjoy the company of a friend? He had been in jail for over a year, had paid his dues. He seemed really excited about his van project. I shouldn’t be so quick to condemn him, she thought. The woman giggled, and Cassidy heard the sliding glass door to their backyard open and close. Cassidy returned to bed.
Later, Cassidy woke to her pitch-black bedroom and Pete’s soft breaths next to her. Thoughts of her upcoming trip to Arenal and the paper she was finalizing woke her the rest of the way. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she checked the time. Three o’clock in the morning. She tried all of her techniques to return to the dream she had been having, but she could feel her body waking. A noise from somewhere in the house unsettled her further. Reeve. What was he doing up at three in the morning? And what was that smell?
She heard the noise again, filtering in from the living room. Quietly, Cassidy rose and tiptoed to the door. She opened it a crack and peered down the dark hallway. To her right, the guest bedroom’s door was open and from the faint glow of the streetlights leaking through the blinds, she could see that it was empty. She leaned farther into the hallway to see a figure seated at her couch, which faced the street. The streetlight glow made Reeve’s silhouette identifiable.
The strange smell hit her nostrils again. She took one step into the hallway and craned her neck, then wished she hadn’t. Reeve wasn’t alone. A head bobbed at his lap, which was hidden by the side of the couch. Quickly, Cassidy ducked back behind her door, disgusted and furious. She climbed back in bed and plugged in her earphones, hoping the sound of ocean waves would block out any further noises.
In the morning, the gutted shell of the minivan still filled their driveway. Cassidy told Pete about Reeve’s nocturnal activities and of the strange smell.
“Huh,” Pete said, taking another sip of coffee. He gave her a long look.
Cassidy glanced at her couch, trying to imagine being comfortable on it again.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Pete said.
Cassidy bit her lip. “You want to try, go ahead.”
They heard the metallic ping of a tool dropping on the ground and looked up. Reeve was in the driveway again, sliding under the front of the van, his companion nowhere in sight.
Pete refilled his coffee, poured an additional cup, and left for the front door, his jaw set.
Cassidy couldn’t hear the conversation but marveled at how Pete’s body language and tone differed from Reeve’s. She saw them laugh, then Reeve was nodding his head. It was all over in minutes, and when Pete returned, he was grinning. “Problem solved,” he said.
But at noon, a young woman appeared in their driveway. She wore a denim miniskirt and tank top, both forearms decorated with tattoos. Sitting silently in the grass, watching Reeve work, she
