“That is not true,” my grandmother says. “Be nice.”
“Oh, he can be,” George says, “but he also bakes a hell of a pie, so it balances out.”
I move behind the counter, easing past the boy who smells like sunscreen and soap. Slyly, I hope, I check them both out, seeing the resemblance. They’re both about the same height and I can’t tell who is older. Charlie wears glasses and his fingers fly over the computer as he enters in a string of code I don’t understand. George lays on the couch, long legs dangling over the edge. His light brown hair tumbles in his eyes and when he brushes it out of the way, it’s in an easy, fluid move that I suspect he does a dozen times a day. Our eyes meet because he’s not making any effort to hide his interest in my embarrassing arrival. My cheeks burn and I look away.
“Is there anything you need me to do?” I ask.
“See that stash of brochures on the desk?” I nod at the stack of blue and green paper. “Can you take these around to all the unoccupied rooms and cottages? Put them on the counter.”
Anything to get out of the cramped quarters.
I pick up the stack and again pass that clean, summer-smelling boy and head out the door. I’m barely down the steps when I hear the door open and shut behind me again.
“Hey, wait up.”
I glance over my shoulder and see George. I don’t wait.
“So, Ms. Nye is your grandmother?”
“Yes.” I head down the path to the cottages. There are twelve in all.
“She’s awesome. Like one time I tripped and broke a window on the front porch and she didn’t even get mad.” He has his hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
“I just moved here. I doubt it.”
“Weird. I swear I’ve seen your face.” I approach the first cottage that’s unoccupied and pull out the master key. “I’ve got a pretty good memory. I mean, obviously I’ve heard about you—because of Dexter, and—” I wait for him to say Jake. Instead he finishes with, “the thing with the backpacker.”
I unlock the door and hesitate. “Don’t, uh, follow me in, okay?”
He shrugs, making me notice how wide his shoulders are. “Sure.”
I place the brochure on the counter with the other welcome packet information and straighten up the pillows on the couch. Taking one last look over the room, I exit and step onto the small front deck.
George is down on the street, tossing rocks at an old metal barrel.
“You know Dex really isn’t a psycho,” he says, following me to the next house. “He’s just got a temper, but he’s also a good friend. Loyal and all that shit.”
“Yeah, sorry about calling him that. Don’t tell him, okay?” The last thing I need is for a psycho to know I called him that.
“I won’t. Promise.”
Again, my cheeks burned. Who is this guy and why is he so…friendly?
I approach one of the cottages and see that the trash can out front is turned over. Probably a wild animal. There are tons of raccoons around here—or at least that’s what Leelee told me. I bend down to pick up the trash.
“Here, let me help,” he says, following me. As his long fingers collect the trash, I notice they’re stained blue. Paint? “So anyway, what brought you to Lee Vines? Your grandmother, obviously, but why? I mean, it’s not the kind of place that gets a lot of new people. Tourists and hikers. The whole Yosemite thing. Lots of people come through on their way to Bodie, but beyond that, new residents are pretty rare.”
He moves quickly, gathering all the trash faster than I can process what he’s saying or doing.
“What’s Bodie?” I ask, going to the door. I unlock it and place the brochure inside like before. He waits obediently outside, sitting on the nearby picnic table.
“Oh, it’s this ghost town about thirty minutes away. It’s in a state park.” He looks me over, a little bit like he hasn’t fully focused on me yet. “It’s kind of cool.”
“I’ve never been to a ghost town.”
“Where are you from?”
“North Carolina.”