The Co-op

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

DEACON

Sally gasps, the wheels on her oxygen tank squeaking to a halt as she gazes longingly at the TV.

“Good Lord. I would let that man eat crackers in my bed. Off my naked body,” she declares in awe, making the sign of the cross with her free hand. Never mind the fact that I know she couldn’t be less Catholic.

Dansby Swanson smiles down from the television, unaware that he’s likely roping my eighty-five-year-old neighbor closer to her grave in doing so.

I shake my head and laugh at the woman. “Why crackers?”

“Have you ever rolled on top of crackers in your sheets in the middle of the night?” she asks, leveling me with a glare. “You’d have to really like what you were rolling toward to make up for the sensation, trust me.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You”—she swallows a breath and lowers herself in her chair before continuing—“you sorta look like him, actually.”

“Okay, lady, enough flattery for today. And check your oxygen level. You’re having delusions now.”

“What? You’ve gotta admit, Deacon, the hair is similar.”

It’s no use arguing with her. “I’ll refrain from having you committed for now, I guess. But, listen, Sal. If you’d called that insurance broker like I told you, you might not need me here patching up this stuff all the time. We’ve got to get a more permanent fix done. I’m doing my best, but I’m not a plumber.”

“Plumber, electrician—you both work on the guts.”

“By that sound logic, I could moonlight as a gastroenterologist and have enough money at my disposal to take care of this properly, Sal.” I’m also a general contractor, but the electrical issues are what I’ve spent the majority of my time on here, so I get why she’d default to that. Nonetheless, the plumbing issue is beyond my means—skill-wise, and financially.

She flips up the footrest on her recliner, closing her eyes through another attempt at catching her breath. My own chest squeezes at the sight. Ever since my nan and her wife passed, it feels like this whole damned place keeps falling more and more apart, Sal included.

“I did call that insurance broker,” she says, finally having found her breath. “They won’t touch any of it. Owner’s responsibility, they said.”

No shit. It was still worth a try.

“RIP Cece and Hel, this hit’s for you,” she adds before she makes a show of snorting in her oxygen.

“Aren’t we spiritual today,” I mutter under my breath. Maybe she could call upon a higher power to banish whatever demon keeps messing with the plumbing.

“Any update on all that?” she asks. I know what she’s referring to. As well as who.

“Not yet, Sally,” I grumble. “She said to give her a month.”

I’m struck with the memory of seeing LaRynn’s name next to mine on a giant stack of paperwork, and the weird jolt that that alone had given me.

There was no formal will reading after Nan passed. Just a pile of papers and a mountain of responsibility. Turns out, owning a home free and clear doesn’t preclude you from astronomical expenses. All of which should be shared with LaRynn as a cotrustee, who has instead ghosted me and left me to deal with it solo.

The first time I met LaRynn Lavigne, I was sixteen years old and thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever laid eyes on. I remember having that exact thought, in fact. That is the prettiest girl my eyes have ever seen. I was off on Christmas break, spending it at my nana’s for the first time since she’d married her partner, Cecelia. Nan had moved to California just two years before from our hometown in New England and had promptly fallen in love with her neighbor-slash-landlord. I’d come up the stairs in Nana and Cece’s recently renovated Santa Cruz building and set down my bags when a girl who appeared to be my age came around the corner. Her jet-black ponytail swayed gently behind her, her sea glass–colored eyes locked with mine, and her pink, glossy mouth turned down in a scowl. My girl-crazy head instantly hoped I’d trick this creature into falling into something with me, too.

It would take me under sixty minutes to suspect that, while she may have been the prettiest, LaRynn Lavigne may have also been the meanest. I’d go on to feel confirmed in that suspicion by New Year’s.

Our grandmothers made introductions. LaRynn’s parents had gone to Fiji for the holidays and left LaRynn home so she could “still have a proper Christmas in the states.” I mentally called bullshit. I recognized the echoes of parental marital strife when I heard them, no matter how they were rebranded. I myself had been offloaded for the entire break, too. But my parents had taken my brother to Australia where he’d been invited to play in some specialty program for baseball, where they could all enjoy playing happy family without me ostensibly fucking it up. I was currently in a sling with a broken collarbone because I’d convinced my neighbor’s older sister (after getting to second base with her) to tow me and my buddies in turns behind her car on our skateboards. Therefore, there would be no koala cuddles for me—I was being punished.

Still, I thought I could make the best of California in those first moments, looking at LaRynn with the mile-long legs. This wasn’t Australia, but it sure as shit wasn’t New England, either. It was mildly chilly, but there wasn’t a drop of godforsaken snow to be found, so maybe she’d keep wearing these tiny denim skirts. The beach was less than a block away, maybe it got warm enough for bikinis. I was more of an optimist in those days.

After showing me my room, the grands, as we’d go on to call them, immediately sent LaRynn and me on a joint errand to the store, conspicuously setting us up for some teen bonding. LaRynn was visibly reluctant, so I tried to play it cool, too. In my limited seventeen years, I’d learned that girls my age only got comfortable when you made sure their comfort came first. The best way to do that was to pay attention and to match their vibe.

“You in high school?” I’d asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“What year?”

“Freshman.”

“Nice. Junior.” I pointed a thumb at my chest. “Wait. You’re sixteen?”

“Yep.”

“How are we two years apart in school?”

Her eyebrow lifted like this was painfully tiresome. “I don’t have the school age birthday cutoff calendar memorized, sorry.”

“You play any sports?”

“Volleyball.”

“Makes sense. You’re tall.” I inwardly winced. I was tall too, but having it pointed out to me repeatedly always got annoying quick. I tried to give her my most charming grin and hoped that made up for it.

“You’re incredibly observant,” she replied flatly.

Fine. I’d show her how observant I could be. “Parents ditched you too, huh?”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “Were you overexposed to Degrassi reruns growing up? Do we absolutely need to have an afterschool- special moment here?” she quipped, then immediately stopped with a small growl. She folded her arms, looking anywhere but directly at me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t bite your head off. Yes, my parents ditched me. But I was excited to spend it with Grandma and Hel, it’s just… right before you got here, I found out my only friend from town is spending Christmas through New Year’s in Tahoe, so I was bummed.” She gestured irritably between us. “And I hate having to try and make new friends. I’ve already been doing it at a new school all year and I was looking forward to a break from it.”

I smiled, though I couldn’t quite tell you why. “You’re clearly a natural at it, so I’m sure it’s going very well.”

She laughed through her nose, but pivoted and continued on walking. I sensed a weakness in her seemingly impenetrable shell and kept pushing.

“We don’t have to be friends. Who said I wanted to be yours, anyway?” I said. She lifted a brow and a sidelong look at me. “Maybe I just want to be friendly,” I added. She muttered something in another language under her breath, and I remembered that Cecelia was originally from Quebec. “You speak French, too?! Say something fancy to me.”

She spun to face me fully again, and said something in rapid fire that felt like running a feather down my spine. Something I couldn’t begin to guess at.

“Did you just compare me to filet mignon?” I asked when she, again, returned to her stroll. “Wow. I’ve been called a meathead plenty of times but never so beautifully. I’ve got chills.” I didn’t catch it in time, but I’d swear her mouth tilted into a smile in the corner of my eye. I had to steal one for real. “LaRynn Lavigne, LaRynn Lavigne, such an interesting name. What do people call you for short? Larry?”

She stopped and blinked my way. “No.”

“La La?”

Her eyes rounded even as her brows pinched together, an adorable look of fury. “Do I look like a La La to you?”

“Definitely Larry then.” Now all I got was a frustrated, throaty huff. But I thought I was getting somewhere. “Love?” I asked. She wheeled on me, then, eyes wide.

“What?!”

“Short for Lavigne,” I quickly clarified, my neck heating. “But I think Larry suits best.” Nothing could suit less. She was striking and sharp and beautiful. Plus, she smelled deceptively sweet, like some kind of cotton candy. I’d have to keep Sugar on the back burner as far as a nickname went.

I had no idea where we were going or how long it took to walk there, but she caught me looking at her again when we stepped through the grocery store doors. She shook her head and let out a quiet laugh, her face cracking into a smirk. I felt like punching a fist in the air and celebrating.

“Here,” she said, handing me the list Cece had given her.

I was still trying to keep up our playful streak. “What, can’t you read it?”

As quickly as it came, any camaraderie died. I’d have sworn the store got colder. She blinked like she was coming out of a daze.

“Can’t you, idiot?” she sneered. And in one swift motion she turned away, her hair whipping across my face.

Idiot ricocheted throughout my brain. What was I doing? I was being an idiot. Always proving my father and brother right. I didn’t know this girl, why the fuck was I trying to? She was stuck up and rude and I didn’t need to do any trauma bonding over Christmas with her. We finished our grocery run and did our best to give each other a wide berth over the remaining break, but staying in the same house and having Cece and Helena for grandmothers made that impossible. She got under my skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from trying to get under hers. I couldn’t stand that she couldn’t stand me. I’d been great with girls up until then. Even the grandmas loved me. LaRynn and I snipped and prodded one another incessantly, and at our best we settled on tolerating each other.

The second time I’d meet her would be the summer after her senior year in high school, a year after my first and only semester at college. That time together would go better for us in some ways, but so much more terribly in the end.

Sally makes a tsk-ing noise from her chair and I return to the present. “I still can’t believe you threatened to get lawyers involved,” she says.

“What other choice did I have, Sal? I’ve tried to get ahold of her for months. I can’t afford this whole thing on my own.” I’ve already dumped more money than I can spare into it. And I can’t sell it or make any major decisions on it without her approval, either.

“She’ll come through,” she says. The same thing she’s said a hundred times over the last six months.

I run the faucet and the shower at the same time to make sure everything drains, willing the anxious feeling in my gut to clear away with it. When things seem to be flowing smoothly, I let Sal know she’s up and running again.

She moves like she plans to get up and walk me out before I put my hand on her shoulder and ease her back down.

“Thank you, Deacon,” she says with a sad smile.

“Need anything else before I go?”

“Just turn up the volume on your way out. The summer shitshow is underway.”

It’s then that I notice the chorus of honking and yelling filtering in through the open windows, and I turn up her TV to drown it out before I leave.

It’s the time of year when even the reserved-for-residents-only spots are stolen, and people circle around for ages trying to find parking, tempers rising with each passing lap. Summer feels like it starts in May on this part of the coast, and typically ends in August.

Someone sounds like they supremely pissed people off this time, though. There’s a litany of curses in between honking that grows louder with each step I take into the courtyard.

“ LaRynn, just get back in the car! Come ON!” rises above the noise and my feet stutter.

I didn’t…

I couldn’t have heard that right. My brain must be fucking with me again.

I drop my tool bag and carefully unlatch the gate. The honking and shouting carry on, but my steps move like they’re underwater. I round the corner to the other side of the building and take in the scene before me.

A blond woman I quickly realize is Elyse, standing in the middle of the street outside a loaded-down Honda, passenger door ajar, attempting to direct traffic around.

My eyes skate down the sidewalk, along the fence that separates it from the side of the courtyard, until, sure enough, they snag on the back of a head. A head of black, waist-length hair. It’s ridiculous, that hair—in its abundance and in its impracticality. It was a constant complaint of hers and yet, here she is, with more of it than ever before. Because yes, of course it’s her. She stands up, and if I wasn’t already convinced, the legs would have clued me in. Five foot eleven at nineteen made her intimidating, so she’s damn formidable now. But then she kicks a planter box and I nearly shout and blow my cover too soon. The planters are one of the only things in decent condition and she’s kicking one like she fucking owns the place. Brat.

Oh, I think. That’s right. I guess she does.

“I still don’t understand how you forgot the key, out of everything you brought!” Elyse shouts irritably.

“There has to be something here. They always left a key to unlock the garage, always !” LaRynn shouts back.

“Half a decade ago, maybe,” I say. I smother the smile that wants to tug on my lips when she spins around and sees me, eyes and mouth both agape. The urge to grin catches me off guard and I grind my jaw to cover it. She’s been completely negligent on her half of maintaining this place, she’s got no right to kick it.

She appears to wrestle with her own expression before it settles into something neutral. “Deacon.” She nods coolly. I guess we’re not pretending with niceties.

“Larry,” I reply, and she immediately scoffs and rolls her eyes at the nickname. Two syllables—that’s all it took to rile her up and now I can’t stop the smile.

“I hate that nickname,” she mutters.

“I know,” I say.

“I suppose you’re still an ass, then?” she asks softly, teasingly.

The nerve of this girl. This woman, I guess now. I shake my focus off the little places she’s changed and filled out, the impossibly long legs I spent a summer and some change obsessed with. Instead, I close my eyes and start calculating every dollar I’ve spent in the last six months, the numerous voicemails, texts, and emails I sent her way, too. “And I suppose you’re still a princess—who cares that it’s opening weekend for the park and it’s especially crowded, everyone else with plans and places to be can fuck off because you don’t want to look for a parking spot?” I say. Let alone the fact that she couldn’t bother with a heads-up. I didn’t expect her for three more weeks.

Her mouth falls open and her brow creases. She’s as indignant as ever. “We’ve been looking for forty-five minutes!”

“And after forty-five minutes traffic rules and regulations no longer apply to you?”

“Hey, Deac,” Elyse yells with a wave. LaRynn snarls something before she hurls herself back into the car and slams the door.

“Okay, well, we’re gonna go park and then we’ll be back!” Elyse adds, before she eases into the driver’s seat. I almost let them know there’s a spot in the garage, since my car is firmly planted in one of the residents’ spots out front, but then I catch LaRynn’s scowl through the window, with the same pout that used to drive me wild. I feel like being petty instead.

“Can’t wait,” I mutter flatly. But then a traitorous laugh bubbles up through my chest. I can’t tell if I’m excited that she’s finally shown up, or in some state of shock over it.

Two minutes in her presence and she’s already making me crazy.