Sweet Endeavors -- Chapter One

SWEET ENDEAVORS                              

It wasn't until José turned the Mercedes onto the pitted gravel road that it hit me.  This was real.  My parents had actually banished me.

They denied it, but it wasn't like I was an idiot.  They said I was being sent to my grandmother's because I needed some time away to decompress, but I could totally read between the lines.  

Part of me couldn't blame them for sending me into exile. 

Part of me was royally pissed. 

The rest of me?  Freaked out.  I couldn't fix what had happened all the way out here in Siberia.

My stomach churned as I stared at the speck of a building at the end of the road.  What the heck was that?  It looked like a big, white penis.  Given my recent history with the male appendage, the sight was not reassuring.  I sat back and pressed my fists to my belly.  

A hundred feet closer, and I couldn't contain myself.  I faced my dad's driver and gripped his arm.  "José, let's go back.  We can tell my dad that we got here and no one was home.  Or that the house was completely burned to the ground."

José shook his head, his jaw resolute despite the sympathy in his eyes.  "No, Miss Paige.  Your papá would not like it."

I stared at the prison we approached.  It almost looked like a lighthouse.  WTF?  "José, think about what's happened in that last two weeks.  Dad being mad at me is the least of my worries."

"He cares about you, Miss Paige."  José glanced at me, wincing as a tire hit a deep rut.  "I hear him say he thinks this is good for you.  Get away from the—"

"Gossip?"

"No, not gossip."  His brow furrowed.  "You know, when something bad happens, like to actors.  Escándalo." 

"Scandal?" 

He brightened.  "Scandal.  He wants you away from the scandal so you feel better."

More like Dad was disappointed in me, on more than one level.  The scandal, as José called it, couldn't have happened at a worse time.  One: it affected my chances of getting into Harvard.  All my life, it'd been planned that I'd attend my father's alma mater to get a degree in business and then join one of his various tech companies.

Two: what happened reflected poorly on Dad's new web company's IPO.  The press was making the most of my little incident—incidents—and that wasn't good for the image of the wholesome website my dad was trying to promote.

In fact, it was because my dad was right up there with Bill Gates that what happened was more than a tiny, embarrassing blip on the radar.  If I'd been any random kid, everything would have been chalked up to an unfortunate teenage escapade.  But my dad was kind of an Internet genius.

José shot me a sidelong look.  "You know you went loco, Miss Paige."

"I wouldn't say loco." 

He raised his eyebrows at me.

"Fine."  I huddled in the seat.  "I went a little loco." 

"You broke the boy's nose."

"It was just the cartilage." 

José gave me another one of his looks.  "Isn't that all a nose is?"

I frowned out the window.  "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Sí."  He tapped the GPS mounted on the dash.

I stared at the tall tower, white and shiny even in the overcast morning.  I realized that the base was too large.  It wasn't a real lighthouse—just replicated to look like one, complete with the shiny glass tower at the top.  "That's where she lives?" 

"This is the address your papá gave me."

Therefore, it had to be absolutely correct.  Will Peterson was never wrong.

Something that tasted like panic rose up in my throat.  "José, turn back."

He shook his head as he pulled into the driveway, an extension of the bumpy road, and parked the car.  "Sorry, Miss Paige.  I have orders."

I knew by his expression I'd never be able to change his mind, not even if I offered him box seats at the Giants' season opening game.  Box seats were his weakness.  Don't think I hadn't exploited that once or twice in the past ten years he'd worked for my family. 

I stared out the window and contemplated my fate.  At first glance, the house looked normal (aside from the giant lighthouse thing), but now getting closer I could see a tropical mural spiraled around one side of the tower, wrapping around the base and funneling to the tip.  Instead of lawn, the yard was covered in spiky cacti and big sweeping palm-type plants.  There were plastic parrots and various stone sculptures.  A chipped surfboard leaned against one wall.  There was a picture of a naked hula girl painted on it.

I'd always thought it was weird that my family never came to visit the place where my dad grew up, especially since it was only three hours by car.  Now I got it.  No way could I imagine my parents here. 

Only Dad's mother never came to visit us in Atherton either, and that was really weird.  Yeah, I was seventeen years old and I'd never met my grandmother.

I just wished it could have been under different circumstances.  Like graduation—something normal.  Exile because of an Internet sex scandal wasn't in any way normal.  Unless you were Paris Hilton.    

My nerves jangled, imagining what the interior looked like if the exterior was so disordered.  I couldn't live in chaos, especially now when everything was falling apart.

As José parked the car, a woman flitted out of the house.  She stood on the stoop with her hands on her hips.

My grandmother.  I recognized her even though I'd never met her.  She was a feminine version of my dad, but pretty, even in her sixties. 

But the resemblance ended at her face.  Dad was super preppy and business-like.  His mom was totally a hippie, down to the tip of her long gray dreads.  She wore one of those Indian tunic tops and slim matching pants with two scarves twined around her neck.  Her sleeves were pushed up, and bracelets lined her left arm. 

Her eyes were blue—the same blue as mine—and they seemed to pierce through me, right to my core.  A strange chill went up my spine, and I shivered.

Too late to turn around and run—that would have been rude anyway—I slowly got out of the car.  I tugged my skirt down and tried to smile as I walked up the stone walkway to her.  "Hello, grandmother."

She blew a raspberry.  "Aurora."

I frowned.  "No, I'm Paige."

"I know who you are.  I'm telling you my name.  Call me Aurora.  I am definitely not old enough to be a grandmother."

Um, okay.  I nodded politely, clutching my purse.     

José walked up, holding my bags in either hand. 

Grandmother—I mean, Aurora—tipped her head and checked him out like he was Sunday brunch.  I blushed as she made a purring noise deep in her throat.  "Hello, handsome.  You want in?"

José nodded, oblivious of the innuendo.

She winked at him.  "This way."

My face burned as I watched her sashay into the house.  My parents thought this was the type of environment I needed?  "It's just for the summer," I reassured myself as I trudged up the walkway after them.

It was going to be a long three months.

#  #  #

My grandmother waved José up a narrow set of spiraling stairs.  "Go on up, big boy.  First landing, and to the left.  We'll be right behind you."

He nodded and headed up.

"He's got great bootie, doesn't he?"  Aurora winked at me and then turned with a flourish.  "Kitchen is through there.  I expect you'll clean up after yourself.  Living area, over there."   

I peeked into the living room.  Only slightly less cluttered than the outside.  If I were feeling charitable, I might have even said it was pretty in a shabby-chic kind of way, with the whitewashed wicker, abundance of plants, and vibrant splashes of color.  But it was hard to feel charitable when you were starting your jail sentence.

"My room is in the tower, but I sleep out in my workshop a lot of the time.  Your room is on the second floor."  Aurora started up the insubstantial looking stairs.  They creaked with each step. 

Great—this place was a structural hazard too.  I tested the first step.  When I was sure it wasn't going to collapse under our combined weight, I followed.  Quickly. 

When I saw the room where I was going to be incarcerated for the next three months, I almost ran out of the house screaming.  The dust that covered it was the least of my worries.  Stacks of old magazines blanketed the cot-like bed and the dresser.  Old clothes piled all over the floor, except in one corner where a gaggle of freaky looking dolls sat.  The window hadn't been washed in forever if the thick film obscuring the view was any indication.

Stunned, I blinked at José, who gave me a pitying look as he set my bags down.

"Great, isn't it?"  Aurora beamed.  "Bathroom is across the hall.  The towels are clean."

"I'll go now, Miss Paige," José said as he quickly backed out of the room. 

I wanted to grab his arm and beg him to take me with him, but Aurora beat me to the grabbing his arm part.  She batted her heavily mascaraed lashes at him.  "Come on, handsome.  I'll show you the way."

José shot me a panicked look.

But I had my own worries.  I felt like all her junk was closing in on me.  That jangly feeling of falling out of control began to whirl in my stomach.

Okay, it's wasn't that bad.  I ran a finger along the window and looked the thick layer of dirt coating my fingertip.    

Okay, it was that bad. 

No, I just had to organize and clean.  I could do that.  It was going to take forever, but I'd make this space habitable if it killed me.  And it wasn't like I had anything else going on.  "Aurora, do you mind if I rearrange some things?"

"Of course not.  You've got to mark your territory, girl."

Right.  I shuddered at the imagery.  "And do you have an iron?"

"An iron?"

"For clothes."  At her blank look, I added, "Everything in my bags is wrinkled.  I thought I'd iron as I unpacked."

She blinked a few times, and then she cackled like I'd made the funniest joke ever.  Leaning on José, she shook her head as they left, saying "Iron" and bursting into fresh gales of laughter each time.

Why was that so funny?  I frowned after them.  So I liked to be neat.  Appearance was everything, and since the incident—incidents—I had to be especially cautious about the image I presented.  Not that it mattered here, since no one—not even Aurora—knew what had happened. 

Thank God.

Grabbing an old shirt, I dampened it and tackled the dust on the windows first.  I'd wiped off one layer of grime when I noticed the ocean just beyond the yard.

Okay, really I noticed the guy on the surfboard in the ocean.  He was battling the waves, paddling out further away from the shore.

My belly lurched.  I felt like he looked.  Metaphorically anyway.  Except I kept getting battered instead of staying above the waves.

My phone rang.  I pulled it out of my purse and looked at the screen.  Tyler.  He kept calling.  Apparently breaking his nose didn't make a big enough statement.

It was so ironic, because I used to like that about him—that he called me all the time.  He'd start my mornings off with a Good morning, gorgeous text and end the day with a phone call to ask me about my day and tell me about his.  My heart used to leap with excitement when I saw his picture on my screen.  Now my chest filled with the sick feeling of betrayal.

I was about to toss the cell on the bed when I realized that the bed was completely covered in crap, and that I had a camera phone with zoom. 

I ignored the call and used my phone to zoom in on the surfer guy instead.

His back faced me, so it wasn't like I had a good view.  Dark hair just above his shoulders.  Broad shoulders in a wetsuit. 

Hot.

Not that it mattered.  I shut the camera off and tucked the phone back in my purse.  I'd sworn off boys.  Forever.  Because even the good ones could screw you over.

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