The image someone holds of you is rarely the truth. Others don’t see the dark in me, but it’s there.
* * *
Mid October brought strong winds across the barren desert of northern Nevada. I sat on the worn cushioned window seat of my second story bedroom. From here I could see most of the town, what little there was of it. Crossroads, Nevada, had wilted and withered over the years. Faded paint, cracked sidewalks, boarded up buildings on the edge of town. The streets were empty and quiet except for the whistle of the wind around the sharp corners of the house, and Fritz, my neighbor’s little yapper who barked at a flock of birds that threatened his territory.
The Troxels next door were the first people I met when I moved to Crossroads ten years ago. Mrs. T is retired now and Mr. T was moved to a nursing home. Mrs. T still bakes me cookies the first of every month. She bakes great cookies. Chocolate chip with a hint of cinnamon.
Footsteps in the hallway let me know my roommates were up. The hardwood floors of my old house had its own language as it creaked and groaned with age. “Uma, breakfast is almost ready,” Annalise yelled from the hall. “Vamos.”
“I’m comin’,” I yelled back at her and rolled my eyes. I glanced back out the window to see Mrs. T chase Fritz back in the house. I wondered if she was baking cookies yet.
My cell phone rang and I glanced down at it. The picture of Nate, my boyfriend, filled the screen. I leaned down and picked it up. “Hi, babe.”
“Love,” Nate spoke in his gorgeous British accent that I could listen to all day. “I’m flying in today instead of tomorrow, so we’ll celebrate your birthday tonight.”
My heart sank a little. “But I have plans with my roommates tonight. I thought you and I were going out tomorrow.”
“Sorry love, but I must fly back out tomorrow. You’ll have to switch.”
“I’ll see if I can trade my shift with Vicki tonight. What time will you be here?” I tried not to sound disappointed.
“I should be there around supper time. See you then.” And with that the call ended. I stared at my phone that was now back to the main screen.
My call to Vicki went straight to her voicemail. Typical. I left her a message.
I stepped barefoot into my bathroom to get ready for the day. The dingy white linoleum floor cracked with age, was cold on the bottom of my feet. My house was built in the late thirties and I’d come to love all its vintage flaws. Especially my bathroom’s faded pink tiled-wall, claw foot tub and chipped ceramic sink, that was more yellow now than white.
Above the sink, I stared into the medicine cabinet mirror and pondered how best to fix my hair. Some days I loved it and other days I cursed my thick tight curls. I pulled it back and forced it into a hair tie. My hair fought back, the hair tie broke and flew out of my hands. The glint of the flat iron caught my eye and I considered straightening my hair, but that took over an hour. An hour I didn’t have today. I picked up a bottle of coconut styling milk, brushed it through and used a larger hair tie. Success at last.
I washed my face and smoothed cucumber face cream over my tawny skin. I seldom allowed myself to think about where my looks came from. My mom was blond and fair-skinned. She died when I was seven. I never met my father. All I knew of him was what I saw when I looked in the mirror.
He was a black man. I’d inherited his hair.
“Your waffles are getting cold,” Carmela called up the stairs. They’d made my favorite breakfast.
“Don’t pitch a hissy fit,” I mumbled as I skipped down the stairs and turned toward the kitchen. I scooted onto one of the three bar stools at the kitchen island.
Carmela poured mimosas for each of us and Annalise slid the plate of waffles in front of me with a single lit birthday candle in it.
“Happy birthday,” my two roommates chimed in unison.
Carmela held up her champagne flute full of prosecco and orange juice. “Here’s to sisters of the heart.” We clinked our glasses together and drank our morning birthday toast.
“We’ve also got a special dinner planned for your party tonight,” Carmela refilled her mimosa.
“Sorry girls, I won’t be here tonight.”
“The Borg’s in town?” Carmela asked with a raised eyebrow over her sparkling Sicilian eyes as she leaned against the kitchen counter sipping her mimosa. Carmela was a total Star Trek geek and labeled people she met to corresponding characters from the shows. In her mind, not only was Nate a Borg, but he also had a black mark against him because he was a lawyer. She didn’t trust lawyers due to events in her past.
We all have our stories, right?
“I know we had plans. All I’m askin’ is if we can’t switch tonight with tomorrow night.” They both glared at me. “I’ll make it up to ya’, I promise, come hell or high water.” They shrugged their shoulders in resignation.
Carmela put the clean dishes away. “Uma, what’s wrong with this drawer?” Carmela tugged on the center drawer of the island. It was the drawer that held the measuring spoons and cups, and other cooking utensils. Stuff I rarely used.
“Oh, that drawer.” I shrugged and finished the last bite of my waffle. “It’s always been like that.”
“Something must be jammed in it. Have you tried pulling it all the way out?”
“Believe me, I’ve tugged and pulled and done everythin’ I can to get that drawer to open all the way. For ten years I’ve tried. I have no idea why it won’t open.”
Carmela was determined. She tugged and tugged on the drawer. Took everything out of it, and practically crawled in it. She pulled with all her might and in a flash, she and the drawer flew back and smacked into the refrigerator. She dropped the drawer on the floor and rubbed her back. “Ouch!”
Annalise and I both got down and looked in the space where the drawer had been to see what the problem was. “I’ll be damned,” I reached in the empty space to grab a small metal object wedged into the side. I pulled it out and stood up straight staring at the item in my hand. “A key.”
“A key to what?” Carmela asked.
“Hell if I know.” I had a key to every door, and it wasn’t like any of those. I hadn’t come across anything in the house that was locked without the corresponding key. I turned it over and marveled at the intricate floral design in the metal.
It was old. Like something you’d find in an antique store. When I held it in my hands, a slight vibration pulsed through my fingers.
Carmela moved in close to stare at the key. “It looks like it should go to a box or trunk of some kind. Maybe an antique wardrobe?”
“There wasn’t anythin’ like that in the house when I moved in. But I…”
“You what?” Carmela raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve never been in the attic. I don’t do attics. ” I’d never told anyone about my time of terror in the attic at my second foster home. The time when I thought I would die. Even now, the attic haunted me.
Dark. Cold. Spiders. Horrifying.
I set the key on the counter and rubbed my hands on my jeans. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it opened. I’d learned a long time ago, some things were meant to be left alone. Annalise had the gift of touch. She stepped up to the counter and cautiously picked up the key. She closed her eyes and wrapped her slender fingers around it. Carmela and I stared at her, waiting to hear what she had to say. Who’d held the key last? What was its story?
Slowly opening her hand with the key still resting in her palm, Annalise looked at me. “The key belonged to her. The woman who lived here.”
“My grandmother?”
“Si.” She nodded. “Your abuela. It holds her secrets from a man who would not understand. She feared what he would do if he found them. But it’s time for you to unlock her secrets.” Annalise laid the key in my hand and closed my fingers around it. “She wants you to have it.”
“Did she tell you where her secrets are?” I asked.
Annalise’s eyes drifted upward toward the ceiling. “The attic.”
Just as I feared. “Well, I have to get my things together and get to work.” I gave them both a hug and trotted up the stairs to grab an overnight bag. I stared at the strange key for a moment, then slid it into the drawer of my night stand.
Thirty minutes later I walked to work. The Desert Rose didn’t have the normal gambling-mecca glitz like most of Nevada’s casinos. She was an aging resort hotel with flashing neon lights begging for attention.
A burst of air from the ceiling fans greeted me as I entered the building. I strolled through the halls of faded Florentine carpets and dull crystal chandeliers to the second-floor employee break room. I stuffed my overnight bag in a small metal locker and inhaled deeply. The musty air was covered with a spring meadow air freshener. I closed the dull grey metal door and glanced around the room remembering when I first started there. Ten years ago the whole place was unfamiliar, big and scary. But everything was scary in my life back then.
It still is. Scary. I just hide my fears better now.
Walking down the stairs to the first floor, I made my way through the casino. I flashed an acknowledging smile at cocktail waitresses who served cheap watered down drinks to customers parked in front of slot machines. I walked past the hotel lobby desk where Annalise worked, then the Player’s Club counter where Carmela worked, to the Rose Garden dining room where I worked. The glass doors to the room were closed since it didn’t open for another hour. This was our prep-work time.
The room was dark and empty when I entered. For a moment I stood completely still at the back of the room. I didn’t like the dark. It made my fingers tingle in an uncomfortable way, and my palms sweat.
“There you are,” Carlos called a friendly greeting from across the room. He flipped a light switch on and waved me over. I let out a thankful sigh. Carlos was my favorite waiter to work with. He was two years older than me, soft blue eyes and curly dishwater blond hair. “I’ve already got the cart loaded.”
We folded linen napkins around fine silverware and filled all the salt and pepper shakers.
“Celebration month, right?” Carlos smiled at me.
“That’s right. I’ll be twenty-eight tomorrow. Nate and I’ll be celebratin’ tonight.” I noticed the smile disappear on Carlos’ face when I mentioned my boyfriend’s name. The two definitely didn’t like each other. I chalked it up to male egos.
I sat on the edge of the booth for a moment and watched Carlos light the table candles with his lighter and remembered the day I had first come to town and saw the Desert Rose. The six-story stone building looked like a castle with its turrets and round towers. I thought I’d stepped into one of those fairy tales I’d heard as a child. But I learned all too quickly that life in Crossroads, Nevada, was no fairy tale.
