That’s where I put my sewing machine.
Regina had started me sewing right after I moved in, and sometimes I think it’s what really saved me. I’d always loved fabrics and design, but she’d taught me how to take a shapeless pile of cloth and turn it into something beautiful. The first month I’d been afraid to leave the house, convinced that every motorcycle I heard carried Teeny. I spent my days torn between hating Puck and desperately wishing he was there to protect me. (Of course, when he came to check on me I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him.)
Regina took my crazy in stride, assigning me sewing projects in a no-nonsense voice, offering hints and wisdom along the way. I’d made all new curtains for their house before I’d gotten brave enough to visit downtown Callup. After four sundresses (two for me, one for Regina, and one for Regina’s cat—don’t ask) I was ready to drive to Coeur d’Alene with her to get groceries.
It’d taken a full-on quilt to get me to the point where I could hear the sound of a Harley without panicking.
Through it all, Earl and Regina were as patient as the mountains. Regina homeschooled me until I got bold and registered for the high school when I turned seventeen. For the first time in my life, I belonged somewhere.
Regina had three sewing machines and a serger at that point. This was a good thing because Earl had been laid off at the mine, so she’d started taking in mending to make ends meet. One of the machines had a computer smart enough to pilot a spaceship but I didn’t care for it. I preferred a delicate black Singer that was nearly a hundred years old—it’d belonged to Regina’s mother. Right around the time I’d been born, she’d finally replaced the foot treadle with a tiny electric motor.
The day I graduated from high school, Regina gave it to me.
The best modern sewing machines might be more efficient than my Singer, but she was strong enough to sew leather and delicate enough to repair silk. The engraving and gold leaf gave her an elegance that transcended function, inspiring me and filling my heart with the soft presence of the generations of women who’d used her to clothe their families.
Now I lived in my very own home and it was beautiful. The furniture might not all match, but the curtains and pillows and other little touches I’d created tied my small, private world together into something that was homey, comfortable, and best of all, normal.
Too bad I couldn’t convince Mom to join me. Whenever we talked, she insisted Teeny was better than he used to be. I didn’t believe it for a minute. He still used her to get drugs, she still used him to get drugs, and they always needed “just another fifty bucks, baby” to make it through.
Whatever. She was old enough to make her own choices and I couldn’t let her drag me down, too.
The blinking of the message light on my old-school answering machine caught my attention. Just one of the valley’s many weird quirks was the fact that less than two miles off the interstate, we lost all cell service. I still had a cell phone, of course—every time I drove to Coeur d’Alene it would spring to life with random messages and texts that’d been locked in a holding pattern since the last time I’d come into range.
Then I’d drive home again and return those calls from my landline, which created all kinds of confusion on people’s caller ID. It was inconvenient, but also kind of funny. I hit play on the message and Danielle’s voice spilled out, full of excitement.
“Hey, Becca! We’ll be over by six. I have great news!”
I looked at the clock—5:55 p.m. Well, crap. I ducked into the bathroom and gave myself a quick once-over. Not too bad, considering how fucked up my day had been. One of the best parts of beauty school was learning how to really take care of my appearance and I liked to keep myself together. Polished.
A quick run of the brush through my hair and a touch of lip gloss fixed me right up. I heard Danielle and Blake pounding on the apartment door and I opened it to find them wearing triumphant expressions. Blake held up two bottles, one of whiskey and the other of cheap red wine.
“So what’s the news?” I asked, eyes darting between them.
“We’ve got jobs!” Danielle said. “Starting tomorrow! They even said they’d work around your school schedule.”
I cocked my head.
“That was easy,” I said slowly. “What’s the catch?”
Danielle’s smile faded, and Blake shrugged.
“It’s down at the Bitter Moose.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Danielle held up a hand, her face uncharacteristically serious.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” she said. “I know you don’t like bars, but get over it. There’s nowhere else to work around here and we all know it. Unless you want to work on the other side of the pass? I hear that new strip club is hiring in Post Falls . . .”