The Pretender - Cora Brent Page 0,14
plan to destroy the McGill brothers with a five dollar wine bottle?”
“I don’t know,” I grumble and set the wine on a nearby shelf. Either the shelf isn’t level or else I’m clumsier than I thought. The bottle wobbles for a hair raising second and then crashes to the floor. Glass shatters in a dark red puddle.
Ben stares at the puddle. “Good going.”
This could probably be more mortifying, although I don’t see how. “I’ll clean it up.”
Ben does not argue. “Mop and dust pan are in the corner back there. You might have seen them while you were hiding.”
He walks back to the front to reclaim his place behind the counter. I find the cleanup tools and wish the store was bigger so that I would be out of his line of sight. I can feel him watching me as I sweep up the largest shards of glass.
“I’m surprised the McGills left so easily.”
Ben takes his time about responding. I’ve noticed that about him, even in class. He often seems to weigh his words before allowing them to leave his mouth.
“I gave them some snacks to hasten their departure.”
“Are you allowed to do that?”
He sighs with obvious annoyance. “I paid the register back out of my own pocket.”
“Oh.” I bite my lower lip. I can’t even offer to pay him back right now. I have exactly two dollars in my pocket.
There is a small sink in the stockroom and luckily a faucet hose is attached so I’m able to fill the bucket after adding a capful of soap.
When I return to deal with the spill there is a customer at the counter. Her light brown hair is cut in an unkempt bob and she looks familiar. She’s probably around forty years old and while her buttery yellow leather coat looks expensive, her faded jeans and dirty white sneakers do not. Ben listens to whatever she is saying with a strange expression on his face. He glances outside and scowls at the sight of a man standing by the door and spitting on the ground. The woman says something in a low voice and Ben nods. She reaches out a hand with long pink fingernails and moves a piece of hair from his forehead but there’s nothing inappropriate about it. It’s more like the way a parent would touch her child.
I swish the wet mop across the floor and wait until the woman leaves before stating the obvious.
“So that’s your mom.”
Ben shoots me a look and then frowns. “Yeah.”
I wait for him to add to the comment but he doesn’t. He cleans the counter with a spray bottle.
“But that wasn’t your dad standing outside, was it?”
The scowl returns. “No, that’s her latest dipshit boyfriend.”
I squeeze the wine-soaked mop into the bucket. “So it’s just you and your mom? No brothers or sisters?”
He sets the bottle down with a thud and uses a blue cloth on the counter. “None.”
“I know you moved here the year I transferred to Black Mountain but I can’t remember where you’re from.”
“That’s because you never asked and I never told you.”
Ben sure does have this cranky hot guy act down pat. I make an effort not to roll my eyes.
“Where are you from, Ben?”
He turns around to straighten out the rows of cigarettes and chewing tobacco.
“Chicago area.”
“No kidding?” In spite of his grumpiness I’d really like to hear more. “I’ve always had a thing about Chicago. The University of Chicago used to be my dream school.”
He looks at me over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “And now it’s not?”
“No. I – well, I can’t move so far away. But is that where you were born? In Chicago?”
His expression shutters. Almost like a switch has been flipped inside his head. His head swivels once more to regard the wall of tobacco and he answers without looking at me.
“Yeah. I was born there.”
He’s lying.
The thought pops into my head and it’s an odd one. Ben would have no reason to lie to me about where he was born. We’re not even friends. He doesn’t care what I think. Yet something about his tone seems off. My dad always teases me about having intuition, which makes it sound like I possess a supernatural talent. I don’t. But ever since I was little I have planned to be a serious journalist someday and so I make an effort to detect clues in the world around me. I think of my future career as something similar to detective work. The objective