“All right, then,” Cody said, but the suspicious look in his eyes didn’t fade.
There was something weird happening between the two of them, and I didn’t have the energy to unpack it. “We should get going,” I told Ethan.
“Right. Lots of work to do,” he agreed.
“Can I have a quick word with you, Naomi?” Cody asked.
“Of course. Ethan, could you—”
“I’ll wait in the car,” Ethan suggested. He touched my elbow in a gesture that might have been comforting and supportive, or might have just been a way of yelling WE HAVE SEX at Cody. As I was working on myself as a person, I decided to believe the former.
Cody’s hand on my arm, ushering me farther from the front desk and the obviously eavesdropping receptionist, was definitely of the protective sort. “Do you know what you’re doing there?” he asked.
“A six-foot-two podcaster,” I said, deadpan. Cody grimaced at the attempt at humor. “I know what I’m doing. He’s a good guy.”
“What do you know about him?” Cody pressed.
“Plenty,” I said, defensive.
“I’ve heard from other people around town. They don’t like the kind of questions he’s been asking.”
“Please. This town will gossip to anyone with a pencil and a notepad,” I said dismissively.
“Just be careful, Naomi. Keep in mind that his interests and yours may not be the same thing.”
“I’m all grown up, Cody. I don’t need a white knight to rescue me from ogres anymore,” I reminded him. I stood on my toes and pecked his cheek, then started to turn away. He caught my sleeve, arresting my movement.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, voice rough and low.
“Nothing.”
“It’s bruised,” he said.
“I fell and smashed it,” I told him, not mentioning the guy who had helped me along. “Don’t walk in heels with your hands full. Pro tip.” He didn’t let go. “Cody. It’s fine. And it wasn’t Ethan, if that’s what you’re thinking. Trust me, if a guy raises a hand to me—”
“You let me know, and I’ll take care of it,” Cody said.
“Yeah. I remember,” I replied. “I gotta go, Cody. I appreciate the concern.”
Dougherty cleared his throat. Cody glanced over at him. “Look, Naomi. Don’t talk to Sawant or Bishop or anyone else again without a lawyer, okay?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
“All the more reason to make sure you cover your ass. Trust me. Get a lawyer.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” I confessed.
“I can get you some names. Give me a call later, okay? And don’t worry about the cost. I’ll make sure it’s covered.”
“I think I preferred it when your version of protecting me was punching people out,” I said. He gave me a look. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you. Now get back there before Dougherty starts tapping his foot.”
I waved him off. He followed Dougherty into the back hall and out of sight. I headed out to the parking lot. Ethan was leaning against the hood of the car, hands in his pockets.
“Everything okay?” he asked. I just gave him a little shake of the head and got into the passenger seat. Cody’s words had settled into my skin. I didn’t know much about Ethan. And I was trusting him with everything.
I filled him in about the conversation with Sawant as we drove, trying not to let myself get emotional about any of it. “Doesn’t sound like he has anything solid,” Ethan commented when I was done.
“Doesn’t seem that way, no,” I agreed.
“What did Benham want to talk about?” Ethan asked.
“He’s just looking out for me.”
“You two are still close?”
“Not close. Haven’t seen him in ages. But there are some things that don’t go away,” I said. I leaned my head back against the headrest. “He can be a bit overprotective. Although to be fair to him, there was a time when there was no ‘over’ about it.”
“You mean him finding you. Carrying you out of the woods.”
“That. And before.” He didn’t ask; just waited. I trailed a fingertip down the cool glass of the window. But that story didn’t belong to him. I’d given him enough of me for now, and eventually the silence settled into an answer.
The summer of the Goddess Game, Oscar had been home from state college, and so had Cody. They were both working for Cass’s dad at the mill, like they did every summer. Cody had always done the bare minimum, working mostly to spend time with Oscar and have money for cigarettes. Oscar threw himself into the work. He’d get the company one way or another, eventually, but you could tell he meant to earn it. Or at least look like he did. But at some point, that changed. Oscar stopped showing up for work or showed up drunk half the time. Cody started getting more serious—like he’d suddenly realized he didn’t have family money to fall back on like Oscar did.
I’d avoided Oscar for the most part. Not out of any fear, just because a kid can tell when a grown-up doesn’t like them. The contempt some adults have for children is a frightening thing to be aware of as a kid. But that year, contempt turned to cruelty.
Puberty had started to encroach that summer, and I wasn’t about to ask my dad to buy me a training bra, so I wore bulky sweaters and loose Tshirts most of the time. Oscar noticed—not out of desire, but because he had a new stick to jab in my side when he felt bored.
“What are you smuggling under there? Apples?”
“Looks more like a couple of cherry pits.”
“Did a bee sting you?”
“Ooh, little Naomi’s a woman now. You bleeding yet?”
If Cody was there, he’d jostle Oscar’s shoulder. “Shut up, man. She’s just a kid. Jesus.”
Dad told me to laugh it off. Think of something clever to say in return. Cass told me to ignore it, that he didn’t mean anything by it. Anyone else who overheard tended to chuckle—That Oscar, such a rascal, but such a good boy at heart. Cody was the only one who ever acted like it was Oscar who ought to change his behavior.
I put my head down and ignored him. Day after day. Until that day. Sweat sticking my shirt to my back under the sweatshirt I wore to try to hide the slight swell of my breasts.
I had Persephone’s knucklebone in my pocket like a talisman and Cass’s instructions on my mind. “Today, we must make an offering of a particular sort. Something taken, not given. Something of value. That means it has to cost money, but you can’t pay for it.” Eyes sparking with mischief. “Go forth, Artemis. Fetch the offering for the Queen.”
I’d stolen about a hundred Snickers bars from Marsha, but perishables were a no-go. We’d decided that after the initial offerings of bread and milk made the Grotto smell like, as Cass said, “a football player’s ass crack.”
So it had to be something else. Something with meaning. Marsha kept a little rack of cheap bracelet charms by the register. I nipped in, paid for the Snickers for once, and pocketed a silver dolphin the size of my pinky nail. Even then I was good at lying. I spent forever counting out coins and shuffled off like I was embarrassed to have to scrounge for the last five cents, and Marsha was so exasperated she never noticed what I’d taken.