Free The Mark by Jen Nadol

block ahead.”
    I could see what Petra meant. Drea’s neighborhood was kind of hip. There were people out on their stoops, books in hand, smoking cigarettes, and wearing all manner of clothes and shoes and skin colors. The whole of the neighborhood looked about four blocks long, with every nationality and lifestyle packed in. Sophistication on a small-city scale. Perfect.
    We lugged my suitcases up steep stairs to her apartment on the top floor, the elevator broken. “Again!” Drea fumed.
    The apartment was updated and airy, cozy and antique all at the same time. I loved it.
    “This’ll be your room,” Drea said after she’d led me down a narrow hallway. “It’s not much, but it’s the best space I’ve got.”
    “Thanks,” I answered. “It’s awesome.” And it was. Small, but one wall was totally brick, with a huge old-fashioned iron clock face. There was a woven straw carpet and Indian-print bedding in deep red and purple.
    “Yeah,” Drea said. “It’s my guest room, but I’m not expecting anyone … well, anyone else … this summer.” She slung my suitcase, the smaller one that she’d rolled in, onto the bed before turning back to me. “You know, Cassie, I work a lot. Nights, weekends. I travel, sometimes on short notice. My job is very demanding. You’re welcome to stay here, but don’t expect much from me. I won’t be taking you to the mall or movies or … whatever it is, you know, kids like you like to do. You’ll be pretty much on your own.”
    She left out “take it or leave it,” but I got the picture. I thought it was time to let her know this wasn’t my choice either.
    “That fine,” I said evenly. “You know, I would have been happy to stay in Ashville, but Nan’s will said I had to come. I’m sorry to put you out like this.”
    She shrugged. “It’s only for the summer, right?”
    “Right.” And then, because I couldn’t fathom the answer, I asked her, “Why did you even agree to have me stay here? I mean, were you close to Nan or something?”
    Drea shook her head. “Nope, barely knew her. I met her at the funeral.” She dropped her eyes, the only uncertainty she’d shown all day. “Your father’s funeral,” she added, staring out the window. “Saw her a few other times. I’d actually kind of forgotten about her asking me to do this.” Drea looked back at me, shrugging. “It was a long time ago. She was out here, caught me at a tough moment. I’d just divorced my husband, guess I was feeling a little lonely, vulnerable … maybe back then I’d been thinking about some kid left all alone, feeling that same way.”
    I nodded, not sure how to respond. The mention of my father kind of threw me. It never left my mind that this was his sister, but she hadn’t brought him up once until now. Before coming, I’d wondered if there would be weepy sessions over old photo books and stories about their childhood. The idea of it had filled me with an equal mix of curiosity and dread—I’d had enough of teary reminiscence from Agnes and Nan’s other friends. But Drea clearly wasn’t the type. Still, she was my blood relative, someone who knew the father I couldn’t remember. It was jarring to be reminded of that and I wondered what I might learn about him and my mother over the course of these next ninety days.
    Drea looked at her watch. “Listen,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I should really get back to work. I’ve got a huge presentation tomorrow. I’m sorry to do this on your first day here …”
    “No, no, that’s fine,” I said. “I’ll just … you know, um, get unpacked and stuff.”
    “Great,” Drea said, heading for the door. She stuck her head back in the room. “There’s a set of keys for you by the front door. Feel free to go out or whatever.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Make yourself at home,” she called, her heels click-clacking quickly down the worn floorboards. The door slammed shut behind her.
    “I guess I don’t have much