SSS(SS) - Part 8

It was physically painful to see Athena pull up and stare at Sal and the house. It’s worse when she climbs out of the car.

It’s chilly. Athena is less turned out than usual in jeans and a little puffer coat.

She strolls up the walk with her hands in her pockets, watching the fumigation tent billow in the wind. Sal scowls, but says nothing.

“Did you know they were going to do this?” she asks finally, defeated.

“I knew they’d do something,” Athena replies softly, looking taken aback. “I didn’t know that it would be this.”

Sal doesn’t know if she should believe her. For all she knows, Athena could be responsible. But it doesn’t look that way.

“Why are you here?”

“Because my girls won’t stop gossiping about it.” Athena takes a breath and stares up at the house. “I wanted to see for myself. How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. How can I know?” Sal waves a hand. “Half my girls will leave. Whoever’s left will push me out. I assume.”

Athena nods, her eyes still on the house. After a moment she sighs and sits beside Sal.

“Why did you give me that money?” she asks.

“Jesus. No.” Sal puts her face in her hands. “I told you. I felt bad.”

“Really?”

“Is it that weird?”

Athena doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, but she maintains her queenly presence, elegantly crossing her legs and joining Sal in gazing at the neighborhood.

“Do you have rich parents?” she asks after a moment.

Sal snorts. Athena says nothing. Somewhere, a horn honks twice.

Athena looks at her watch. “What are you waiting for here?” she asks finally.

“Nothing. I need to go get a room, but I am just dreading it. I want to go to the bar first.” Not a great use of money, but Sal doesn’t know how she’s getting to sleep tonight without a little help. A few tequila shots will virtually pay for themselves. “What?” she asks, seeing the look on Athena’s face.

“Nothing.” Athena gets to her feet and looks down at Sal neutrally. “You beat your pride once. You can do it again. Come on,” she says, getting out her keys.

Sal blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

“Come stay with us. We’ll figure out what to do.”

The words are difficult to parse. Sal can’t help herself. She cocks her head at Athena.

“What makes you think I want charity from you?”

“You don’t want charity. You want a practical solution. Wickers is coming for your bank account, just like she came for mine. You’re still president,” Athena tells her patiently, twirling her keys as she steps away. “The presidential thing to accept help and leave pride out of it.”

“Presidential,” Sal echoes derisively, looking at Athena’s back.