Cards of Love: The Hermit

by Cora Brent

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a lucky guess.”

  “It’s not a guess at all. I looked you up when I found out who you were.”

  “I figured as much.”

  I thought about what it must have been like for him, little more than a boy and suffering the cruel loss of everyone he loved. That was what drove him out here, what caused him to reject the world out there in favor of this solitary one. I wondered if he replayed all the events surrounding the tragedy in his mind over and over again, trying to gauge what small deviation on his part would have prevented it. I knew what that was like. Or maybe he avoided thinking about the past at all, avoided the memories of his family and the girl he loved. In any case I had no right to ask him such questions.

  “I’ve lost people too,” I said. I hadn’t planned on saying it, hadn’t planned on discussing my mother’s long, wasting illness that left me orphaned or the unspeakable brutality that had destroyed the only boy I would ever love.

  But now Jeremy was staring at me, waiting for me to continue.

  I took a deep breath. “My mother was born with congenital heart issues and was sick for most of her life. She was told a pregnancy would have severe consequences and her health grew worse after I was born. My father couldn’t handle it all and took off when I was toddler. He didn’t keep in touch. She wasn’t a good candidate for a transplant. I was twelve when she passed away in her sleep one night.”

  Jeremy’s eyes never left my face. “Sorry to hear that.” His mild accent emerged again, a faint country lilt to certain words.

  I could have gone on, told him about how I’d remained in the care of my overbearing grandfather, a man whose primary and terrible gift was in controlling those around him. Particularly his sons, who always did his bidding no matter how violent the order was.

  A shudder rolled through me as I remembered them all. For all I knew they were still living prosperously in the upstate New York enclave where my family had thrived for over a hundred years. I hadn’t laid eyes on that place or the people who lived there in a decade. My college scholarship had given me the opportunity to escape and I hadn’t looked back. But every once in a while I’d receive something in the mail. My mother’s old ring. A stack of family photos. It was a just a way for them to let me know they were keeping track, that they would always be watching.

  We know where you are.

  “Deirdre?” Jeremy’s deep voice brought me back from the past.

  My arms had broken out into gooseflesh even though it was far from cold. I’d told him yesterday that everyone called me D.C. these days but I somehow I didn’t mind when he called me Deirdre so I didn’t correct him.

  I rubbed my arms. “Yes?”

  He looked concerned. “You got all pale there for a second. Looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

  I shook my head. “No ghosts. Nothing but old memories.”

  “From the look on your face they appear to be bad ones.”

  “It’s nothing. Just ghosts of the past. “

  Jeremy mulled that over. “I think I’d rather battle with ghosts than memories.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Memories can cut you deeper than any other enemy.”

  I suppressed another shudder. “Do they cut you, Jeremy?”

  His expression now seemed far away, troubled. “There are some cuts that never really heal.”

  “’There needs no ghost come from the grave to tell us this,’” I quoted.

  “Shakespeare,” Jeremy said.

  “Paraphrased,” I acknowledged. “But yes, it’s Shakespeare.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that he recognized a quote from the world’s most famous playwright, not when he’d known the rather obscure tale of Deidre of the Sorrows and, judging by what I’d seen yesterday, owned more books than a small library. But sitting on a musty vintage sofa and discussing Shakespeare with Jeremy Gannon still seemed surreal.

  Jeremy read my mind. “You didn’t think I’d know that.”

  “No.”

  “Did you assume I was illiterate?”

  “Jeremy, no. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

  The comment seemed to annoy him. “So do you always look for opportunities to spit out vague quotes or are you trying to sound impressive for my sake?”

  “Neither.” I exhaled noisily. “Why are we always arguing?”

  “Always? I think this is our third conversation.”

  “You’re a hell of a hard person to talk to.”

  He snorted. “And you’re really something.”

  Now I was the one getting annoyed. “Are you implying that I’m a snob?”

  “Not implying that.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you’re easily fooled.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jeremy didn’t answer.

  “Funny,” I said. “I was under the impression you had no problem saying what’s on your mind.”

  “I don’t.”

  I sighed with exasperation. “Damn it. I can’t figure you out.”

  “There’s no need for you to figure me out.” He paused and his eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll never agree to be profiled in your book if that’s what you were thinking.”

  The thought hadn’t even entered my mind. “I don’t know where you got that idea from. That was never my plan.”

  Then my exasperation got the better of me. What the hell was up with this guy? He was the very embodiment of hot and cold. A conversation with him was positively exhausting.

  “Is it really too hard to be friendly for more than thirty seconds?” I challenged.

  “I’m friendly. I even brought you a generator.”

  The kettle began to whistle on the stove so I had to leave his last comment hanging and deal with it. I poured the hot water into a chipped jadeite mug, part of a set I’d found at a thrift store years ago. Jeremy set his glass of water down and stood up as if he was getting ready to leave. I didn’t know why every interaction between us wound up ending badly. In any case the likelihood of a friendship seemed low. But I couldn’t get the images from last night’s couch aerobics out of my head. And even though he’d succeeded in irritating me I didn’t want him to go.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some tea?” I asked.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I should leave.”

  But he didn’t head for the door right away. I placed a teabag in the mug and left it to steep before returning to the sofa. The same sofa where I’d writhed in the throes of an orgasm, courtesy of a very naked, very fictional Jeremy.

  “You’re still limping,” he noted.

  I sat down and extended my bare leg. I was glad I’d shaved last night. “It’s a little swollen but it won’t kill me.”

  “But you can drive?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  He nodded. “Let me know if you have any problems with the generator.”

  I plucked my cell phone from a nearby end table. “What’s your number?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have one what?”

  “A phone.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.” He took a step toward the exit. “Drive over if you have any problems. I don’t plan to go very far today.”

  He was reaching for the knob when I thought of something I needed to ask him.

  I got to my feet. “Jeremy, wait.”

  He sighed but he turned around, his face now full of impatience.

  No, I didn’t understand him at all. He’d gone out of his way to bring me the generator first thing in the morning and he’d come in the house willingly enough. Yet now it was obvious couldn’t wait to get away.

  “You said offering the generator was your version of an apology,” I reminded him. “What are you apologizing for?”

  He looked down at his black work boots, scuffed and dusty. “Look, I never would have gone creeping aroun
d by your window the other night if I’d known you were living here already. I’m not that much of an asshole.” He raised his head. “So I’m really sorry about that.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Good.” He nodded stiffly.

  I decided to tease him a little. “But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “How so?”

  I’d never been good at this, flirting. I still wasn’t. So I chose bluntness instead. “You’ve seen me naked.”

  “And I said I was sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  I crossed my arms and looked him in the eye. “The scales are somewhat uneven, don’t you think?”

  Jeremy considered my words for about three seconds. Then he reached behind his head and pulled off his shabby old shirt. That was surprising enough but without missing a beat he dropped his pants, underwear and all. If he was even wearing any. I didn’t notice. All I noticed was the muscled perfection of his body. And the fact that the real naked Jeremy was about ten times more impressive than the one I’d been drooling over in my head.

  “Are we even now?” he asked, his voice rather mild, as if it didn’t matter that he was standing by the front door with his very enormous, very hard cock on display.

  It took a few seconds for me to find my voice. “I think so.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  I wasn’t sure of anything except the fact that I desperately wanted him to touch me. I hadn’t expected things to go in this direction. I thought he’d just growl a few words and walk out the door.

  Jeremy watched from across the small room while I pulled my shirt over my head and faced him in my bra. I heard the way his breath caught, saw his hand graze his cock. I practically trembled at the idea that all of that could be inside of me. But he didn’t make a move.

  “You don’t know me, Deirdre,” he said and sounded resigned, sad. I ignored the fact that he kept insisting on using my full name. I liked hearing him say my name.

  “I know enough,” I whispered. “I know that we both want something.”

  He thought that over and finally shook his head. “If I touch you right now there won’t be any turning back.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Something flashed in his eyes but ultimately he pulled his pants up. “I don’t have anything real to offer you.”

  I wasn’t looking for something real. I was just looking for something distracting.

  “I’m not asking for a wedding ring, Jeremy. I’m not asking for any complications at all.”

  He sighed. “But I know your type. It won’t take long for you to need more. And I’m hollowed out. Have been for a long time. I doubt you’d understand.”

  I crossed my arms over my breasts. I didn’t do things like this, offer to fuck some guy I hardly knew. Maybe the loneliness of the place was getting to me already. Or maybe I was desperate to feel something, anything. But if Jeremy thought he had the local market cornered on personal agony then he was dead wrong.

  “Fuck you, I know all about being hollowed out!” I shouted, much louder than I’d meant to.

  If he was stunned he didn’t show it. He also didn’t leave.

  I sat down again, unwilling to look at him.

  “A long time ago I fell in love with a boy. But he was not someone my family approved of. He was everything to me and I wouldn’t give him up. So they killed him.” The tears had arrived now, summoned by the words I had never spoken aloud to anyone. I heard the hoarseness in my voice, the pain. “They made it look like an accident but I know they killed him.”

  Jeremy was silent while I broke down and wept.

  “Just go, Jeremy. Just leave. You think you know so much but you don’t know a damn thing. You don’t even know my fucking real name.”

  A few seconds later I heard the front door quietly open and close as he left me alone with my grief, a heartrending anguish that had never and would never find justice.

  And so it would never end.

  Chapter Six

  JEREMY

  Fucking hell, you give a girl a generator and she freaks out on you.

  I wasn’t sure how things went downhill so fast during my time at Deirdre’s house but I knew I was mostly to blame. And it tore me up to leave her sitting there crying. Despite that, I knew staying would have been worse. If I’d stayed I would have touched her. And I shouldn’t touch her. I’d been wrong about a few things, supposing Deirdre Paskevich had led a soft life and had gotten used to being sheltered in the halls of some east coast college. I thought that when she’d gotten lost in the desert yesterday it was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

  Before I hopped into my truck I zipped my fly. Now that I was away from her I was ashamed of how I’d acted, ripping my clothes off like a damn frat boy on a dare. The funny thing was I’d gone over there today with the best of intentions, to assist a helpless neighbor who was probably running around in a panic because she couldn’t recharge one of the dozen electronic things people attached themselves to these days.

  I didn’t look back as I rode over the hill back to my place. My shirt had been left behind but I wasn’t going back there anytime soon to get it. This girl knew how to push my buttons. She pushed the fuck out of them. She was smart and sexy and challenged every word coming out of my mouth. She made me remember everything I was missing by existing out here alone. I resented her for that. And I wanted to fuck her so bad I could taste it. But I meant what I said. I didn’t have anything real to offer her and no matter what she was suggesting, pulling off her shirt and staring at me defiantly behind her glasses, she wouldn’t be satisfied with something quick and dirty. The story she’d choked out only proved that. She was broken and looking to fill a missing piece. I was a missing piece all right, but not one that she needed. We couldn’t possibly do each other any good.

  As I pulled into my usual spot beside my cabin I was distracted. That must have been why I didn’t notice him right away.

  His name was David Carter but everyone around here called him Buster. He was overweight and sloppy looking and his greasy hair hung to his collar beneath a dingy cowboy hat. At first glance you might assume he was just a harmless moron but if you got close enough to see the hardened cunning in his beady eyes you’d know you were wrong. A series of curses flashed through my mind at the sight of him lurking around my property and I approached with some wariness.

  “So the storm knocked out your power too,” Buster said in a friendly tone but I wasn’t fooled. He and his brother Bo ran a meth lab out of a handful of trailers deep in the foothills. They guarded their interests violently. We had a nodding acquaintance but I knew enough to steer clear of the Carters. I couldn’t think of a single good reason one of them would turn up here.

  “Not a big deal,” I said, crossing in front of my truck to stand in a place where the sun wouldn’t be in my eyes. I wished I was carrying something more than a pocket knife. Meanwhile, Buster was looking around.

  “We could have sworn we heard some shots fired from out here last night.” His eyes continued to roam, coming to god only knew what conclusions. A chicken squawked in the pen. At the break of dawn I’d buried the lost chickens in a shallow grave about two hundred yards away. I still felt guilty. Predators were part of the landscape here but they were my birds, my responsibility. I remembered the way Deirdre’s expression had changed to distress when I told her what happened. At that moment I’d fought to urge to go to her, to kiss her.

  Buster’s penetrating gaze didn’t waver. I didn’t know what the hell he wanted but it sure wasn’t to inquire after my welfare.

  I shrugged and leaned against the side of my truck. “It was nothing. Some coyotes got into the coop. I chased them off but lost a few chickens by the time it was all over.”

  He nodded. “That’s a shame.” He didn’t sound sorry. Only suspicious.

  “Yep.” I crossed my arms, noting the shape of the gun under Buster
’s shirt.

  He jerked a thumb toward the hill that led to Deirdre’s place. “Heard you’ve got a new neighbor.”

  My wariness increased. In my experience men like the Carter brothers practiced more than one form of violence. I didn’t want to find out if I was right about that. But if they so much as breathed on Deirdre Paskevich I’d make them wish they could crawl back into their mother’s womb.

  “Just a renter,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Some professor writing a history book or something.”

  Buster grinned. It was an ugly sight. “Heard she’s a slice of ripe fruit.” He removed at his hat and scratched at the oily clump of hair underneath. “I was thinking I should go welcome her to the neighborhood. You know, see if she needs anything.”

  The muscles in my arms coiled, surprising me. I was ready to fight for the woman on the other side of the hill. It wasn’t just a moral instinct. She’d gotten to me. And I’d do whatever it took to protect her from dangerous garbage like the Carters whether she wanted protecting or not.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t need a fucking thing from you,” I said, no longer bothering to try and sound neutral.

  Buster raised an eyebrow. “You mind if I go see for myself, Gannon?”

  I took a step in his direction. “Yeah. I kind of do mind.”

  His eyes were flat, unreadable. “So it’s like that, is it?”

  “It is.”

  A tense moment of silence followed and then a chuckle bubbled from his rubbery lips. “You move fast, dude. But hey, good for you. There was a rumor that your dick stopped working when you left the boxing ring.”

  I chose not to correct any of his assumptions about my dick or the idea that I was putting it to good use where Deirdre was concerned. I just stared at him, stone-faced and unyielding, until he issued one final gravelly chuckle and hopped into the front seat of his pickup. But I noticed the way his head swiveled to look in the direction of Deirdre’s house before he drove away. I made sure he kept traveling in the opposite direction before I exhaled with irritation and paid a visit to the coop. The small-brained chickens were cackling and pecking at the ground like usual. I hadn’t been sure about keeping chickens but it was nice having fresh eggs all the time plus I found that I liked having them around. Betty Grable had been trying to talk me into getting a dog for a while but dogs need human companionship and that seemed like too much commitment. Now I was rethinking the idea. Having a dog around would be good from a security standpoint. And maybe the companionship wouldn’t be so bad either. Deirdre would probably agree with me. She seemed like she’d be a dog person.