by K. S. Thomas
Adrianna scoffs in response but doesn’t deny it. “If you’d been stuck babysitting the likes of you the last ten years, surrounded only by obnoxious, smelly boys while growing up, you’d have jumped on the opportunity, too.”
“You’re all serious,” I reiterate, just to be sure, “None of you are related to Ky. In any way?”
“Not even a little bit,” Jonny confirms.
“But...the last name.”
He nods. “Is what initially brought her here on her search for her family. But, as it turned out, the name was her mother’s by marriage, or rather her grandmother’s. Ky didn’t realize the man she believed to have been her biological grandfather was actually, her mother’s stepfather. So, while he is, indeed a distant relative, Ky, sadly, is not.”
I sit with what he’s told me, and it takes several minutes for it all to settle. “Ky never stayed anywhere for long. Never had any roots because she never had any real family. I just assumed she’d accepted it. Embraced it even. Like it gave her another excuse to chase her freedom without any fears of being anchored down by anyone. But she came looking for you.” Every thought piles on top the next and I suddenly ache for her in a completely new way. How hard it must have been for her to open herself up enough to even consider allowing herself to find a family, a place she could feel attached to. Then, to have it be swept out from under her. Again. Like every other family has been her whole life.
When I look up, Marguerite is the first one to lock eyes with me, like she’s been waiting for me to come back and be present with her here at this table. She smiles warmly. “Ky has a family now. Maybe it’s not the one she was looking for, but I promise, she’s well-loved by the one she found.”
chapter
fourteen
BEN
It’s not until dessert that proper introductions are made, and I finally learn the names of everyone seated at the table with me. I only remember about five of them, but I figure it’s a starting point.
After dinner, Marguerite sends me to get my luggage from my car, insisting that I stay at the house while I’m in town. I don’t exactly have other accommodations in place, so I’m happy to accept.
“Ky stays in this room whenever she visits,” she informs me as the door glides open under the pressure of her palm. She leads the way inside. “I believe whatever you came here to find, will be discovered within these walls.”
“Has she been here recently,” I ask, searching the space for signs of Ky’s presence. The room is cozy with warm orange and earthy greens used primarily in the decorating, showing up in everything from the bedding on the antique four poster bed to the color of the walls. In addition to the wardrobe in the corner and the floor to ceiling built in bookshelf on the center wall, there’s also a full-length mirror and a rocking chair, the latter of which is placed beside one of two large windows. It’s dark now, but I imagine come morning, the view from up here on the third floor looking out over the fields of lavender will be nothing short of stunning.
“Sadly, Ky hasn’t passed through these parts in quite some time,” Marguerite tells me as she moves through the room, flipping on the lamp on the nightstand and turning down the covers of the bed before she fluffs the pillows for me. “But, now that you’re here, on your way to her, I hope she’ll find reason to come see us again soon.”
“But you’ve been in touch?” I ask, hoping I sound casual and not as needy as I feel. A nagging that started with Danelle’s email continues to get stronger. Tank had implied their relationship with Ky was ongoing, but even they made no mention of any recent interactions with her.
“Ky’s a hard one to keep up with,” Marguerite admits, moving from the bed to the windows where she cracks each one open about three inches before pulling the curtains nearly shut, leaving just a sliver of space between them for the evening breeze to catch and move through with ease. “But she always checks in eventually.”
“I miss that,” I tell her, trying to smile, but failing. “The years of her checking in with me. Wasn’t ever prepared for her to stop.”
She nods, an understanding moving into her eyes and kind expression. “She hasn’t stopped, Ben. She’s just giving you a chance to return the gesture.”
I sigh. “Bet she never thought it would take me this long to make my move.”
Marguerite smiles. “I don’t know. Seems to me, she knows you pretty well. Besides,” she says, starting for the door. “It’s Ky. Just because she’s expecting you to show up, doesn’t mean she’s been waiting for you.”
I frown. “You think there’s a chance she did all this, created this scavenger hunt for me to go on, only for me to show up and find her with someone else?”
She turns serious, though the smile still lingers in her eyes. “I think it’s Ky. And the only person Ky relies on to fulfill her, is Ky herself. I don’t think she’s with someone else. I just don’t think being alone is stopping her from living her life to the fullest extent possible.” Her hand moves for the handle, preparing to pull the door shut on her exit. “She’s not waiting for you because she waits for no one, Ben. That’s Ky. But you knew that already.” She winks and closes the door, leaving me to sort through the humiliation of being called out for my insecurities in private.
I can see why Ky feels at home with them, why it would have been natural for her to get attached, to believe they were her family. They have the same knack for calling people out and telling things as they are that she does.
Alone for the first time in what feels like forever, but what really has only been maybe three hours, I walk over to the bed and sit.
Almost instantly, the exhaustion strikes me. Between the flight, and the drive, and the food, I am beyond ready for a ten- or twenty-hour nap.
I probably need a shower too, but I’m thinking that will wait. As will everything else that extends beyond the effort of stretching out my legs and plopping my head back into the pillow Marguerite so kindly fluffed for me.
Eyes closed, my mind wanders through the last twenty-four hours or so. The people I’ve met. The things I’ve seen. All over the course of one day. It’s no wonder Ky never managed to stay put in our small town for long. If this is what her life is like each time she leaves us, she’d have to be bored out of her mind half an hour into each visit.
Only she never seemed bored. Not once.
Even doing the most mundane tasks, she always found a way to make herself laugh. Often at my expense.
The time she roped me into collecting trash from the parking lot at work comes to mind. I’d gotten myself out of that unpopular duty countless times before, then she came along, volunteered us both, and even after she was gone again, I found myself signing up to do it just to hold onto the fun we’d had that one morning. Picking up garbage. In the rain.
“Why did you force me into this again?” I call over to her through the increasing sprinkle of water the clouds above have started dumping down on us. “How come you couldn’t do this with Danelle, like you do everything else?”
“Do you know how much time Danelle spends on her hair every morning?” She makes a face, dramatically implying it’s a lot. “I wouldn’t do that to her.”
“But you’ll do it to me?” I ask, hand hovering over my head as if it will somehow shield me from the rain. “I may not have much hair, but it requires effort, and product – expensive product – to make it look this way.”
She grins. “Dude, moving forward, I would not tell people that.”
“I didn’t tell people, I told you. You’re not people. You’re like some freakish people-like creature who looks sort of like people and blends in well enough for most, but not me. I can tell. You’re not people.” I point the end of my garbage picker at her. “You’re like a witch or something.”
“A witch, huh?” She squints, dropping her head back to look straight into the rain. “Shouldn’t I be melting then, or something?”
“You probably know a hex or charm to shield yourself,” I mutter, starting on
the task of cleaning up garbage. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can go back inside. Where it’s dry.
“I am pretty skilled in hexes,” she says, mocking me while she pokes along behind me, not nearly as ambitious in her cleaning efforts.
“It would certainly account for my inexplicable attraction to you,” I point out, stabbing angrily at a napkin which refuses to be caught in the claw end of my stick. “And the fact I keep winding up doing things I hate just to be around you.”
“Ben, don’t be ridiculous.” She brushes past me to block my path. “You don’t hate anything about the things you do when you’re around me.” She arches a brow. “In fact, I’d argue, it’s precisely how much you love all the fun things you get to do when I’m around that leaves you feeling so attracted to me.” She shrugs. “Which isn’t so inexplicable at all.”
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.” She whips her garbage grabbing stick into the air like it’s a sword and she’s challenging me to a duel. “But you’ll have to fight me and win before I ever admit to anything.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m completely serious.” She takes a more dramatic stance. “En Garde!”
“I’m not pretending to engage in a sword fight with you in the middle of a downpour in the parking lot.”
She doesn’t listen. Instead, she swings and smacks my stick hard with hers. “Next time I aim for a limb,” she threatens. Then she laughs. If it weren’t so maniacal, I might decide to ignore her and walk away. As it is, turning my back on her seems unwise.
“Fine.” I think we both knew I’d surrender eventually. “Just remember, you asked for this!”
“Oh, trust me, getting things I ask for is never forgotten.” She twirls her imaginary sword around like it’s a baton. “I keep a gratitude journal just to be sure.” She smirks, daring me to make my first move.
When I do, I think I’m the only one surprised by it.
Next thing I know, we’re engaged in full-on fake battle, dancing our way through the parking lot in the pouring rain, garbage grabbers swinging and clashing and definitely not picking up garbage as intended.
“Do you surrender?” I demand, backing her up against a minivan.
“Never!” She rolls to the side, setting herself free before she launches forward, grabber aiming straight for my throat. “Do you?”
“Damn, always straight for the jugular with you,” I tease, though I’m also not moving so much as an inch. It’s hard not to take things seriously when there’s a claw wrapped around your neck and someone else could push the lever and squeeze any second.
“Admit it,” she says, not letting up. “Declare me winner and I’ll release you.”
“Why do you always get to win?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” She smiles, almost as if she’s laughing with her whole face without actually laughing. “With my games, everyone wins.”
“Is that so?”
She nods.
“So, if I name you winner, how do I win?” I glance down while still remaining still. “You know, other than being allowed to live another day.”
“Surrender and see.” She gives her hand a little wiggle, just to remind me of her power.
“Fine.” I can’t believe I wound up exactly how I started. Surrendering. To her. “You win.”
“Excellent.” She drops her weapon, laughing.
“So?” I wait, barely even caring about the endless showers anymore. “How do I win?”
She grins, stepping in closer. “You get to dance with the winner.”
“That’s my prize?” It’s not half bad. Truthfully, now that she’s moving into my arms, it’s pretty damn good.
“That’s your prize.” She grins. “Feel like a winner yet?”
“Hell, yeah.” I tug her to me closer.
“It gets better.”
“It does?”
She nods, smirking while mischief blazes in her eyes. Then, just as I go to spin her around, her arm reaches out, garbage grabber at the ready, and retracts a to-go cup someone left behind. When I bring her back around, she gracefully disposes of said cup in the trash can we dragged out here with us. “Pretty cool, right?”
“You want to dance and pick up trash at the same time?”
“You navigate and I’ll grab.”
“Done.”
It takes twenty minutes, but by the time we’re dancing our way back around to the front of the building, we’ve picked up every piece of trash. We’re also soaked to the bone, hair slick against our heads, her long, usually curly strands now sticking flat to her face, but neither of us cares.
“Was that your plan all along? Is that why you needed me instead of Danelle? Because I’m a better dance partner?” I joke, still holding her, slowly swaying back and forth.
“You know me better than that.” She winks. “I never have a plan.”
I laugh. “Oh, right. You just go for it. See what happens.”
She shrugs. “Always works out alright.”
“Because you always get what you want.” I’m teasing, but we both know I’m right.
“Because I always go for what I want.” She flashes her eyes at me. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”
“Maybe I’m trying right now,” I tell her, holding her tighter.
She shakes her head. “You can’t try until you know.”
I frown. “I know what I want. I want you.”
Her smile fades until her face is far too serious for Ky’s usual expression. “You don’t want me. You need me. Need me to call you out on your bullshit. To challenge you. To offer you intelligent and stimulating conversations of depth that actually make you think. To tell you no.” She sighs. “You need me, Ben. You don’t want me. But you don’t know what you want, so you can’t tell the difference.”
“Fine.” I’ll agree, but I won’t surrender. Not again. “But you need me, too.”
Her face lights up in a laugh and she steps out of my arms before I can stop her. “I don’t need anyone.”
Then she turns to move for the trash can we’ve been dragging all over the parking lot and starts to take it back toward the building and the dumpster out back.
Only when I watch her turn the corner and catch the sun dancing on her hair, do I notice. It finally stopped raining.
I wake up to find the room pitch black. Whatever time it is, however long I’ve slept, it’s nowhere near daytime hours. For all I know, it’s been days since I arrived. I don’t even remember a time I slept so soundly or woke so rested. Of course, that may have less to do with how many hours I spent sleeping and more to do with how I’m living my life these days. By actually living it.
Curious, I check my phone. It’s just after four in the morning. And, if I’m keeping proper track of my dates, I’ve slept for hours, not days.
Wide awake, but fairly certain no one else is, I fumble for the light switch on the lamp beside me on the bedside table and wait for the warm glow of the bulb to fill the room.
I’m tempted to call Will but given this most recent attempt at tracking Ky hasn’t panned out much in the way of results, I’m not sure the conversation would go so well.
So, with nothing else to pass the time, but stare at the ceiling if I stay in bed, I swing my legs over the side and get up.
The bookshelf seems the most obvious choice for entertainment, and while it’s likely most titles will be in French, I’m hoping to find at least one or two in English. Or, at the very least, something with images I can peruse.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find I can read nearly every title. Either because the household speaks an overwhelming amount of English for a French family, or because this is the room Ky spends most of her time in when she visits. Either way, I can’t help but think, she’s stood in this very spot, and searched these very spines for something to read.
When my scanning reaches four shelves in, I’m certain of it. An entire section is dedicated to the likes of B.C
., Andy Capp and The Family Circus, with several other random comic strip collections thrown in the mix. I’ve never read a single one, but I recognize the names from talking to Ky. She learned to read on these books. Said they were her grandmother’s favorites and about the only reading material to be found in their house while Ky was growing up. And so, they became Ky’s favorite too. Even into adulthood, she read them, re-reading the same titles over and over again, cracking up at all the same jokes. I remember constantly seeing some frazzled, worn copy of Marmaduke or Andy Capp bouncing around the collection of junk in the giant hobo bag she carried with her everywhere she went. Anytime I’d ask, she’d grin and say they were backup material in case I didn’t do anything to amuse her that day.
No day was complete without a laugh in Ky’s book. And these books right here were the reason for it.
I close my eyes and let my fingers trail over the spines until they catch on one. Gently, to keep from disrupting the rest of the collection, I tug it out. B.C. Where the Hell is Heck? That’s the one I’m reading.
Smiling in anticipation of what I’m about to find within these pages, I’m not at all prepared for what falls out before I even make it back to sit on my bed.
A single dried rose. And an envelope.
chapter
fifteen
BEN
Ben,
Nice choice. It’s one of my favorites. If you’re in the mood for more laughs, I recommend Hägar the Horrible - The Epic Chronicles as well. It’s one shelf down from where you found this one, tucked between the Family Circus books and several Andy Capp titles.
But, I’m thinking you weren’t hoping to find more book recommendations in this letter. If you’ve found your way here, you’ve been to Tank and Lacey’s or The Octave Below, and have no doubt enjoyed a fair share of adventure already. So, I invite you to rest a bit. Relax. Have a laugh. The Laurents make it easy, don’t they?