Anita lived on the mainland. He’d driven to Clearland to meet her at a café for drinks and dessert. When he’d spotted her, he introduced himself and the date began. She’d talked the entire time, which he loved. She’d been animated and expressive in the conversation. He’d thought she was enjoying herself, but he struggled to read situations correctly. Although he’d hated to stop the flow of their conversation, at one point, he’d excused himself to use the bathroom.
When he’d returned and sat in his seat, she’d leaned towards him and said, “I’m sorry, but that seat is taken.”
Martin had stared at her and tried to figure out what she meant. Was that some sort of joke? Then she doubled-down and added, “I’m on a date. You need to go away.” She’d even waved her hand dismissively at him.
Embarrassment and shock filled him. She didn’t recognize him. While he’d been fascinated with her stories and mannerism, she hadn’t bothered to even take notice of him.
His date didn’t recognize him.
In shame, Martin made it to his car outside before breaking down. He didn’t cry often, but that night he had. He’d bawled like a baby in his car. That was the night he knew he’d never find love.
No woman would ever ‘see’ him. He was utterly forgettable.
Shoving those bad memories aside, he prayed that the psychedelic granite would be still when he opened his eyes. With one last breath, he peeled open his lids. Order had been restored in the kitchen. The countertops were as still as stone. All the dishes were washed and put away. The stovetop had been wiped down, and the leftovers were in the fridge.
Tranquility reigned.
He couldn’t wait for Mother to leave. He was on edge. Tense. Frustrated. Thankfully she had book club, and he had his hobby.
Ms. Reid walked into the kitchen. “It looks great in here. Thank you for cleaning up.” They had a deal. She cooked dinner. He cleaned up. On the weekends, she tried to teach him how to cook. One day she wouldn’t be able to do that for him and he’d need to take care of himself. That fact terrified her, even kept her up at night. He could handle anything that required logic, but put a twist on something, and he was helpless.
Martin nodded and fiddled with his hands. He used his fingers, one by one, to press at the skin on the side of his thumb. It was a nervous habit he’d picked up in middle school. One he hadn’t tried to break, regardless of the fact that his thumb often bled. If he picked it to bleeding, he’d wrap it in a bandage.
Most mothers wouldn’t be thrilled to have their middle-aged son living with them, but she was thankful for Martin. He’d been her pride and joy as a baby, but by first grade, she knew that he was different.
At first, she’d struggled with his issues. She’d tried desperately to fix him, but nothing she did helped. No one wants their child to be an outcast, to struggle alone through life. She’d wanted a full and healthy life for him. It wasn’t until he reached middle school that she realized that he could still have a full and happy life. Although his success would appear different from the average person’s, he could be successful.
Martin thrived in academics, especially math. He’d been the star of the math team at school. A first-place trophy still sat on his dresser in his bedroom.
Although he had his odd behaviors, how many people could run their own company? She was proud of him. In his own way, he overcame challenges on a daily basis that the average person had no concept of.
Ms. Reid picked up her purse from off the kitchen chair. “I’ll be home around nine.”
“Where is book club this week?”
“At Sharon Sullivan’s. You have her number. Besides, you can reach me on my cell.”
He nodded. He liked Sharon. She’d always been nice to him when they worked together. He didn’t understand why she had to quit and leave him. Mother told him it had nothing to do with him. Sharon just wanted to be home with her children. One of her sons was seriously ill and she needed to drive him back and forth to the hospital on the mainland for treatment. Caring for him took up her time.
“I won’t bother you if you’re in bed when I get home,” Ms. Reid continued.
He nodded. “Good night.”
“Good night, Martin.” She placed her palm against his face and kissed his cheek. Then, with a smile, Ms. Reid made her way down the steps and to her car.
Book club was her favorite night of the month. It was her chance to escape Martin’s overwhelming needs. It gave her a chance to decompress. She pitied him. She couldn’t fathom what it was like to be trapped with a mind that struggled to understand normal human interactions. Did he hate life as much as she knew she would if she was stuck in his head?
She swiped at the tear that formed in the corner of her eye. Then, pressing the radio button, she found a song she liked and poured herself into it. No more thinking of Martin. This was her night.
Martin rushed to the window and watched as Mother drove down the street. They lived on a quiet street with modest homes. The two-story bungalow that sat on stilts was perfect for them. Mother’s master bedroom with en suite, the kitchen, and family room were on the top floor and looked out at Hope Sound in the distance. Martin’s bedroom, a guest room, the laundry and another small common area, complete with television, made up the first floor.
He rushed down the stairs. The tread on his slippers made a faint sound as they slapped against the tile floor. He cut through the common area and pulled open his bedroom door. The room was neat. The eggshell paint covered the walls in a bland, neutral color. When his parents redid the house, they put tile flooring throughout, but his room still had carpet. He stepped out of his house shoes and let his toes sink into the plush fabric.
He stood still for a moment and savored the feel of the soft fibers sneaking between his toes and cradling his heels. Letting out a sigh, he made his way to the desk in his room and plopped into the chair.
When he’d gone into high school, his parents bought him new bedroom furniture. He was fortunate to have a queen-sized bed, dresser with mirror, two night stands and the matching desk. The desk wasn’t large, but it served its purpose. The bedding had been purchased then too. The sheets had been replaced, but the comforter was a solid navy blue. It was the only pop of color in the otherwise neutral room. The comforter would probably still cover his bed in another twenty years.
He liked the serenity of the simple room. He didn’t have knick-knacks. The furniture surfaces were clutter free, other than his lone trophy. There was one picture that hung on the narrow wall between his closet and the door to the en suite bathroom. It was a family photo they’d taken on their Caribbean cruise. When he graduated college, his parents marked the celebration with a vacation to the islands.
They’d stayed in a small suite with a balcony that was big enough to hold a small table and four chairs. Martin spent most of his time at sea sitting on the balcony surveying the water. The vastness amazed him. It was water for as far as the eye could see. Nothing. No people. No boats. No sign of life anywhere. It was beautiful.
His favorite port of call was Puerto Rico. The architecture of the old buildings fascinated him. The four hundred-year-old fort was his favorite. It stood proudly on a hill that overlooked the ocean. Beyond the walls of the fort, the ocean spread out like a rippling blanket that swaddled the island in a protective embrace.
The photo that hung on his wall was taken from that fort. Mother and Father stood along the edge of the stone wall, and he stood between them with the ocean in the background. Whenever he missed Father, he looked at the photo.
Lifting the lid of his laptop, he logged on and went to the secure iSpi website. The on-line security company had the smallest, wireless security cameras available. He had several cameras at Reid Accounting Firm. One covered the front lobby where Mother sat and greeted clients. Another was angled towards the back door that exited to the back of the shopping center. But there was one more camera that was just for him.
The folder names at the web-site were ob
vious. Lobby, Back Door, and RR. He found the folder marked ‘RR’. There were six new recordings from today. He clicked open the file.
The camera in the firm’s office restroom was motion activated. On a daily basis, he went through the day’s recordings and deleted the unwanted ones. The videos of Mother and himself were always deleted. He never watched those, not even a little bit. But the other recordings, those he saved.
In the bathroom at work there was a small rectangular table that held extra toilet paper, feminine supplies, and a floral arrangement. He’d balked when Mother put the feminine supplies in the bathroom, but she’d convinced him that it was the polite thing to do for his clients.
The floral arrangement was his Trojan horse. iSpi, a company that specialized in home and business security, made a rectangular camera that was slightly larger than the two triple AA batteries used to power it. The succulent flowerpot had little holes along the sides for additional succulents. It was through one of those holes that he spied. He’d secured the camera in place and then filled the pot with the fake soil and plants. It was impossible to detect the camera from the little opening that was camouflaged in the fake soil. The angle of the picture wasn’t ideal, but it fulfilled its purpose. He had a clear view of the toilet and sink area. It didn’t take long to get through the first few recordings since it was Mother or himself who triggered the motion activated camera.
Halfway through the recordings, he knew he came to a keeper. Senna walked past the camera and went to the toilet. She unbuttoned her slacks and slid them and her panties down her legs. For a brief moment, he caught sight of her private area before she sat on the toilet. She moved so quickly, that he had trouble seeing anything.
The sound of her urine hitting the toilet water made him smile. If there was one thing that equalized humans, it was their need to piss and shit. Everyone did those crude actions, and no one looked good doing them. The awkward pose of the squatters who refused to sit on the toilet while they emptied their bladder was his favorite. The embarrassing sounds of gas escaping the body or shit plopping into the water always made him laugh.
Watching people without their knowledge made him happy. While he watched them at their most vulnerable time, he was powerful, superior, almost god-like with his virtual presence.
When Senna finished on the toilet, she stood and moved to pull up her slacks and panties. For a few seconds, he got a good view of the front of her female area. He couldn’t help but laugh. She may have thought that she’d beat him when she put up the screen, but she hadn’t. He’d outwitted her with the iSpi camera.
She would expose herself to him every damn day.
Later in the day, a little before closing time, he’d heard her mutter a curse from behind her screen. When he’d asked her if she was okay, she’d explained that she’d dribbled her drink down her shirt. Now, on the recording, Senna entered the restroom again, this time with a small fabric bag in hand. She tossed the bag onto the table and used the rest room. When she finished, she washed her hands and unbuttoned her blouse. Although she wasn’t facing the camera, he could see her reflection in the mirror.
The sleeves of her blouse slid down her arms and revealed a lacy bra that pushed her breasts together. She folded the blouse and then turned around. Bending towards her bag, her breasts were inches from the camera as she dug in her bag.
His mouth gaped open at the creamy swell of her skin. The bra pushed her ample breasts together. As she moved, her breasts jiggled, and he liked it. This was one video recording he’d save forever.
Usually, his videos were about embarrassing the person. Bringing the person to his own awkward level. Taking away their pride, their haughtiness. But this video pleased him in a different way. His heart raced. His mouth went dry.
This video excited him.
Standing, she stood straight and slid her new shirt over her head. It was a simple V-neck t-shirt that accentuated her form. The camera stopped recording when she left the bathroom. He swallowed and watched the video again.
14
Senna let out a huff as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her hair looked good, her make-up subtle, and her clothes were modest but still attractive. She wore a floral printed blouse with a pair of jeans. Shifting her stance so she could see her butt, she decided that these jeans were neither too tight nor too loose. She would look nice, but not too nice, for the date.
No, the word date held too much meaning. She was meeting Josh. They had an appointment. An appointment that she knew would be awkward and uncomfortable. She’d role-played his questions in her mind in order to come up with believable answers. Answers that would satisfy his need for closure while protecting her heart.
She did her best to not think of that period of time. The first few months in California after high school graduation had been traumatic. After moving in with her aunt, she’d discovered she was pregnant.
She could visualize herself on the cold tile floor of the bathroom leaning against the toilet and doing her best to stifle her cries. Staring at the little plus sign had felt like a prison sentence. She had goals. She had ambition. She was young. She wasn’t ready to have a baby. She wasn’t in the right place to raise a child.
What would Josh think when she told him? Would he be happy? Would he give up his ambitions and struggle alongside her, taking a few classes at a time and caring for a child? Caring for their child?
She knew she couldn’t ask that of him. She didn’t want to ask it of herself, but she certainly couldn’t ask him to put his future on hold. They’d been stupid, having sex without a condom. She’d decided not to tell him until she was further along and his internship was complete.
Her cell rang and pulled her from her thoughts. Tapping the screen, she answered, “Hey, Dahlia.” Senna took in a breath. Earlier, she’d preemptively told Dahlia that she and Josh were meeting in her bakery. She prayed that would prevent an awkward eyebrow raise or shit-eating smile that would no doubt cover Dahlia’s face.
“Hi, you good?” Dahlia asked. Her own stomach felt like a badminton game was underway with little birdies divebombing from one side to the other. She couldn’t imagine how Senna felt.
Dahlia wanted to cheer when Senna told her that she and Josh would be meeting at her bakery. Even if Josh was seeing some other woman, Dahlia was convinced that Senna still had a chance with him. Perhaps they could chip away at the walls they’d raised around their hearts and come to their senses. She knew that they belonged together.
“Yes, I’m good,” Senna replied. She walked down the hallway with her cell on speaker. “I’m coming your way in thirty minutes. What do you need?”
“Need?” Dahlia replied. “Oh, I don’t need anything. I was just making sure you don’t flake on him.”
“Why would I flake on him? I want to get this over with as much as he does.”
Dahlia made a sound that conveyed her skepticism towards that statement. “What if he wants to get back together again?”
Senna snorted. “Not going to happen. What’s done is done. Neither of us wants to go back for more,” she lied. She would consider going back to him. There was no doubt that being in his presence affected her. After all of these years, he still made her heart tap dance.
Dahlia wasn’t sure about that. “You will let me know what happens though, right?”
Senna rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll keep you updated. I’ll see you soon.” She ended the call and slid the cell into her back pocket. Dahlia had been her friend since they were little girls. Coming back to Avenel reunited their bond as if they hadn’t spent a decade apart. She was thankful for that.
Deciding to grab a cardigan in case it grew chilly along the beach, she hurried to her closet. Pulling open the door, she stepped into the walk-in closet. Clothes hung on two of the walls, while the third wall had shelving, and along the final side, beside the door, was a tall shoe tower that held all of her shoes.
She flipped through the hangers as she looked for her cardigan. In h
er hurry, one slid off the hanger and fell to the floor. She knelt and moved the long pants to the side that obscured her view. That was when she spotted a clear, plastic box. Photos and other memorabilia were inside.
Easing into a sitting position on the floor with her legs crisscrossed, she moved the box onto her lap and removed the lid. When she’d moved in, she’d placed the box on the floor in her closet with no desire to dig through its contents, but now, with her appointment with Josh, she couldn’t help but look.
Pulling the lid off, she set it on the floor beside her. A narrow strip of pictures from the photo booth at The Inn at Avenel lay on top. The Inn at Avenel was the only five-star hotel on the strip of islands known as The Hidden Banks. People from all over the country chose to vacation there with the incredible ocean view, stellar golf course, and all-inclusive wedding packages. To appeal to the younger guests, The Inn boasted an arcade room full of all kinds of video games. Guests could purchase passes that allowed them to play all day.
Senna’s friendship with Dahlia looped her in with Kyle Walker, whose family owned The Inn at Avenel. One evening, she went with the group to play at the arcade. They’d had an amazing time, laughing and cheering for each other as they played. But she and Josh slid into the photo booth and took a few shots.
Staring at the strip of pictures brought back all those feelings. Picking it up, she held it carefully between two fingers. In the photos, they looked so young. Josh still had a baby face with no hint of a five o’clock shadow. Her smile was free of all worry, and her eyes sparkled with joy. In the last picture, he cradled her in his arms as they kissed.
A sharp pain jabbed at her heart now. She hadn’t known it at the time, but she was pregnant in that picture. About two weeks.
She bit her lip to push aside the tears that threatened to fall. She didn’t need to cry. If she cried, Josh would ask even more questions. She couldn’t undo the past events. She couldn’t tell him the real reason she cut off their communication. He didn’t need to carry that burden.
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