Echoes of Us

by S. H. Timmins

  He sighs long and loud then breathes, “Yes, you want more.”

  I’m dying to ask if he’s done more, but I don’t think I’m ready for that answer, especially when I’m already feeling raw. “Well, I didn’t feel that way when he kissed me.”

  He’s been silent on the other end for so long, I’m almost afraid I accidentally disconnected the call. I’m just about to pull the phone away from my ear and check when he finally speaks. “I don’t even know how to ask you this.” Yeah, I wish I did accidentally disconnect the call because I can almost guess what he wants to ask. He mumbles something I can’t hear, then blurts out, “You’ve never done more with a guy?”

  Flopping back on my bed, I throw my free arm over my face. This is going to suck, but I can’t exactly lie about it either. “No,” I mumble into the phone.

  I can’t hear anything again, but I imagine it’s because I’ve shocked him. Deciding to turn the tables on him, I ask, “Have you?”

  “Have I what?” He asks in a careful voice.

  Really? He’ll make me say it? I can’t believe he’s playing dumb right now. “Have you done more with a girl?”

  Again, with the heavy pause, then quietly I hear, “Yes.”

  I don’t need to ask anything else. I know this boy, and I know his every tone, even after years apart. That one word was a reluctant admission to a lot further than just “more” with a girl. I don’t know why I should feel hurt by this. He’s an almost ridiculously good-looking seventeen-year-old guy. He’s almost eighteen and practically a man! He wouldn’t still be a like me; waiting to eliminate my v-card. It’s a coveted prize for Victor and now an obvious barrier between Cruz’s experience and my lack of it. I can’t imagine anything worse than that.

  Thoughts are spinning in my head and a plan is forming. I feel a smug smile cross my lips and take my first easy breath. “Anyway, I need to call Steph. I wanted to let you know that I ended things with Dean, and you shouldn’t worry I felt anything for him.”

  “Jo don’t get all distant and weird on me. You asked, and I answered. I’ll always tell you the truth.” I could hear the sincerity in his voice.

  “I know, and it’s okay. I’m not feeling weird. I should’ve guessed. It’s no big deal.”

  “Then why does it feel like it is?”

  Because it kind of is. “It’s not. Can we change the subject, please?” I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

  “Sure, whatever you want. Will Dean be okay with you if he sees us hanging out? Not to sound like an egomaniac, but I’m sure my name came up, right?”

  I chuckle a bit at his wording. “Yeah, your name came up. Honestly, I don’t know how he’ll act now, but he can’t blame you for my lack of feelings for him, so I don’t think he’ll be rude to you, or anything.”

  “That’s good. I’d hate to be gathering enemies after only two weeks at the school.” He laughs a bit at that.

  I can’t imagine anyone hates him, but I need to make sure I haven’t made an even worse enemy out of the one I have. “Is Tisha going to have a fit if she sees us talking in the halls or after school?”

  “Nah, we were just having fun. She knew that. She’ll be cool.” He sounds so convinced, but I’m not so sure. He doesn’t know the history between her and me.

  I don’t want to borrow any trouble, so I drop it. We’ll find out soon enough what her reaction will be. Instead, I change the subject and ask him, “How’d it go when you got home? What did you tell your dad?”

  He hesitates and then says, “I, uh, haven’t told him yet. I was just telling him about the game and then went to get a snack when you called. I don’t want to do it now, but I’ll probably grab his favorite breakfast and bring it home to him in the morning, then break the news. It’s going to be rough.”

  I feel bad about that and ask tentatively, “Want me there when you do it?”

  A huge gust of air blows into the phone on his end and he asks, “You’d do that? I gotta be honest and tell you I’ve been scared to tell him. He will not take it well. I’m not the only one who was hoping to find you guys one day. It will devastate him. Even if she’d been married, he would have found comfort in knowing she was well and happy.”

  “I know, and I’m so sorry.” I feel my throat closing up from fighting a sob.

  “God, Jo, don’t be sorry. Jesus, your mom died, and you’ve suffered enough. I’m the one who should say sorry. Here I am whining like a jerk about having to talk to my dad, and you’re over there trying to apologize for it. No, maybe I should do it alone. I saw how hard it was for you to tell me, and I’m not putting you through that again because I’m being a baby.”

  I laugh a little at that, thinking of his baby pictures. He was adorable, even then. “It might give him some closure if he can ask me questions you don’t know the answers to. You would only prolong his pain by having to ask me for him.”

  He’s quiet again for a minute before he speaks. “Jo, do you have any idea how much you look like your mom? Like, really look like her?”

  Victor tells me all the time, but I figure he sees what he wants; a perfect replacement for the woman he really wants and can no longer have. “Not really,” I tell him honestly.

  “Well, you do. I don’t know how my dad will react to seeing a clone of her, especially after telling him she’s gone. Your mom was like this impossibly beautiful princess that only exists in fairy tales. I remember thinking that as a kid. I had a small crush on her back then. Did you know that? I never told you because that would have been beyond embarrassing, but I thought maybe you knew by how much I mumbled around her and was always blushing. I was such a dork.”

  I’m giggling now, thinking back to those times and thinking it was cute he acted that way whenever she spoke to him. I never knew it was because he had a crush on her. I thought he was shy around her. “No, I never knew. I think everyone who ever knew her, was half in love with her.”

  “You’re probably right. You looked a bit like her when you were younger, but then you dressed like a boy and always had your hair tied back, with dirt on your face,” he teases.

  “I did not! Grammy was always washing my face.” I tell him with playful indignation.

  He laughs, and the sound is deep and rich, amplified by the phone. “She was always chasing us with that washcloth. Then when she was in the wheelchair, she had trained us so well we would just bring the cloth to her when she demanded we needed a good cleaning.”

  I smile fondly at the memories. “She took care of us.”

  He sighs and says, “Yeah, she did. I miss her.”

  “Me too,” I admit softly.

  He clears his throat. “Anyway, you look just as beautiful as your mom ever did, more so even, and my dad might be shocked when he sees you. I’m just wondering how he’ll take it after hearing about your mom. You could be right about him wanting answers, though. It’s up to you, Jo. I don’t want you to feel you need to be there to hold my hand. I’m a man now, I promise, even if I didn’t sound like one there for a minute.”

  I chew on it and feel my mom would want me to, so I tell him, “I think she’d like me there for him since she can’t be.”

  “Jo,” I hear him sniffle and then clear his throat, “this sucks. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  I find my voice is thick with tears when I reply, “Me neither, most days.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all sappy on you again. God, if anyone knew how much I’ve cried tonight, I’d lose major guy points.”

  “I think you’d be surprised how many girls would elevate your status even higher if they knew about this emotional side you have.” I’m not even joking.

  “There’s only one girl who I care about what she thinks,” he says almost shyly.

  “Well, I have it on good authority she thinks pretty highly of you, so I don’t think you need to worry, but your secret is safe with me.” I can feel a blush warming my cheeks after I say those cheesy words to him.

&nb
sp; “Hey, Jo?” He whispers.

  “Yeah?” I ask just as quietly.

  “You’re even more perfect than I could’ve imagined. You’re my very own fairy tale princess.” He pauses, then says playfully, “Think of me when you sleep tonight?”

  I smile and tell him honestly, “I’ve never stopped dreaming of you.”

  And I probably never will.

  The next morning, I’m dressed and waiting on the front steps for Cruz in the nicest dress I own. It’s just a simple peasant style, with a flowing skirt and off-the-shoulder sleeves, but it’s a pretty shade of blue and one of the few dresses that Victor didn’t choose. I have a stash of clothes I wear when he’s not around to chastise me for looking like a “tart”, even though I never do. I think he figures if I look like a virgin in child-like clothes, I’ll remain one, or something like that. He’s so delusional that he never stops to think how appealing that might be for other males besides him. I’ve heard Byron and his friends talking enough to know that “bagging a virgin” is like a symbol of pride for most guys. Being the first to claim that place inside our bodies is a badge of honor for them. Victor doesn’t have the market cornered in that pursuit.

  I’m so lost in my thoughts; I don’t notice the sleek limo that pulls into the front of the drive and slows to a stop at the foot of the stairs. When the driver exits the vehicle to open the back door, my head snaps up and I can feel all the blood draining from my body to pool in my feet. I watch in nervous apprehension as Victor emerges smoothly from the back, briefcase in hand, and raises his eyes to where I’m standing, frozen in place.

  Victor gives the driver a curt dismissal and then approaches the stairs. He waits until the car has rolled away before he asks icily, “Going somewhere, Jolene?”

  I open my mouth, but no sound escapes. He raises his eyebrow waiting for my reply and slowly peruses my outfit. I watch as anger darkens his features. I need to say something, and I can’t lie as Cruz will be here at any moment. “I’m just going out with a friend.”

  “A friend? And where are you going dressed like a cheap tramp? I can see the shape of your legs through that dress, and if I look hard enough, I bet I can tell what color your bra is,” he growls darkly at me.

  I’m mortified at what he said, but I feel my spine straighten. Whether it’s from the promise I made to myself about not being a coward anymore or knowing that Cruz will be here to save me soon; I don’t know. I keep my voice steady when I tell him, “Maybe you shouldn’t be looking at my legs or chest then.”

  He takes a menacing step toward me and my legs begin trembling. “What did you just say to me? Are you trying to provoke me, or have you lost your fucking mind? I’m the one who pays for this house and everything in it, and that includes you! I’ll look at you however I damn well please, little girl. I own you, signed on the dotted line, and don’t you forget that.”

  My mouth is moving with no input from my brain, obviously. “Only until I’m eighteen, then you have no authority over me.”

  He moves up the stairs so fast I don’t have time to move, then he’s right in front of me and has his hand banded around my left arm. “Is that what you believe, you naïve child? That a man like me would let something like that stop me from owning every piece of you? Oh no, princess. You are mine for as long as I want you, and that will be for some time. When you turn eighteen, you're legal for me to engage in a relationship with - in private, of course. Whether that relationship is mutually consensual is up to you, but no one will take you from me. I may have lost your mother, but I won’t be losing you. I'll have the same arrangement with her daughter, as I did with her. No one will contest my claims that you want to stay with me, because I’ve made sure of that. I’m not a man who loses, ever,” he snarls against my ear, where he leans in to deliver this horrifying revelation. I’m trembling and feeling faint, sure I’m about to either vomit or pass out, maybe both, but he isn’t finished. “And if I discover you’re no longer a virgin when you turn eighteen, I’ll find the boy responsible, and kill him.” With that, he releases my arm, storms past me, and into the house.

  My eyes are closed, and I’m trying desperately to steady my breathing and stop my body from falling over and tumbling down the steps. I refuse to think about everything he said, or I’ll lose the fight I’m barely winning over my body. When the urge to throw up passes and my body is no longer at risk of collapse, I slowly open my eyes and see Cruz’s truck pulling into the circular drive.

  I almost sob in relief but know I can’t let him see how shaken I am, or he’ll ask questions. Well versed in hiding my pain and acting fine, I relax my body, attempt a wobbly smile and dash down the stairs. Cruz jumps out of his truck and comes to help me in, like the gentleman his dad obviously raised him to be. I duck my head as if I’m shy over his actions, hiding my face until I can better control my features. By the time he is back in the truck, I could win an Oscar for my happy demeanor and smiling face. Cruz smiles in return and tells me we will grab breakfast for all of us and then head over to his house.

  And if I’m slowly dying on the inside, no one needs to know.

  Ghosts of the Past

  I’ve been curious to see where Cruz lives, so offering to be here this morning has an added bonus for me. We pull onto a quiet street about ten or fifteen minutes from my house. It’s a nice area and one that holds more charm and appeal than the private road where I live. Trees line the street and the yards are green and tidy. Signs of summer fading can be seen in the barren gardens as people prepare their flower beds for the first frost. Leaves will change colors soon, and I can almost smell the crispness in the air. Autumn is one of my favorite times of the year.

  We pull into a double wide driveway beside a charming, two-story brick home. There is a large garage straight through at the back, and a fence that leads to a yard. The front porch is painted white, and the windows all have white trim. There are a few planters on the railings, but the flowers that once filled them are dead and gone. I love the house immediately. If I were to choose a place I wanted to live, it would be a house like this. It has a personality and you can tell they have maintained it with pride and care.

  I can't wait for Cruz and exit the truck first in my excitement. I turn around and look up at the big maple tree that dominates their front yard. Cruz makes his way over with a smile. “In my younger days, I would have climbed that thing and begged my dad to make a small fort.”

  I smile as I picture a younger Cruz doing just that. “How long have you lived here?”

  “We just moved in at the beginning of the summer. Dad wanted to be closer to the school for me, and the bigger garage for him didn’t hurt his decision to relocate.” He looks down the driveway to the big building at the back and shakes his head. “If he’s not at work, he’s in there tinkering on cars.”

  I can easily imagine his dad being that way. Even when we were kids, he was always working on someone’s car in his free time. He used to call it his “therapy” and tease us that it kept him from getting into trouble. But Jake Cameron was the kind of man who was always smiling and happy, so I couldn’t picture him as the “trouble-making” kind.

  I glance at the house again and grin. “I can’t wait to see him.”

  Cruz holds up the bags of food in his hands, then nods his head toward the front door. “Just follow me. I told Dad I was coming back with food and a surprise. I didn’t want to say I was bringing you in case he asked if your mom wasn’t coming.” He gives me a sad look, and I know how hard this is for him too. Neither of us wants to break his dad’s heart.

  I take a bag from his hand, even when he scowls playfully at me, then I wave my free hand for him to lead the way. He looks at the door, then back at me, and strolls up to the stairs. The weight of what’s to come almost feels suffocating, which is sad, because this should be a happy reunion.

  Cruz opens the front door and yells for his dad, letting him know he’s back with breakfast. He holds the door open for me, and I slide past and w
ait in the small hallway for him to shut the door. He moves ahead of me and I follow him through a narrow hallway, and I take a quick peek into the tidy, but very male-dominated front room. The large TV, video game consoles, and black leather furniture are the main focal points of the room. There are no pictures or paintings, no coffee table with flowers, and no colorful pillows or throw rugs. It’s clear that two bachelors live here, and no woman has had an influence on the decorating.

  I shake my head as I follow Cruz into a cozy kitchen. There is a small kitchenette set against one wall, and the usual appliances, cabinets, and countertops, but the colors are neutral in shades of whites and grays, giving it a modern and open feel. He places the bags on a counter and gets dishes and utensils out of cabinets and drawers.

  I feel useless just standing here, so I ask, “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Nope. Just grab a seat and look pretty.” He winks at me over his shoulder.