Lost Years

by MK Schiller

  Anna was quiet for a moment, and I felt guilty for even bringing it up. But my sister had always been too forgiving. I was not. “We have to try, Jason. We can’t pick our family.”

  “Yeah, but our family sure as hell turn their backs when they want to.”

  “I heard about your fight with Dad. I’m sure he was speaking in anger. Let me talk to him and Colleen.”

  Our dad had abandoned us a long time ago, even before he married Colleen, but she definitely didn’t make it any easier. The woman was just a few years older than Anna and could throw temper tantrums that could rival any three-year-old. She almost seemed jealous or threatened by Anna and me. At least now, she had me out of the way.

  “Don’t waste your time. I’m fine. I’ll be staying in Serenity a while.”

  “Are you…”

  “I’m not drinking. I swear I haven’t had a drink in at least three months.” It had been a miracle I managed three months in college without drinking, but I had.

  “Really?” she asked. The desperate hope in her voice shredded me.

  “Yeah, I even threw away the painkillers they gave me at the hospital.”

  “Don’t you need those? I mean you are recovering from broken bones.”

  “It’s been a few weeks, and I’m healing.”

  “That’s not an answer, Jason.”

  “That’s all I got, Anna.”

  “I’ll take it, then.” She let out a deep sigh. She believed me. I never lied to Anna. I may have avoided her or not told her the whole truth, but I never gave her an outright lie.

  “How’s Keith? How’s wedding plans?” I asked.

  “He’s great. We’re thinking of a summer wedding. Will you be there?”

  “I promise. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  She let out a deep breath. “That’s a relief. I couldn’t get married without you.”

  “I’ll even wear a suit.”

  “You have to. You’re a groomsman.”

  “Well, then, I’ll definitely wear one.”

  “Do you need money? I can send money.”

  “Naw, I’m okay. I have some savings, and Aunt Rose gave me a job. Everything is great.”

  “You’re dreaming again, aren’t you?” Her voice cracked mid-sentence. She could see through me as if I was made of broken glass.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “I thought the new meds and Dr. Cox were helping.”

  “Cox is a quack.”

  “He’s the most sought-after psychotherapist in New York, maybe even the country. He’s written bestselling books and been on talk shows and—” I could see her ticking off his resume the same way I could feel her worry, right through the phone.

  “He diagnosed me with schizophrenia.”

  She shrieked. At least she stopped crying. “You’re not schizophrenic.”

  “No shit.” I may not know what I was, but I knew what I wasn’t. “Look, I feel really clear for the first time in my life. I want to spend some time with Aunt Rose and to be in the place where Mom grew up. I promise I am okay.”

  “But the dreams. You have them right before a major relapse.”

  That wasn’t true. Drinking usually facilitated the dreams. It made me sleep deeper and dream harder. Alcohol wasn’t my drug of choice. The dreams were. If I could lie to her, I would do it now. For her sake. She thought the dreams were my disease. “Anna, the dreams are different now.”

  “Why?”

  Such a simple question but so impossible to answer. Should I tell Anna that I’d found something in real life straight from my dreams? If the place in the dreams was real, then the girl had to be real, too. Right?

  “I don’t have to drink to dream. Being here has changed that.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Just trust me on this.”

  “I think you should come home.”

  “Anna Banana. I need to be here.”

  “Okay, but if you feel…”

  “I’ll call you if I need anything. But don’t worry about me.”

  “That’s like asking me not to breathe.”

  The sound of shuffling feet on sand broke through the rhythm of crashing waves. A girl stood at the edge of the clearing on the far side of the beach. She looked up at the moon. Her porcelain skin gleamed against the moonlight, and she had long wavy hair.

  “Anna, I have to go. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Be careful.”

  I was on my feet and running down the path just as she disappeared behind the thick growth of forest. I ran inside, enveloped by the pine trees. I felt her, but she was nowhere to be found. It was her. It had to be her. I contemplated going further and chasing her down. But thank God I had enough sense to stop myself. Chasing a woman in the middle of the night on an empty beach was not a good look.

  But at least I was in the right place.

  I had to be.

  Chapter Five

  Aunt Rose showed me around the Serenity Diner. It was about as retro as you could get with its plain curtains, wide planked whitewashed floors, and sunny yellow walls. Red vinyl-covered swivel stools stood under the long counter where several homemade pies sat on display under glass. Rock and roll music filtered out of a large reproduction Wurlitzer jukebox. It smelled like fresh strawberries and cake.

  “This is Russell Foster,” Aunt Rose said, gesturing to a tall, lanky guy around my age with shoulder-length blond hair tied back. I held out my hand, and he just stared at it.

  “Shit, Rose, I can’t believe you hired another outsider. You know how the last one turned out. Bob and I can handle it on our own.”

  I leaned across the counter that separated us, dropping my voice. “Look, man, I have no idea who you are, and I’m willing to play nice, but don’t swear in front of my aunt again.”

  He backed up, turning to Rose with a skeptical expression. “He’s your nephew?”

  “Yes, this is Jason Flynn. Now since you’re so worried about how he’ll work out, I can’t think of anyone better to show him the ropes.”

  Russell sighed. “The one from New York?”

  “The very one.”

  “Can’t Bob train him? He’s got way more patience than me.”

  “All the more reason for you to do it. You need practice.”

  “Fine.” He wrung the terry cloth towel in his hand. “C’mon, new guy. Try to keep up.”

  Nice to meet you, too.

  “You ever done a day of hard work in your life?” he asked, finally acknowledging me as we walked out of the back door and toward a large shed.

  “I’ll pull my weight.”

  “What was the last job you had?”

  “Do you count bashing a guy’s face in as work?”

  He stopped in his tracks, turning back to me. “You fight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Professionally?”

  “Strictly amateur, which is why I usually break something I’m not supposed to.”

  He nodded. Was it possible I’d earned his respect? I didn’t know why that was even important to me, but on some level, it was.

  “Rose does the cooking. Me and Bob serve the tables.” He turned on a light. The room was stacked floor to ceiling with window frames, old doors, boxes of bolts, and roofing material.

  “I don’t need you getting in my way today. The tourists are going to be as hungry as a school of piranhas. I’ll train you when things settle down, but not during the breakfast rush. In the meantime, you can put those muscles to work and clear out this junk.”

  “Is my aunt a hoarder?”

  “Figures, you don’t know since you’ve never made an effort to visit her before.” The challenge in his voice made it clear the respect was not earned. “This is stuff from our remodel. There are two dumpsters in the back. You need to separate the stuff that can go to the salvage yard and what we need to toss. Got it?”

  “You want me to do this all day?”

  He faked a sympathetic expression. “Aw
w, is it too much hard work? Just figured since the island doesn’t have a real gym, you could still get your training in.”

  Point and match.

  “You don’t like me very much.”

  “Look at Shitty Lock Holmes slumming it island style.” He brought his face close to mine. I respected the stance. A fighter’s stance. “Rose is the best person I know. Last year, she was in the hospital with pneumonia. She could have used some family. Where the hell were you people?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Did Anna know that? I doubted it, but the idea didn’t sit well with me. “I’m here now. And if my aunt gets sick, I’ll take care of her.”

  “I hope so, New Guy. See you in a few hours.”

  It took three hours to clear the space. It would have been shorter, but I sanded every door, checking for any evidence of red or black paint underneath the top coat. I came up with nothing.

  The floor was grimy, so I set to work polishing it. The shelves bowed from carrying too much weight, so I found some tools and reinforced them. Then I scrubbed the three windows in the shed until you could at least see out of them.

  Russell came to check on my progress, expelling a low whistle. “Check you out, New Guy, done already?”

  “Yeah, can you put these back?” I said, throwing him the roll of garbage bags I’d used.

  They swiveled in the air before he caught them right in his midsection. “Nice throw. You ever play football?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’ve got a good arm.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Toss me that ball on the second shelf.”

  I took the old-style football, pretty sure it was made of real pigskin, and threw it at him. My accuracy surprised me. He returned it to me. I went further back, and so did he.

  “How’d you learn to throw like that?”

  I shrugged. “Muscle memory.” He gave me a quizzical stare but didn’t ask any more.

  Russell called me New Guy all day, but he was less condescending. I met Bob, a large man with a toothy smile. Not the kind of guy you’d expect to be waiting tables. He called everyone “buddy” and “champ,” even Aunt Rose.

  “Always have the coffee ready. If you see it getting low, start a new pot right away. Treat the natives like friends. Pretend they’re folks visiting your house for Sunday supper. Treat the tourists like money because that’s what they are. Be respectful but keep your distance, “ Russell instructed, talking a mile a minute.

  “How will I tell the difference?”

  “Tourists bring big beach bags, maps, and wear ridiculous hats. Probably the kind of lame-ass stuff you’d do if you were here on vacation.”

  “I don’t travel with a beach bag or wear ridiculous hats, but thanks.”

  He ignored the comment. “Keep things clean. Wipe off your tables right away. Never enter or exit the kitchen with empty hands.”

  We worked like that the rest of the day. I shadowed him. He joked with his customers, depositing a colorful array of crayons at any tables with kids, drawing a tic-tac-toe board for them and finishing each game. He flirted with the girls but nothing inappropriate. He was respectful with the older customers. Aunt Rose stayed in the kitchen, ringing a little bell to let us know when an order was ready.

  The diner closed at six. It felt as if I’d been there for ten minutes, not ten hours. When Russell flipped the closed sign over, Rose brought out plates with grilled cheese sandwiches. The four of us sat on the long counter eating them.

  “Pick me a song, Jason,” she requested when all our plates only held crumbs.

  I walked over to the old jukebox and took out a few quarters. “What do you want to hear?”

  “You pick. They’re all my favorites.”

  “I don’t recognize anything.”

  “None of us did at first,” Russell said. “Pick A7, that’s a good one.”

  A7 was Warren Zevron’s “Excitable Boy.” I pressed the buttons. “Didn’t he sing ‘Werewolves in London?’ That’s a song I recognize.”

  “That’s right.” She walked over to me. “Do you dance?”

  I shifted my feet. “I don’t have any rhythm unless you count my beating heart.”

  She smiled. “And what a beautiful song it plays.” She pressed her hand over my heart and closed her eyes. She snapped them open and gestured toward Russell. “You should take Jason out with you tonight.”

  “I don’t think he’d be interested.”

  “He doesn’t know anyone in town. He wants more excitement than watching reruns of Sex and the City with his aunt.”

  Um, yeah, that definitely was not on my to-do list…like, ever.

  “He’ll never fit in here. He’s too much Wall Street and not enough cowboy. Plus, he dresses like a catalog model.” I looked down at my black slacks and white button-down Oxford. Compared to Russell’s faded jeans and football jersey, I suppose I did stand out in a weird way.

  “Are you guys actually having a conversation about me? I’m standing right here.”

  Russell didn’t even turn. “Would you rather we do it behind your back, New Guy?”

  He had a point. “Guess not.”

  “I think you and Russell will be very good friends,” Aunt Rose added.

  For some reason, I believed her.

  Chapter Six

  I sat on the rock at the beach, barefoot, my suit pants rolled up, my dress shoes next to me. She wore a long black dress, her arms around me.

  It was her mother’s dress. It had too much fabric and lace and frills for her. It was so baggy, she looked like she was playing dress up. But she had nothing else that would work. The only other black dress she owned she’d worn to homecoming. There was an unwritten rule you didn’t wear a homecoming dress to a funeral.

  I asked her if she wanted to take the ferry to buy something. But shopping for funeral clothes was a one-way trip to despair. Most of us had the same problem.

  We didn’t own funeral clothes.

  No one our age should.

  A splash of something warm trickled down my face. I swiped at it, mistaking it for rain at first, not expecting tears. My tears. An overwhelming feeling of grief took hold in my gut. I cursed the sunlit, rolling waves. Nothing should be beautiful on a day like today.

  Was there anything as tragic as a story without a conclusion?

  “He talked to me about things he didn’t tell anyone else I should have listened,” I said, my voice sounding so hollow I didn’t recognize it.

  “Sometimes, no matter how much you want to help someone, you just can’t,” she said.

  We held each other and cried together for a long time on that rock. She was my light. I clung to her, wishing to God I could be stronger for her.

  Then the stupid red door with black paint drips appeared. It creaked open, inviting me into the darkness that laid beyond it. I cursed, wanting desperately to feel her arms again. I almost kicked it but stopped myself. What if it opened? Some instinct told me I did not want to see the other side. I had to get back to her. I had to ease her pain.

  “I’m sorry. Let me hold you.”

  I awoke alone, my pillow damp.

  Chapter Seven

  I told myself I would take a short nap before meeting up with Foster. The day had been long and hard, but I wasn’t that exhausted. Truth was, I wanted to see if I’d still dream. I wiped my eyes. Did I really wake up crying?

  The dreams felt stronger now that I was closer to the source.

  I almost bailed on Russell, anxious to start my search for her, but maybe I could get some intel from him. It was a small island, after all.

  Still, I did about a hundred pushups to drain some of my energy so I wouldn’t come across as anxious.

  After a much-needed hot shower, I dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt. Russell wore something similar, but he had cowboy boots while I wore sneakers. I picked him up at his house. The truck in the driveway was more rust than red.

  I recognized it from a dream bu
t did my best to tamp down my excitement at seeing something familiar.

  “Thanks for picking me up. The ole truck’s out of commission,” he said, jumping into the passenger seat.

  “No problem.”

  His hand caressed the dashboard as he let out a low whistle. “Nice ride.”

  “Thanks. So where are we going?”

  “To a friend’s party. Take a left up here.”

  I followed the directions he gave me.

  “What was it like growing up on an island?”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Are there a lot of people our age?”

  “Some.”

  “The beach seems nice.”

  “It is.”

  Okay, the guy wasn’t a talker.

  The Beach Shack was a wood-planked building with a thatched roof. The waitresses wore bikini tops and hula skirts. Tiny lit-up palm trees hung from the ceiling with the occasional Cowboys pennant. People ate wings and mozzarella sticks and drank beer by the pitchers. A man in a Hawaiian shirt and cowboy hat sat on a stool strumming a guitar. Bales of hay served as seating. It was Texas and island-themed at the same time.

  “Thanks, Bo,” the MC said as the crowd applauded.

  A banner with the words “We will miss you” in bright yellow letters was behind the stage.

  “Who’s going away party is this?” I asked Russell when the applause had died down.

  “My best friend’s. Want a beer?”

  “I’ll take a Coke.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “They won’t card you here. They’ll hook us up.”

  “Just a Coke, please.”

  He went to the bar, returning with our drinks. I sipped mine slowly. I was still talking to Russell, but I saw his expression change. I followed his gaze. All the other noises muted, except for the beat of my heart, which pounded so hard it might just explode.

  It. Was. Her.

  I blinked my eyes and swallowed. I’d replayed this scene in my head about a million times, but nothing prepared me for this reality. Gripping the side of the table so hard my knuckles turned white with retaliation, I welcomed the pain. The pain meant this was real.

  Her long strawberry blonde hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders. A few braids were woven into it. I couldn’t see them, but there were exactly four freckles across the bridge of her nose and a tear-shaped birthmark on her right arm. I’d traced it with my tongue once or twice. She smiled widely at the audience, causing the smallest crease on her right cheek.